To Avoid Hand Mutilation

Climbers in a Classic View of Vedauwoo

15 miles west of Laramie in the southeastern Wyoming is a climbing area known as Vedauwoo (pronounced vee-da-voo). The name means “Land of the Earthborn Spirit” to the Arapahoe Indians and “insanely sharp rock” to rock climbers like me.

The climbing crag is a fantastically short 20 minute hike from the campground, and as I watched my friends put on tape gloves (which is exactly what it sounds like), I commented that I had never worn them. The guys in the group casually mentioned that I would probably want them while the lawyer in our midst quoted the guide book with something like “wear tape gloves to avoid certain and severe hand mutilation”. Point taken, I received one assembling tape glove lesson and proceeded to do a crappy imitation on my other hand. Oh well.

I can’t say my first climb was stellar. Vedauwoo is primarily a crack area and there was no subtly to the first few cracks we explored. Some climbing features intricacies involving delicate weight balancing and sequential movements. These cracks were nothing like that. As I repeatedly shoved my hand past cheese grater rock and contorted my ankles to shimmy my body up that stupid wall, I questioned why I ever said that I enjoyed crack climbing.

Frustrated and pumped out, I called the first day quits after just four routes and headed back to the camper to drink beer, which was delicious. Although the second day featured a better classic climb, I have come to the conclusion off-the-couch crack climbing at Vedauwoo is crap.

Running for Tin

2010 Tin Cup Half-Marathon Map

I’ve been so busy having fun that I have neglected to blog about my fun. My apologies and promise that there is quite a bit of fresh new content on the way!

I ran a half-marathon, which is 13.1 miles. Bear in mind that the last time I ran competitively (and I use that term loosely), I was partially motivated by the fun of eating bacon while running. Not shockingly, the half-marathon didn’t involve any bacon. Bummer.

I decided to do the run on my dear friend Niki’s birthday. I will shamelessly admit that she was less than sober when she agreed to accompany me- thus committing me as well. The run was six weeks out and although we had just completed a 10K called Shirly’s Heart Run, neither of us had ran much further than a 10K. Ever.

I started training with some beta from other distance runners- they said if I ran 5 miles, 5 times a week, I would do fine. Later someone added that I really should include a 9 mile run in there, so a week before the big day I ran my happy dog 9 miles. We were tired. Wendell (my dog) asked if I was sure I could run further. I wasn’t. Damn dog.

However, on the day of the race, the weather gods smiled down and bestowed their greatest running gift- overcast skies with the slightest of showers for the first 30 minutes. Having never run so far in our lives, we started with a conservative pace and maintained it throughout the race. After one hour, we both ate a Gu shot. I personally think they are delicious (especially the espresso love flavor- caffeine bonus!), but many would disagree. What people don’t disagree on is that after 45 minutes, your body needs something. Taken with water, these go down quick and are nicely balanced to keep you performing at the top of your game.

So the final results? We finished and helped a good cause (Teton Valley nonprofits raise money from donors and all monies are matched). The course was great; it started out on the highway but happily included quite a bit of dirt-road running. Race supporters are amazing people and I plan on giving back someday. We weren’t fast, but we felt good when we finished and made some happy Saturday morning memories together. That’s really all that matters, anyhow.

Caffeine tidbit of the day (from the Gu site): Caffeine helps the body produce more power, reduce the pain of hard efforts, and may even tap fat for fuel during exercise. All of this prolongs your ability to exercise at a high intensity.

Licorice Keys and Cross-Training

My new buddy (bike), Jake

Some people can observe the way the majority of the world completes a task, evaluate the method and successfully mimic it. I am not one of those people. Professional life aside, I would say I’m not really one to think the little things through. It is more my style to plunge in head first with little to no forethought and later say something like, “you know, there may be something to this one-leg-at-a-time method of putting on pants.”

Take my recent revelation regarding cross-training. As an athlete I acknowledged the similarities between mountain-biking and downhill skiing. After all, the upper/lower body separation and mental component to evaluating the rapidly changing terrain is pretty undeniable. But here in Wyoming, there tends to be a bit of a lag time between ski and mountain bike season (unless you’re a die-hard “hike to wherever the snow is” skier- I am not), which means by the time I am pedaling up a steep hill, my legs no longer have the ski spirit. And then I got a road bike.

Technically, my Kona Jake is not a road bike but a cyclo-cross bike (thanks Andy and crew at Wilson Backcountry), but for me it’s close enough. During our crazy long spring that finally concluded at the end of June, I was able to pedal my bike on the dry-ish concrete rather than feverishly checking the trails to see if they were dry enough to pedal (it’s bad karma to bike on a muddy trail and a good way to ruin it for everyone). When the trails finally dried up, I set out solo for my typical early-season huff-and-puff on my favorite little trail, putt-putt.

