Endorphins and Adrenaline

My name is Rebecca and I am addicted to endorphins.  No surprise if you know me.  I NEED a daily dose of endorphins for my overall well-being.  Sometimes I get my fix from a long epic adventures and other times in quick crackhead-like fashion from short, fast runs or crossfit or the like.  Both have their time and place and either does the trick.  Yesterday, I got it from the latter.  A winter triathalon.  Short, sweet (ass-kicking), and fun.

Maybe it is winter or just a needed downtime, but lately, I’ve been taking it real easy.  I’m still get my daily dosage, but I’m certainly not anywhere close to top form.  But like a true addict, I wasn't going to miss out on the opportunity for self-ass-kicking just becuase I wasn't in shape for it or practiced in two of three techniques (biking on snow and skate skiing).  It would only make it hurt more.  So, yesterday, I made my way to a cute little cross country ski lodge just east of Butte, Montana for a 5k run, 10k bike, and a 5k skate ski all on groomed cross country ski trails.

As expected, the Powderhound Winter Triathlon delivered.  I got my fix.  It was briefly painful, yet fun.  Something a little different.  The run did not feel good.  I should have run at least that far to warm up.  I said that it was all groomed, but only really for the frontrunners.  Every surface I crossed was already torn-up, making it even more of a challenge.  Especially for the bike.  Since I found out about this a week ago, I’ve gotten out on the bike a couple of times and tried to ride on snow.  Mostly I practiced on ice, which is sketchier, but easier, than torn-up snow.  There was lots of pushing.  The parts I could ride were really fun with the added element of having to have perfect balance and acute focus because you couldn’t really be sure of the surface.  I only wiped out once and it wasn’t bad.  Slow-motion.  Then there was the skate ski.  Why not have my first time skate skiing this year be in a race (and the first time I’ve every skied in a race)?  I can’t think of a reason.  Maybe because it is the last of three legs of a race I’m already not in shape for.  Ehh.  No worries.  It was ugly, but I finished.  I’m not that great at skate skiing anyway as I only have one speed.  I have no equivalent to walking, which is what I needed to do at a few points, but instead just came to a dead stop, holding myself up by my poles.  And I managed to pull off my trademark move (tripping myself by poling inside my skis) about 15 yards from the finish line.  What fun would it have been to splat out in the woods when I could do it for an audience?

It wasn't pretty, but it hit the spot.  I really just like races.  I like having everything arranged, so I can just give it my all.  It hurt so good.  And it was a great event.  These folks, who also run this lodge and resort, had it together.  The whole facility is really nice.  it was a fun, well-marked course.  Good food afterwards.  Bluegrass band.  Nice awards.  An all-around pleasant atmosphere. 

After my first shower in five days, I loaded up Mama, still buzzing on endorphins and headed out for the final leg of the journey.  I had been worried about getting to the place as it was three miles down a forest service road that was plowed, but was covered in packed snow and ice.  I had slept at the beginning of the road the night before and had my chains on to get in there early and not to hold up any traffic as it is super-slow going with chains on.  It was fine getting in.  Getting out however, was another story.  I could tell right away it was sketchy.  The road had become a sheet of ice from everyone driving in and out on it.  I was sliding on small declines.  I had to go really slow and try to keep the one set of wheels in the unpacked snow on the sides.  It was going okay and I started thinking to myself that maybe I had been holding myself back by not just putting chains on more often and heading down these types of roads (as I do in the non-snowy months).  Nope, I was right the first time.  I started to go down a hill as slow as I possibly could, when the van started sliding and I had no control.  It was a slow motion from here.  The van is slidding towards the side of the road, which was a thirty-forty foot steep bank into a ravine.  I open my door ready to jump out as Mama doesn’t seem to be stopping.  I crash into the bank.  We are still moving very slowly.  Should I jump out?  I don't want to if she is going to stop.  She stops.  I freeze.  From my angle I seem to be balancing over the edge.  In a very slow movement I put the car in park and put the parking break on and get out.  When my feet hit the ground, I fall onto all fours and start slidding down.   The ground as it is completely ice.  Holy adrenaline.  I’m nearly laughing, crying, and shitting myself at the same time. 

