Fluffy Days

The "spring" has shone a new light on the mountain scene. After an almost dreadful winter, comprised of month long snowless spells, the snow has started to land on the hill. Two weeks ago the skies opened up to drop 50, yes 5-0, inches of snow in 3 days, countem' 3. I headed up on Saturday, handsomely sporting some new skis, to find that most of the good snow was done skied, not what i was hoping for with the new planks. I spent most of the day on the groomers with a couple trips through the trees. Riding solo all day taught me something. . .it helps to ride with someone who knows the mountain better than myself or. . .stick to the trails you know. I found myself on a couple runs that i probably was better off avoiding. The skies were crystal clear and the temp was borderline warm so i had to do it. I had big plans to give my fancy new skis two days of back-to-back action but the conditions on Saturday didn't warrant a night in the back of the Yota (i'm not the spring chicken i used to be). Some photos. . .

Looking back from the lift.

A look southwestward toward Mt Jefferson.

A look down into the Rock Garden. I didn't know this when i pulled up to the edge but apparently it starts with about an 8 foot drop. . .oops.

Yet another run i "stumbled" upon named Waterfall. A fun, steep and narrow chute that takes a charming bank to the right.

Last night went just as any pre-ski evening should go. I went out for some fresh tacos and beers with some fellas, reciprocated some eye-shagging from a few ladies at Porque' No, and headed back to the house to freshen up for another outing. I met my "young" friend at a lounge for some surfer rock meets California punk tunes. It was the rhythm guitarist's girlfriend's birthday, who happens to work with Devon and had some lady friends in tow. I started chatting up one of the lasses and quickly found out that she was a stage 2, maybe stage 3, clinger. I had to find a way to make my escape. I went for a blend of "say some the most ridiculous stuff and eventually she'll give up on any pursuits" with a what i believed was a respectful "thanks but no thanks." Speaking of thanks, thankfully she was on the prowl so it didn't take long before she found someoneelse's arm to latch onto. Better him than me. After stuffing a glass into the sleeve of my jacket (for the collection, not a roadie), i bottomed out my last pint and headed home for a few hours of sleep.

I, being the not so spring of a chicken that i am, drink a large volume of water to stave off any angry, morning-after alcohol. I am proud to say. . .i was successful. Thirty-minutes after i woke up the truck was packed and Dan and i were scooping up some bagels for the uphill trip. The rain was falling in Portland so it meant nothing but good things for the mountain. Before the day even really started Dan took the spill of the day. There is no better way to start a day on the hill than to eat shit in the parking lot, slick (Dan, not the conditions). The lift lines were pretty thin and the visibility was probably just as short. But the snow. . .ohhh the snow. . .was wonderful. We spent most of our day in "Heather Canyon," a large bowl-like canyon lined with steep walls and some woodland leading to a creek bed and snow bridge. Deep, powdery goodness only made it better. By about 1:30 the hill had taken out whatever energy my legs had left over from all that dancing the night before. We made two more runs and the day was complete. In the parking lot we were propositioned by a lady looking for a hitch back to Hood River. Lucky for her, we always pass through HR for some pints and pizza after skiing. She offered up some brownies but she used the wrong kind of butter for my taste. She was quite the lovely and entertaining lady.

Her story was a good one to tell. She hitched up from HR in the morning to meet up with some dude-friend (with the expected hopes any single woman would have after hitch hiking her way to the mountain for a ski date) but on her way up the mountain the knob had informed her that he was not going to make it, maybe tomorrow. Dan and i both suggested she not give him a second chance but the fact that he's "fucking hot" may overpower any stellar advice we gave. She just so happened to be a bit of a celebrity too. She is the snow-line voice for Mount Hood Meadows Thursdays through Mondays (just one of her 5 jobs). It was all a bit much to believe until she dropped it on us. . ."Good Morning! Skiers, Riders and Free-Heelers!" She was legit. We dropped her off at the China Gorge parking lot, a deliciously tempting sight just as you pull into HR, and headed into town for the obligatory pitcher of IPA and italian pie (pizza) at Double Mountain. Some pics. . .and a video. . .

It may take a minute to fully load. I take a lazy snow dip and the camera action toward the end is Dan taking an impromptu seat. It's worth it.

A little self portrait. My poor camera took some abuse today. At one point it was iced over. Good thing i went for the extended warranty.