Early season biking, even on putt-putt, is tough. Typically this first few rides are accompanied by an inner monologue going something like this:

“Is this the big hill? It better be because this is hard. Oh crap, that was the little hill BEFORE the big hill. Was it always this hard or do I forget how much it hurts over the winter? Why do I like this sport again? Keep riding and the next ride will be that much easier… don’t stop don’t stop you big chicken- it’s only putt-putt…”

But this time, the inner monologue was silenced. It seems that all the pedaling on the concrete translated to cardio-strength and leg muscle for the mountain bike. I virtually flew up the big hills with September like strength. Whoa. If I had known that road biking would help my mountain biking season start off with a bang, I would have bought one many moons ago. But I didn’t think it through. Just like I didn’t think through playing the piano while eating licorice last night. School of hard knocks, I am ready to graduate.

Sloshing around Taggert Lake

By now, I should know better. It was an identical thought to the morning after one-too-many drinks, but this time, it dealt with a massive calorie intake minutes before a short but fairly grueling trail run.

With a few extra hours on my hands, I had decided to take my running up the road and around Taggart Lake in Grand Teton National Park. Suddenly very hungry, I had to make an unplanned stop for a little pre-run nourishment. While I was waiting for the deli to make the sandwich, I spied my favorite salt and vinegar kettle chips. Yum. Then those clever retail people put mini-Snickers for .25 cents at the register. I rationalized that I would eat the Snickers as a post-run treat. Yeah right.

Driving while eating doesn’t exactly equate to mindfulness, and before I knew it the chips and sandwich were gone. The Snickers was feeling awfully squishy so I was forced to eat that before it got any warmer and completely melted. It was the responsible thing to do. 15 minutes later I set out for a 4 mile trail run with a fair amount of up and down in 90 degree heat. While hindsight is always 20/20, I do feel I should have recognized that I wasn’t setting myself up for success.

I hadn’t drank enough water with my food and the bulbous mass in my stomach had decided the best way to deal with the dire circumstances was to condense into a small, compact hardened mass. It was an odd sensation. The mass figured that with its combined momentum, the side-to-side motion would make my stop running sooner than if it had been more evenly distributed. Different from running cramps, my stomach muscles were actually getting sore from holding the mass inside my body. I would slow to a walk on the steep, full-sun uphills to have the pain temporarily eased but fantasized about how much better I would feel if the mass decided to retaliate by making me throw up. My only concern is that I might traumatize some tourists into never, ever trail running. It would also attract bears to the trail, which is never a good thing. What to do?

I’m happy to report there is no new bear attraction on the trail to Taggart Lake. I kept running and cursed my lack of thought knowing that every run after this would be much, much easier.

HILARIOUS Ad of the Day: Old Spice “Smell Like a Man” (click to view)

Embarrassing Tidbit of the Day: I saw Eclipse, the newest movie in the Twilight series last night at midnight with a bunch of teenagers. And I liked it.

Teaching Bike Rack 101 in Chugwater, Wyoming

Note the strap on the tray on the bottom left of photo.

It all started with an innocent phone call. On the other end was the boyfriend’s cousin with a “I’m driving cross-country after college graduation”. As we were driving east and she west, we made plans to meet up in about 30 minutes at a place famous for fantastic chili (and not much more) known as Chugwater, Wyoming.

When we pulled in, I noticed the cousin’s driving companion was adjusting the bike rack. And by “adjusting”, I mean he was grabbing various parts, shaking them and furrowing his brow. He was inexperienced with this particular system, so I casually glanced over the setup, which revealed the truth. He was a bike rack idiot. (B.R.I.)

The bike rack was an earlier version of the picture above and the most obvious problem concerned the ratcheting strap on the rear tire of the bike. The ratcheting strap on this particular model features a flat side with a “T” like molding that slides onto the underside of the rail. This allows one to firmly clamp the back tire to the rail. B.R.I. didn’t have the strap plugged into the rail, so it hung as a sort of loose bracelet with air on all sides. The reason B.R.I. even thought to look at the rack was an 8-year-old kid approached him at the gas station and said there bikes were falling off which led to the “grab and shake” repair method I was witnessing.

I diagnosed the problem and said the straps needed to slide into the rail, to which he said “I don’t really know what you mean”. At least he knew his limitations. I told him that I know it sounded like a big pain, but we had to take the bikes off the rack and take the rack partially apart. By this point the boyfriend stopped chatting with his cousin to see why I was tearing apart the top of their car. He glanced at it, found my eyes and gave an “oh shit, we’re going to be here for a while” look.

With the bikes and trays off the car, we slid the straps onto the rail and adjusted the positioning of the trays, at times giving B.R.I. instructions in an attempt to expedite the process. His typical response was, “I don’t know what you’re saying,” which prompted one of my witchier comments of all time.