A few carloads of people pull up behind me, most of whom seemed to be workers at the event and locals.  They get a hold of the race director guy, who agrees to come yank me out with his loader.  One very nice lady waits with me and we sit in her car and chat and share and beer until Mama’s rescuer comes.  From behind, I can tell Mama isn’t quite hanging over as it felt like from the drivers seat, but it still looks bad.  Or like it could have been really bad.  The guy shows up and yanks her out, then drives her down this sketchy hill for me and sends me on my way.  What a race director! 

Now, with a full dose of endorphins AND adrenaline I head home, which this week is Bozeman, Montana (a story for another day).  I enjoy a beautiful ride through the Gallatin Valley just as the sun is setting, fully jacked up on chemicals of my own creation.  Good times!   

(Here is a mention in Butte paper, unfortunately not for my performance.) 

Dance/Hike Club

Susie Lake

Grass Lake

Aloha Lake

Seasonal Work Jackpot for the Attention Deficit Lifestyle

This last place I was living/working, and will undoubtedly live again, is one of the most all-encompassing bubbles I have ever had the pleasure of being sucked into.  The two-month conference season at the Stanford Sierra Conference Center (SSC or Camp) is the seasonal worker’s dream come true.  With a full commitment of only eight weeks one can fully engage everything in this little sub-world, and then gracefully exit just as the initial shine wears off. 

It is not as if after a couple of months the place itself changes.  Nor do my co-workers change.  Eight weeks, or maybe even closer to six weeks, just seems to be MY expiration date, on any one situation.  And I’m sure this holds true for most of my seasonal working peers.  No matter how awesome the situation is, and this one is pretty sweet, mixing it up, frequently, seems to be the schedule I have subconsciously subscribed to.

This short-lived attention span, isn’t isolated to the seasonal work world.  Don’t most things seem to get old after two months?  Jobs, relationships, living situations, new purchases.  The shine really doesn’t last long on much.  Maybe this is a generational thing.  Maybe this is why so many people are on “A.D.D.” medication.  No one can settle on one thing because there is so freaking much to do.  We have access to everything.  The possibilities are literally endless.  How can anyone be expected to or limit themselves to one job, or one living situation, or one relationship for the rest of their lives? 

There really is no need to limit oneself.  Is a deficiet of attention really a disorder?   Or is it just our reality?  Why are people trying to suppress it?  Drugs, while fun and may very well have the desired effect, are completely unnecessary for this character trait.  Everything in our world is catering to the attention deficient.  Why fight it?  Embrace it. Go with it.  Mix it up. (I recommend drugs only for recreational use).     

Given this reality, seasonal work just makes sense.  And it seems natural in our otherwise nature-deficient existence.  While we are not migrating for food or warmth directly, we are doing so for the jobs that will provide these needs.  Effectively, we are getting back to our animal roots and simply blowing in the seasonal winds.  

And of all the wonderful places the seasonal winds have blown me, none is quite like this perfect little spot on Fallen Leaf Lake.  SSC is the attention deficit lifestyle gold.  This place does it right.  Besides the sheer greatness of the location, they know how to treat seasonal employees.  They offer their employees  everything they have, which in turn gets them sporadic bouts of hard work.  But, their expectations are realistic.  It is understood that we are there to have a good time.  Everyone wins. 

As fun as it was, I wouldn’t want to stay one more day.  While some might be fit to hang onto something like this for longer, I am not wired this way.  My attention has a very short timer on it.  For this reason I am so grateful for camp.  I have found nothing more fitting.  It allows us to engage fully, take it for all it is worth, waste nothing, and then leave.  I couldn’t have asked for a better situation.  If this complete two-month life cycle of Camp is even remotely reflective my entire life-cycle, I will die beyond satisfied.  I can’t imagine trying to squeeze any more activity into a single time period.  It was a grand eight weeks!

Facebook Pictures

Summer Wrap-Up

Although I know there is plenty more summer weather to come, I have transitioned into the next phase and have left my carefree summer ways behind…yeah right.  Anyway to (semi-)briefly recap the summer: 

On July 1^st I woke up to the sound of snow plows.  I was sleeping on top of Loveland Pass, the coldest place along the way, after escaping Denver, which was experiencing uncharacteristic humidity at the time.  It wasn’t powder, but it was fresh and I snowboarded on it, as nearby Arapahoe Basin (ski area I happened to have a pass to) was still open.  I managed to get in a few runs before it got too soft and then passed through Leadville for the night to begin my planned loop. 

