Chiricahua National Monument

If you should happen to be driving along Interstate 10 in southeast Arizona, you need to turn south onto highway 186 in Wilcox. Your destination is a little over 30 miles through the desert, uphill. It is the same terrain you have been driving through from Texas and New Mexico and you're wondering why or how this will be any different. But when you reach the little road that takes you into a canyon, you enter a different world. A delightful, surprising one.

There was green grass. And trees. Not just the little scrub bushes but real trees. And it was cool. And there was a stream with flowing water. Of course, it was early spring. There had been a lot of snow during the winter and it was melting. The first time in many years that there had actually been water flowing in Bonita Creek, according to one of the Park Rangers.

This fascinating place is Chiricahua National Monument. I had never heard of it until I saw a sign on the Interstate. I'm so glad that I took that road. The campground was pleasant with some sun making its way through the trees. It was refreshing to return to after several hours of hiking the trails, which were created by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s.

My Campsite.

The Erickson/Riggs home at Faraway Ranch, Bonita Canyon.
In 1887, this remote canyon became the home of Neil and Emma Erickson. Swedish emigrants, they met at Fort Craig, New Mexico. He was a sergeant in the Army and she was a a maid and companion to the Colonel's wife. Neil was often away from home, working, and Emma tended to the children and the ranch. In 1903 he became a forest ranger, which took him further away from Bonita Canyon. In 1917, the eldest daughter, Lillian, began inviting guests to the ranch and it became the getaway destination. Her husband, Ed Riggs, became foreman of a CCC Camp and helped build the trails used by visitors today. They did an amazing job on the trails. Faraway Ranch is now a part of Chiricahua National Monument.

Beyond Bonita Canyon are the mountains. The trails wind through the incredible rock formations – pillars and balancing rocks galore! It is a wondrous place, indeed.

Winners in the Pickleball for Paws Tournament

We played men's and women's doubles in the morning. We then broke for lunch. Next up was the mixed doubles. Unfortunately it started to rain during that part of the tournament so we didn't get to finish the mixed doubles. We had to just wrap up the tournament and leave due to the rain.



So the winner's in the men's and women's competition:





Austin and I were thrilled we placed and we gave Nathan a consolation hug because he deserved to place. After we left, we headed over to Paul's where Stan and Sally joined us for an early dinner. We had a great day!

Gunks Routes: Yellow Belly (5.8), Birdland Direct (5.9) & Alphonse (5.8)

(Photo: Gail checking out the interesting roof problem on pitch one of Yellow Belly (5.8).)



Last Sunday Gail and I started early with a plan that we would head to the Near Trapps fora half day of climbing. I had numerous routes in mind as candidates for us. I was considering Criss Cross Direct, a 5.10a with a well-protected crux right off the ground. But first I thought we should check out one of the great 5.8 climbs in the Nears that I had never done. Specifically I was thinking of Broken Sling or Yellow Belly.



Gail wasn't too keen on doing Broken Sling. She had done it before and remembered the traverse at the beginning of pitch two as really scary. So that one was out. When we got to the cliff we decided to look at Yellow Belly, which she'd never tried, instead.



Yellow Bellygets two stars from Dick Williams, but no one seems to do it. I think this is mostly because the crux of pitch two involves getting in and out of an awkward alcove. It sounded like fun to me, or at least like something different than the usual thing.



When we got to the base I saw another reason why the climb might be unpopular. There is a tree not far off the deck that looks like it might be in the way. (It isn't.) The tree obscures the view of the climb from below, making the climb easy to pass over. I walked back and forth between Alphonse and Yellow Ridge a couple of times before deciding we were looking at the correct start for Yellow Belly.



Straightforward climbing at a low angle (sling the tree for your first pro!) leads up to the crux roof on pitch one. And this roof is a puzzler. It can be easily avoided on the right but I encourage you to tackle it directly. The difficulty is that you have to get into a hanging right-facing corner over the roof. There is a layback hold in the corner but nowhere to place your feet for the layback, since there is nothing but air below the left side of the corner. It took me a while but I finally figured something out and it was a really cool move. It was definitely not your standard jug haul.



Once above the roof, I was surprised to see a big off-width crack going up the corner. This off-width is too wide to protect with gear. I didn't recall any mention of an off-width in the guidebook so I decided that I was supposed to move left to the outside nose/arete, where I built a belay. Later I saw that Dick does say something about going up a corner/crack to the nose, so maybe I skipped a vital part of pitch. I'm still not quite clear on where the route actually goes. I enjoyed pitch one nonetheless and looked forward to pitch two.



