Before Going on Lockdown...

March 30, 2020

Let me read this blog to you! Listen and follow along with Anchor.

We had a full tour scheduled for documenting trails and filming for the YouTube channel. We had hotels booked, meetings set, trail work scheduled, rides arranged and support riders ready to go. I’ve never been so organized! Then it all came crashing down. One by one, we cancelled every reservation, every meeting…everything…and I went into a little bit of a depression.

On the day we were supposed to leave, my friends Sean and Susie Murphy (Executive Director of the San Diego Mountain Biking Association) called me to say they were going to meet us at McDowell Mountain Regional Park, just outside Phoenix. Susie used to race there back in the day and they have an affinity for the place. I had to break the news to them that we weren’t going. I’m not gonna lie,” I said to them, “Things have been tight and we just can’t afford it anyway.” I’ve been devoting my heart and soul to the trails project, which has not been paying the bills. I’ve been in it for the long game, hoping my efforts will generate opportunities down the line, but all of a sudden, we are unable to survive, and plans for the future don’t bring in cash right now to put food on the table and pay the rent.

A win is the result of a series of good decisions and right now we are staring down the barrel of a series of bad business decisions, a litany of injuries that kept me out of the game for the majority the two years prior and now a drained savings from a crashed stock market. Explaining all this out loud to Sean and Susie was painful. Of course, they were bummed at the news, but completely understood. I hung up the phone and then curiosity somehow landed me on the campground website. There was one site available and it cost $32/night. Thats a lot cheaper than the $150/night hotel room we had booked in Scottsdale. I called the ranger and booked it spontaneously. I was going!

The hut the previous year with my Arizona boyfriends Brandon and John.

I quickly got to working on my bike and packing, which kept me up til midnight. In the morning, I finished everything I needed to do, made sure the beer was in the cooler and got on the road in time for an afternoon ride at McDowell. I figured I could keep a reasonable distance with Sean and Susie and stay away from everyone else while camping. When I arrived, there were none of the usual hugs exchanged and we got on the trail immediately. I love that place too! All the trails are wide enough for me to crank with two hands. When I’m cranking, my hands are off the handlebar and on the hand crank. The chest pad has two cables attached to it, which run though the frame and attach to tabs that are welded to the bottom of the steering stem. I steer with my chest! Its not precision steering though and when trails are not wide enough, I need to crank with one hand and steer with the other. In this case, I can get my heart rate into the orange, barely. When cranking with two arms consistently, I can get into the red. It’s taken a while to learn how to stay ahead of the power assist, but if i’m focusing, I can keep my wattage meter close to zero sometimes and destroy myself...which I love! At McDowell, its almost entirely crank with two arms trails!

Setup the GoPro on the trail to nab this gem

We climbed up to a little hut at the top of the main ride area. There we messed around on a little jump and cracked a couple beers. The scenery, the desert, the workout, the feeling of being on the road…all made it taste so good, the crisp piney flavor cultivating some serious nostalgia. From there we took the main Pemberton trail downhill back towards the campsite. Now, I just got a new bike (afforded only to me because the manufacturer is allowing me to defer payment until I can sell my old bike) and I just installed a DH wheel set with brand new Maxxis Assegai tires. Thats the work on the bike that kept me up late the previous night. On the first turn, I felt the control these wheels and tires gave me. Holy shit! I pushed harder. Complete control. I pushed harder. Still control and I found myself carrying more speed with more control than I’ve ever experienced on one of these bikes, sometimes the G forces causing me to track on two wheels through the turns. Sean screamed with delight behind me.

Back at the campsite we talked about the ride and how fun it was, how glad we were to be where we were. Sean heated up some of Susie’s homemade chicken noodle soup and then we enjoyed some whiskey around the fire. I plugged in my bike battery for a big day the next day. I planned to do two substantial rides and needed the power. That night I froze my ass off. I slept in the car and made the mistake of cracking the windows before settling in. I thought I would need the air because I get claustrophobic easily. Shutting them meant turning the engine on and I was not about to do that and wake everyone up in the middle of the night. The sunrise and morning could not come soon enough and when they did, I rose excited about coffee in the cold desert. Again, every sip breeding deep nostalgia.

The picture I wanted to get on Day Two. Sean did good.

I racked up almost thirty miles of riding that day, only breaking the bubble twice with Sean who had to help me a couple times. Another session of beers and whiskey by the fire and I snuggled in for an epically cozy night with closed windows, an extra blanket and plenty of layers. In the morning, I wanted to get a couple pictures on a particular feature, so we did that then got on the road, leaving McDowell in the rear view mirror.

We’re on lockdown at home now with everything uncertain and scary, but in making the videos I felt like I got to spend more time at McDowell with Sean Susie. If you haven’t been there, I highly recommend it. In San Diego, the rains bring a mud fest. Out there, its hero dirt. Rain only makes it better.

Below are the videos. Get ready for a good laugh!