Fresh snow on July 1st on Loveland Pass

My only real objective for the summer was to do the famous Four Passes Loop in the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness, which is in the mountains between Aspen and Crested Butte, Colorado.  Realizing (at the beginning of July) I still needed to give the high country a few weeks to dry out, I planned to keep myself occupied with lower lying trails and exploring the towns of Crested Butte and Aspen. 

And I did just that.  I ran on a lot of trails.  The first few weeks included hundreds of soggy stream crossings.  My friend and former co-worker Ben (who was also circling Colorado) met me in Crested Butte and joined me for a week and half.  After a couple more scenic and soggy runs and beautiful camping spots, we made our way to Aspen, which required us to drive down out of the high country into the fiery gates of hell for part of a day, reminding us how perfect summer up there is.  In the Aspen area we hit a bunch of popular trails including one leading to the ridiculously, amazing Conundrum hot springs.

Trailhead to Conundrum Hot Springs (near Aspen)

After Ben took off, I headed to the trailhead for the Four Passes Loop, where I parked for a few nights before starting the loop.  The loop is 25ish miles.  I decided to backpack the loop instead of running it in one day.  Although easily doable in one day, I thought I should take two days to go slow and take it all in.  I was happy with that decision and the decision to bring a camera, which I hardly ever do.  Definitely worth the extra weight this time.

Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness on the Four Passes Loop (near Aspen)

Next, I spent about a week in the actual town of Aspen.  Aspen was pretty happening after spending weeks out in woods.  I had a good time there.  Two friends, Lilian and Stephen, both of whom I know from working with at the Rainbow Lodge in Northern California, were living in Aspen.  It was great to see both of them and nice to have places to stay in the crazy metropolis of Aspen.  I also found a future live/work spot (where Stephen was living/working), right in downtown Aspen.  After I had enough of all that, I made my way back to the most authentic of mountain towns…Leadville.   

Leadville

Leadville is a special place.  It was the first placed I lived after leaving the Midwest (about 6 years ago).  I have lived in half a dozen other places and visited hundreds and have never found anything even remotely comparable to Leadville. 

In Leadville, I stay with my friend Wizard.  Aside from cooking and cleaning for Wizard, I spent most of time running on Leadville’s fun and windy eastside singletrack, laying low, and formulating my next move.  While spending a lot of time sitting on Wizard’s porch (that we built while I was there), I realized why I am so picky about weather.  Leadville spoiled me forever.  At 10,200’, the summers are perfection.  I have not found anywhere better…and I have been looking.  Dry and sunny with highs in the mid-seventies…everyday.  Then it completely cools off every night.  Very comfortable.

Wizard and Joe on this deck (that we built one afternoon.  We were both surprised it actually turned out okay.)

During my stay in Leadville, the town was a flutter with elite athletes (and spandex) as I was in there the three weeks leading up to the Leadville 100 mile mountain bike and 100 mile trail running race.  It is definitely inspiring to be around so many people who are there to compete at that level. 

Leadville during the 100 mile mountain bike race.

Home

I then made my way to Denver via the Frasier Valley (where I spent last winter) and spent a few days running and exploring the surrounding high country.  After a final morning run on Berthoud Pass, I flew to Chicago.  This was my first trip home in over a year and a half.  I kept pushing it back, because I knew I would be going for my high school friend, Rocio’s, wedding at the end of August.  The whole trip was awesome.  I had tons of fun with my family, finally got to see Katy and Doug’s house, spent time with my Grandmother, Kali came to visit me from Ohio, and Rocio’s wedding was a great time and something of high school reunion for me.  The whole trip was really fun and really busy.   And the weather was super mild.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get to visit half the people I was planning to, so I’ve decided (almost definitely) to spend the month of December there.     

Rocio at Burger King, right after her wedding ceremony.
(Picture by her husband, Abel)

Back to…Camp!

Just prior to leaving for Chicago, I applied for and got a fall seasonal job in Northern California.  Upon my return to Colorado I had one week to make it out here.  After retrieving Mama in Denver, I quickly made my way back into the hills.