My fancy new planks. It's Brody time baby!



A steep ride to the run out at the bottom of Heather Canyon.

Sorry Mom. . .but i had to do it.

Between weekends Dan celebrated his somethingth birthday. Even though the "theme" was to guess the Canasian's age. . .nobody was successful. It was only one night but the hangover lasted 2. I've never heard of any thirty-something's birthday parties that finish the night, and the keg, with keg stands. Which promted the question last night. . ."When you were a wee-teen, what did you think you would have been doing at 30?" Kegs stands?

A bike what?

I don’t know if you’ve heard but America, along with many other nations, is experiencing an economic downturn, aka a recession. My beloved Oregon is in debt well beyond its receding hippie hairline. The state currently owes close to seven-hundred million bucks. In these hard times everyone is trying to scrape up some cash wherever they can; the city of Portland is no different. Several local lawmakers have recently proposed a bicycle registration fee. The $27 (or a proposed $54 every two years) fee would be for “adult” bike riders. The money acquired by this “registration fee” would go toward maintaining bike lanes, building more bike lanes, and supporting legislation for a $90 fine for people who tamper with bicycle identification numbers.

If I had to make a guess, these lawmakers (all four that are supporting the bill) don’t bike commute. I would bet that they probably live somewhere in the burbs and drive an SUV or minivan to work (there may be A Prius in the bunch). Aside from having to register a bike being total bullshit, it won’t work. Let me explain Portland’s bike culture for just a second. The majority of riders in the metro area aren’t exactly law abiding citizens, not in the conventional, “I pay my taxes” kind of way. Most of the Portland bike community is filled with fixie riding, skinny jean wearing, pocket lock sporting, tattooed, scab picking, helmetless hipsters. If there is one thing I know about hipsters, it’s this. . .they aren’t going to pay to register their bikes. They don’t even believe in paying for new clothes (but they will pay $60 for a ratty old shirt) let alone paying to ride their bike. . .around Portland of all places. I also don’t see the spandex clad, carbon fiber riding, clip-less wearing, Lance Armstrong wannabeing, roadies adhering some registration number to the side of their custom painted Orbea. Me (and many, many others). . .i’m stuck somewhere in between; with my east coast upbringing, southeast Portland residencing, Patagonia quick-dry pant wearing, courier bag shouldering, Samba footing, sprocket legging, and occasional helmet wearing-self.. But on top of sharing a love for my bike, I do share something with those listed above. . .i’m not paying any effing taxes, registration fees, or fines (minus those for breaking already established traffic laws) to ride my bike around Portland.

While I’m on the subject (not that I intend to talk about anything else), the bike registration process would allow motorists to report law breaking bikers, aka stop sign runners (guilty), red light rollers (gulity), sidewalk riders (not guilty, douche bag), and un-lit riders (not guilty, do you really trust drivers that much?). If I decide to break the law, and say run a stop light, who gets hurt? If my high school physics class serves me true. . .it’s me. That’s right, I’m the dead guy planted on the hood of a car or under the tires, not you, you fossil fuel consuming lazy bastard. If you aren’t going to report on your fellow tin can drivers for breaking the law why take it out on bikers? I have a theory, it’s called you’re jealous. Are you really concerned about my safety or are you just pissed because you have to sit in your warm, dry car while you wait for the light to turn green. I can assure you. . .you’d rather me run the light and be well in front than have to wait for me to get my pedals up to your speed. Am I wrong?

If the city is that desperate, desperate enough to tax the environmentally friendly, bus seat clearing, traffic reducing bike riders, why not hit up the pedestrians too? They happen to use both the sidewalks AND crosswalks. They even have their own traffic signals. Maybe the carbon dioxide emitters can report J-walkers too. I mean hell. . .most of them have been slighted by a biker already, why not just throw in a ped while we’re at it.

Since this isn’t going to make its way into one of the local liberal rags and certainly not into the Oregonian or Tribune, I’ll stop here. I kind of apologize to the hipsters if I offended you. Just remember I don’t hate you for being you, so don’t hate me for being me, fair? Plus. . .you’re a hipster, you shouldn't’t take yourself serious enough to be offended. For you spandex clad roadies. . .you irritate me, biking is exercise why are you trying to reduce your resistance if you’re out for the exercise? Save the leggings for a race or a stripper or something.

Peace and chain ring grease.