“Not an engineering major, I take it.”

Really? Did I have to say that?

He was a drama major.

This prompted a lively gender-role discussion after we departed the college graduate. The boyfriend thought the cousin (female) would have “figured it out” if we hadn’t been there, to which I pointed out that she didn’t “figure it out” when they put the bikes on the car in the first place. He thought the the B.R.I. probably took care of it all and she didn’t give it a second glance as she trusted his male handy-man skills. I said that anytime a drama major is assembling something, I would have and will be examining it very, very closely. My apologies to any drama majors I may have offended and if you yourself happen to be a B.R.I., it’s okay; just ask for help to avoid injury to your bike, car and America’s driving public.

Garbage Scouting

Fishing a shoe out of the bramble

This Saturday, May 8 was community clean-up day in Jackson. Since the skiing is variable (yet, regrettably, still happening) and summer sports haven’t really hit, I coerced my kayaking buddy into picking up trash with me without too much difficulty. Given the company and the agenda for the day, I shouldn’t have been surprised when our garbage hunt bordered suspiciously near Flat Creek and the conversation turned to “enough water to run.”

There is an indicator rock near Meadowbrook Apartments; when the water is flowing up or over the rock, the creek is runnable. Or so he said. What we actually encountered man-influenced creek boating at its core. The series of drops on the creek had distinct right and wrong

Cutting through parking lots on the walk back with a storm rolling into the valley.

lines, which is debate ably easier than trying to read a high-volume river with a multitude of choices. I rate the drops at class II+ with one at class III due to the a) difficulty of the drop b) very real consequences if a move after the drop isn’t executed immediately.

Partly to ease my guilt from ditching out on the clean-up and partly because it was the right thing to do, we made the run last a little bit longer by collecting more garbage from bramble and eddies. Although the croc in the bramble was difficult to access, the biggest garbage score was a large styrofoam cooler stuck in an eddie underneath a bridge. Balancing it on the bow of my kayak while trying to paddle was a comical exercise in frustration, but I finally managed to put a rock in it (so it didn’t blow away) and toss it on shore to pick up on the walk back.

Responsible kayaker bagging the cooler for garbage pickup on Broadway.

Making the day infinitely more enjoyable was my new NRS toaster mitts. Cold hands have been a legitimate reason to turn down or hesitate on many a cold day, and these thick neoprene mittens work much better than any glove I’ve ever tried. However, as dexterity is limited, you have to be confident with either your roll or finding the grab loop to wet exit your kayak underwater through mittens. Kayaking is a gear-intense sport.

All the gear and the short distance we boated made for an interesting walk back to the apartments along Jackson’s main road, Broadway. With kayaks on our shoulders and the snow flakes just starting to fall as we took out, I’m sure more than one car had thoughts on those desperate people running cold, low-volume water. But we had fun, and that’s ultimately all that matters.

Michelle link of the day: I’m doing a little sailboat race in Houston this weekend – to watch our progress, click here.

(Not) Thinking it Through

Somehow, I forgot the massive snow slabs on the south side of the cabin would be the last to melt. The scene of the battle in the throes of winter.

I had a brilliant idea last fall. When I swapped my car’s summer tires for the burly studded winter tires, I stored them against my kayak on the side of the house. Chuckling at my brilliance, I imagined the cushioned protection the tires would provide to my kayak as the snow piled higher and deeper. No dented-in kayak bottom for me this year! Yes, I thought, I am one smart cookie. Out-of-sight AND functional. Well done. Until this spring, that is.

I had stored the tires on north side of the house. The side that doesn’t see any sun. The side where the snow doesn’t melt until June. Oops. Facing yet another 5 hour drive to Casper in 60 degree weather with loud, inefficient studded snow tires, I decided to take action. I considered using an ice ax but wisely reconsidered when I realized that I could potentially hack the tires into a million little playground-size rubber chips. After a brief phone conversation with someone more… pragmatic than me, I finally settled on the garden hose as my tool of choice and began watering the massive snow pile.

About 10 minutes in my cotton yoga pants were soaked and my hands were red and numb. It was 65 degrees and sunny out and I was making myself miserable playing in the only snow pile in sight. I headed inside for more appropriate clothing including waterproof winter pants topped off with burly winter gloves which contrasted nicely against my pale bare arms and summery tank top. It was an altogether stunning ensemble.

