Parson Springs

We drove down to Cottonwood early this morning and hiked part of the Parson Springs Trail in Sycamore Canyon.  Just the three of us.  And the dog.

Didn't see another soul.

'Twas lovely.

The solitude, the pace, and the effort of the thing

I forget about cross country skiing
until I am compelled to remember it.
This is a shame.

When I was too poor to be able to afford to buy a pass for the mountain I xc-skied a lot.
I have always enjoyed it,
as I did today.
The solitude, the pace, and the effort of the thing work for me.

It's hard to feel like I missed an epic morning on the mountain.
 When I had one
 of my own.
All alone.

The path of greater resistance

Tumped. Ow.

When riding through the woods mid-winter it's often wise, though commonly counter-intuitive, to choose the path of greater resistance rather than otherwise.  In opposition to the balance of the year, in winter, the path of least resistance is often steel-gray and icy, or tracked-in deeply-furrowed frozen mud. Both of these conditions, while somewhat enticing, are treacherous.  If you fail to assess them cautiously they will quickly, and with little warning, tump both you and your bike. Often in that order, thus bringing your bike down on top of you.  Thereby literally applying the phrase "adding insult to injury" to your condition.

In winter, safe riding and good traction exist where the snow is less shiny but deeper, where the ground is well-vegetated and not smooth, and where the rock-tops rise higher than the trail's tread.

This is your line in winter: trail, rock, grass, trail, snow, rock, rock, trail.

trail, rock, grass, trail, snow, rock, rock, trail

A warm, dry spell mid-winter. It's time to ride local! No lift-lines, and no driving to Sedona!

My ride today, a short, 11-mile dog-bone-shaped singlespeed recon across Rocky(t) Ridge, down Nightranger, across Forces Of Nature and back, found the trails more and more open, dry and rideable as I roamed east from home across the south-facing slopes of the Dry Lake Hills and Mount Elden.

Little Horse Wash

We walked a bit down the Little Horse Wash near Sedona today, without our dog, who stayed home, sick and on several meds for some horrible strain of kennel cough... the kid's got a bit of a cold, too, as her rashy nose-holes will attest.

Archival Footage: The cumulative effects of erosion

The following post was originally published at FlagstaffBiking.org on July 3, 2003. Ten years later, little has changed...

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I stumbled upon a USFS trail crew doing radical rock-obliteration work on Rocky Ridge trail yesterday. Despite recent efforts to encourage positive, proactive communication and cooperation between the USFS and local mountain bikers by organizations like flagstaffbiking.org, NFTA, and FELT, the evidently purposeful misdirection, and dare-I-say intentional deception, goes on as before. 

By the time you read this, it is likely that Rocky Ridge trail, as you’ve known it, will no longer exist. 

Under the auspices of grant-funded work and a new designation as a section of the Arizona Trail route, Rocky Ridge will soon join the dozens of miles of local trail that have been re-engineered to reflect one-public agency's, and really one over-zealous individual's idealized view of what a nature trail should be.


In light of what was happening on Rocky Ridge yesterday, I rode it both ways, up and down, and tried to savor each moment. As has always been the rule, in the end, Rocky Ridge won. I was happy to leave it that way. After twelve years of struggle I’ve had but a few moments of brilliance on Rocky Ridge, and for all the effort they have, though few and far between, each been worth the challenge. No local system trail is more special to me than this one.

The zoo, my daughter, and I.

Today we went to the zoo, my daughter and I.

She took pictures, "for mama. So she can see what we're doing."

I think she took some nice ones. [click to enlarge]

One-legged wild coot

Avy Class

We did some of this...

As I write this, we're arguably still in the midst of the primo storm-cycle of the season, having received more than 20 inches of ~4% snow (blower powder) above 9700 feet since early Saturday morning.  More, to the tune of 14"+ at elevation, is promised overnight.

So, how exactly did I spend the last two-and-a-half days?  Did I shred my double-rocker'd monster-fat powder skis?  Did I tear it up in the out of bounds trees?  Well, no.  Not exactly.

I made just two runs all weekend.  Why?  Because, I've been in avalanche education class to get my Level 1 certification since Friday afternoon, thanks, in part, to a generous scholarship the folks at the Kachina Peaks Avalanche Center awarded me.

And a whole-lotta this...

Despite my lack of turns over the past several days, I've certainly not lacked for time-on-snow.  The Avy Level 1 class requires 24 hours of coursework, about 20 of which are spent in the field, which in this case really means on the mountain.  So, while all my friends were turning chairs and blowing through huge overhead, waist-deep pow all weekend, I was skiing uphill to stand for hours on end at 10,000-11,500 feet, in near-zero temps, in the middle of high alpine glades and gullies, doing countless beacon searches, digging snowpits, charting conditions, and looking at faceted snow-crystals and depth hoar with a jeweler's loupe, while it snowed and blowed and snowed and blowed the entire time, without interruption.

And this...

It really was a heck of a lot of fun.

I won't bore you with the details.  Nevertheless, for the record: I'm really glad I finally got this training, even though it meant missing out on a couple of otherwise awesome ski-days.  Avy training's not for everyone.  But, I've wanted to learn the nomenclature and fundamentals of avalanche science for years (I'd also like to get my WFR).  For me, Avy training meshes quite naturally with my, shall we say, fondness for winter weather-watching, as well as with my abiding affection for the winter season in general, snow skiing in particular, and my penchant heading out into the backcountry/slackcountry to do it when I get the chance.

I learned a lot from our instructors, David Lovejoy, Derik Spice, and Troy Marino, over the course of the weekend, and I hope to be able to continue to build on my newly acquired foundational knowledge in the field.  I may not ever go after my Level 2 cert (it's a four-day course).  But I hope to be able to catch an opportunity now and then to head out with the ski patrol to dig and assess a few more pits.

And this.

Likewise, and more importantly, I hope that what I've learned helps my friends and me to make better informed, reasonable decisions when skiing together on untracked snow out of bounds.