Whirled Traveler

Soggy Tiger

2012-01-30T12:04:00.000-08:00

Tom, Lisa, Fran and Nicole at Chirico

Two weeks ago, a hiking trip entitled Hidden Tiger (crouching dragon?) had to be canceled due to a wind storm whipping through the region. Today, the mountain forecast was for heavy rain up to 6,000' which included our planned snowshoe to Mallardy Ridge, so we changed it to a private trip version of Hidden Tiger.

like matchsticks

getting over it

I'm glad I took a photo of my four hiking friends at the Chirico trailhead, as that was the driest we would be on the hike. The rain was consistent and not even an umbrella helped and the wind was present whenever we ventured out from the cover of trees. Speaking of the cover of trees, a lot of the trees had been blown down, broken in half, tossed like matchsticks and strewn about the forest floor from the wind storm the week before.

view from Poo Poo Pt

We reached Poo Poo Point at about 2.2 miles, used the well-stocked restroom and, while huddling beneath a tree, decided to call it a day. We descended and admired the moss and ferns along the trail, then the heated seats in my friend's truck. A short drive away, we hunkered down at a Starbucks, drying out our gear and warming up, revealing the true name of this hike:
Huddled Hikers; Soggy Tiger

Winter Storm 2012, aka "The Big Dump"

2012-01-15T17:22:00.000-08:00

Living in Seattle usually means enjoying a moderate climate year-round, but each year the snow makes a foray from its regular playgrounds of the mountains to the city environs of Seattle and its suburbs. With the forecasters playing up one such "Snowpocalypse", a group of 10 Mountaineers headed up to the Cascades to explore by snowshoe.

grabbing for gear, heads down

What started out being a light snowfall and reasonable temperature (30F), became a sideways-snow-blowing frigid torment at higher elevations. Hat and hair covered in frost and ice, eyeglasses crusted with ice, stinging eyeballs from blowing snow – hey, that sounds like a Mountaineers trip! By the time we made our destination, at a knoll above Kendall Peak Lakes just off the Pacific Crest Trail, my camera was seeking shelter somewhere in my pack so you'll have to take my word that we were successful.

PCT crosses this creek twice

On the descent, at the thought of traversing below a frozen waterfall and cliff that held lots of fresh snow on top of a hard crust, we retreated to the basin floor, walking among puffs of snow, along Commonwealth Basin.

The following day, after drying out all my gear, I woke to fresh snow in the city. After breakfast, I put my snow pants on and headed out with my SLR camera in its waterproof pouch. On the way, I witnessed several cars sliding up and down a particularly steep section of road and, upon seeing the "Do Not Enter" DOT sign tethered to a light post, freed it and placed it at the bottom of the hill. Good deed done, I made my way to Green Lake, where many people had already made tracks in the snow, running or walking the loop encircling the lake.

No Pants Light Rail Day

2012-01-09T09:58:00.001-08:00

Emerald City Improv and shutterbugs

"This is a form of peaceful terrorism, right?", the young Asian guy standing next to me said. We were part of a gathering crowd at Westlake Park coming together to participate in No Pants on Light Rail Day. As deviant as the name sounds, it is an organized event in a handful of cities around the world and, despite what many may think, it is more about surprise and fun than showing skin or having sexual undertones. The organizers of the Seattle event, Emerald City Improv gave instructions both to the crowd of soon-to-be-pantless people (act natural, as if this was an every day occurrence) and also to the mass of photographers (disperse and don't make yourself conspicuous). From there, we divided into groups and descended into the tunnel.

crowd gathers at Westlake

On the platform, a few began to drop their pants, when suddenly a transit security officer yelled, "Put your pants back on!" and alluded to arrest and tickets and all types of punishment that one does not want to encounter, especially with their pants down. While on the journey down to the tunnel, I had spoken to a photographer who worked for Sound Transit who said that not only does the transit company know about the event, but they are in full support of it, as it encourages people to take light rail. Apparently, no one had briefed the security personnel and while she was calling in for backup (the pantless among her were increasing in numbers), one of the organizers emerged and explained the situation, setting people free to drop their drawers without fear.

The train arrived and a mass of people, some with pants and some without, got on. Destination: Sea-Tac International Airport. Soon, the pantless nearly outnumbered the clothed and a couple flying back to Southern California were suspicious that this wasn't just a coincidence, as they were being told by their fellow passengers. A wink let them know that they had happened upon something that was not so spontaneous, yet still unexpected and a lot of fun. My Japanese exchange student friend and I disembarked at the Columbia City Station as a way to spread out the masses. Since the light rail comes every 20 minutes, it would be just a short wait for another train and I could get caught up on reading my book in the meantime. While the trains are heated and very comfortable, the station platform is not and I felt exposed, in more ways than one. Passersby smirked, smiled and stared, not necessarily in that order.

blending in at Columbia City

On the second train, the pantless were less concentrated, but there was a higher ratio of photographers to the pantless. It was hard not to look in any direction and not see a camera, either trained on you or on someone nearby. For a period of three minutes, all that could be heard was the sound of a camera shutter at close range. Click, click, click-click-click, clickety click! They were anything but inconspicuous. In fact, it was unimaginable that anyone on the train had been surprised by us, once they saw the photographers and realized that this was an event that had been planned and publicized and required press passes.

Arriving at the airport, there were fewer photographers and fewer people in general. On the walk to the terminal, a few people remarked that we must be flying someplace really warm, but we responded that, no, we were just on an outing to the airport. Once inside the airport, I was no longer just walking, I was striding, feeling confident and maybe even looking good in my Ibex boy shorts. The ego definitely came into play on this outing, but only in a positive way, as we didn't feel we were being judged either by fellow participants or by onlookers (and definitely not by photographers!). Most people smiled, a few gave the "thumbs up" sign, though many just tried to act natural. We found ourselves at Starbucks where I saw a hint of a smile on the barista, as though she knew what was going on. We sat down with our drinks when I noticed the man at the table next to us had a camera; I had become paranoid about cameras. Although it turned out that he was just a guy with a camera, he was very curious as to why my friend and I had no pants on. I spoke of the freedom that comes when you take your pants off – he looked at me sideways. Just then, a crowd of pantless people appeared and so did the paparazzi. The photographers were lined up on the other side of the railing, as though we were animals at the zoo; there must have been six or seven of them, with stragglers and tourists getting out their point-and-shoots.

arriving at Sea-Tac

Titanium Sporkestra at Sea-Tac

With so many people participating in the event, it made wearing pants seem like the exception and not the norm. After we donned our pants before exiting the tunnel in Westlake, I ran into a fellow no-panter near the restrooms inside Macy's and he remarked how odd it felt to wear pants again. It was a peaceful terrorism that my friend alluded at the start; a way to shake people up, get them to question the situation and the norm. And maybe even smile.

The Gates of Paradise

2011-12-26T10:42:00.000-08:00

the view from Mazama Ridge

For most people, entering the gates of paradise, let alone seeing them, requires a flight to Italy and standing on long lines only to have just a few minutes of appreciative gazing at an artistic work. But for outdoor adventurers who live in the Puget Sound region, the only requirements to enter through the gates are that you have all-wheel drive and carry chains (the Nat'l Park rangers ask for them). After a warm-up drink of hot chocolate at Longmire Inn, our group of 10 Mountaineers would soon become a group of 7, due to one car's lack of chains, though this situation was unbeknownst to the rest of the party.

I had chosen transport vehicles well, I realized, as we were standing at Paradise, 5,000' waiting for the third car to arrive. Trips to the restrooms, lending a hand to skiers who had a slight equipment snafu and standing around chatting helped pass the time in the 25-degree weather. But still no third car. Cell phones were useless in the Park, as there was no reception, so we hearkened back to the old days when we had to guess what happened to the lost party members. Finally, at 11am – nearly an hour after we first arrived, we decided to proceed with our trip to Reflection Lakes, assuming there was some difficulty at the gate below.

Tatoosh Range from Paradise

There was a crust on the snow, but at least there was snow. It was a beautiful day with high clouds which allowed for good views to the south of the Tatoosh Range and at the mountain herself, to the north. We made our way up to Mazama Ridge, zig-zagging to moderate the grade, though I still felt a familiar burn in my legs. We attained the ridge and had an even better view of the Tatoosh Range and the foothills beyond, plus we ran into a few parties who were spending the night up there – what a treat!

please don't feed the birds!

Down the ridge we went, following a bearing that is roughly aligned with the saddle between the Castle and Pinnacle Peaks to the south. It was great to be in familiar territory again, as this is a trip I had done many times in the past 20 years, but not for the past three years or so. Mazama Ridge is like a kid's playground in that there are plenty of lumps and bumps (snow-buried trees) to go up, down and around on. I led the way in the fresh snow but it was by no means a point-a-to-point-b direct route, as I circled around a tree and weaved through submerged rocks. Soon, we left the ridge and dropped down toward Reflection Lakes, our lunch stop.

Unlike many other trips, where you slave uphill for hours, eat lunch and then frolic downhill and return to the trailhead, this particular trip requires some effort after lunch to make it back up to Paradise. Our leaders chose a packed, marked trail to make the way easier for us (and for them, as they broke the majority of the trail on the way up). To me, it took the joy out of the journey, but also saved me some energy, which I was dearly lacking by that point in the trip. We returned to the parking lot at Paradise, just as lovely as it had been earlier, though with more people and cars and prepared for our journey down the mountain and out past the gate.

Castle and Pinnacle Peaks from lunch

A fellow passenger in our carpool remarked that seeing one of the famed "Rainier Foxes" would have made the day complete and, around the next corner, we saw that very fox, approaching cars at what seemed to be dangerously close distance. He was with his buddy (partner in crime), a black fox, who looked to be straight out of a movie like Harry Potter or a Maurice Sendak set. We all thought, if we talk about winning the lottery and buy a ticket today, will we all become millionaires? But who needs to be a millionaire when you can enter the Gates of Paradise with just a set of chains for safe passage.

Christmas Day Hike

2011-12-25T11:21:00.000-08:00

In Seattle, many people are hyper-aware that not everyone celebrates Christmas, at least not in the traditional or spiritual way. There are many faiths and other holidays occurring at the same time, including Winter Solstice, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa.

Wanting to give people an option (or an escape, as it turned out), I decided to lead a hike on Xmas Day. I chose Cougar Mountain, since it is a King County Park and does not have a parking pass required (no need to stress about buying something) and has fairly mellow trails that allow for a good hike, interesting features like waterfalls and big ferns, without a whole lot of elevation gain.

We started out hiking up to Wilderness Peak, which does not have a view and barely seems like a peak, though I showed my group the summit register and penned our entry: "Merry Whatever, from the Seattle Mountaineers".

Our second summit, Longview Peak, was savored quickly, as there was a storm coming in from the south and we were getting battered with wind. Descending from the peak, we came across a "Holiday Tree", decorated with ornaments and Mardi Gras bead necklaces, celebrating all the festivals plus the beauty of the natural world.

Thanks everyone for a great day of hiking and Merry Whatever to All!

Girls on the Run!

2011-11-24T19:44:00.001-08:00

The following is an interview between my inner self and my outer self, about my recent participation with a wonderful organization, Girls on the Run:

Inner: How long have you been a runner?

Me: I used to run years ago, doing 5Ks and 10Ks, then some trail running, but I gave it up because it didn't really suit me.

Inner: And tell me about your involvement with kids.

Me: well, I was a kid once, long ago. And a have a nephew, who is 4 and lives far away.

So let me get this straight... you no longer run and you are not a "kid person", yet you are volunteering with an organization that connects girls with running?

I know it sounds like a stretch, but I really wanted to get involved with young people and this opportunity popped up. The girl I run with is 9 years old, so she's still a beginner in running and we mix in walking with running. And running is something anyone can do, without specialized equipment.

Yes, I gave it a shot. I was nervous, both about the running and about being with a young girl. My friend, Julie, who volunteers as a coach, prepped me on the details of what to expect. The school who was hosting the program was in Sea-Tac, a community that has some socio-economic challenges, as well as some crime and drug use. This program also exists in homogenous areas like Queen Anne and Greenlake, but those kids don't face the same challenges in their everyday existence. The girl I was paired with was the only girl in a household with boys, plus their mom. Although she didn't mention this, my friend told me that they had recently taken in a girl whose mother had taken a vacation from parenting for a while.

In addition to running, the coaches teach the girls about self esteem and being kind to one another and standing up to bullies. I got a chance to drive home the self-esteem issue while we were running: at one point, she looked back and, seeing no one, declared we were at the back of the group and would finish last. I reminded her of all the people we had passed and told her about my policy of never looking back, as it only makes you feel slower. When we finished, she could see that we were about in the middle of the pack and was very happy with herself.

I'm looking forward to the big event on Saturday, December 3 at Seward Park. There will be 400 girls (and their buddies), from programs all around the Seattle area, running in a 5K.

This small way of giving back comes at a time of the year when we think of what we are thankful for. Participating in the program makes me realize all I have to be thankful for, plus gives me a chance to make a difference in someone's life.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

A Purrfect Day on the Katwalk

2011-11-05T17:11:00.000-07:00

strutting their stuff on the Katwalk

Fall started the first weekend of October and winter closed in on the mountains on the first weekend in November. The hope was that winter would hold off enough on the trail to Kendall Katwalk along the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) so our group could safely make the destination and be up on the Katwalk with snow on the nearby peaks for contrast, while the fall colors were fading. The forecast was for clouds with the possibility of a snow shower, so when we looked up to see the blue sky above us while getting ready in the parking lot, we felt a little like we had won the lottery. Immediately, a few of us took our rainhats out of our packs and left them in the car.

