The Mongolia Chronicles

Low Bar. High Bar.

In order:

Looking west, Spring, amazing, lush - OMG - we live here.

The Low Bar dropping the shore. 3rd trax in history - riding it like he owns it.

"You mean, there are trails in there, like that you can ride on a bike?"

Thumbs up.

Quinn hucking. The real full theme comes together when you appreciate that there is a vintage mobile home, in the woods, in the background. This - IS  - Livin'!

 

Historical Connections

The breathing space of a long weekend seems like millennia ago. But it was there. And it was realy. Some 15 hours in the woods over the long weekend, and the work paid off yesterday evening, when I dropped into 'The Shore' for a historical ride. Hard to imagine the angst of visualizing all this connective tissue. But it is real, and lovely. Meanwhile, Quinn was taking it to the ramp in style, confirming with his pals to lead with your face.

Eyes that can change from blind to blue

Recovery day, as it were. After yesterday's LONG ASS RIDE. Coupla hours in the woods w/Q this am on a lovely hike, where he did rock 'Hey, Johnny Park' in the crevice of 2 rocks:

 

Later on in the day, I did get out for a few miles and a few hours, thereby connecting The Shore. 3/10 of a mile. Had to work for that shit. Hard. You always gotta work for the hard stuff or they would call it Telemarking.

EF= 42

It was a ride in the honor of the 42 years our planetary environ has been blessed with The Man of Fry. We went - um - large. With a great crew, amongst the randomness of the LARGER context of the trail systems that is NOT Nederland. When these trails close, we are done. Other than the other 4,300 miles of BETTER singletrack that is NOT the main, obvious shit. The large men climbed like heros, slaying vertical faces, both up and down that made me shudder and feel as though I need to ride more. I think we have a good crew. And, if the last 2 summer shave been about LOVE, I think this year will be about COMMUNITY and MOVING THINGS FORWARD> And, this, is a gift. Hapyy b'day, Efry. You rule just a little bit harder every day and that is a tall fricking order.

let me take you higher

Graduation

Q graduated kindergarten today. Huge day. That was the most important thing that happened today. Lotta chaffe and static around that great event. But it shone through. Snow this am at the house, clouds and heavy wind all day. Coulda easily blown off the evening ride, but then I would not have had tacky perfection beneath my wheels for almost 2 hours in the evening lite. And if I had misse dthat, I would have been oh - so - sad. Glory be, it's officially summer.

And it goes a little something like this.....

warming up for the birthday SPIN. Suhweet.

In The Dark

A lovely 38 degree, sopping wet three hours in the heart of the beast. The only way to really learn this stuff is on foot. So, I packed running shoes and green tea and rode in, stashed, and hiked for quite a while. Navigated by the elk boneyard to yesterday's terminus, worked east from there. Slow going with the cliffs and the downed trees and the general gnarliness of this are. But, it is that gnarliness that has beat me back for so many years. Now, I just have to maintain the slow pace, and be patient, and the reveal will happen with every step I take deeper into The Shore.

The Ache of the Acres

Fat ones. Skinny ones. Old ones. New ones. Hilarious when you look at terrain on a map, and then connect it on foot or bike. A coupla days in Utah this week - forgot how literally perfect thet trails are there in Deer Valley. Buttery. Good - even grea tto be back on some projects here. In familiar - yet unfamiliar terrain. Closing in on a few myetseries that will hopefully revel themselves before the early season gets too far underway.

There Goes My Hero...watch him as he goes

Dunno. Nothing has prepared me for the Little Man coming of age. I rode my first singletrack at the ripe old age of like 23. Dude is 5. Ripping it. Rolling it. Feeling it. Stubboarn and all that on his RIGID FUCKING SINGLESPEED. Core, to the core. Lord knows...where he will go and what he will do. Be it said, that if my regional jet to Utah goes down tomorrow, I will feel complete. Sated. Even, stoked. I got this far, and that's a miracle. God bles syou Q-Dog. And your stubborn nature and energy and lust for life. May it ever be thus.