In the spirit of adventure and having new experiences together, the Missus and I rolled the dice on some informal recomendations and an ad from the back of Surfer Magazine for a 'Private Surf Island' off the coast of Panama. Suffice to say - we had a great, diverse crew on the island, scored some of the best - and longest waves - I have ever ridden and already have the island booked for next year. This is the DL from Morro Negrito - 2006.
So, we live at 8,040 feet. We commute via bike some 17 - odd miles and 3,200 feet of vertical down to Boulder, most days. On the other days, we are running, skiing, snowboarding, hiking, drinking beer in the meadows and ridges around the house. The natural environment is something we are immersed in every day. This album is an attempt at reflecting on and capturing some of the beauty that we are immersed in every day. After a decade and a half of this - I am just getting warmed up and feel like a tourist seeing it for the first time every day.
All these photos are in the hood - in the yard. It's a hellofa yard.
In August of 2004 an assortment of riders from Nederland, Belgium and Northern California set out to ride some 320 miles of trails across the amazing state of Colorado.
This is their story.
Being that we live at 8,040 feet, weather, and snow are both a huge part of life. We shovel it, ride through it, ride on it, pray for it, curse it. We love it. Whether it's burying the ramp, blowing into hug lip launches at Edlora or carrying us over a cornice in some distant part of the state - it is a huge part of our constitution.
Marshall Mcluhan said it. The Medium is the message. You CHOOSE your medium. What you convey through that medium is entirely up to you. Could be print. Digital. Advertising. Art. Theatre. Yes, Dear, we have made a choice: M-O-O-N: that spells choice. Dirt. Rock. Conncetions and the honoring of the hsitory of the place we call Home. Dedicated. All In. Is there any other way?
We are not battling for the Iron Throne. We are not fucking our way to supremacy as perhaps many noblemen did in the 15th century. Based on all the travel, I have been deep into GAME and when I am alone in the woods at 5:40am my inner voice speaks in strange accents. I hear Tyrion and Sansa and others. Realizing that the brutality of that age is something we will likely never re-visit (until all the power goes out and we can't stream 'Girls' on Tuesday night. Imagein if we were fighting with swords for Bandwidth. This day too, shall come. For now, I have built a secondary throne for my child in the most intimate and revered of places. He shall occupy that Throne, I feel certain. I have no idea how it will all turn out but I know that we will serve and slay and live and explore and create things that will be legend in these parts for many years to come. This is our small task.
Update from the right coast: The epic 1963 Bunger Log (that almost anihilated Howard Freeman almost 40 years ago) is now ressurected. The Vibe Tribe is in from all over the place and it feels good - AND - finally - Quinn is jumping off things and doing perfect Caveman Pop Shuvit's and landing them perfectly.
Being a parent, seeing a kid's grave - specifically a kid who lived for 243 days...this has what we would call an effect. Take yourself back to your 244th day...what were you up to? Maybe picking up your head and soldier crawling across the carpet? I think Agnes Julia was likely NOT doing that. Since the record books say that us White Folk didn't move into Caribou until about 1879 - perhaps Agnes was an early litter there up on the hill in the cold and dark at some 9,700 feet above sea level. I can not capture the sound of the rain right now. Or the feeling of riding back down through the rain with a dear friend and taking a soak and talking about long term shit rather than this petty day to day shit. My head - is blown wide open. I am seriously going to go to the historical society and do a ton of research. The Ghost Town that we are digging into deserves recognition and it's place in time. Maybe by going back there we can honor the folks who paved the way. For our lazy, fully suspended, running water, Netflix streaming kind of Dough Balls. Some 132 years ago - Agnes' family had some type of vision. Aren't we OBLIGED - to honor that and create and envision and somehow connect to the raw nature of what they were doing. This. Is. Why. We. Are. Here.
There are days when reality just gets cracked open. Somebody said to me like 10+ years ago that there was no 'adventure' left in Boulder County. I disagreed then, and I disagree ten years later. After a nearly 5 hour long mapping session today via bike and foot and hook and crook and claw and push and scrape....I think I have enough intrigue to last the next 5 years. The fog rolled in during the sketchiest part of the ride navigationally - from a whole like 'get home' POV. It was gorgeous and tranquil and I can't wait to get back in there first thing tomorrow am.
In no particular order. 2nd day back and I felt awesome. Climbs were bumps, and I cleaned everything on a PERILOUS descent to Boulder. Almost 4k in descent this am. It was JUST PERFECT. I had a very clean mind this am....felt like I was seeing the world in 20 dimensions. Yay. Three days solo, then off to NY and waves and lobster and family.
Indeed. Rolling out the front door into the best trails in the world. I must say - we are so blessed. A few more days here and then THE BEACH for 11 days. Oh, I am stoked to be home and watching the surf report for Fire Island. Gifts, these, yes.
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