I could see the alcove looming above. But first we had to deal with another crux early in the second pitch. A slabby low-angled face leads up from the belay stance. You have two choices: go up the face close to the nose, or move left to a right-facing corner with a tiny seam at the back. Neither option looks easy. I thought I remembered Dick saying something about staying close to the nose. So I decided to climb over to the right. But there isn't any pro over there, so first I placed a tiny nut in the seam at the left and then moved back right to do the face-climbing. One or two thin moves gained me easier blocky ground up to the alcove. Gail thought I would have been better off not placing the off-line pro to the left, but I can't really say.



And then at the alcove itself I learned why the climb is named Yellow Belly. I had to do a full-on belly flop to get into the alcove. I found myself lying totally prone on a block. The crux for me was the transition from this belly flop to something resembling a standing position. It was very squirmy and cramped but the pro was good so I think it counts as fun! Gail certainly seemed to find my situation amusing. For me the exit from the alcove was easier than getting into it. The exit is a standard Gunks roof escape, moving left with good hands and poor feet, then taking the leap of faith and swinging out and around the outside corner onto the face.



As I placed a piece in a convenient slot at the left exit to the alcove, I thought the climb was all but over.But I was mistaken. After I climbed up another twenty feet or so, with the top of the cliff almost in reach, I was suddenly immobilized. I couldn't move because the rope was stuck somewhere down below.



I tried to shake it loose, but it wouldn't budge.



When it fully sank in that I couldn't get the rope free I started screaming obscenities. I envisioned us wasting our whole day with an epic.



Then I calmed down and took stock of the situation. I couldn't move up but I could move down. I decided to downclimb to see if I could shake the rope free from a lower position. As I moved down, the slack in the rope increased, so I built a two-piece anchor to give myself a top rope as I approached the point where the rope was stuck. This worked out pretty well. The downclimbing was easy enough and eventually I could flick the rope out of the slot where it was stuck, at the exit to the alcove. I'm not sure if my gear placement had anything to do with creating the problem, and I could never really see exactly where the rope got stuck, but beware: if your rope feeds out the left side the alcove on Yellow Belly it might get snagged.



Once I had the rope moving again I reached as far to the right as I could and placed an Alien in a horizontal over the alcove so that I could direct the rope awayfrom feeding back into the same slot. Then I was able to finish the climb without it getting stuck again.



Yellow Belly has weird moves, route-finding issues, challenging pro, an awkward alcove, and rope-eating potential. Doesn't sound so great, does it? But I liked it a lot. I thought the three cruxes were all very different and enjoyable. I'd go back again to tackle the off-width and to try to manage the rope better at the exit to the alcove.



After we finally got done with Yellow Belly, Gail suggested Birdland, a route with no complications, just wonderful climbing. I hadn't done it this year so I was fine with it. I also thought it would be fun to check out the 5.9 variation on pitch two, a direct finish through the roof at the very top of the cliff.



I have previously argued that Birdland is the best 5.8 in the Gunks. I still feel that way. The first pitch has beautiful face climbing, although the little pebble toehold at the crux is looking pretty polished. This just ups the excitement a little bit. You must have faith in the polished toe pebble.



And then the second pitch is totally different, with some thin facey action right off the belay, and then great overhanging moves into the exit corner.



The 5.9 finish is well worth doing. It is superior to the easy traverse right that finishes the traditional 5.8 pitch two. I found this final roof to be very straightforward, with jug holds everywhere and good pro. I couldn't find any 5.9 on it; in fact I think the 5.8 moves into the corner beneath the roof are harder. If you're up there and not worn out, why not give it a try? It is a good "easy" 5.9 lead. It makes an already amazing climb just a little bit better.



When we got back to our packs our half-day of climbing was basically over. We had wasted a lot of time on Yellow Belly and we needed to head home soon. Clearly there wasn't time for me to try a 5.10. But Gail and I were both eager to climb just a little more. Luckily Alphonse (5.8) was just sitting there, wide open, so we decided to do it. It is a decent choice if you are in a hurry because it can be done in one pitch and the 5.8 crux is just one move; the rest is delightful 5.6. I tried to do it like Hans Florine, moving very quickly but in control. I aimed to protect it only when strictly necessary.



I can't say I succeeded in my first effort at speed climbing. Once the route started traversing I still took my time and placed several pieces for the safety of both myself and Gail. I created terrible drag. The route basically makes a u-turn through the crux, so the drag is hard to avoid unless you really run it out through the traverse.



We returned to the house an hour late. I guess I am no Hans Florine.

Officially autumn

I was on the road today to Venlo, a city in the south of the Netherlands by the German border. On the A12 highway in Gelderland near Wageningen I saw lovely colours of autumn.