By luck, we were a group of 10 women, all members of the Mountaineers and all hoping to get in a nice fall hike and see some views. We got more than we wished for. There were challenges, in particular, the creek crossing where the rocks had an inch of ice on them and so the only safe place to step was on submerged rocks or walking in the water, testing our boots' waterproofing. Water was coming down the waterfall and raining on us during the crossing, giving the impression that moving too slowly meant becoming frozen in the creek. We made it through without incident and were free to wander high, in the snow, up a well-trod path to the sky.

The views started early – the peaks across Commonwealth Basin (Denny Mt, The Tooth, Bryant and Chair Peak) and then the monster mountain who has followed me nearly everywhere this year (or am I following her), Mt Rainier, to the south. As we ascended, we ran into 2 guys who had camped up high and they remarked that we had picked the most perfect day to be up there. We were optimistic; in fact, we were determined to reach our destination. I could feel the energy coming from the back of the group, the desire to see the best views, the mountains cloaked in snow in a wintery wonderland that usually required snowshoes and very heavy packs. We pushed onward and upward into the deepening snow.

Just before lunchtime, we were treated to the first of the spectacular views to the east. We could see as far east as Mt Stuart and without the distraction of too many clouds. We then readied ourselves for our grand entrance "On the Katwalk". Take it away, Fred!

It was everything we had hoped it would be... and more! Snow-flocked trees, never-ending views, a lone man ready to take our photo using each of our 8 cameras.

he's saying, "girrrls!" to warn his guy person

We talked, we laughed, we sang, we took many photos, each slightly different in perspective, we socialized with other groups who arrived, including a girl-fearing dog. We were 10 adventurous mountain women who had cheated the weather and made it to the top of our world.

Desert Hiking is Not Just for Spring

2011-10-28T18:20:00.000-07:00

During the month of October, hikers in Western Washington are fervently seeking out vistas with the elusive golden larches. Larch are unusual evergreens in that they are also like a deciduous; in the fall, their needles change color and later get dropped. They seem to take up residence in some of the most beautiful high country in the state, such as the North Cascades, the Stuart Range and Leavenworth areas. I have seen lots of larches, but this year, I was seeking something a little different.

I had been to Black Canyon in the spring (link to post here) to escape the rain and clouds of the westside and get a sneak preview of some spring flowers, but I had read reports of some beautiful fall color and, in particular Golden Aspen, and wanted to see it for myself (and the group of Mountaineers who would accompany me).

The drive to the trailhead had me very optimistic, as I had been worried that it was too late in the season for color and we'd be walking amongst barren trees. All along the road, there were trees with yellow leaves, orange leaves and still some green to add contrast. Then, we saw a big white bunny (no, we did not follow it down its hole) and it was probably a jackrabbit, but it's much more fun to call it a big white bunny. As we came around a corner, a couple of deer were crossing the road and they went hopping off, looking a little like kangaroos, when they spotted us. To our right, we saw the rest of their friends and family, about 6 of them gazing at us with big eyes, waiting for the road to be clear. Driving slowly up the rough road (apologies to Suzanne's car), there was a baby owl sitting right at the edge of the road, on the ground. It stayed motionless as all three of our cars passed by.

The color started again, right at the trailhead and stayed with us wherever there was a water source for the trees. The area of the cabin was starkly beautiful, with contrasting aspen, other colorful trees and the dark of the cabin's aging wood. We followed the canyon up to Umtanum Ridge and were treated to a view of not only the Stuart Range, but the entire Teanaway peaks. It was like having a mountain scene set to infinity. Then, we looked to the south and saw a big, white blob sitting above a distant ridge. It was very disorienting, but at the same time we were certain it was Mt Rainier. She has that certain majestic look (and also follows me nearly everywhere I go: previous post).

one of the views from ridge – colors in folds

We traversed the ridge and could see trees and colors in the folds of the hills; wherever there was water, it supported life and beauty. We spotted our canyon as the most beautiful, of course, and soon found the trail to descend through the trees, past the old cabin and back to the trailhead. Many in the group commented that it was a welcome change of scenery and proved that the desert is not just for spring hiking anymore.

hiking back down to Black Canyon

Native Planet Classic

2011-10-21T18:27:00.000-07:00

Whirled Traveler note: I was doing a little cleaning of my site when I came across this draft for a post about the Native Planet Classic Ride that I did in June of 2008. It was a significant ride, both because it was a serious undertaking and because the training for it led to the assignment of my most-favorite-ever nickname, Our Lady of Perpetual Ascent. I hope you enjoy this visit back in time.

view from the road

Lost in Translation

We arrived at the Red Barn in Winthrop on Friday to pick up our packets for the next day's ride and were greeted by Jean-Philipe himself, ride organizer and founder of Native Planet. He heartily greeted Dan and Bill, then turned to me, embraced me and said, in his thick French accent, "It has been so long since I have seen you; it is so good to see you!" (translation: Aha! I have finally found a way to make you give money to my organization).

Saturday morning came quickly and we rode the mile or so (who's counting?) to Mazama to meet up with Greg and to sample the first of the day's food stops. Who should be with Greg but John, well-known for his domestique services from a previous ride. After the morning formalities, Greg inquired, "How's your back feeling?" (translation: I brought John along in case you bail on me).

hang up and ride, Bill

We set off en masse up toward Washington Pass: Bill, Bob, Annie, Greg and me, more or less riding together. After about an hour of climbing (wow, how time flew), I requested we stop so I could stretch out the aforementioned back (translation: I want to take a break from this mind-numbing climbing but don't want to sound like a wimp). A little while later, Bill's friend Dirk came flying by and Bill latched on and away they went.

At the Pass, we prepared for the descent down the west side, but I say "we" even though I had put my vest and rain jacket in the "Club Car" that morning. As I gave Annie the bag of my essentials to be driven around by her husband, Bobby, she asked, "Are you sure you don't want to carry the vest up to the Pass?" (translation: have you already forgotten how you froze just a few weeks ago while descending?!) Instead, I shoved a Seattle Chinese newspaper up under my jersey; I thought it might be fun to see if anyone in the cabin could read the reversed Chinese characters once the newsprint had transferred to my skin.

my training buddy, Annie

Off we flew, descending at a gradual rate, then climbing up to Rainy Pass, then descending a lot more. While we were cruising creekside (Granite Creek, as I read in my Visitor Guide), I noted that we were at milepost 148 and, with the lunch stop at mp 130, it was just another 18 miles of descending and that sounded just fine. Way to live in the moment, Lou! (after lunch I would face a 30-mile climb back to the Pass). Annie was having none of it, however, and she turned around at the East Creek Trailhead, figuring she would ride back with Bob who was somewhere behind us. At lunch we met up with those who had left us earlier (and would shortly leave us again): John, Bill and Dirk. After restoring calories and resting up, we set off on what is probably the steepest part of the 30-mile climb that was on the way to WA Pass.

"Oh my gosh, I have a fan", I thought, as I was passing by a man standing outside his car who was waving to me. When I realized it was Bobby and the Club Car, I had already passed him. We met up a bit later and I traded the Chinese newspaper for my vest.

Greg, ready to go after lunch

After settling in to a climbing pace, Greg noted, "my, aren't you feeling a bit frisky?" (translation: crap, I can't believe you would try to drop me after all those miles you sat on my wheel). He really had nothing to worry about because once I realized I was still in my middle chainring and my brain caught up with my body, it was I who was getting dropped. The next time I saw Greg and John, it was at their support vehicle, driven by John's wife, as the hiss of an espresso machine pierced the mountain silence.

With 3 miles to go before reaching WA Pass, the climbing was wearing me down. I started doing math to pass the time, since the music in my head had either stopped playing or was stuck on the same line of lyrics, over and over. I calculated that at my current speed of 5 mph, it was taking me 12 minutes to go a mile and I was losing patience. It had been a while since I had seen a mile marker but I was guessing that the green thing on a post ahead was what I was looking for: mp 161. Yes, I had 1 mile to go but I didn't know if I could bear another 12 minutes. Then I remembered that at the point where the Blue Lake trailhead was, it flattened out a bit. In fact, I remember Bob Nyberg and Annie saying how annoying it was when you thought the road was flat but it was still a climb. I'll take whatever I can get after climbing for nearly 30 miles so when I hit that flat-ish spot, my speed doubled to 10 mph and I rolled into the WA Pass rest stop with 12 mph on my speedometer and a smile on my face.

When Greg and John asked me how I was feeling, I said "Great!" (translation: it's all downhill from here!).

Detours Toocan Review

2011-10-20T16:03:00.000-07:00

its center of gravity is higher than most panniers

I was really excited when I received my new Detours Toocan "utility" pannier. Detours now has a Seattle office and their products are affordable and fun. Just as described, the outside of the pannier has a quilted appearance and looks to be very durable. There is also a pocket which is sized just right for my u-lock. The inside was more of a mystery, as the website description lacked details about it, but I was pleasantly surprised to find several pockets inside. First, there is an inner lining which has a pocket on each side of the pannier, giving two narrow pockets and two wide ones. The wide are the right width for notebooks or books and the narrow are good for eating utensils, pens, a rolled-up jacket, you get the idea. There is a small zippered pocket up near the top opening which appeared to be full. I unzipped it and, voila!, there was a rain cover inside. This is going to come in very handy in the winter in Seattle (ok, so it rains all year 'round here).

please note: this is not representative of a balanced diet

I really like having my wallet and other essentials in a zippered pocket so I moved the rain cover to a narrow inside pocket and replaced it with wallet, phone and lip stuff. There is still plenty of room in the main body of the pannier for groceries and what have you. It has a hard rubber bottom that stands by itself and protects the inside from water seeping in. I can't tell you how many times I've gone to a store, put down my non-Detours pannier and watched as it slid down to lay on the floor, getting dirty and making me feel disheveled.

Then, I loaded the pannier with my notebooks, snacks and rain gear and zipped the whole pannier closed so I could go out and give it a road test.

The attachment to the rack is with 2 stainless steel clips that hold onto the top of the rack. Every other pannier I have ever owned has had a bottom hook to secure it to the rack from below with an internal bungee. I made a mental note to check on it after a couple of miles and I was off. Given the fact that my route from home to Ballard covers some of the bumpiest, least maintained roads in the city, I wasn't too surprised when I checked on it to see that it was precariously hanging on with just one hook. The pannier had slid backwards (while all my others slide forward, hmm) and the rear hook had slipped off the rack so that it was dangling by just the hook, with all the weight on it. Fortunately, it didn't break and when I got home, I jury-rigged a rear bar for my rack from zip-ties to prevent further problems. I was so pleased with the other aspects of this pannier's performance and abilities that I was willing to put some time and energy into making it work.

a few zip ties work like a charm

And then I went out again to really make the pannier work. I went grocery shopping and filled it to the point where I could barely zip the top closed; it held a lot of groceries! The tag that came with it lists its uses as shopping, commuting and yard sales. I'd like to add school and hauling stuff to that list. This is a high-capacity, fully functioning pannier that looks great and is fun to use.

For info about where to buy Detours Bags or to order online, go to: www.Detours.us

Anderson & Watson Lakes

2011-10-11T20:39:00.000-07:00

a little fall color

For some reason, not many people hike this trail, but that meant a little more solitude for my small group of Mountaineers than on many other trails this weekend.

We lucked out with the weather! A sunny day was emerging from the gloom as we drove up to the trailhead from the socked-in city. Our first destination was Watson Lakes, which is perhaps the only trail in the Noisy-Diobsud Wilderness. We lunched while looking at Bacon Peak (how apropos!) and picked berries, too.

Watson Lakes- short on names, long on scenery

On the return, we side-tripped to Anderson Lakes and, while we weren't very impressed with the so-called lakes, once across the creek, we saw what the draw was for this trail... an awesome view of Mt Baker! Some fall color in the meadow, which will get better and better, was a nice addition.

Mt Baker and meadow near Anderson Lakes

We bid farewell to Mt Baker on the trail, only to encounter her again, from the road. Plus, we spotted another majestic peak which only later, with map in hand, did we identify as Mt Shuksan.

Mt Shuksan, from the FS Road

Mountain Wanderings 2011, Part Two

2011-09-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

This is a continuation from Mountain Wanderings, Part One:

Lake Viviane and Prusik Peak

Two days later, I left town for what was the pièce de résistance of my hiking summer, a backpack trip in the Enchantments. I had applied for my sought-after permit back in February and was lucky to have the time off from school coincide with my selected dates. My friend and I stayed in a motel in Leavenworth's quiet part of town and were at the trailhead the next morning at 8:15, ready to hike.

I had read dozens of reports and accounts of the hike in to Snow Lakes and all of them made the hike sound like a real grunt. My experience was pretty good compared to what I had read, though when I saw a lakeside camp with a view of Temple Mountain, I was so ready to drop my pack.

following cairns to the Basin

In the morning, we set off to dayhike the Basin area and were surprised at how difficult the trail was up from Snow Lake. It wasn't really a trail at all, more like a bunch of slabs of granite, some with shallow depressions in them, courtesy of explosives. When you need the help of explosives to get you to your destination, you know you're going somewhere good. At the first sight of Lake Viviane, I reached for my hanky, so happy I was nearly crying. I'm not going to try to describe it; that's what photos are for. I tried to swim in the lake but it was leg- and mind-numbingly cold.

as far as I could get into Lk Viviane

swim in Leprechaun Lk

swim in Sprite Lake- yes, that is snow behind me!

