I ingeniously opted, about a week ago, to turn my 3-day weekend into a 4-day weekend by taking Friday as a play day. I had high hopes of making a trip somewhere but obligations and snow on the mountain changed my plans. Staying local was a beautiful idea.
My extended weekend started with a 4pm departure from work on Thursday and an immediate voyage up to SkiBowl, which boasts the largest night skiing area in all of the United States. Expecting icy conditions and lots of chilly lift rides, i was pleasantly surprised when i found the slopes to be well groomed and freshly dusted with some snow. I hadn't experienced any night skiing and it was a great time. The lift lines were practically non-existent and there is just something about skiing under the lights. The night was pretty peaceful but a flask of whiskey did come in handy when some teenie started shouting random things on the lift. It hurts me to think that at one point in my life i was that kid, what a prick! After a few hours balling down the mountain it was time to get my ski buddy back home so he could get some sleep for his work-filled Friday, sucker. There is something to be said about leaving work, skiing for a few hours and being home in time to get a decent night's sleep.
Friday was rather relaxing for me. I spent the day putzing around the house and waiting to hear news from the home front. Todd and Erin were expecting their first little one, my second niece, to arrive anytime. I got the call late Friday night from mom, baby Cedar was chilling in her momma's arms. Weighing in at just under 5 lbs she's a tiny one but doing well and showing all the signs of a healthy little Everline.
Saturday it was back to mountain. Dan and i took the lazy man's approach and didn't start our trip up to Hood until close to 9. We had expected some traffic delays but the roads were pretty clear. The conditions were great and the sky was a crystal blue. I would have some pictures to show you if only i hadn't left my memory card in the computer. After making a couple runs down the groomers Dan got me off the beaten path and into the trees. Slow and steady was the theme and i managed to escape the first couple runs without incident (that changes later). We headed to the other side of the mountain to meet up with some friends and kick up some fresh pow. The funny thing about learning to ski, having traditional downhill skis, and powder is that the three don't mix or atleast not for me. My somewhat skinny skis and deep powder make for a delightful cocktail called, "Scott's face full of snow." The ladies we met up with were quite the experienced skiers and ran amuck all over the mountain. I tried to follow but ended up lagging behind on just about every run. I wasn't too disappointed seeing as they have many, many more years of experience than myself. We parted at lunch and Dan and i headed back up to the upper meadow, aka powder town. I fared much better this time and seemed to be getting the hang of the fluffier snow. Just as i started to find my groove we headed back over to get in some tree runs before our trip into Hood River for pizza and beers. Feeling confident from my earlier experience in the trees i decided to make my own lines and let Dan do his thing. My tired legs were working against me. I took a stiff branch to the face, which nearly tore the goggles and hat off my head. I collected myself out in the courd and headed back into the trees only to find myself in more trouble. I took a path that appeared to be less travelled. . .and it was. . .for a reason. I found myself on a ledge about a ski's width, looking down a 15 foot ice wall leading down to a creek. I gingerly maneuvered along the edge and headed back into the groom. We made a couple more runs before calling it a day. We got home in time to grab a nap and head out to a house party of which we were supposed to, "party like we were in college again." The hard part is. . .well there are multiple challenges here: a) i'm old and most of the party goers were fresh out of college, b) i partied like i was in college when i was high school, so i was even further off my game than these damn kids, and c) after 1 am i turn into a pumpkin. It was a fun night but by the time my head hit a pillow, close to 4 am, i was ready for two days of sleep and my Geritol.
Sunday was a day for recovery in two ways, recovery from the night of heavy drinking and recovery from a long day of skiing. I don't think i moved from a bed until close to noon, ate some homemade Huevos Rancheros around 1, watched a movie and fixed a friend's itunes. Sunday night i had a futsal game, which was awful. The night of partying and day of lounging destroyed me. I hit the effing post a half dozen times, scored twice, and had three fouls. The game was scrappy but we walked away with a win. After the game we shared a few pitches at the Lucky Lab. It was just what i need to send me back into a sleep inspired tailspin.
Monday, el Presidente dia, it was back to the hill. Three of us left Portland, later than expected, to find the hill not nearly as pretty as Saturday. The day was to be a short one anyway, two of us had to get home and do some work, guess which two (hint: i took a nap when i got back). The snow was sparse and a lot of the runs had their share of icy patches. I ended up running black diamonds most the day, throwing down some hard turns, hand plants (on the slope of the hill) and some ass/hip glides. I managed to get served another "Scott's face full of snow" but this time i packed some into my ear just for good measure. After sliding about 30 feet downhill from one ski, face first, i laughed hysterically. Wrecking for me is still pretty common, mostly from being lazy or not paying attention. I've now wrecked into trees, in powder (a bunch), skied backwards (unintentionally), and nearly flailed into a creek but the worst wreck of them all is the above mentioned incident. Not because i had snow in my ears or because it was on a cake run, but because it was right under the chair, 100 yards from the lift, with my two friends watching the carnage unfold. All be told. . .i love skiing, it's the best, even if i'm not.