Day One

Day Two

Return to Bloody

October 30, 2019

On June 2, 2012, I made a promise. As I lay in an orange toboggan, my friends carrying me to the base of Bloody Mountain, an emerald lake came into view. Its stillness was captivating. In the movie—which documented our climb and descent of Bloody Couloir—you can hear me say, “I wanna jump in that!” Silently, to myself, I swore I would come back and do just that.

I don’t want to be one of those people who says they are going to do “All These Things” and never does them. So, on September 12, 2019, I staged to finally fulfill that promise. Stormy Dan (my trusty Subaru) took me to foot of Laurel Lakes Road, and the long, arduous climb promptly began.

That road is heinous. It rises 3000 vertical feet in just under five miles. That’s steep. It is also very rocky and loose, a struggle for even the most capabl…and I needed to do this alone. I didn’t want anyone to feel obliged to suffer it with me. The difference between then and now is my bike. With full suspension and a power assist, solo missions are now a possibllity. No need to be carried.

The beginning of the road goes straight up. When you look at it from the 395, it looks pleasant, like a benign dirt corridor leading up a green knoll. You might think to yourself, “That road looks nice. Maybe I’ll explore it someday.” Well, I’m telling you … up close and personal, it’s a beast.

My drive wheel spun in the loose terrain with almost every rotation. That “green knoll” is a small mountain and the straight, “benign corridor” evolves to switchbacks to accommodate its pitch. Hope for relief is dashed at each turn, as a new boulder field much more menacing than the last is revealed.

It took me an hour and a half to go a mile and a half. Eventually, I crested the knoll, but it was bittersweet. On the one hand, you’ve conquered a harrowing journey. Your brain bathes in the beauty of a lush green meadow, fed by a waterfall and a sleepy creek. On the other hand, you realize the expedition is not even half done, and the hardest parts lay ahead. Any sense of accomplishment is quickly thwarted by the painful understanding that you cannot stop if you want to reach the top during daylight.

At one point, the road travels alongside the creek. The smell of wet rocks is powerfully nostalgic. I breathed it in, and the memories flowed. I recognized the spot where Colin, the Bloody Expedition Leader and my dear friend, took a picture of me in the trees. It turned out to be a hilarious, find Waldo in the trees moment. I used it as my profile pic for several years. I laughed out loud thinking about it and resolved to find it when I got back.

Bloody Couloir slowly came into view with every inch of road I gained. There it loomed, old and ominous. The sense of history I feel in this area is stronger than anything I’ve felt anywhere else in the world. When I’m in Europe, for example, I like to imagine all the people through the centuries who passed the exact spot where I am standing. But this is older … much older. The scree fields scream of prehistoric, cataclysmic events that wiped out entire species millions of years ago. You can feel it.

Selfie at the top. You can see the switchbacks in the background

As I kept climbing, I looked up at Bloody and spoke to the camera, sharing the experience with my YouTube audience. My focus briefly lapsed and my left wheel ran up a bush, which caused an irrecoverable sideways shift in momentum and I flipped over. I pulled the release on my seat belt and ejected from the bike. As I lay on the ground, I realized I was actually touching the ground. That almost never happens for me, since my wheelchair acts as a barrier between me and the Earth. I touched her and thanked her. I felt balanced by her, a feeling so light you don’t know it’s there until it’s gone. Something we should all experience more often.

To climb back in the bike, I needed to flip it over, then re-position it so that I was projecting downhill instead of up, and remove my heavy pack. It was full of tools, food, water, and everything for every contingency I could think of. Once I was back in the saddle, I let out a heavy sigh. I was only about halfway to the destination. I kept inching along, one crank at a time.

The controller for my power assist has nine levels. I’ve learned that level three keeps pace with most able-bodied riders. It’s just enough. I call it The Equalizer. I may be writing this just for myself because I feel I need to justify it, but with the assist on level 3, that’s right about the same level of effort anyone else would be putting forth. The difference is that anyone else can walk though the chunky sections. I cannot. As my tire spun and spun, trying to find traction, my battery began to die.

The long, straight section though the meadow eventually makes an abrupt U-turn up the first of three major switchbacks, and the real climbing finally begins. “This is it. This is the hard part. After these switchbacks, its basically a straight shot to the lake and its all downhill on the way back. If I can make it up this, then i’m all good,”…or so I thought.

Once to the top, the road down to the lake is steep and covered with extremely loose scree. Scree is “a collection of broken rock fragments at the base of crags, mountain cliffs, volcanoes, or valley shoulders that has accumulated through periodic rockfall from adjacent cliff faces.” (Wikipedia) It moves underneath you. I would need to climb back up this and I knew my battery would die.

First things first, though. I needed to jump in this lake, and how the heck was I going to do this? I crawled the bike, precariously, down an embankment to a grassy spot right at the water’s edge, dismounted, ate a turkey sandwich, and soaked in the view. The lake was so captivating that I completely forgot about Bloody sitting patiently right behind me. I turned around. Seven and a half years had whipped by since I last saw her so close. I wept.