My friend and I had different goals and expectations in the Enchantments. His was to see everything he possibly could; mine was to swim in everything I possibly could. Somehow, we made compromises and I swam in a couple lakes and we still made it up to Prusik Pass. We admired views, photographed, I swam, we wandered and then it was time to head back down. It had taken us over 2 hours to ascend so we guessed we'd arrive in camp just in time for dinner. On the trip down, which for me is always much more tricky than the ascent, due to that darn gravity, we talked about weighing the screw-up possibility factor against departing a day early from Snow Lake. In other words, the trip up and around the Basin area had wiped us out so much, we felt to do it another day would increase our risk for an accident or injury.

where there are many lakes, there will be many waterfalls

purple fields below Prusik Pass

As we were making breakfast the next morning, we saw a rescue helicopter headed to the basin for those who were not so lucky to escape without injury. I took it as a sign that we were doing the right thing. Yes, I had planned this trip for over 6 months and had wanted to go there for over 10 years, but breaking a leg or worse was not my idea of a 10-years-in-the-making trip. As a consolation, I swam in Upper Snow and Nada Lakes on the hike out.

Little Mermaid?

The drive home was not without incident, as a section of I-90 was closed for blasting. It was a party on the freeway... or could have been, since I got out the Pocket Rocket, made some cocoa and heated up dinner, but no one was curious enough to approach us.

dinner on the median of I-90

That weekend, I worked on the Gold Creek Trail with WTA, with the hot sun bearing down on me while I lopped branches of encroaching brush. We had lunch by the creek and, as I dipped my head in, someone remarked that I had a look of bliss on my face. Oh, if he only knew!

I pored over my Alpine Lakes Wilderness map to see what lakes I was missing, as far as my swimming was concerned. Somehow, I had let Lake Lillian, on the west side of Rampart Ridge, slip from my radar. Alone on the trail once more, I climbed over downed trees, endured steep climbs and descents, repaired some toppled cairns and made it to the lake at last.

in Lake Lillian

I managed to get in a nice swim and get out before two fishermen arrived, returning along the steep lakeshore from an overnight trip. On my hike out, I stepped over logs, just as before, until I found myself at a dead-end. Unbeknownst to me, I had just stepped over a log that was blocking off the wrong-way trail. I panicked a little, as I had packed lightly for the hike, with the confidence of the Enchantments backpacks still lingering, and I imagined myself having to spend the night there, with no water and a couple of almonds for nourishment. No thanks! That was enough to get me to burn a little stored glycogen and get my brain to think more logically. Soon, I realized my mistake and was on the correct trail down, emergency bivouac averted.

Two days later, I departed for the ultimate wilderness... New York City.

Mountain Wanderings 2011, Part One

2011-09-21T15:06:00.000-07:00

Once I was released from the clutches of academia in mid-August, I had some catching up to do in terms of hiking and logging the miles, scenic vistas and, most importantly for me, swims in lakes.

Peek-a-Boo Lake

the fish were jumping!

It didn't start out with a bang; in fact, it started with a whimper. That was me, whimpering as my new, expensive, Italian (but made in Vietnam) boots ripped into my heels, giving me one serious blister and a couple of minor ones. At least I was able to make it to Peek-a-Boo Lake, off the Mountain Loop Highway, for a good swim first. But the blister festered and forced me to cancel the coming week's plans while it healed. In the meantime, I got caught up with household chores and maintenance (you should see my bathroom!).

A week later, with the help of band-aids, moleskin and my old, faithful boots, I led a Mountaineers hike to Summit Lake and Bearhead Mountain in the little-known wilderness area, Clearwater, accessed from near the Carbon River entrance of Mt Rainier. I had never been there before, having just read about it, but my pick was regarded as "excellent!".

Summit Lake from Bearhead Mtn

We enjoyed flowers of many varieties, views of Rainier, Stuart and Glacier Peak, and then a swim in a fine mountain lake, with many areas for privacy (I encouraged two women in the group to skinny-dip for the first time).

Carbon River valley

my camp in the sky at Cutthroat Pass, 6800'

north from the PCT toward Canada

Just a few days later, I packed for an overnight, grabbed a friend and set out for the North Cascades. My intention was to backpack at Cascade Pass, but once at the Ranger station, we were informed the spots had been reserved, so we went east to Cutthroat Pass.

Talk about finding the silver lining! From our lofty camp at 6,800', we could see that the area near Cascade Pass was roiling with storm clouds, while meanwhile we had sun and wind and views in every direction. The next day, we explored north on the Pacific Crest Trail, mouths agape at the scenery, while strolling on a nearly-flat trail in the sky.

Two days later, I was booting up at the Tonga Ridge trailhead off the Foss River Road, with the goal of swimming in Fisher Lake. Mine was the only car at the trailhead and I enjoyed the quiet of the morning, allowing the clouds time to burn off. The trail to Fisher Lake is a dotted line on my map and now I know why; it was a steep uphill grunt to go over not one, but two ridges to get there. It was the kind of hike where I feel obligated to swim because of the great effort to make the destination.

Fisher Lake

wildflowers on Mt Sawyer

I still had plenty of time left, so I found the trail up to Sawyer Mountain as a way to complete my Tonga Ridge experience. Once up there, I met a family with grown kids and they offered me potato chips (instant bonding food). We talked and photographed and enjoyed the view, then decided to hike down together. It turns out that the parents are from Massachusetts and are cyclists fighting for their rights on the roads, just like we do in Seattle.

The following weekend was Labor Day and I started it off with some volunteer work with Washington Trails Association (WTA). I joined a work party (crafty of them to call it a work "party", don't you think?) at Franklin Falls, near Exit 47 on I-90. There were about 25 people working on a trail re-route, directing water off the trail with drainages and beating back the brush.

Franklin Falls, just below I-90

At lunch, I journeyed to the Falls, which sit just beneath I-90 as it makes its way down from Snoqualmie Pass. In all my years of living in the Seattle area, I had never been on this trail and had never seen the falls which were obviously very popular, particularly on hot days, similar to the Denny Creek "slide" area on the trail to Melakwa Lake.

But wait, there's more... and it just gets better. Please continue to Part Two.

The Cure for Bike Hate

2011-08-26T13:53:00.000-07:00

Mt Baker is the big snowcone on the right

Lately, the anti-bike sentiment has been growing in Seattle. I think the argument is that cyclists don't pay for roads, yet they get road facilities and take away the space that a car could take up. While I have thoughts regarding these arguments (and will voice them when my life is threatened by a motorist), I tend more toward the "flight" option in terms of a response. So I packed my car with bike and gear and headed north to Skagit County.

Lovely Mt Vernon is where I headed to, home of a really awesome transit center that revolves around Amtrak and free SKAT busses, plus restrooms and lots of free parking. From there, I headed out on a bike trail that I'd never heard of before, the Kulshan Trail, that led me east and out of town. I did a loop around Big Lake, partly on busy SR-9, partly on a quiet back road. On the highway, where it is often tranquil, it was a little busier since it was a week-day. Each time I heard a car behind me, where there wasn't much shoulder, I mentally braced myself for a horn or a yell, though one never came. The vehicle slowed, waited, then passed when it was clear.

along the S. Skagit River Rd

I then climbed up to a ridge where there were farms and ranches and barely any cars (now that's more like it!) and had great views to the mountains with Mt Baker showing its snow dome. I headed for the Skagit River where it runs along the North Cascades Hwy, but I stayed on a road to the south of the river. The sun had been heating up, but I was riding in the coolness of the trees and enjoying the breezes from the big green river below. There were more cars there than I remembered on any weekend day, and I sometimes wondered if I should turn on my rear light, but I think my pink jersey made me quite visible, contrasted against the green of the tree canopy.

the lovely Skagit River

Heading back into town, I saw a dog meandering in the road ahead and I thought that maybe I wouldn't be able to escape the ride without at least one type of confrontation. As she came towards me, I slowed and saw her tail wagging. I stopped and she came over to give me a good sniff; then she posed for a photo. Not long after, I saw a couple of cyclists and we waved and smiled to each other. What a great day to be on the bike; and no hate in sight or sound.

the locals were friendly

farmland and foothills

Peek-a-Boo Hike and Swim

2011-08-21T21:42:00.000-07:00

great view of Mt Baker!

Last weekend I was successful in swimming in a 3,000' mountain lake; it felt pretty cold but also invigorating and wonderful. This weekend, I raised the stakes about a thousand feet. Peek-a-Boo Lake near Darrington is at 3,900' feet and a little snow lingered around the shoreline.

Peek-a-Boo, I see you!

The last time I had hiked there was with a Mountaineers group, in a carpool with someone whom I had never met, but who was very familiar to me. Without naming (dropping) names, there is a guy in Seattle who is well-known for his contributions to the cycling community, both on the road and at the track (that's a pretty big hint). He has a brother that I had ridden with, or should I say "sat on his wheel as though my life (or, more realistically, my reputation) depended on it". As I was to find out on the drive to the hike, those guys were a threesome, with one brother who had "defected" into the world of hiking.

Our drive conversation turned to our lists of activities and found we had cycling in common, though he hadn't been doing much riding in recent years. By the time we reached the trailhead, both of us reminiscing about our respective rides and tours, it was as though we were long lost friends.

As we started the hike, we talked and talked, comparing notes on countless roads and events we had both done. Talking is a great distraction to any work you may be doing. Like climbing a switch-backing trail with plenty of elevation gain. Which is why, as I read the "Day Hiking North Cascades" trail description before Saturday's hike, which described "occasional direct attacks straight uphill", I had no memory of any such terrain. In my mind, the trail was a gentle ascent, with long, loping switchbacks.

my "Certificate of Authenticity" for WTA's Hike-a-Thon

This time around, my friend and I toiled uphill on the sometimes-rough, not very well maintained trail. At least it was shaded. When we got to the lake, I was definitely ready for a swim and we found a spot that was secluded and had a good entry point. After a little self-talk, I was in and swimming and still able to breathe. After spending some time at the lake eating, relaxing and watching the fish jump, we had more toiling to do, as there was a steep climb to get out of the basin.

lucky shot – fish caught in mid-air

Both hiking situations were positive overall, but it was as if, like the name of the lake implies, there were some games being played.

WTA Hike-a-Thon: Lake #1

2011-08-14T17:02:00.000-07:00

Since registering for the WTA HIke-a-Thon, I have decided to "compete" (I put that in quotes because I am so not a serious competitor in this realm) in the "Most Lakes Visited" category. For my purposes, I may as well be competing in the "most lakes swam in (swum?)" because, for me, that's really the true purpose of a mountain lake – cool off, float and refresh.

I was pressed for time on Saturday, with a week of final exams upon me, so I opted for a short hike to Mirror Lake from a trailhead where you drive most of the elevation gain, leaving yourself with only 650 feet of gain in 1.5 miles. I grabbed a friend and we set out on the trail.

It was a pretty nice trail except for the paper plates that were either hung from tree branches or nailed (!) into the tree trunk. These were directional arrows for some cryptically-named party who were apparently arriving in separate groups. It lent a white-trash ambience to an otherwise middle-of-the-road trail. Luckily, the signs eventually pointed away from the lake so we wouldn't be running into the miscreants.

At the lake, we were happy to see a couple of families camped, with sociable children giddily running about, thrilled to have spent a night out in the wilderness. It was a welcome change from the typical camped-out family where the children look like they are at a forced-work camp, they are deep in video game withdrawal and they have reverted to throwing rocks into the lake. These kids were definitely future mountaineers and stewards of wild lands (let's hope so). Hats off to the parents!

Just past Mirror Lake, the trail crossed the outlet and descended to a lovely flower-studded mountainside. We spotted Columbine, Tiger Lily, Larkspur and Lupine and those were just the ones we knew the names of. With the sun out in full strength, we headed back to the lake and found a nice point of entry.

This being my first mountain lake swim of the year, I was a little apprehensive at the temperature of the water... would I really be able to swim? I got in, breathed shallowly, sticking close along the shoreline. Yes, now I remember how this is done. I pulled myself out on a rock, warmed a bit and got back in. Much better, except my hands were going numb. My friend managed to untangle my camera from my pack and take a photo before my hands completely checked out.

I got out, bundled up in my down jacket and felt the blissful feeling of summer come over me.
There's still time to donate to my Hike-a-Thon efforts for the WTA; link is here. Thanks!

WTA Hike-a-Thon Kickoff Hike

2011-08-07T20:17:00.000-07:00

The first Saturday in August began in a cloudy, murky way. The air was cool, they sky was grey and I was to be leading a Mountaineers hike to a ridge near Mt Rainier where I'd had great views the week before (see post). My optimism soon kicked in, though I brought warm clothes just in case, and at 6:45 AM, I was out the door and on the way to meet my carpool.

Once we organized ourselves into carpools, got the directions straight and made a potty/snack stop, we were on our way up to the trailhead. My passenger spotted sunlight; we oohed. At the trailhead, there was a significant patch of blue above us, enough so that most of us were in shorts and light longsleeves or shortsleeves. Once we attained the ridge, someone called out, "Rainier!" and there she was, clouds clearing a bit, making her look dramatic. The plan was to wander the ridge long enough so that the sun could work its magic (in the PNW, we see it so infrequently, it's not a stretch to think the sun is pure magic) and we could have lunch with a view and continue on to the high point, Noble Knob, to see the noblest of knobs, Mt Rainier.