That's it, 4-days in the life of a fortuitous, drifting bachelor. Jealous. . .i think not. Sorry for the lack of photos; i'll be sure to have a memory stick i the camera next time.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Mucky Luck
With all the weather forecasters, or as i like to call them, lying pieces of poo, calling for 7 inches of the white fluffy stuff to fall on the slopes of Mt. Hood my Friday night was mellow. Dan and i met up with friends for some wings and brew at "Fire on the Mountain." After dousing my burning palate with several hop infused beverages it was time to get in a restful night. I woke up early Saturday morning to check the ski report and fill my belly with nutritious goodness. I quickly discovered, via the wonderful worldwide web, that the day wasn't going to pan out as i had suspected. I could hear Dan rustling in his bedroom and i quickly turned his dreams of powdery goodness into nightmares filled with icy, edge scratching ice sheets. Yes that's right. . .another snowless week on Mt. Hood.
Left to my own devices i did what any 29 year old with a busted plan would do. . .i slept on it. When i awoke the day was bright, sunny and not effing snowing! I considered another trip into the gorge for another lovely winter hike but without Yak Tracks the adventure sounded dim. I decided to dust off the old fat tire and spend some time in Portland's very own Forest Park. After some tuning and lubing the ol' 7k was ready to ride.
I hadn't been on my mountain bike since i catapulted over my handlebars and onto some downed trees in Washington (over a year ago); all my riding had been on my commuter. Reluctant to get myself into a similar situation, i decided to stick to the more stable, less obstacle ridden double track of Lief Erickson Drive, an old fire road that cuts through 12 miles of the park. I threw my bike in the back of the truck and headed up to the north, and less stroller filled, portion of the park. The parking lot was nearly full when i got there, never a good sign. There were two d-bags tearing around the parking lot on their full suspension rigs. Once i got onto the trail i found it to be mostly uninhabited. I crossed paths with a thoroughbred, yes a horse in the city, and a few couples huffing through the hills. I rode about 6 miles out and in turn, rode 6 miles back. The trip wasn't too challenging, some rolling hills and sharp-ish turns. What it was was mighty muddy.
A clean, pre-ride face.
At the turning point.
My iron horse and map.
Two of my three ponies.
Sunday i spent most of my day in the office working on some convoluted project that earned me a bottle of Jack Daniels and a thank you card from the boss lady. Not a bad trade off. This week is "pray for snow week," as i have a 4-day weekend coming to me.
Please join me in prayer. . .
Monday, February 2, 2009
Much Love
I recently watched a movie titled “Surfer, Dude” featuring Matthew McConaughey, Woody Harrelson and Willie Nelson. I know. . .i’m surprised it didn’t win any Oscars, Emmys, Golden Globes or any other Hollywood recognition. The basic premise of the movie, other than finding a way to produce a movie where McConaughey doesn’t have to wear a shirt for 2 full hours, was of this legendary surfer, Steve Addington, who recently returned to his native Hawaii. When “Addy” returns he finds his Hawaii to be very different from how he left it, waveless. Yes, a waveless Hawaii. The rest of the story is pretty standard Hollywood; Addington falls in love with an unlikely love interest, surfers are all bummed out dude, and the waves reappear. The moral of this story is. . .a waveless Hawaii.
It’s kind of like a rainless Oregon. Yes. . .a rainless Oregon. Now, I can do without the rain downtown and yes, the sun is quite nice. But honestly, I’d give up the sun, the dry city and crystal clear skies for just a little snow! This year was to be Brody’s debut season and now, now, it’s one spent bike riding in the sunshine and hiking through the snowpack. We haven’t had a mentionable drop of snow in close to two months. I feel like McConaughey in “Surfer, Dude” only I’m not pursuing any unlikely love interests.
Dreams filled with falling snow and shredding fresh pow filled my head Saturday night. I laid my head down extra early with the hopes of hitting slopes in the morning. I was charging for fresh tracks. The weather reports made mention of snow on the hill and I was going to take full advantage of it. I was even so tempted as to drive up there Saturday night and sleep in the Yota. I woke early in anticipation of a full day of slopestylyin’ but what I found after checking the internet; there would be no slope stylin’. Somehow, they mountain actually LOST snow overnight. An entire inch of “packed powder” aka, ICE, fed into the local rivers and there was nothing falling to replace it.
Feeling dejected I refused to concede to mother nature. I was going to do something, a hike maybe. . .yes a hike! I cooked up a filling breakfast of eggs, English muffins (gotta love those nooks and crannies), and a protein shake. After breakfast I skipped the dishes and headed to the truck. I drove out to the gorge and crossed over the Bridge of the Gods onto the Washington side. Dog Mountain, a popular spot during the Spring and Summer months, was my destination. I have heard tales of the challenging hike and beautiful wild flower meadows. I wasn’t expecting to see much in the way of wild flower meadows but a challenge was in consideration. I saw a few folks in the parking lot heading up the main trail. In hopes of solitude I took the alternate route to the summit, along the Ausburger Mountain trail. The trail was free of people and my lungs felt just as free of air. I apparently don’t have the same hiking legs that I had over the summer. About 3 miles into the hike the trail became snow covered and icy in spots. I slipped and slid my way up (and sometimes back down) to the deeper snowpack and found the footing to be a little more promising. Once I got up to the ridgeline I had to break trail to traverse over to the main trail. There were some hints of trail but most of the tracks had been blown over with snow. I crunched my way over to the summit, soaking in a winter view of the gorge and headed back down.