I took off my clothes. The sun warmed my pale skin and I scooted along the bank, strategizing where to make an entry and successful exit. I knew it was going to be very cold and wanted to make sure I could get out before hypothermia could grab hold. Its a shitty feeling—hypothermia—foggy brain, fumbling mouth, and swirling balance. I like to avoid it if I can.

I wore socks to protect my ankles and cycling bibs to pad my boney butt. I slid my feet into the water and leaned down to put my hand on the rocks below. Frigid. I knew the water was going to be cold, but not like this. This was going to need to be a quick baptism. I shifted my weight onto my submerged hand, swung my ass around and lowered myself, my body quickly girded by the clear, bitterly cold, water. I scuttled on my back out a little ways, took a breath, dunked my head, and headed back to the bank immediately, survival taking precedent over “soaking” in the moment. Hypothermia was already starting. It was that cold.

Luckily, a young, strong Australian fellow named Tim happened to be there and took interest in what I was doing. I tried to pull myself out and couldn't. He reached down and helped me onto the bank. This would not be the only time he helped me.

I dried off quickly, pulled my clothes back on and remounted the bike. Almost as soon as I started climbing the steep road up from the lake, my battery died. The shortest distance my battery had died in the past was 16 miles. This day, it died in 5 miles! That’s how brutal and demanding the climb to the lake was. Now, I had to climb out from lake, and the gearing is just too big to pedal without the assist. I wrapped a strap around the front of my bike and Tim and I got out of there together. He pulled and I cranked as much as I possibly could. I could see the strap biting into his hand and fought off the urge to quit until he said okay. The pain was intense, but there was no way I was going to give in while he toiled.

It took about half an hour, but we eventually got out of there and to a point where it was downhill all the way home. Tim snapped a picture of us and of me, with the red-orange and gray-blue layered rock mountain beyond, across the green meadow stretching far beneath us. We bombed down the road together, our eyeballs vibrating in their sockets and arms barely able to hold on.

At the bottom, Stormy Dan sure was a sight for sore eyes! I was so happy to be back safely. I now keep a spare battery in my arsenal of contingency gear, and I promise to think ahead about seemingly little details like getting back up on the bank. Thanks to Tim, everything turned out okay, and my Return to Bloody is finally checked off the bucket list.

Here’s the video and a couple others if you wanna see more of this momentous day and my trip to Mammoth.

June Lake

August 16, 2019

There is something about this place. It’s nostalgic. I sip my coffee, close my eyes, and breathe. The feeling haunts me … but in a good way.

Yes, i used to have a road bike. Lune Lake Tri 2013. Photo by Minaret Photography.

In 2013, I did the June Lake Triathlon. Maybe it started there. After a stressful start, i struggled during the mile swim and flatted twice on the ride. I had to get a lift back to the expo area. A friend did the run for me while i volunteered for the local adaptive sports program (Disabled Sports Eastern Sierra). I manned the beer tent, pouring and drinking, forgetting the day’s woes, and just feeling stoked that i went for it.

Then there was the day I swam out to the rock and Freedom followed me, his paws striking through the crystal clear turquoise water above as i hid below, struggling to hold my breath as i held back the urge to giggle. He tried to climb up on the rock, but it was too slippery. We swam back to shore together and cuddled in the sun.

It could be the day we drank too many beers and my friends carried me out to the rope swing at nearby Gull Lake. Dark round clouds loomed ominously overhead. The air was thick with humidity. We sat under the awning outside the brewery and watched the rain slam down, thunder rumbling in the distance. Over beers, i offhandedly mentioned i always wanted to get out to the rope swing, not thinking anything of it. My friends, of course, would not take no for answer and piggybacked me out there—a day never to be forgotten.

Gull Lake Rope Swing. It got weird.

Countless good memories swirl in my head. Memory soup. Now there’s June Lake Brewery and Ohana’s, the food truck out front. Together, they make for the best beer and food in the Sierras and are the main reason i go there. When i visit Mammoth, its a given that I will spend at least one day at June Lake, which is about 40 mins north, up the 395. The whole purpose is to eat some good poke at Ohana’s and drink some tasty beer at the brewery. But, of course, some flavor of outdoor adventuring needs to precede the tomfoolery.

This last trip, we hit a snag figuring out what trails i could ride and eventually defaulted to exploring fire roads. We had a good time. The views are unreal. The beers, deserved. Without fat tires, its pretty arduous riding due to the soft sand. I have much more research to do in that area. I used to swim and then road-bike the June Lake Loop. I want to get back to that—my usual swim in the lake, followed by a fun ride, and finish at the brewery. The perfect triathlon: Swim, Bike, Beers.

There are several other roads and trails i want to explore near June. One of them started as a sheep herding trail. It leads from the lake area to Reserve Peak. It would be ideal for the triathlon if it’s doable for me. That’s one trail I’ll be riding on my next trip. There are more off the June Mountain Ski Resort. My plan is to climb up the fire roads, and then downhill some single track. Ride it like a bike park.

Stay tuned for more on June Lake. In the meantime, please enjoy the views and shenanigans from my latest trip to June in the latest video from the UNP:

Watch now

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