Knob from lunch spot

We spotted a mini-knob on the shoulder of Mutton Mountain and ascended to an open viewpoint, with flowers galore and a lovely view of Rainier. While there, the views were steadily improving, with Mt Stuart popping its head out of the clouds. We ate, we talked, we lingered, we photographed, as we were in no hurry to leave this wonderful vantage point, except that there were other vantage points to wander to.

And wander we did! First, we set off for the Knob, where we ran into many other view seekers: mountain-bikers who had parked their steeds below and hiked up in their cleats (ouch), a bunch of dogs, none of them terribly friendly ( except for one otherwise sweet dog who was preoccupied with chasing butterflies) and their respective people. A big day for the Knob. Again, my group lingered and soaked up more views, then descended and headed to the fork in the trail. And we took it, heading southwest to the other side of the knob, below some rock formations and with a slightly different vantage point of Rainier.

mountain sketcher

Only when we saw all we could see, did we head back toward the trailhead. Mileage for my first Hike-a-Thon hike: 8 miles, 1200' of gain. If you would like to sponsor me, donating money to WTA to keep all those trails in good shape, follow the link for my HaT page.

Being Followed

2011-07-31T18:26:00.000-07:00

full mountain glory

As a child, I remember being in the car at night, seeing the moon. I could see it even after we had taken many turns and it seemed to be following us. Today, while hiking near Mt Rainier, I had the same feeling; the mountain was never quite out of sight; from the drive up the gravel road to the trailhead and many different parts of the trail, she was in view nearly all the time.

Sometimes, she showed herself in her full glory, "Here I am; check me out! Am I not the most gorgeous mass of snow, ice and rock you've ever seen?", she seemed to shout at us. Of course I answered yes. Other times, she peeked out from around a corner or from behind a ridge, looking slightly different each time, but still retaining her overall glimmer and beauty.

sneaking around the corner of Noble Knob

I called the peak in the foreground, "Bear's Head"

She presided over many people on that trail. Aside from a few other hikers, runners were coming and going in both directions. They were part of an event called the White River 50 in which 300 sure-footed travelers ran up, down and over the hills for 50 miles. Some were perkier than others, but they were all on their own steam for a whole bunch of hours (winner's time was something like 8 hours). Speaking of endurance events, the ultimate bicycle worship of Mt Rainier, RAMROD (Ride Around Mt Rainier in One Day) happened on Thursday, with 800 cyclists participating, riding a 150-mile course that featured her majesty from every angle. I sure hope the Mountain is pleased with all of her worshippers so she doesn't blow her head off any time soon.

On the drive home, she startled me by appearing in my rear view mirror when I had thought she'd gone. I'll be back next week; I don't think I can tire of her presence and I hope she feels the same about me.

Paradise Found

2011-07-18T19:08:00.000-07:00

from the parking lot at Paradise

The rain on my car windshield was growing more steady and I asked Allison if she had a Plan B for the day. "No", she replied. "Are you really going to do the full 60-mile ride in the rain?" I wondered aloud, knowing that I would have to do it with her if she said yes. She said she would see what the conditions were like when we got to Longmire, 2,700'. We were meeting some people for a yearly ride around Mt Rainier, starting at the base of the mountain and riding up to Paradise, 5,450', down to Packwood and returning on a paved seasonal road through the forest. The weather forecast called for a chance of showers in the morning (yes, they have fallen), then "showers with thunderstorms in the afternoon". Notice the lack of the words, "chance of" for the afternoon forecast; this omission worried me.

Our arrival at Longmire coincided with a slight break in the weather, as the rain had paused. It looked like there would be just a few other parties to keep us company on the mountain today, but we were at least prepared to go up to Paradise and assess the situation. We were also prepared for rain, a cold descent and carrying extra gear. On the ride up to Paradise, it rained for a bit, then stopped, then the sun peeked out for a moment. I shouted to the sky, "Yes! We need more of that!" with all the enthusiasm I could muster without maxing out my heartrate and continued on to the final stretch to the top.

cycling or sledding, your choice

snow makes for good waterfalls

Ahh, it was Paradise! No, really, it's called Paradise and must have been named on a clear day. The Tatoosh Range was visible, the mountain itself was partially clouded over, but there was some clearing to the east, where we were headed. Allison and I decided to do the full loop, as did the other party that was up there at the time. I bundled up in wool underlayer and jersey, a rain jacket and vest, with long-fingered gloves and knee warmers. I think it was the best-prepared I'd ever been for that type of riding; gone were the days of shivering all the way down the mountain.

Allison is bundled up

We started down on the road to Stevens Canyon, first passing Reflection Lakes, then Louise Lake (where I gave a nod) and admired the wonderful assortment of wildflowers along the way. Penstemon, Lupine, Paintbrush, pinks and blues and reds dotting the roadside adding to the beauty of the ride. The descending was lovely and not too steep, with views, sun and fairly decent pavement. There's a sneaky little climb for 2.5 miles over Backbone Ridge which sucked the joy right out of me, but once that was done, it was more sweeping curves and a feeling of freedom and strength that made me feel invincible.

blue sky!

I saw no one behind me and pushed on alone to Packwood into a headwind. Once there, I purchased and consumed half a box of cookies while little by little, everyone else arrived, including a pair (Pete and Shan) who had started further down the mountain and a tandem (David and Nancy), all who were looking pretty fresh.

I left the stop with Allison to head up Skate Creek Road and soon remembered what it is about her that makes her stand out among cyclists. She isn't particularly fast, but she is very consistent and, no matter the length of the ride or the type of terrain, she will maintain a steady pace the whole way. This is in stark contrast to me, who loses bits of energy throughout the ride, until I am struggling to keep up with the people I had ridden away from on the first climb of the day. I think the process is called "payback". And so I was paying for the next 10 miles, trying to stay with Allison, sometimes succeeding, other times not.

uh...?

The rain began to fall when we were just about done with the climbing, so it was nice to cool off and I didn't put my jacket on. I caught up to Allison as she donned hers and together we looked for our shortcut road, an unpaved Forest Service road that would shave 20 miles off the route. Of course, in the rain, which was consistent by that point, it was 3 miles of wet, mucky road, with potholes of muddy water and sweat dripping into my eyes and condensation fogging my lenses and then finally laughing myself silly at the situation.

Just then, I remembered a quote from a friend about living in the present: "Paradise is where you are right now". Although we were 2,700 feet lower than Paradise, it felt pretty good to have completed a challenging ride in somewhat challenging weather and know that my car was ready with its heated seats for the drive home.

Gratuitous Photos Post

2011-07-04T18:37:00.000-07:00

I recently returned home from a week of cycling in the Glacier and Waterton National Parks area. Due to being a little out of shape and worn out from school, I spent a lot of time with my camera and less on the bike. The photos speak for themselves about what a great trip it was; definitely worth the trade-off!

smooth trail from Kimberley, BC

Waterton Lake and town

Bighorn Sheep at Waterton

Balsamroot

view from Waterton Lake in evening

Chief Mountain

view as we are climbing to US/Canada border

field of Jeffrey Shootingstars!

view from Looking Glass Hill Rd, near Glacier NP

Moral of the Story

2011-06-02T22:04:00.000-07:00

Annie tops out on Norway Hill

It all started to go downhill (somewhat literally) when Annie and I left David standing in line for the toilet on the 7 Hills of Kirkland ride. We had ridden a paltry, yet hilly 17.8 miles so far, had scored a brownie (and a cookie for later), gone to the potty, chatted with friends and pretty much taken advantage of all the things that a rest stop early in a hilly ride could provide. It was time to go. Where's David? I looked around and he gave a wave from a long line of cyclists waiting to use the loo.

We didn't abandon him, or at least that was not the intent. We figured he would catch up to us and, if not, we'd be right back at that same rest stop in another 10 miles so we'd rendezvous then. Off we went, downhill, ooh la la, and onto a flat (eek!) road in the valley. I quickly found a wheel to stick mine to, a nice guy who didn't seem to mind being a windbreaker (I'm nice; I didn't say he was breaking wind) for two gals. We even took our turns pulling. Then came the badass Winery HIll, a steep, unrelenting climb that went higher and higher. So we dropped the nice guy. We passed by Neil, the bagpipe player, and headed back for the 2nd rest stop. I stopped to make sure Annie was with me and, when I did, saw the nice guy pass by. The rest stop looked really crowded and though I did want to get another brownie, I also knew we were headed for another flat road, so we took off after the nice guy for some more wind blockage.

Neil the bagpiper on Winery Hill

We settled in behind him and felt secure going into a headwind. At the left turn, he deviated and went straight. I couldn't figure out what had happened until later; he was doing the 40-mile route and wasn't heading east with us. We climbed hills some more and there were a lot of people on the road but we didn't see David. Then came the turnoff for Annie to head back on the metric century route. I left a message on David's phone... see you in Duvall: "I'll save a brownie for you!"

I had a nice descent by myself and arrived at the rest stop. There weren't any brownies and no David, either. I did see a bunch of people I knew (and one of them tipped me of that I would not see David), but they were all doing the true century. I was doing some Rosie Ruizing, but without mass transit. I had scoped out the route and wanted to ride more like 75 miles. Off I went on my own, a situation that I'm not usually fond of, but on this day, it was a relief to be away from the crowds and enjoy the scenery. Enjoy the scenery I did, as I stopped to take photos. I also saw friends who were out on their own ride and we were able to quickly identify each other in passing.

along W Snoqualmie Valley Rd

I climbed the hill out of Duvall, made some turns from memory of past rides in the area, and was soon back on the century (100-mile) route, near Bear Creek Road and, due to my timing, mixing it up with both the slower metric century (60-mile) riders and the super-fast century riders. Luckily, no one asked me to identify myself in either category, though I was wearing a wristband that indicated "century". It wasn't that I was ashamed of cutting the course, but I didn't want to disappoint anyone who might be impressed by my speedy completion of a hilly century. But it still felt good when I passed a bunch of metric guys going up Education Hill.

There seems to be a pattern here... sit on a guy's wheel, drop the guy on a hill, repeat. It was fun and easy to do, but then again, it had led me to riding solo, which is less easy and not so much fun. Next time, David, I promise not to drop you when you are in line for the toilet!

Bird Wars

2011-05-29T19:08:00.000-07:00

that's Marvin he's got there

While studying intently, I couldn't help but notice squawking noises of birds in the trees outside my home. I often hear birds outside, but not the chatter that this crowd was making, so I looked out to see what was up. The racket was coming from within the leafy heart of the tree and I was unable to see the perpetrators, but soon enough, just as my interest was waning, a crow appeared on the roof of the building next door. It had something in its mouth.

In its mouth, and soon at its feet, it was holding a small, dead bird; it was a bird of a different species. The crow began to peck at the dead bird, then looked up toward the tree, than pecked again. I'm no expert in bird communication or body language, but it looked like the bird was saying, "See this, I'm pecking your little Marvin, breaking his spine, then eating the marrow inside. He's a tasty little guy." There was a considerable amount of squawking from the tree, as I could only imagine Marvin's family looking on in horror as their little birdie baby was being devoured by a huge crow.

The crow moved his prey several times, as if keeping in direct line of sight with the prey's peeps. Eventually, crow took his kill up to a lightpost and one of Marvin's peeps followed close by, keeping at a safe distance in a tree.

crow moves so he is in full view of nest

As per usual, whenever I don't know something, I google it. So I googled "crow killing birds" and found that crows do indeed kill birds, usually sparrow and in the spring when the sparrows are young. So I got to witness a part of the lifecycle of a crow and sparrow, right from the comfort of my home.

Monday's Forecast

2011-05-29T14:04:00.000-07:00

The forecast for Monday is hilly, with intermittent flat. Throughout the day, expect bananas, potatoes and sporadic brownies mixed with bagpipes and men in skirts and plaids, with spandex prevailing.

Sun is in the forecast for Monday! I am leading the 7 Hills of Kirkland Ride... what a coincidence!

You can ride any of the three routes (40, 60 or 100) but please register, as this is a fundraiser for the eastside homeless (not a contradiction in terms!)

http://www.7hillskirkland.org/details/details.htm

Ride report will follow, with all the drama you'd expect from Whirled Traveler!

How to Sell a Subaru

2011-05-02T15:03:00.000-07:00

If you're going to sell a Subaru, official car of the Seattle Mountaineers, the best way to do it is to drive to a distant trailhead on a really rough road. For example, the hike up Black Canyon requires a drive on the mostly-gravel Umtanum Road for 22 miles from Ellensburg. At the turnoff for Black Canyon is where interest in a Subaru really picks up. The road up to the gate is rocky and rutted, yet not too long. If you are lucky to be with another car who has low clearance (I think they call them "sports cars"), then you're really in luck. They won't be able to make the drive due to fear of bottoming-out so you may have to shuttle them from the turn-off to the trailhead. Once through the gate, close it behind you, and let the power and elegance of a smooth-riding Subaru sell itself on the bumpy, rocky, rutted road. You may feel like you are astride a horse, leaning from side to side as the car rocks up the road. You may even scrape bottom, but be able to assure your passengers (and would-be buyers) that they have nothing to fear, as the vulnerable undercarriage is protected with a plate, like your heart is protected by your ribcage.