I took the main trail back to the parking lot and found it to be a touch icier than my route up. After sliding downhill for a hundred or so yards I was back under the cover of the trees and onto what appeared to be less slick ground. I was introduced to the wonderful world of “brown” ice; a not too distant cousin of the better known “black” ice. Brown ice only differs in it’s location and deceptiveness. The trail may have looked “dirty” but in fact it was indeed anything but. Trying to find good foot placement was challenging and I learned to trust nothing. Eventually I decided to just make my own path alongside of the established trail. This proved to be far more rewarding, as I was actually making progress. The brown ice phenomenon only lasted a few hundred yards and then it was back to the more sure footed dirt trail. I jogged most of the way back to the parking lot, more out of sheer hatred for long downhills than out of ambition. I safely returned to the parking lost and headed back to Portland for some food and sleep.
Sadly, that’s the only adventure worth writing about lately. I have managed to score one day on the mountain for skiing and one for snowshoeing. I’m hoping, praying (a big deal for an atheist), for snow. I may just have to start believing in some fictional being if that’s what it takes to get some snow around here. I hope everyone is doing well and enjoying their winter months. In all honesty, without the rain, it kind of feels like summer up here.
It’s kind of like a rainless Oregon. Yes. . .a rainless Oregon. Now, I can do without the rain downtown and yes, the sun is quite nice. But honestly, I’d give up the sun, the dry city and crystal clear skies for just a little snow! This year was to be Brody’s debut season and now, now, it’s one spent bike riding in the sunshine and hiking through the snowpack. We haven’t had a mentionable drop of snow in close to two months. I feel like McConaughey in “Surfer, Dude” only I’m not pursuing any unlikely love interests.
Dreams filled with falling snow and shredding fresh pow filled my head Saturday night. I laid my head down extra early with the hopes of hitting slopes in the morning. I was charging for fresh tracks. The weather reports made mention of snow on the hill and I was going to take full advantage of it. I was even so tempted as to drive up there Saturday night and sleep in the Yota. I woke early in anticipation of a full day of slopestylyin’ but what I found after checking the internet; there would be no slope stylin’. Somehow, they mountain actually LOST snow overnight. An entire inch of “packed powder” aka, ICE, fed into the local rivers and there was nothing falling to replace it.
Feeling dejected I refused to concede to mother nature. I was going to do something, a hike maybe. . .yes a hike! I cooked up a filling breakfast of eggs, English muffins (gotta love those nooks and crannies), and a protein shake. After breakfast I skipped the dishes and headed to the truck. I drove out to the gorge and crossed over the Bridge of the Gods onto the Washington side. Dog Mountain, a popular spot during the Spring and Summer months, was my destination. I have heard tales of the challenging hike and beautiful wild flower meadows. I wasn’t expecting to see much in the way of wild flower meadows but a challenge was in consideration. I saw a few folks in the parking lot heading up the main trail. In hopes of solitude I took the alternate route to the summit, along the Ausburger Mountain trail. The trail was free of people and my lungs felt just as free of air. I apparently don’t have the same hiking legs that I had over the summer. About 3 miles into the hike the trail became snow covered and icy in spots. I slipped and slid my way up (and sometimes back down) to the deeper snowpack and found the footing to be a little more promising. Once I got up to the ridgeline I had to break trail to traverse over to the main trail. There were some hints of trail but most of the tracks had been blown over with snow. I crunched my way over to the summit, soaking in a winter view of the gorge and headed back down.
I took the main trail back to the parking lot and found it to be a touch icier than my route up. After sliding downhill for a hundred or so yards I was back under the cover of the trees and onto what appeared to be less slick ground. I was introduced to the wonderful world of “brown” ice; a not too distant cousin of the better known “black” ice. Brown ice only differs in it’s location and deceptiveness. The trail may have looked “dirty” but in fact it was indeed anything but. Trying to find good foot placement was challenging and I learned to trust nothing. Eventually I decided to just make my own path alongside of the established trail. This proved to be far more rewarding, as I was actually making progress. The brown ice phenomenon only lasted a few hundred yards and then it was back to the more sure footed dirt trail. I jogged most of the way back to the parking lot, more out of sheer hatred for long downhills than out of ambition. I safely returned to the parking lost and headed back to Portland for some food and sleep.
Sadly, that’s the only adventure worth writing about lately. I have managed to score one day on the mountain for skiing and one for snowshoeing. I’m hoping, praying (a big deal for an atheist), for snow. I may just have to start believing in some fictional being if that’s what it takes to get some snow around here. I hope everyone is doing well and enjoying their winter months. In all honesty, without the rain, it kind of feels like summer up here.
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