On September 1, I again woke up on Loveland Pass, ready for the next phase.  No snow this time, but nice and blustery up there.  After breakfast with Wizard in Summit County and hitting all the sweet thrift stores in the Vail corridor, I slept on the Colorado/Utah border, before a huge push across Utah and Nevada the next day.  I took a new-for-me route across Nevada (RT. 50 instead of Interstate-80) and made it to Carson City that same night.  The next day I stocked up in Carson City and then made my way up to the incredible Tahoe Basin, where I spent three days running and swimming before moving into my current diggs.

Fallen Leaf Lake

I’m am currently back at the lovely Standford Sierra compound on Fallen Leaf Lake near South Lake Tahoe, California.  Since spending the spring of 2010 here, I knew it was only a matter of time before I made my way back to this special place.  It is an incredibly easy place to be, as work/home/play is all right here.  The hardest part is there just doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to do everything we have access to.  So, until next time, I’ll be here, trying to do it all.

Into A Painting

Me being normal near Crested Butte.

I've spent the last three weeks of summertime bliss in the the high country of Colorado, near Crested Butte and Aspen.  While "regaling you with these wonderfully long-winded boring stories of banal minutia" is tempting, I will resist and let the pictures do (most) of the talking.

Conundrum Creek Trailhead (leads to SWEET hot springs).  Near Aspen.

My friend, Ben, teeing off on the Mt. Crested Butte course.

Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness, near Aspen

Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness

Same pond.

Maroon Bells

The Hills Are Alive...

(With Bluegrass, Greenness, and Endless Trails)

Near Pagosa Springs, Colorado

After a perfect April in the desert, I spent a few weeks formulating my next move.  The city (Denver) and the snow/mud (Leadville) provided the contrast that pushed me south into uncharted territory (for me). 

I left Leadville in the middle of May with no exact plans, but thought that it would take awhile, possibly weeks, to make it to Pagosa Springs, Colorado, my next race destination.  As I drove through the Arkansas River Valley I considered spending time in Buena Vista and Salida.  Both are perfect spring time spots; low, dry and littered with singletrack.  I had run a race in each of these towns already this year and while both are great spots, my unrelenting pursuit of new terrain led me right past both of them.  Same with the San Luis Valley.  Beautiful, but no urge to stop.  Although I wanted to be on dry trails, I had had enough of dessertyness and yearned for the alpine environment I feel most comfortable in. 

I had no idea what to expect from Pagosa Springs, but was hoping it would be all I was looking for.  Jackpot!  It appeared to be all that and then some.  Alpine, green, drier at the moment, than say, Leadville and new for me.  As I descended the west side of Wolf Creek Pass, I pulled over and put on the Sound of Music soundtrack.  It seemed fitting.  I knew instantly I was in the right place. 

Pagosa Springs has got a lot going for it.  There is small, touristy downtown complete with hotspring resorts, an awesome disc golf course and a whitewater park.  The majority of residents are sprawled out in the surrounding countryside among rolling hills and lakes.  It has some very suburban elements to it, but its greenness at the moment overpowered my usual distaste for these parts.  After walking around and reading flyers and posters, I realized I had come at a great time.  Besides the race that brought me there (four weeks from when I arrived), there seemed to be a fun event every weekend. 

Van down by the Piedra River

The following four weeks turned out to be some of the best yet in my van-dwelling days.  There are many contributing factors to this (possibly for another post), but that month is really when everything I ever wanted out of living outside came to full fruition.  I spent four or five days at a time in the San Juan National Forest outside of town, picking parking spots based on trailhead/hotspring proximity.  After a few, initial stormy days, followed by a few muddy days, the weather and trail conditions were perfect for the rest of my stay.

Pagosa Folk n' Bluegrass

Following my initial decision to go to Pagosa Springs for the race, I was pleasantly surprised to learn there was a small bluegrass festival there the weekend before the race.  Yes, please.  I was able to volunteer and in exchange for five hours of putting up fencing around the stage, I received a free pass to the two-day festival. 