Your passengers will arrive safely at the trailhead, awed by the relatively smooth drive and feeling like they have been cared for. They will hike up the canyon, admiring the flowers, the old cabin by the creek and the black basalt of the cliff walls. They will follow you anywhere because you have already delivered them safely up a nasty, rough road, therefore proving that you can overcome challenge with a simple press of your foot. They will follow you up the old road to the ridge top of Umtanum Ridge, with views to the Stuart Range and the ice cream cone of Mount Rainier.

Mt Rainier in the distance

At lunch, seated on the wind-scrubbed ground with patches of grass spread around (unlike the comfort of heated seats) more than a few hikers will remark what a wonderful car the Subaru is and how they either plan to buy one or are seriously considering one. Either way, they are hooked on the functionality and sheer beauty of the car.

Balsamroot

Meanwhile, be sure to get them into a flower-induced state of bliss before you arrive back at the trailhead so that they associate that feeling with a Subaru. The flowering accomplices will work their charm, with their bright yellows (Balsamroot), purples (Shooting Star and Grass Widow) and whites (Bitterroot). Also in your favor is the openness of the surrounding area, a veritable "Big Sky" where it feels like there are no limits, either physical or emotional and you can breathe easily. Now is the time to remind everyone how you got here.

this is canyon country

On the drive home, be sure to make a coffee stop so you can show off the number of cupholders the car sports (yes, Seattle places a lot of importance on hydration and your car shows it). And it's important to keep yourself awake with caffeine, too, as the car is so quiet that it may lull you to sleep.

sketching the cabin

At the end of the day, you will have created new Subaru owners and have had a glorious day hiking in the mountains of eastern Washington.

And by the way, I love my Subaru but it's not for sale, so get your own awesome mountain car!

20 Minutes of Switzerland

2011-03-26T20:29:00.000-07:00

With gas prices rising and the fuel efficiency of my car dropping (thanks to ethanol added at the pump in winter), I calculated that a drive to Marymoor Park to start a bike ride would cost me $5.60 round trip. That doesn't take into account the possible frustration and annoyance of stop-and-go traffic on the way home. For that reason, I decided to take the bus there, a round trip fare of $5 and use of the 3+ person HOV lane to avoid the crawl of traffic.

I added a time buffer of about ten minutes which is pretty good for me, since my preference is to show up at a stop within a minute of the bus arriving. The busses were arriving every half hour, however, and I didn't want to be late to a ride I was leading. I organized myself quickly at home, having laid out the necessities the night before, and set out for the Montlake Freeway Station on SR 520. It only took me 20 minutes so I was a full 15 minutes early but I was warm and had some hot tea with me (that I carried in my waterbottle cage on the seat tube).

I kept checking the time and so I know that the 545 Sound Transit bus bound for Redmond arrived right on schedule, at 8:34. I loaded my bike on the no-brainer rack and took a seat near the front on a very comfortably cushioned seat. I looked around and saw nice seats throughout the bus, with a luggage rack overhead and reading lights below the rack. I thought about reading the bus schedule just so I could utilize all the amenities the bus provided, but instead I engaged in my usual bus activity – eavesdropping on conversations. It wasn't nearly as juicy as you get on Metro busses, but it was early on a Saturday morning.

When I looked out the window, I saw we were cruising along nicely with the car traffic; no lumbering bus ride here. And the bus never left the freeway to make stops; there were stops at a few points that were incorporated into SR-520, much like the Montlake station. That's a huge time-saver as the bus doesn't get stuck at lights. Less than twenty minutes after boarding, the bus exited 520 at E Lake Sammamish Parkway and I disembarked at the corner of Leary Way, tapping my ORCA card as I said goodbye and grabbed my bike.

From there, I rode just a few minutes to the entrance of Marymoor Park and found my fellow COGS ready to ride. We had a great ride over the hills, through the valley, caffeinating ourselves along the way and then over the hill and down again. Upon arrival at the park, it had begun to rain and one of my fellow riders offered me a ride home, saving me a few raindrops (and a couple of dollars) in the process.

While we sat on 520 in stop-and-go traffic on the drive home, I saw the 545 bus whiz by in the HOV lane.

My New Cap

2011-03-09T14:28:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while I stumble onto an excellent piece of clothing, something that once I start wearing it, I wonder how I ever lived without it. One of those things is arm warmers for cycling. The in-between clothing layer that allows for micro-adjustment while on the bike. Too hot? Pull the arm warmers down. Too cold? Pull those arm warmers back up. Perfect and simple.

I saw an ad for Walz Caps in a cycling magazine, either Bicycling or Momentum (two cycling mags on completely opposite ends of the spectrum, by the way) and I was curious. The website depicted both men and women wearing their caps while on and off the bike. They had fabric and color options that were nearly endless, but they had the important choices I was looking for: wool in red. They also offered a cap that had ear flaps built into it, flaps that could come down to keep ears warm but also be tucked up under the cap so it could be worn as just a cap. The absolute selling point was that the cap was available personalized, with embroidery on the side, for a small fee. Bingo!

I paid a very reasonable price (saw a similarly priced cap made by Smartwool that was very plain) and soon it was on its way to me. The day I received it, a friend was with me and the moment I put it on, she remarked, "That's cute!". Cute was only the first of a string of adjectives to describe how fashionable and functional the cap is.

The temperature in Seattle had just taken a dive and that evening I was riding to Ballard for my music lesson. I put on the cap, pulled down the ear flaps and secured my helmet over it. Since the wool is thin and soft, my helmet fit over it with just a small adjustment to the chin strap. And my ears stayed warm, along with the rest of me, since I was deterring heat loss by covering my head. Once I arrived at my destination, I tucked the earflaps up and was ready to make a fashion statement.

And that brings me to what the cap is embroidered with on the side. In a previous post, I wrote about my love for a certain dessert item. I also have a love for the bicycle and combining the two by leading rides to local pie establishments. Whether you see me on the road or walking down the street, you will recognize me by my obsession when you see the slogan, "I Ride for Pie" embroidered on my Walz cap.

All About Pie

2011-03-07T08:59:00.000-08:00

My memories from childhood about pie centered around my mom's cooking and the delicious and beautiful items produced from the kitchen. I don't remember her baking pie very often, though it left quite an impression on me. I was horrified to think that black beans played a part in the making of a pie! My vividly-imagining mind couldn't understand that they were used solely as a tool for keeping the crust weighted in the pan and not to add any flavor or (eek!) nutrition to the end product.

I think back to those limited pie exposure days and wonder why I am so in love with pie currently. Maybe it is for the fruit filling, mixed with spices and a little sweetener or maybe it is for the light, flaky crust, like a croissant that tastes good even when cold. It must be the combination of those two elements and that the combination has a way of being more healthful than cookies or cakes. There's fresh fruit in there, after all.

In my quest to know more than just what flavor pie I liked (peach, spiced apple, cherry walnut), I set out to learn about the pie-making process. I learned about Four and 20 Blackbirds, owned by Wendy Sykes, an instructor-baker in Ravenna from a broadcast on KUOW about pie and its rise in popularity. It also featured one of my favorite pie bakers from High Five Pie, as well as the owner of Shoofly Pie (which I have yet to taste). Immediately, I went to the instructor's site and signed up for a class. For $55, Wendy would teach us in a hands-on class of the nuances and skills for making the perfect crust. That was the secret to good pie, I learned, as the filling seemed to be an afterthought. Wendy had already prepared the filling for the mini rhubarb custard pie we would each make, so we could turn our focus to the crust.

It became very clear to me during the class that fat was essential to the making of a pie. Fat in the crust, fat dabbed onto the filling and a little fat on top. That's a lot of fat, but fat is what makes things taste good. I'm not used to cooking with fat and I had to ask what shortening was, since my experience with it was hearing the word in a song or reading it in a book. Soon enough, I was using my pastry blender to cut the vegetable oil, solid at room temperature, into the flour mixture, then added water, not too much mixing and handling, then into the refrigerator it went.

When the dough had cooled, I rolled it out, using the quick, simple strokes I was instructed to do. The soon-to-be crust was smooth and uniform in color. It lifted from the mat like a blanket and I draped it into the pie dish. Wendy poured the filling in and I created a top crust, then tucked in the dough, sealing in the juices (this is making me hungry), then into the oven it went. The result: a pie so good that I had to have a nightcap slice before I went to bed.

A couple of weeks passed and I finally assembled the parts and ingredients to explore my own pie crusts and pies. I started with a spiced apple. The consistency of the crust wasn't quite the same and it stuck horribly to the stick-free mat I bought, but I persevered and ended up with a nice, tasty pie that even my foodie friends were impressed with. The second try (the very next week, as practice makes perfect), I made a rum-apple-walnut pie, this time with no recipe for the filling, just an idea as to what I thought would taste good. It tasted good and the pie looked beautiful, with a lattice crust that my teacher would be proud of. But, even so, the crust wasn't quite the blanket-like consistency that I was striving for.

Somewhere along, in the middle of consuming the pie-of-the-week, I was struck with a thought that perhaps meant I had wasted my $55 and several hours of time. What if I have been put on earth to eat pie, but only pie that others have baked. For every pie, several eaters are necessary to give meaning to the pie's existence. I think I am one of those people and not the pie creator, however much I would like to be. That is not to say that I am going to sell my pastry mat and use my rolling pin solely for muscle relaxing (seriously, you should try it), because it is a valuable skill to be able to churn out a pie for a party at a moment's notice. But, for now, I will be happy with roaming the streets of Seattle by bicycle and riding for pie.

Look for my rides, to different neighborhoods of the city and to outlying areas on the COGS website.

Roller Coaster: WSCC Version

2011-02-20T18:20:00.000-08:00

Olympics were larger than life, and so were the waves

I met the RCC/ Goosebumps group in the parking lot at Lincoln Park and, not having seen the crowd in several weeks, enjoyed some chatting, the "secret handshake" and hellos. More followed on the ferry ride to Southworth, in between the oohs and aahhs of the views and the rocking of the boat. I mean literally the rocking of the boat; strong winds were making Puget Sound into a big bathtub and the ferry was a little rubber ducky, being tossed and turned.

Once we found our legs again, we disembarked and headed out from Southworth toward Port Orchard, fighting the wind at times, but I managed to find shelter behind other, bigger riders (names intentionally left out). We had a close encounter with the powers of nature as we rode along the shore. The full moon's high tide plus the high winds had brought the beach onto the road and we walked a section that was covered in seaweed, shells and rocks.

At Manchester, I bid them farewell, as I was meeting a group from the West Sound Cycling Club who were doing a shorter ride around the Peninsula. The "group" ended up being two guys, Dan and Leo. It seemed that the high winds had deterred riders in this normally hearty group. They had fought a headwind to get to Manchester and chose to return the way they had come to get the reward of a tailwind. And so we departed toward Port Orchard. Arriving in town, we came across Lynn M who was making arrangements to ditch the ride altogether (via bus) due to strong winds. While bigger riders are great to hide behind in such conditions, we riders of slight build have a tough time keeping our bikes moving in a straight line. Leader Dan convinced her to join us and we four set off to go inland.

For the first few miles, we followed the Rollercoaster route, then journeyed into a neighborhood, then east to cross the many ridges of the peninsula and on to Long Lake and some really nice scenery, then back via Olalla Valley Road and a nice downhill finish.

The route is here and is just shy of 40 miles, a nice alternative to a 60-mile ride with lunch which tends to last all day. However, the 40 miles we rode were consecutive and not broken up by a stop for coffee or pie. My legs were unfamiliar with this concept and nearly stopped working somewhere along the way. But our kind leader, Dan, was patient and slowed down for me, while Lynn kept vigil behind me so I didn't slip into the vastness of the landscape.

We arrived back at Southworth as the ferry was unloading, thrilled at the perfect timing that Dan had managed to provide us. Back at Fauntleroy, Lynn and I climbed the last hill to our cars, said goodbye, then I was off to have my delayed pie snack.

A Sweet Ride!

2011-02-13T16:13:00.000-08:00

pies and cookies, mmm

It was a weekend of sweet rides, meant literally and figuratively. Both were fairly short, for one reason or another, but scenic and interesting in their own ways. The first, on Saturday, began in West Seattle at Jack Block Park near Alki. A flat ride to Alki with a little headwind, then uphill toward White Center. The reward: pie at 3.14 Bakery. That's "Pi" Bakery to those of us with a memory for math. Apple pie for me, plus a strong mocha. Strong and sweet, that's how I like it.

From White Center, I headed north on 16th Avenue which was ok, but had a line of parked cars and a road seam not far from them, so it was a little dicey to choose where to ride. After I while, I turned on Myrtle St and went to 21st Ave, a real find. The avenue is on a ridge and is in a quiet neighborhood with off-street parking, speed bumps and low speeds. In fact, I didn't encounter any cars the whole time I was on it, but I did see a mother with her son on bicycles. That was my kind of road.

Toward the northern terminus of 21st Ave, I turned left to Andover, then a quick right to 22nd Ave. The map indicated there was bike trail access but I wasn't so sure once I made the turn. Just as I started to dread the climb back up the way I'd come, I rolled up on a driveway and onto the trail that goes under Spokane Street and Marginal Way. I made my way to Harbor Avenue, just as the winds from the south picked up, blowing me back to the park. Now that's sweet! Here's the route.