This is only a small part of the beautiful autumn colours that I was able to snatch a foto. I was not quick enough to grab my camera that is in my bag.

My skirt:

Believe me, it is actually not so bad when I stand up.

Shadow of My Former Self

It's been a strange winter season. In previous years, I'd stop riding "sporty bikes" some time in December, and not start again till late March. Both winters, I would gain about 10lb over that period of relative inactivity, which I'd then easily lose before June. No big deal, and I expected the same to happen this time. Instead, when I took a break from roadcycling a few weeks ago, I began to lose weight. At first I was glad: looking slender instead of dumpy, what's not to like! Must be all that skating and walking.



But deep down I knew that it wasn't true. I was probably losing weight because I was losing the muscle mass I'd built up roadcycling. And that meant that once I did get back on the bike I would be weaker than when I'd left off. Considering that I am doingthis in just over a month, that isn't good. Still, for a woman who has never been an athlete before it is very difficult to break the "weight loss = great!" association. I did not take my own sense of foreboding seriously enough.



...Until I emerged out of hibernation and went on a 12 mile ride in a strong headwind a few days ago. Yikes am I in trouble. Winded, legs hurting, just overall ridiculous. And it's been only weeks off the bike, with some half-hearted trainer attempts in the meantime. Let me tell you, I've never been so unhappy to fit into a smaller jeans size. I want my legs back!

Another Beautiful Day!

Thursday morning (August 19th) brought another day of beautiful sunshine! I was up and on my way to Anchorage a little after seven o'clock. While I was still in Seward on Tuesday the “Malfunction Indicator Light” in the van had come on. The owner's manual says it is part of the onboard diagnostic system that monitors engine and automatic transmission control systems. It further stated that certain conditions such as a loose or missing gas cap or poor fuel quality could illuminate the light and that the vehicle should be serviced if the light stays on after several typical driving cycles. What is a typical driving cycle? I removed the gas cap and put it back on in case it had been loose, but that didn't help.

Well, the light came on every time I started the engine, irritatingly beeping at me each time as a reminder. Not that I needed a reminder with that silly light staring me in the face! So, along with an oil change, which was past due, I needed to get this Indicator Light checked out. I had located a Dodge dealer in Anchorage, via the internet, and got there without any problems. It took them a while to get me checked in (the young man definitely was not computer savvy) and then it was another four hour wait.

Turns out that the malfunction code had something to do with the emissions system and the people that do the oil changes (quick maintenance, they called it) don't work on that stuff so I had to go talk to another fellow. He seemed to know what he was talking about. He said that they could charge me $100 to run diagnostic tests or I could simply get a new gas cap! Apparently, Dodge Vans have a problem with gas caps... so for $26 the gas cap was replaced and they cleared the code. The indicator light hasn't come back on so I'm hopeful that the problem has been solved.

It was rather frustrating to wait there for nearly five hours with such a beautiful day outside. I drove through Anchorage just to get a feel for the place. There was a lot of road construction going on but it was still relatively easy to get around. I found my way to Earthquake Park, an area set aside to commemorate the 1964 Good Friday Earthquake which devastated southern Alaska. On clear days it offers views of the Knik Arm of Cook Inlet and Mount McKinley, only 200 miles away. On this day McKinley was visible, but just barely. It was rather ghostly looking and melted into the sky.

At Earthquake Park I connected with the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail, which is a paved bicycle and walking path that meanders along the coastline. I followed it for a couple of miles, nearly getting run down by several cyclists, but the weather was beautiful as were the views that I could see through the trees.

Expansive views of Cook Inlet were not to be seen since much of the trail that I walked was tree lined on both sides. It was just nice to be outside with no rain! Anchorage has an extensive park and trail system (120 miles of trails) as well as many other attractions and activities, but I was being lazy and didn't do much of anything.

I hadn't yet made up my mind as to where I would go next so I returned to the campground at Bird Creek, 25 miles southeast of Anchorage. It is a lovely drive along Turnagain Arm and the paved trails in that area offer some nice views.

Riding and Writing: Meeting Malachi O’Doherty

It is a clear afternoon after a long spell of rain, and I am sitting in the front room, trying to work. Although really I am looking out the window as I wait for my guest. He is taking the train from Belfast, then riding his bike the rest of the way to my rural dwelling. I have given extremely detailed directions and hope he finds the place okay. The kettle is on. I compose myself. I will keep it cool upon meeting him, and by no means will I act like an excited 12-year old. As I tell myself this one more time, I hear the unmistakable ring of a bicycle bell.






