Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, where the blogging has become as sporadic as dry trails and the beginning of summer would make it. There has been mountain biking every spare moment. I stayed off the remote trails while B was gone (he spent ten days away, helping his brother cut wheat in Buffalo, Oklahoma) because I was a bit worried that if I had a crash, nobody would miss me. There has been some work, but we have not been actually busy, at least not by winter's standards, until today, when I finally got on reservations and looked up the arrivals for the coming week- thirty of them for the week of July 4. I inspected eight of them today, an unheard-of amount of work for me lately, but a perfectly maneageable day if it were the middle of March.

B had been bidding on a camper trailer on ebay before he left for Buffalo, and bidding ran out right at his maximum bid, so he got it after we had already decided we were glad to not have gotten it. It was okay, though. It was located a hundred miles from Buffalo, so he picked it up and slept in it while there, then brought it home. We are fairly enthused about it, mostly because of the opportunity for early-season biking out of it in Moab and Fruita. We took it on it's maiden voyage last night to a campground on Twin Lakes, and I must say, it was quite luxurious. We hung out and ate food grilled under it's waterproof awning and ate it under a watertight roof that the rain drummed on, and fell asleep to the patter of raindrops, all dry and warm, and the bathroom was three steps from the bed and there was a warm shower this morning and Andy made himself comfortable in a spot other than on our faces. It really felt only a little like camping. Perhaps in better weather there will be more communing with nature and crickets and sparks floating upwards into the dark sky and camper camping will feel more like camping. Al lthe same, it was a night away, a small vacation that was almost effortless, we just threw our pajamas and toothbrushes into a bag, and some food in the fridge, and that was all the packing our night away required.

We went on a short hike along the Colorado Trail, all towering ponderosas and stands of aspens, white trunks in front of white trunks behind white trunks, under a lacy canopy of green, over a carpet of pink wild rose, purple lupine, yellow daisy, red indian paintbrush. We walked and wondered how we had ever felt so unhappy and antsy and malcontent this winter, and remembered vowing to not feel this way come summer, but to stay in our funk and use the negativity to propell us into a new life, new job, new selves. And once again, came to the conclusion that if we would just take a day or two off every once in a while, do something for ourselves, take some time, we might just see that our life where it is, is exactly what we want. And then remembered how we were not going to sing this song. But it was hard to imagine anywhere, Maui included, that we wanted to be more than exactly where we were. The air was crisp and the dog was grinning from ear to ear and chasing squirrels and we were almost giddy with the beauty and the freedom of being away from the phone and the being together, out where there was nothing to distract us from us.

Summer is a wonderful thing. The days have been perfect for biking, almost too hot, the rain has been staying away. I have found quite a few new biking partners this summer, mostly because of the Divas and racing. The photo is of a bunch of them. It actually should have gone on the last post, because it is the Divas group, before we all split into three categories based on our biking handling skills and took off in different directions.



The second race of the Summit Mountain Challenge was last Wednesday. The Gold Run Rush takes place on half logging roads, half loose, rocky, technical singletrack, with Heinous Hill, a thousand foot climb in one mile smack in the middle of it. I cut a tire sliding into a sharp rock preriding it, and was dreading racing it with every single muscle in my body. I was late getting to the start line, gulped half a powerbar and half a banana on the way to the race becasue I had forgotten to eat that day, tried to open a package of gel chews with my teeth as my wave surged into position but the package refused to tear and I barely got it pushed back into my pack by the time they yelled Go. I hopped onto my bike, clipped into my pedals, and started up the pavement to the point where a logging road started climbing up into the trees. By the time I got to the logging road, less than eighth of a mile, I was breathing hard. I got cut off and had to slam on my brakes and put my foot down and lost my friend-nemesis, the girl who always finishes within a few seconds of me, around the corner ahead of me, and my legs began screaming at me and I was out of breath and my heart was racing. I gave up. I settled into long-climb mode and tried not to picture my name at the very bottom of the list. I rode the downhills slowly, afraid of a repeat of my disasterous pre-ride, when I had slid out of control about five times and either baled at high speeds or left bits of my knees and hips on the trail. And then we hit Heinous Hill, and I made it through the mud at the bottom, but the girl ahead of me stopped, and I hopped off to avoid her, silently thanking her, and started pushing my bike. I had successfully pre-ridden Heinous Hill, but walked a lot of it during the race. When I finally crested the top, the cowbell-ringer complimented me on my smile. I had just enough wind left in my lungs to tell him, "It (gasp) isn't (gasp) a smile, it's(gasp) a grimmace!" Then there was a long blur of downhill, sliding rocks on Prospect Hill, aspens slapping me in the face, surprising, sudden uphills. Just before the finish line was a sharp, off-camber turn, and I slowed a lot for it. The girl behind me yelled at me to not let her catch me, I had earned a finish ahead of her, and I turned the corner and pedalled hard. I crossed the finish line and felt like vomiting, my ankles shaking as I stood on my pedals, my fingers numb from their death grip on the handlebars. It was a bad, bad race for me. I was not feeling in my game at all, let alone at the top of it.

I was a dejected child, and wondered why I had ever thought I could be a racer, and called Bobby to tell him that I had finished, but I was pretty sure I would not be any better than ninth or tenth. At the after party, I ordered my free beer and sipped it, feeling it sit heavy on my stomach, empty and trying to settle itself after having ridden so hard. They posted the results, and I made my way through the crowd, and had to squint at the paper to make sure I was reading right. I was fourth place. One under podium. How on earth...?

I got bumped down to fifth after they realized a typo had left off the second place finisher. The girl I compete with the most finished three minutes ahead of me. I am still not sure how I came in fifth, because I do not remember passing anyone, and my speed check at the beginning of the race had caused most of the pack to pass me. But hey. I'll take it. I do not think it will be possible for me to podium this year, because the girls who consistantly take first, second and third are finishing about ten minutes ahead of the rest of us. I guess there are sandbaggers in every class. So fifth is like second loser. If I can just keep it in the top three losers this season, I will consider it a success. Watch a video of the race here.

Okay, faithful few, your blogger needs to go do something useful. If nothing else, I need to go to bed so I can be worth something tomorrow. This whole having work and making money thing is somewhat of an exciting new concept, and halfway agreeing with me, at least for a few days. I have spent so much money on my bike lately, I am feeling the pinch. I am also feeling a bit blue because yet another cousin got married yesterday and I wasnt there to see it happen. I tried, I did, but things just did not align. But I wish the newlyweds every bliss. And now, off I go. Goodnight.