Pilchuck River Valley

On Sunday, I joined a BIKES of Snohomish ride, starting in Machias, just north of the town of Snohomish. I've ridden with these guys before and they are great. They always look after me, even when I am ahead of them ;-), but on this ride, there were three of us who rode a little faster, drafting one another and pushing the pace. We were accused of having too much testosterone until I, ahem, pointed out it might just be the estrogen. We enjoyed the smooth pavement of a new road in Granite Falls, I got my Columbian chocolate fix at the store there, then we were on to fun, quiet roads as we made our way back to Snohomish.

I start a lot of rides in Snohomish and that is because there are beautiful, quiet roads out there that roll and climb, but also because of the Snohomish Pie Company. After a fast, sweet cruise back to the car that put a smile on my face that not even chocolate can evoke, we all met up at the Pie Company in downtown Snohomish for a little more sweetness.

blue-ish skies

Wine and Dine Weekend, January 29 & 30

2011-02-06T13:14:00.000-08:00

Blackwood Canyon vineyard

There was some hiking this past weekend and some of it was dicey. And there was some wine tasting, and some of that was dicey, too. Six friends, either by direct association or friends of friends (actual friends, not the kind on Facebook) got together for a weekend of wine tasting and hiking in the Yakima Valley. We had received a generous offer from our friend-in-common, Becky, who was the highest bidder at the Bicycle Alliance's auction for a winemaker's dinner at Mercer Estates Winery in Prosser, WA.

we called this area the North Face, as it was solid ice

We were all cyclists and all active so we wanted to get a little fresh air and exercise on the drive over to the eastside. As the appointed Recreation Leader for the group, I chose the Umtanum Creek Falls hike, just outside of Ellensburg and a short, nearly flat 3-mile jaunt to a 40-foot waterfall. I had read reports on the WTA site that the area near the falls could be icy in winter, but that was only a small part of the dangers on the trail.

Umtanum Creek Falls

despite the snow, there were signs of spring

While the 5 miles of dirt road was wet and dirt-splattering, the parking lot was a sheet of ice. Half of us donned some type of traction device and/or poles, while the others relied on balance and luck. Through sheer will, the help of friends, some trail detours and maybe some sharp fingernails too, we all made it safely to the falls which were pounding with the recent melt. Nearly all of us took a fall at some point, but it yielded in dirty clothes or a slice of humble pie, but no immediate injuries. The three-mile hike had taken us a total of 4 hours and we had to trim our time-wasting to make it to the winery in time for the big dinner.

At 5:30 pm, the wine tasting began and with it a nice dinner which wasn't over until nearly 10pm, at which point we had sampled nearly 20 different varieties of wine and our friend, Bruce, had won the double Magnum for being a wine expert. Leaving the winery, I felt a little like I was on an icy hike, gliding over the parking lot, a full pirouette toward the car (driven by someone less intoxicated).

Bruce proudly displays his prize

After a night of difficult sleep (not enough wine to pass out, but too much to sleep peacefully), we woke to snow flurries and some aches and pains from the previous day's antics (on the ice, I presumed). First on the agenda was breakfast, then to Starbucks, a welcome change from wine. What was in the works for the day's schedule... more wine tasting!

First stop was to Chinook Winery in Prosser which opened their wine-tasting room for us specifically. They poured a Cabernet Franc, Semillon and a couple others (who can keep this stuff straight – it's wine). The Semillon was nice and, since it was marked 50% off, I bought a bottle, figuring that was my contribution to Washington Wines. Then we set off toward Benton City, to a winery I had been to about 15 years ago and had not had even one sip of their wines since I finished my last bottle, not long after returning home from the tasting.

Mike Moore of Blackwood Canyon

Blackwood Canyon is well-known for a few things. Most importantly, they produce incredible wines. They also produce their wines and age them much differently than most anywhere else in the US, or even the world. But the owner is known as an eccentric and, in contrast with the stainless steel and scrubbed chemistry lab of Mercer Estates, this winery looked like the home of a mad scientist. Old computers, papers scattered about, stacks of this and that, starkly different in every way from the order and sterile environment of the winery we had seen the evening before.

No matter, we still wanted to taste his wines and, for a $10 tasting fee, had a sample of each variety of his offerings, over 10 wines total. They were damn good. They were amazing. The wines had layers, they brought out the taste in the bites of food he served us (that he procured from somewhere amongst the chaos) and the food brought out more flavor in the wine. Two and a half hours later, we all stumbled out (mostly from fatigue brought on by the previous day), some with a case of wine, me with a couple of bottles. We were facing a long drive home and it turned out it was a very quiet drive (we were tired and hungry) and cramped (all the extra space had become occupied by wine bottles). It began snowing lightly outside of Cle Elum where we had stopped for dinner. As we passed a sanding truck on I-90, I thought, oh no, not more ice! But the rest of the journey was dry (pun intended, as I also refrained from any alcohol for the week following my return).

Diamond in the Rough

2011-01-18T15:50:00.000-08:00

Stillaguamish River near Granite Falls

Recently, I was talking to someone who had lived in the Seattle area all her life, but said she was really sick of the weather. While it's true that it often either rains or is cloudy in Seattle, there are some great advantages to the weather here. For example, unlike places like Colorado (I'm not picking on CO, in fact I would love to live in their cold and dry climate), there is a lot of green in Seattle all year, even in winter.

From the Douglas Firs and pines to the Salal and Oregon Grape and moss, there is likely to be a palette full of different shades of green most anywhere you look. I have heard that Eskimos have a plethora of words for snow; we have a similar quantity of shades of green.

Iris in bloom on NW 80th St

And then there are the unusual and unexpected, yet totally welcome oddities of nature. Those times in the season when you wish you saw a flower blooming, but no flower in its right mind should actually be blooming. But there it is! A spot of blue with yellow stripes catches your eye amongst the tall grasses in a garden in front of a house on a busy street. An Iris in January? I bent down to see that it was, indeed, anchored to the earth and had not fallen from a passing bouquet. An Iris in January – what a wonderful sight!

This is one more reason to love Seattle in winter.

The Start of 2011

2011-01-02T21:29:00.000-08:00

The first clue that something out of the ordinary was up at the beach on Whidbey Island was the long line of cars parked along the road. Hoping to go for a New Year's Day stroll, the innkeeper had given us directions to Double Bluff Beach and as we arrived, I figured she had pointed us to a very well-loved beach and a long-standing New Year's Day tradition. It turned out it was both of those things, but not at all what we expected of the latter. After parking, we walked toward a throng of people, noting an ambulance and hearing upbeat music booming. Then I heard someone say my name; it was Kay, a friend from COGS who was walking with her fiance.

I asked her for enlightenment and she lifted her sweater to reveal a swimsuit. We had stumbled into the Double Bluff Polar Bear Plunge and we were prepared: we had our own accessories... cameras. At a temperature of 35 degrees with sunny skies, this was going to be fun to photograph with high shutter speeds and long lenses, capturing the speed of the exit of swimmers from the water, as well as the assortment of characters.

Different groups of people had different strategies for preparing to plunge themselves in the 50-degree water. A group of guys were running around shirtless in their shorts and sneakers, a few bathers were changing into their suits on the beach (nothing to look at – think "well-insulated") and Kay and Dave were bundled in layers, protecting their precious body heat until the last moment. High Noon came and with it, a blast from an air-horn and a bit of confusion from the plungers (what, no countdown?). Their moment had come rather unceremoniously but aside from initial confusion, they all knew what to do... strip down and run in.

My focus was on Kay, as supportive as I could be without getting wet, and making sure she made good on her promise to dunk up to her neck – she did! A few shots toward the main crowd, then back at Kay as she was exiting. And what did she say upon her exit, was it celebratory or enlightening? She swore, "Oh Shit!" And with those words, the new year of 2011 begins.

Diamond Head, Redux

2010-12-19T10:45:00.000-08:00

This year's trip to Diamond Head, a peak in the East Cascades near Blewett Pass, was a little different from the same trip back in January of 2009. While we still had temperatures in the low 20s, snowmobilers at the trailhead and jokes about the namesake in Honolulu, the big difference was improvement in snow conditions, but also the lack of views.

After a long drive, stopping at Snoqualmie Pass to pick up our Mountaineers leader, Chris, standing at the side of the road like a hitch-hiking snowshoer, we started out in cold conditions. We soon left the snowmobilers behind, but made our own noises: crunch of snow, scrape of snowshoe and poles, and some chitter-chatter, too.

Instead of looking out to views of the Stewart Range, which were meager today, we were enthralled by the larch trees, laden with ice and frost and by the ponderosa with white ice coated over the bright green moss.

The navigating was easy, following the trail of trees marked with blue diamonds. I couldn't help thinking of the song, "She Wore Blue Diamonds" as we made our way toward the last pitch of climbing. The snowmobilers were there, on the Forest Service road, heralding our arrival. One of these days, we need to enlist them to carry up hot drinks and a nice meal for us.

the Hog Loppett goes this way...

perfect xmas trees

We reached our destination after ascending the last ridge and following it to the end, where it opened up to a ledge with what could have been views to the Stewart Range and Mt Rainier. See my post from 2009, here, if you missed out. We did have a limited view for a few minutes, before the fog came down to stay.

The journey back down was made with determination and limited stops, as the temperature was dropping and the light was dimming. We made it back to the Issaquah Park & Ride at 6:30PM to find the cars we'd left behind had a thick coat of ice on them, though it was 36 degrees, beyond the range of ice temperature. Physically, my leg help up very well today, with just a few grimaces made from pain. Later, however, I discovered I had a black toenail on my second toe, probably from some toe fighting going on in my boot. All in all, a great day out to the sometimes-sunny side.

Dog Lover

2010-11-30T15:32:00.000-08:00

Without a dog, you may wonder how much of a dog lover I could be. But I love dogs so much that I realize that owning one when I live in a 700 square-foot condo would be unkind. Instead, I read about dogs, my favorite read being Merle's Door by Ted Kerasote and my most recent, Sight Hound by Pamela Houston and I pet all the friendly dogs I encounter all over Seattle, getting kisses once in a while. I also embrace the spirit of a dog: living to have fun, to walk in the rain, to embrace my fave people as much as possible and to try to love unconditionally.

So it hurts me whenever I read about the loss of a dog and this week, I read about a woman who lost her dog in a most unassuming way – while on a walk on Queen Anne hill on Thanksgiving Day. While they happily walked along the sidewalk of Queen Anne Ave, her dog, Sammy, suddenly began to howl and went into convulsions. Unbeknownst to her, the dog had just stepped on a contact voltage plate that delivered enough electricity to kill a dog.

While she has hired lawyers to recoup the funds associated with Sammy's medical and burial expenses, she is dealing with the loss of her pet, her soulmate, her buddy. She has a blog devoted to the dog and the incident in hopes to prevent this from happening again and also to help her move through her grief. If you are a dog lover or owner, please be sure to read the blog, pass on the information and help keep our Seattle dogs safe.

What does this have to do with Thanksgiving?!

2010-11-22T21:59:00.000-08:00

"You want to do what to your toe?", my doctor friend asked. I had called her to act as moral support and supervisor when I had a bruise under my toenail that had become particularly painful. "Yes", I said, "burn a hole through the nail, with a needle or paper clip." As a supportive friend, she agreed to have me come over to her home, where her brother was staying on a visit and where she was suffering from a cold. And it was 9AM on a Saturday morning.

I arrived with needles, band-aids and triple antibiotic cream in pocket. She countered with sterilizing pads, square towels and medical sharps, along with a long-reaching lighter and a small supply of paper clips. We set about the task in her dining room, the cat trying to get a good view by jumping onto her shoulder. The needle was red-hot when I pressed it into my nail. It didn't hurt a bit... until I burned through to the fleshy part, that is. At that point, it felt like a hot poker on naked flesh because, well, that's what it was. I was hopeful and waited for the spurt of blood, the blood that would relieve the pressure I'd been feeling at night. Nothing happened.

Attempt #2 was with a small paper clip, figuring that the needle's tip was too small. I did it quickly so I didn't lose my nerve. Nothing happened. Attempt #3 was with a large paper clip. At this point, I began to wonder if I was taking pleasure in hurting myself or if I was so optimistic as to have become moronic, unable to comprehend that something just wasn't working. But I was inspired by the thought of getting a good night's sleep, a night without pain so after a few deep breaths and cuddles from the kitty, set to enlarge the hole once again. Guess what? Nothing happened!

I took some more deep breaths, cuddled with the kitty, massaged the rest of my foot and leg and declared, "let's go have pie!" When things don't work out, despite the best of intentions, the support of friends and the warmth of a kitten, it's time to treat myself to pie.

This Thanksgiving, I am grateful for good friends (and their pets) and tasty pie.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

Fall's Hiking Finale

2010-10-26T18:24:00.000-07:00

As fall's colors are being replaced with a fresh layer of snow, I am thinking back to just last week, when I was in shorts and short sleeves, hiking at Mt Rainier National Park.

this is the view from the parking lot at Paradise!

navigating a snowfield on the Skyline Trail

And a few days before that, traipsing around Crystal Mountain in the early morning frost.

Mt Adams and layers

Pickhandle Gap

Mt Stuart

And a week before, being blown away by the combination of blue sky, golden larches, mountain goats and towering peaks at Ingalls Pass.

And the week before that, marvelling at the engineering feat of blasting a path through rock at Kendall Katwalk.

Marie enjoys the view

Red Mountain from the Katwalk

It was a fabulous streak of good weather, faithful hiking companions and top-tier destinations.
For more photos of these adventures, go here.