The Campground

The Pagosa Folk n’ Bluegrass Festival took place on Reservoir Hill which is directly adjacent to downtown Pagosa Springs.  Reservoir Hill is a wooded hill, usually serving as a community park complete with a network of trails and a disc golf course.  For the festival is serves as a music venue and campground.  It could not be more perfect for a small festival.  It is spacious and shady, isolated, yet within walking distance to the hotspring resorts and other town amenities.  The festival itself was small (the smallest I have ever been to), chill, and family-oriented.  I hadn’t seen most of the 12 or so bands before.   An overall pleasant weekend. 

I spent the following week close to town, sleeping among and running on the trails the race would be on the following week.  I gained free admission to the Turkey Track Trail Marathon after contacting the race directors and helping out the night before and morning of the race (passing out packets).  I’ve meant to do that in the past, but never got around to it.  It was really nice to be more involved and to meet people.  Then I ran the race.  It was supposed to be a marathon, but turned into an ultramarathon for most of us, as we missed a turn and ran a few extra miles.  Although that definitely threw me off, it could not detract from the overall niceness of the course and event itself.  This crew puts on a great event.

The next morning I woke up early and started heading west.  As soon as I turned off the forest service road onto the highway, I got a flat tire.  Despite my fear of jacking Mama up, I didn’t have phone service, so got all the stuff out and was about to go for it, when two guys pulled over and did it for me.  Overjoyed by their kindness and the quickness of resolving the situation (my coffee was still hot!), I continued down the road feeling extremely happy.  Less than five minutes later, I passed a hitch-hiker and decided I needed to return the kindness.  The hitch-hiker, Jimmy, was just trying to get from his house to a store a few miles down the road.  After two minutes of conversation, it was evident to both of us we had a connection.  He offered to buy me breakfast, which I accepted, then took him back to his house.  After taking advantage of his shower, I was getting ready to head out, when Jimmy asked if he could come with me.  I could think of no reason to refuse him, considering I am constantly trying to recruit people to join me, we clearly had a lot in common and he could split the expenses.  Within the hour we were headed to towards my next destination...Telluride.
  

Jimmy. Telluride. Waterfall.

It took us few days to get to Telluride.  We spent a whole day at the Ouray Hotsprings soaking, getting a massage, and playing Frisbee.  We arrived in Telluride the night before my scheduled volunteer shifts, which would once again gain me entrance into a pricy event.  I was able to talk our way into a sold-out campground and we set home for the week. 

View from Ouray Hotsprings

Does it get any better?

This was my third pilgrimage to the Telluride Bluegrass Festival, the last time being five years ago.  Words can’t begin to describe the festival or Telluride itself.  It is perfection.  All my favorite bands.  Green, alpine lushness...  Yeah, I won’t even try.  But, it was extra nice this year because my aunt, Ginny and some of her friends were there.  To say the least...a good time was had by all.

Telluride From the Gondola

So, where to go from here? That is the hardest part. I know…it’s a rough life. I’ve had the most amazing last five or six weeks and summer is just starting. I have no plans. There are lots more races and music festivals, but none I’ve committed to yet. I’m looking forward to getting into the high country. It still might be a few weeks. I want to get into the hills between Leadville, Aspen, and Crested Butte. Working might be a good idea. I guess. But, whatever I end up doing, you can be sure to find me high in hills.

Weather Snob

“I feel like I’m cheating at life,” my friend, Ben said to me, as we were about to drop into a steep untracked bowl at A-Basin after a short hike from the top of the lift.  I nearly keeled over in hysterical laughter.  I knew what he meant.  We were standing on the top of ridge, snowy peaks in all directions, hours into an afternoon of snowboarding in surprisingly excellent conditions.  That day we left the dry and dusty Western Slope, where we had been running and biking on luscious, desert trails for three weeks and now we were on top of the world with fresh snow.  It was fairly ridiculous, but cheating at life???  

Since there are no rules, I would disagree that one could cheat at life, but we might be cheating the seasons.  After six years of high country dwelling, this year I was ready and able to snub mud season.  Colorado's diverse landscapes make it easy, once I learned the weather patterns for different regions.  In a very short drive one can go from blizzardy paradise to sunny and 70°.  Having everything I own with me and fully supplied with gas, food and water at all times, allows me to find an awesome spot and then just stay there and take it for all it is worth until I’m over it or run out of something essential (like water or coffee).