Last year I posted a review of the book On My Own Two Wheels by Malachi O’Doherty- a Belfast writer who rediscovered cycling in his 6th decade of life. As part of his plunge into all things bicycle, Malachi had been reading my blog. Unbeknownst to him, all the while I had also been reading his writing - on the conflict in Northern Ireland. His books on the subject are a unique mix of personal and political, morphing effortlessly from sharp social commentary to novelesque memoirs, complete with details of his sex-life. Starting withI Was a Teenage Catholic and The Trouble with Guns, I went through the books one after another.I was drawn to Malachi's writing not only by the topic, but also by how organically he intertwined such seemingly disparate genres. I have done some political writing in the past, including co-authoring a (tearfully dry and boring) foreign policy book. But more recently, I've been working on some fiction/memoir type writing, which has been profoundly messy and frustrating. Reading Malachi's work helped me see that what I thought was impossible to write about, on my own terms, was in fact possible. Of course I never dreamt of approaching the author to discuss any of this... until we "met" through Lovely Bicycle. Life indeed can be stranger than fiction.






Now I'm in Northern Ireland, and Malachi O’Doherty is outside - in person. He looks friendly, simultaneously distinguished and youthful, and slightly out of breath. He is wearing a leather bomber jacket over jeans and a flannel button-down, an outfit in which he'd cycled 15 miles in the heat. At this moment I forget he is a writer whom I am eager to meet, and relate to him as cyclist to cyclist. I come out to greet him and examine the bike so vividly described in On My Own Two Wheels. It does not disappoint. Decked out in all manner of commuter and touring accessories, the steel blue Ridgeback stands out from the sleek racing bikes that fill the country roads around these parts.






There are lights on every braze-on, and racks galore.






There is a handlebar bag, strategically positioned above the external cables of the Shimano shifters (notorious for interfering with handlebar bags).





There is an adjustable stem.






An enormous roadster-style bell is mounted to the drop bars






A heavy duty foldable lock graces the downtube in leu of a 3rd bottle cage.






An invisible ink security system provides extra theft protection.






A bar-end mirror is mounted so low I am compelled to ask whether he can actually see out of it ("Nah, not really" Malachi laughs.)






But the pièce de résistance is the forward-set saddle - which lends the modern touring bike an air of an antique pathracer. Malachiexplains that, after some time, the bike's fit felt simultaneously too big and too relaxed. So he simply reversed the seatpost to solve both issues.




Overall, the bike comes across as both amusing and somberly dignified - which I suspect is how the owner intends it.For over tea I discover that Malachi is one of those rare people capable of being both intensely serious and intensely funny, switching between these modes seamlessly. His speaking voice is that of a natural story teller. And there is also something of the “seen it all, heard it all” country doctor about him. I get the impression there is little one could say to shock this man: that whatever shameful thing you have to reveal, he will just chuckle and nod, as if it is perfectly matter-of-course, in the scheme of things. I imagine all this is a useful toolkit for a journalist, dealing with such a touchy topic as the socio-political climate in Northern Ireland.






On me Malachi's manner has an immediate disarming effect. I feel at ease, and also like a younger, less jaded version of myself. We talk for several hours, and none of it is bike related. Then we go for a ride, continuing the conversation. Malachi is quite good to ride with. We meander easily as we talk, synchronisng speeds and weaving around each other. At one point a dog leaps out from a farmer's yard and, to my horror, goes for my companion's ankle. This does not seem to phase him in the least. "He's got my trousers!" Malachi remarks with a laugh as he shakes the angry little creature off. Then he continues with his train of thought. It occurs to me that this is how he's learned to deal with life's problems - and, more specifically, with being threatened, as a journalist writing about sensitive topics.






We talk about writing, and how doing it every day becomes addictive, like cycling. You don't feel right if you don't ride. And you don't feel right if you don't write. It almost doesn't matter what and for how long, as long as you write/ ride something that day. In that vein, we also talk about "real" writing versus writing you do because it is easy, or a change of pace, or a tactic to deal with writer's block - filling those gaps when the real stuff does not flow. Lately Malachi has been submitting stories to an erotica magazine (here is one about cycling, if you're curious) that are exactly that. The stories flow easily and he has fun writing them. But he wonders about the relationship between these pieces and his "serious" work. I nod. As I see it, there is nothing wrong with erotica per se - except thatit's a closed genre, that once a writer settles into, can be difficult to escape. A bit like vampire stories, or murder mysteries, or ...bicycle blogs for that matter.




Before heading off, Malachi gives the Binevenagh climb a try - curious after reading my description. He tells me it is steeper than the Torr Road near Ballycastle I would not even consider the previous year. I am surprised to hear that, and now I want to give Torr Road a try. Riding, like writing, does grow easier over time.