How to be the Audience

2010-10-21T09:59:00.000-07:00

Hachoo! Cough! Thump! Hey, we must be at a performance at Benaroya Hall, Seattle's collecting place for folks with phlegm issues and slippery fingers. At a recent performance with pianist Andras Schiff, the sneezing, coughing and dropping of programs continued at a pace not unlike the musical term allegretto. Even at a moment of rest between movements, when there should have been silence to hear a pin drop, some schlub in the second tier of the auditorium made a throaty sneezing noise, as if competing with the Steinway on stage.

Benaroya Hall has been called a "perfect" performance hall in that the sound from any seat in the hall is precisely duplicated from the source. So, if the sound from the stage is so clear, the same must be true of the sound that emanates from the audience and reaches the stage, right? Place a world-renowned pianist on the stage who has memorized his entire program, a mix of Mendelssohn and Schumann, and add some sneezers and coughers and heavy-item droppers in various points throughout the 2,500 seat hall and the recipe would seem to call for disaster, yet Schiff showed no outer signs of distraction. The audience, however, took notice. I saw several members of the audience looking toward the offending cougher, directing them with their eyes to remove themselves from the hall. At the point when something was dropped on the floor and a heavy "thud" was heard, I jumped in my seat, as though startled from having something fall on me from above.

Why are there so many coughers and sneezers in Seattle and in Benaroya, in partcular? Is it something about our weather that causes us to have more phlegm? The definition for phlegm states that "it is a mucus secreted in the respiratory passages" but also can mean "sluggishness, calmness or apathy". While classical music is very soothing, a state of apathy or sluggishness is not what is strived for.

Take my advice, please, and stay home with your cold and drink water to soothe your nasal passages instead of downing diuretic coffee to dry them up. And allow everyone to hear the music as it was intended.

Give and Take

2010-10-02T15:05:00.000-07:00

There was a crisp five-dollar bill staring up at me on the trail to Park Butte Lookout at the foot of Mt Baker. It was like an apparition, so incongruous in a place where you "leave it all behind". I snatched it up, pausing for a moment to think of how could I find its previous owner, someone who may not be able to have their coffee at the Starbucks in Sedro Woolley after hiking because their money fell out of their pocket. In just a moment, the vision of the woman who zipped down the trail passed through my head and I realized that a reunion would be impossible and so I pocketed it.

Funny thing is, I had just pondered aloud as to how I could make hiking into a money-making business. "Writing about it, selling your book and photographs" were what I received as suggestions. A few minutes later, we came across two Forest Service employees taking a break, eating sandwiches beside the trail. I could work for the US Government, hiking trails, checking permits, cleaning backcountry toilets in a hard-to-get paid position.

We made it to the Park Butte lookout which was occupied by a hiker who was a very gracious host. The lookout is first-come-first-serve as far as overnight lodging is concerned but visitors are welcome. Our host offered to take my poles as I made my way the last few steps up to the chunk of rock, then gave me binoculars to gaze out at every direction and also set out chairs so we could eat lunch in comfort. He asked me, "you probably found a five-dollar bill on the trail, right?" and my first thought was that maybe he had passed it over. I admitted that I had and, once I realized it had fallen from his pocket, I dug it out and handed it over to him. His intention for the bill was to make a donation to the Skagit group who maintained the structure and kept donation envelopes in the lookout. There went my trail bounty but I was pleased it was going to a good cause.

We reluctantly left the lookout since daylight was waning and ran into a heavily laden backpacker making her way up to camp. She mentioned that the bridge we had crossed over Rocky Creek, a torrent of silty, mud-colored water that gushed down from the Easton Glacier had been dismantled, yet she was still able to cross it by doing this and that and held her hands in a cross-like position. It seemed that those "paid-to-hike" Forest Service folks had dismantled the bridge with them when they hiked out, not warning us or even making jokes how low our boots came up on our legs. Why was this day, Wednesday, September 29 significant? They couldn't have waited until the end of the month or at least given any warning at the trailhead?

We arrived at the creek at the same time two climbers had arrived on the far side. They wore gaiters, plastic boots and had massive packs with rope and climbing helmets. We watched as they tried to detour downstream to find a crossing, then retreat back toward the trail. We tried to communicate with them but the deafening sound of the creek made that difficult. The few words we did understand was that they were going to bag their climb and "good luck".

My thoughts went to my car, its heated seats, the cookie I had left for us on our return, dinner somewhere on the way home. I wanted to be at that car, yet a raging torrent stood between me and those things. Suddenly, my hiking partner barked out orders to get into the creek, hold on to the log for balance and stability and walk slowly across to the other side. He was hungry, too! He went first and, when he wasn't swept away by the current, my fears subsided. Soon, I was knee-deep in water that wasn't nearly as cold as I thought it would be and I began to laugh once I reached the other side, mostly from relief but also from the thrill of the unknown.

Boots soaked and feet sloshing, we made our way down to the trailhead, ate the cookie, heated up the seats and headed for dinner. We were grateful for the day in the mountains we had been given and for taking the path of least resistance.

Mountain Wanderlust, Part !!

2010-09-20T12:21:00.000-07:00

After our 2-day trip to the North Cascades in July (see previous post), I was intent on returning to the area to see and hike the "Best Of" hikes that were above treeline and stunningly beautiful. During the week, when summer had just about faded, we made a beeline for Hart's Pass in the North Cascades, Pasayten Wilderness.

Day One, Tuesday, September 14

Location: Hart's Pass, elev 6,400'

Hike: North on the PCT from the Pass, about 5 miles RT

Star Rating: 5

Camp Location: The Meadows, a mile south from the Pass, in a burned forest with some new growth and wildflowers

Dinner: Palak Paneer with Pilaf

Other activities: stargazing from the "Astronomy Pad" on a high point in the campground

Day Two: Wednesday, September 15

Location: Hart's Pass

Hike: South on the PCT with an off-trail summit of Tatie Peak, 7,400', about 6 miles RT

Star Rating: book says 5; we gave it a 6!

Camp Location: Klipchuck Campground

Dinner: cheese, pesto and crackers, wine (Cline Syrah)

Other activities: watching smoke from a forest fire, celebrating Brian's birthday

Tatie Peak

en route to summit Tatie

burned trees and turning leaves

view from Tatie's summit

Day Three: Thursday, September 16

Location: Rainy Pass

Hike: Maple Pass loop, 7 miles, high point: 6,850'

Star Rating: 5

Camp Location: home, sweet home

Dinner: sandwich and salads at Skagit Valley Co-op, Mt Vernon

Other activities: driving home, sometimes in the rain

view of lakes from Heather Pass

friendly marmot


Azurite Peak and blue skies


view from Maple Pass

berry bushes turning colors but no bears


Rainy Lake with colored hillside

Forever Young

2010-09-12T22:45:00.000-07:00

meadow along the PCT

Back in my twenties, I always felt like the people I hiked with viewed me as "just a kid". They didn't seem to think I had anything of value to add to the group and, to them, all it seemed like I wanted to do was have fun (still true today, of course, life is about having fun). In my thirties, I went on a lot of private (non-organized) trips with friends so there was near-total equality, as either my friends and I were similar in age or my older friend was a love interest who wouldn't dare put me down for having fewer years on the earth.

Now, in my forties, a time when I feel comfortable with my self, my age and my intellectual standing (wherever that may be), I have found the way to stay forever young. I hike with older people so that no matter how much older I get, up until a certain point, I will still be younger than the rest of the group.

I was on just such a hike yesterday with the Snoqualmie Valley Trails Club, a small group of dedicated hikers who go to less-trodden places in the Cascades. I knew most of the other hikers, either from other SVTC trips I'd been on, or from trips in the Mountaineers, where a lot of them either have been leaders or currently lead hikes for both groups. They are good hikers: they move at a good pace, they have years of experience with gear, destinations and natural history and are generally a pleasant group of people to hike with and be in the mountains with for an entire day.

Daisy at Trap Lake

photogenic pika

The hike started at the Tunnel Creek trailhead near Stevens Pass and connected to the Pacific Crest Trail, where we headed south to Trap Lake, one lake shy of Surprise Lake and with markedly fewer visitors. I had brought hiking poles for this trip, since I have a problem with my knee/hip; many of the other hikers had poles that they swear by to reduce knee strain. I heard a couple of women talking about momentarily misplacing their wallet, only to find it minutes later, like putting glasses on your forehead and thinking you've lost them. I related a story of "losing" my camera, only to find it in its proper storage spot at home. It was only when we neared the trailhead on the return and everyone talked about the various anti-inflammatories they needed to take before the drive home that I realized that, younger or not, I am more like those old hikers than I had led myself to believe. Hiking – the age equalizer.

Interurban Trail Angel

2010-09-03T13:39:00.000-07:00

Returning from a very nice loop of Edmonds from home, Becky's chain jammed in between her chainrings and, despite grabbing the chain and pulling desperately, up-ending her bike and yanking hard, she was unable to free it.

Then along came one-handed coffee-drinking casual bike rider guy. "Do you gals need help?" We were reluctant to involve him in the task since it was obvious it would leave him blackened, the same color as Becky's dirty chain. To calm our protests, he stated, "I'm a guy, I'll just wipe my hands on the pavement, no big deal".

For him, it was no big deal. He yanked on the chain, freed it, grabbed his coffee and hopped on his bike and rode away. He didn't hit on us, or hit us up for a "reward". He was just a nice guy helping out his fellow bicyclists.

Thank you, one-handed coffee-drinking casual bike rider guy! You've just made a deposit in the good karma bank.

The Bear

2010-08-29T20:40:00.000-07:00

Everybody talked about it. The WTA trip reports for the Walt Bailey Trail mentioned more than one bear. The ranger at the Verlot station agreed by saying, there were lots of bears on that trail. People we saw who were coming down the trail mentioned, "there's a bear up there".

We knew we had to see it – we could not do the hike and miss the opportunity to see The Bear. While we were eating lunch in the meadow, a lone hiker whom we had seen ascend, then descend the trail, asked if we were continuing on the trail further up. We said we were and he proceeded to give us the exact location (and approximate size – big) of the bear. We looked at each other. OK, let's go see the bear.

Suddenly, it felt like we were at the zoo. "Go up to the log, look up and to the left and you will see a big, black figure". We followed his instructions and suddenly we saw the bear. We said "hello" softly. It turned and looked at us and we could clearly see it was a big, black bear with a light brown snout. It kept looking at us. Using my innate bear psychology, this is what the bear was saying, "Leave me alone, I just want to eat my berries in peace with no more of your kind talking to me, singing to me and get your barking dogs away from me" I heard him loud and clear and we backed away until we had left him, staring off into the distance, alone in his berry patch.

We went back to the lake, where I took over my own berry patch.

nope, that's not the bear

Satisfying a Craving

2010-08-22T20:05:00.000-07:00

obviously, this is not a Mountaineers trip!

I fully embrace the new technology that has been developed to make our lives easier and keep us connected. Take Facebook, for example, where on Tuesday morning I posted that I wanted to day-hike at Mt Rainier on Wednesday and was anyone available for the day. By midday, I was invited on a 3-day backpack trip to Spider Meadows, a premier destination in WA State. The inspiration for the trip for both parties, me and Todd, was a fellow Mountaineer named Mary who had recently day-hiked to the area and had taken some fabulous photos of wildflowers, meadows and towering peaks. Since we would be going mid-week and staying three days, we were sure to have fewer people on the trail and have more opportunity for great photos.

Paintbrush and mountains

Wednesday morning, not very early, Todd picked me up and we headed to the backpacker mecca... REI for some last-minute items. Normally, I don't like to make stops before getting out of dodge, but since the trip had come together so quickly, we each lacked certain essentials (fuel and water purification). Afterward, a trip to Espresso Vivace was necessary for some personal fueling and we were off, oh so leisurely.

It was a long drive up to the trailhead and we quickly saw that we were not alone, though 22 cars at the trailhead was not much, given the popularity of the area. We arrived in the lower meadow at 6pm, a time that gave us little daylight to make camp, find somewhere to hang our food and have dinner. But the lower camps were buggy – these were not mosquitoes, but were deer flies that bite and hurt and leave a big welt that stays and itches for days (yes, I missed mosquitoes, who are annoying but whose bites disappear in one day). We moved from that area quickly and managed to find a small spot along the creek with just enough room for my single-person tent and Todd's bivy bag.

After dinner, Todd went right to bed but I stayed up to watch the star show since we were miles from any artificial light. I have limited knowledge of the constellations and, beyond the major ones, I just marveled at the quantity, since the Milky Way appeared above. When I finally got into my tent, I rolled up one side of the fly so I could stargaze from my bed.

Monkeyflowers in Phelps Basin

In the morning, we got ready to do some exploring, first in Phelps Basin, where the inspiring photo that brought us out here was taken, then up toward Spider Gap, high above the meadows at 7,100', above the Spider Glacier. I had brought my Sony DSLR for the occasion, knowing the area would be worthy, but the camera encouraged me to go further and higher than I would have with a less complex camera. In Phelps Basin, I saw the photo Mary had taken, but moved upstream and came across a field of two shades of purple flowers that mimicked the lavender fields of Provence. Click, click, click went the camera. On our way toward Spider Gap, I had only intended to go as high as the first decent view of the valley below, but soon I found that my camera had an addiction to beautiful scenery and I was its enabler, climbing higher on a steep, rocky trail, thinking about how I might actually hurt myself going down it, but was lured higher, nonetheless, helpless to the cravings of getting the perfect shot.