Big Papa joins Camp Fancy-Free

This trip was especially luxurious as two friends, that I worked with this winter, joined me in their brand-new-to-them camper.  A kitchen and living room took the lifestyle to a new level of ridiculousness.  One month ago, we met up in Boulder, waited out a storm for a few days, ran on some trails, then caravanned to Moab. 

“What trails did you ride in Moab?” a hitch-hiker asked, while giving him a short ride.  “Uh, like, all of them,” Ben responded.   We spent about two weeks in the Moab area  and covered a lot of ground.  We slept mostly at trailheads and  would get up run or ride on a new trail, take a break, and then find another one.  Some were way beyond my biking capabilities,  so I would hide my bike behind a rock and then run the rest of it.  It was so fun.  Moab is giant playground.  Of course, we didn’t really ride all the trails, (there seems to be an endless supply) but we got around. 

Moab's Slickrock Trail

While in Moab, I ran a 9-mile race.  I had done the same race last year, when passing through on my way from Denver to South Lake Tahoe (where I spent last mud season).  While doing the same race course usually does not appeal to me, this one was especially fun, so I was excited to do it again and could not pass up the opportunity to do a race when I was there anyways.  The course was so fun (complete with a waist-high creek crossing and super-steep muddy ladder to the finish) that after an hour break Ben and I rode the same course on our bikes.  Running it was way easier for me. 

Tearing ourselves away from Moab was not easy but I was pumped for another race the following weekend in Fruita, Colorado.  Not knowing what to expect from Fruita, I made the couple hour drive eastward two days before the race.  Upon arriving, I instantly was overjoyed by the beauty.  While still deserty, it was a whole other kind of beautiful than Moab.  Less red rock and more green.  Very green with little purple and red flowers popping up before my eyes.  My excitement for the race and Fruita increased ten-fold and I had to hold back from the trails as I wanted to take it easy before the race. 

Finish line of a breathtaking course.

A couple days later I ran a 25-mile race on a spectacular loop.  The course climbed up and down the green, flower-covered hills, teetered on the edge a steep canyon walls, and towered above the Colorado River.  I was happy with my slow, sustained effort and just overjoyed to be running that far on dry trails this time of year.  After the race, I met back up with my cohorts and we found a trailhead to sleep at in preparation for the next days’ adventures. 

My recovery day from the race included a 12-15 mile (?) super-technical hike/run through two canyons that led to second highest concentration of arches outside of Arches National Park.  It was magnificent and exhausting.  We rested the remainder of the day, resupplied the following day, and headed to the North Fruita Desert area. 

The map showed a lot to trails in the area, but I had no idea, we were entering another paradise.  This area is another mountain biking playground, complete with a free campground and well-marked trails…everywhere.  The first trail I rode down, was the most fun trail I have ever rode on.  We stayed there until we ran out of water five days later. 

With no plans except for another race in a couple of weeks, we spent another night near Fruita trying to decide our next move.  Stay in this paradise or head to the high country paradise where it was dumping snow.  When it started raining we decided to head for the hills.  The rain made us realize how lucky we had been with the weather for three weeks.  Virtually perfect.  Warm and mostly overcast the whole time.  When the clouds would go away I realized it would be too hot without them.

After taking advantage of National Parks Week with a free rainy drive through Colorado National Monument, we passed another awesome looking network or trails, making plans for next time.  We spent the rainy afternoon in Grand Junction and then traveled eastward on I-70, stopping to sleep at very scenic rest area.  Sun the next morning was a pleasant surprise and we quickly made it into the high country and got in a few hours of incredible snowboarding before it started snowing again. 

Back in the hills, where we can do something with the precipitation.

We stayed up there, sleeping at spot 5-7 miles away from A-Basin, for a couple days as it continued to dump snow.  Then headed down to Denver via a stop at the dry trails of Matthew Winters Park for a run around the loop.  I’ve now been in Denver for a few days, relaxing and enjoying the greenness that has overtaken the city since I left it a month ago. 

Weather is just another thing to be snobby about.  While I can enjoy whatever conditions I find myself in, I thoroughly enjoy the freedom to mix and match.  I turn my nose up at mud, blazing heat, and above all, humidity.  Why sit around waiting for the rain to stop, when only a short drive away the rain is rideable snow and vice versa?  Weather can be added to the all-encompassing list of things that I am a snob about.