Ready for action, I strategically infiltrated the snow wall at key points, sometimes setting the hose so flush with the ice that the water would wildly spray in all directions, including my face. Real progress was made when I removed the kayak, safe and sound and got a good look at the tires firmly embedded in the snowy ice wall. “Now we are getting somewhere,” I thought, and hacked away with a snow shovel at a particularly stubborn ice point. It wasn’t budging. Undaunted, I set a full tea kettle on the stove and became empowered when I kicked one tire out from the opposite side of the snow wall. It was a key moment in the battle of the snow tires vs. Michelle, and I quickly (if another 20 minutes is quickly) freed the rest with the help of the tea kettle for a peaceful, fuel-efficient drive to Casper. Maybe next year I’ll review my photo collection when storing critical spring gear. Then again, probably not.

Hilarious TV Series of the Day: Modern Family (watch it online for free on Hulu)

How-To of the Day: How to Make a Cardboard Rubber Band Gun. What are you really accomplishing at work, anyways?

Leave Me Alone – It’s Over & Hello Mossberg

Wildlife is on the move, but winter is back. My backyard, two days ago.

For me, Winter 09-10 was like a bad boyfriend. Like every fall, there was an excitement when the first snowflakes came. Everything seemed so fresh and exciting. But the newness quickly wore off as the rocks stayed visible and the total snowfall stayed well below average. Just as I accepted that our shoddy relationship was indeed over and Jackson Hole Mountain Resort shut down the lifts, that bastard came back with 4 1/2 feet of snow in seven days. But it was too late. In my mind, we were as over as ‘N Sync. Yet, not all of my friends let go as quickly.

Co-workers and even my own dear sister reported “best day of the season” as the day after the mountain closed, also known as employee ski day on April 5th. But I refuse to be cajoled into a tortureous here-today gone-tomorrow relationship. He had his chance. I’ve moved on.

My fly rod is out and ready to get wet this weekend providing the weather accommodates. And if it doesn’t, I have a new love interest. His name is Mossberg. My first shotgun. You see, I tried trap shooting with the boyfriend’s gun but it wasn’t a good match. Too much kick and generally just too big. But yesterday I started looking around and found a 20-gauge pump action. It just fits. And if winter tries coming back again, I’ll just introduce him to Mossberg.

The Snow is Always Deeper

It's Melting, It's Melting

Around these parts, “the grass is always greener” translates to a very literal “the snow is always deeper”.  On April 4th, Jackson Hole Mountain Resort will close for the season. Combined with a season snowfall total that pales in comparison to years past, the town has become divided. While some hardened individuals (myself included) say, “good riddance, bring on the spring,” other junkies frantically discuss how to get one more powder day before the snow disappears entirely. They toss about entirely believable rumors of those cleaver marketing people including snowfall from October in the 332″ inch total (the October storm melted completely before the season began). But mostly, they talk about where to get more snow. It goes something like this:

Bro-bra 1: “Utah just got pounded with 16 inches!”
Bro-bra 2: “Oh man, I’m so going. I need some more powder soon.”
Bro-bra 1: “Yeah, but it’s on top of like a 20 inch base. They’ve only gotten 200 inches all season.”
Bro-bra 2: Dejected and despondent looking, slinks away from conversation.

As for me, I’ve decided the key to staying sane is having gear for every season (surprise). This spring, my gear won’t include a plane ticket to a foreign destination, but I may attempt to embrace a bit more of a cardio life and invest in a road bike. But don’t worry- a not-so-little little part of me will always be an adrenaline-seeking deep snow junkie.

Tidbit of the Day: Tomorrow is the National Day of Unplugging. If you need motivation, check out the Marmot US Ski Mountaineering National Championship and commit to doing something half as ambitious!

Fun with Guns – A Wyoming Adventure

Throwing Trap (Clay Discs)

One sunny Sunday in Casper, two Wyomingites took a new rifle (a Beretta M90, to be exact) up a dirt road and started shooting. What were we shooting, you ask? We were shooting trap. Translated for the non-gun savvy, this would be shotgun shooting at clay targets.

These clay targets do not throw themselves and there wasn’t a machine in sight. Just me. Since I was less than captivated with the gun (and quite frankly, not very accurate), I ponied up and started chucking the discs out into the valley below. Aiding me was a plastic stick that functions much like a Chuck-It thrower for dogs with tennis balls. The main difference is that this one is to keep boyfriends happy and they don’t bring the clay discs back. Instead, they shout, “pull”, after which you throw the disc only for it to get shot to smithereens in the air. For those concerned, these particular discs are biodegradable.

All this does have a purpose beyond blowing things up, and that purpose is turkey/quail/duck hunting, which I am all for assuming PC things like healthy populations and whatnot. I try to eat meat from happy (free-ranging) animals and this is one more step in the right direction. Next up: training the Mexican street dog, who is mostly a black lab, to help flush the birds out and retrieve them. He doesn’t like water. This should be interesting.

Book of the Day: A Food Eater’s Manual, the latest by Michael Pollen. It’s a small, short book of reminders on how and what to eat and only $5 on Amazon.