I was able to reign in my camera's desires when standing at the foot of the Spider Glacier, since I possessed neither poles nor an ice ax for travelling on this type of terrain. Camera was happy where we were, with views to Red Mountain to the west, Seven-Fingered Jack and Mt Maude to the east and the entire Spider Meadow to the south. I saw a sign, "Toilet" and camera said to follow, knowing that, up here in pristine wilderness, they are not just wooden shitboxes, but royal thrones with spectacular views.

the view of Spider Meadows from Gap trail

Camera and I wandered and captured images and took all possible paths until it was time to find a place to rest and wait for Todd to descend. At the high-in-the-sky campsites I found Todd had beat me to a nap and after I caught my few winks, he lent me his poles so I could descend safely, knowing the photos would only be able to be seen if camera and I made it down without a tumble.

7:34 AM in the meadow

I'm glad I lived to see the following day. I'm also glad I'm so fond of those wooden shitboxes because I hiked down valley in the early morning to the lower camps just so I could sit in comfort and, on the way back, saw a field of magenta and pink paintbrush off the trail. Naturally, I had camera with me, its desire so strong at all times, and I crouched in the meadow for some serious MBs (that's megabites, photo talk, you know). The series began at 7:19am and continued for every minute until 7:34, sometimes multiple shots per minute. Then I got hungry and headed back to camp for breakfast, only to return later after we had packed up and were hiking out.

The second time around was only slightly different as there were still a multitude of flower and valley shots but they were interspersed with naps and book reading in the meadow.

Todd lingers in the meadow

On the hike out, the influx of new campers was steady and, close to the parking lot I was asked about gathering firewood for a campfire. I knew the answer was "No fires permitted in Wilderness areas" but I couldn't seem to say the words since every campsite had a fire ring and the family sounded so enthusiastic about sitting around a fire. Instead, I commented that we didn't make a fire and later included this blurb in my trip report to WTA:

"There are many camp sites scattered about in the meadows but, sadly, most have fire rings built by people who didn't know that fires are not permitted in wilderness areas. This is the Glacier Peak Wilderness, people, and fire danger is high and no one wants to be the idiot who sets the meadow on fire. So bring friends for conversation, a book for quiet reading or your imagination for star gazing, but don't start a fire!"

On our return to the city, we swam in a cool lake, ate a piece of good pie and then, once at home, I was set to the task of dealing with the results of the addiction. I had no fewer than 180 photos to sort through! Since I can't come close to posting them all in this blog, please go here to see all 48 that have been chosen as the best.

Midweek Mountain Worship

2010-08-12T22:22:00.000-07:00

Cathedral Rock & lupine

The bulletin board at the Cathedral Rock trailhead had a notice page from a ranger who had recently hiked it. It mentioned bugs and wildflowers and, in the space that summed up the overall conditions, it basically said, "It's as good as it gets." And it gets damn good, if my memory served me correctly. And, though I didn't remember the trail up to Squaw Lake at all, my mind went back to a photo taken of me while beyond that point, up on the ridge, meandering in flowers in the meadows while in the holy place of Cathedral Rock.

Mt Hinman from trail junction

The pews were sky-high, about 5,600' to be exact, and the ceiling was clear and blue. Let's face it – I don't know much about cathedrals and will soon run out of metaphors but I do know plenty about mountains and this place is one of those primo spots along the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) that can be reached after a not-too-long of a drive from the city.

The elevation past Cathedral Rock is made more dramatic by the view down to Deep Lake, 1,300' below and up to Mts Hinman and Daniel, at a heavenly 7,500' and 7,900', respectively (who can't respect that). The trail up to Peggy's Pond is chopped right out of the rock face of the lower reaches of the Rock and is a place where you either know you were meant to be a climber... or not. In my case, not, as I carefully turned around and headed back toward the meadows and to where I felt more comfortable, below the surface of the water in an alpine lake, taking the baptismal plunge in the holy mountain waters.
Want to see more photos? Go here.

The Pitch

2010-08-09T10:38:00.000-07:00

I suppose it was the perfect day for a hike. There was light rain, temps in the upper 50s and lower 60s and not a mosquito in biting range. However, I had invited Cathy on this hike for the purpose of knocking another lake swim off my list; I was wishing for a bit more warmth.

We set out up the well-groomed trail to Talapus and Ollalie Lakes (already swam in those multiple times) and to the ridge saddle to head down to Pratt. I hesitated slightly, thinking about continuing along the ridge but a feeling of regret of not succeeding in my swim forced me to turn down toward Pratt.

A trail runner friend had seen a bear somewhere along the trail the day before and, when I say bear, I mean the motherload: a sow and her cubs. I heard some noise like those of wildlife coming from the meadow below, but it turned out to be a youth group doing trail work. The kids had on hard hats with the initials "NYC" and I had a sudden jolt of empathy, thinking about inner-city east coast kids in the wet wasteland of the I-90 trail system. Just to be sure, I asked what it stood for and was relieved when they told me the Northwest Youth Corps.

Once past Pratt, we were in unchartered waters, since I had never been past Pratt Lake on this trail. We had a great view of the Pratt River Valley, made dramatic by the clouds hanging low to the mountains. Soon, we came to Lower Tuscohatchie Lake, a serene pool with a waterfall crashing down on the far end. The water was very swimmable and, with Cathy directing me for where to go for the best photo, was surprisingly temperate. While I was swimming, the sun managed a brief visit, as though I was being saluted for returning to the mountains and lakes that I so love.

This pucker is for you, if you donate to WTA

OK, here's the pitch: I am participating in the WTA Hike-a-Thon this year to raise money for trail maintenance, lobbying for wilderness areas and forest protection, a fabulous website and more. It is very easy to donate money and only requires a couple of clicks here. There's no minimum donation, making it a cinch to earn my gratitude.

Whirling in Pioneer Square

2010-08-03T21:46:00.000-07:00

If you are a fan of Whirled Traveler, especially if you dig the photos, there's an event coming up that you shouldn't miss.

The First Thursday, August 5th, Art Walk in Pioneer Square will feature my photographs, all spun around a bicycle theme, at the Bicycle Alliance office at 309A 3rd Ave S near Main Street in Seattle. I am one of three cycling photographers they selected to exhibit. My fellow photographers are Carla Gramlich and Susan Hiles, who each have their own style.

In addition to the people you can schmooze with and the photos you can ogle in an ogle-safe environment, there will be nibbles and refreshments. The fun starts at 6pm on Thursday. Here's a map to prevent you from whirling too far.

Of Bugs and Water

2010-07-25T20:57:00.000-07:00

Our Mountaineers group started on the PCT going north from Stevens Pass via the Smithbrook Rd trailhead. There were some bugs in the parking lot, as there often is, and I accepted some bug spray from my carpool mate, a rare event for me. We reached Union Gap at 4700' without much pain or suffering, though I noticed a few mosquito bites on my elbows where I had forgotten to spray. After a short break, we headed down to Lake Janus, passing many flowers which were identified by our hike leader: Blue and Pink Bluebells (together on one stem), Star Solomon Seal, Paintbrush, Lupine, Valerian, Tiger Lily, Marsh Marigold, Queen's Cup and Pink Heather. It was nothing too spectacular since they were sparse in numbers, but made for good reasons to stop, identify and take pictures.

looking toward Scorpion Mt

Star Solomon Seal

It was 3.2 miles to Lake Janus and we were given a big welcome... by the mosquitos. They zipped around in a frenzy, so overjoyed to see a bunch of healthy, hot hikers; we were fresh meat. Soon, I could take it no longer and tore my clothes off, throwing myself into the lake, where I realized I had become bait for the fishermen bobbing around on the serene water waiting for a bite. I managed not to be lured in by their lines and had a really nice swim in perfect-temperature water while watching my fellow hikers get bogged down in the mud on the lake's perimeter trail.

We finished lunch and bid farewell to our blood-sucking friends, making our way the 600 feet back up to Union Gap. It was mostly in the shade so it wasn't a problem, though the day had grown warm and my cool-down swim was long gone. At the Gap, we saw some horse packers and their beasts seemed happy to have someone to scratch their heads and help them swat the bugs away. I wondered how many mosquitos one horse can feed.

Back at the trailhead, the mosquitos were taking their last dips into human blood and when we departed for the city, one of them endured the cool of the air conditioning until nearly Index, when my carpool mate clapped her hands in excitement and squished the little bugger.

The Trail That Mike's Crew Fixed

2010-07-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

There were four of us at the Independence Lake trailhead, off the Mountain Loop Highway, standing around, waiting to get organized for some trail maintenance. I was a little worried, mostly because I might be perceived as a wimpy city chick, but also because I really had to pee and there was no privacy to be found. I took care of the latter (there is a purpose for mini-vans) and the former ended up being an unnecessary concern.

The WTA organizes work parties all over the state's national forests and parks to volunteer in the role of trail maintenance throughout the year. Our leader, Mike, a WTA foreman and volunteer, spends his summers from Tuesday through Friday out in the woods, taking groups of volunteers, newbies and seasoned alike, to a trail that the local agency has designated as needing work. Last year, WTA's volunteer hours numbered 94,000 and that saved the Forest and Park Service an estimated $900,000! As budgets get cut, the WTA's efforts are even more valuable.

OK, enough with the background, lets get to work. We donned hard hats, were given shovels (also a great leverage tool for moving rocks), pulaskis (an axe / adze combo) and buckets for transporting rocks. There were three main areas to work on: placing a step into a slippery area, relocating tread and obscuring a system of roots and removing a large rock that was sticking up in the middle of the trail. There is a lot of planning and energy that goes into every feature of a trail so doing this type of work is very illuminating. Mike explained each project and we set to work. My task of putting in the step ended up being easier than he had thought, mainly because I went about it the way a woman would. The difference is: a man would move rocks, cut through huge roots, each one becoming its own small project, to get the step in precisely the right spot. A woman would see that there was an easier way, requiring less overall effort, by changing the slope slightly, then avoiding moving heavy rocks or sawing through living things, placing the step with finesse and finding the right rocks to support it. Either way works; it's just about how much energy you want to expend.

The next project I helped with involved one huge rock, already excavated by a crew earlier in the week, that had been sticking up out of the trail bed. Zack had already dug the hole deeper and we were able to move it to its side so it could effectively be buried below the trail. The next step involved going to the creek and collecting small rocks to cover over the huge one that would allow soil to fill in the cracks and make it into a solid trail surface. I thought my wimpiness would surely come into play here, as I could only manage to carry the bucket half full of rocks, but Zack could load his up all the way. I think it may have evened out as I made more trips back-and-forth. Soon, though, we amassed a pile of rocks, tossing them into the hole, filling up the space and then covered it in soil. Mike was impressed; we had made the trail level and solid and no one will ever know about all the work under the surface. Who knows what we could have buried in there! Alex related a saying from his town of Rockport, "a good friend will help you move, a really good friend will help you bury the evidence".

Another highlight of the day was taking a quick (and I mean quick!) dip in Independence Lake, less than a mile from where we were working. The water was clear green and I wondered if it was very cold. I didn't put my feet in until I had my clothes off and by the time I got to a rock to push off into the water from, my feet were numb. Three strokes out, three strokes back, out of the water and into the sun.

We hiked out and enjoyed cookies and soda in the blazing sunshine and talked about what other trails we might like to work on. For an added incentive, aside from the feeling of accomplishment and cookies, working 2 trail parties on federal lands nets you a yearly trails pass.

Mountain Wanderlust

2010-07-06T09:53:00.000-07:00

It all started with a little whine. When Brian got my message about how I just had to get out of town and into the mountains, he quickly returned my call and we began planning our escape. My wanderlust had been restricted lately due to responsibilities, injury and poor weather but the need was building and I was getting cranky so we packed up the car and headed north and east on Monday morning. Our camping destination was Newhalem, home of Seattle City Light in the North Cascades National Park and also where there was a great car-camp area and a visitor's center and views to the Picket Range.

I got out of the car to check out our chosen spot, #37 (my lucky number) and my eyes had to readjust to the brilliant greens of moss, ferns and leaves of many different shades. It was as though the forest was aglow – it was the right spot to be in. Once we set up camp, we headed out on a walk, first along the Skagit River which was moving at a dizzyingly fast speed, then into the woods, then up Newhalem Creek, over to Ladder Creek Falls and back through the booming metropolis (not really, just a small store with fresh fudge and SCL housing) of Newhalem and to our home for the night. Several hours of easy walking with cameras and tripod, shooting as we went.

It was dinner time and I suggested we eat out... at the Diablo Lake overlook along Hwy 20. I have done a lot of cycling along that highway, up and down in both directions (in the same day, even) and so I am always amazed when I drive it because it seems tough even in a car with 160 horse-power, though we were going a bit faster. The overlook turned out to be just right for dining: light wind to keep the bugs away, lingering sunshine from the west, views to Colonial Peak and Paul Bunyan's Stump to the south and Jack Mountain to the north, all from where we were perched, beneath a pergola. We opted for the no-cook dinner of tortillas with pesto, mozzarella and prosciutto which seemed to excite the raven population which was either going to wait for handouts or would dive-bombed their intended treasures, we weren't sure which.

After returning to our camp from dinner, we weren't long for sleep and all I had to do was read about some backpack trips I'd like to do from the WTA magazine I had brought along and eyelids started to droop. In the morning, it was incredibly clear but cool at our corner of the woods so we drove to breakfast at the Visitor's Center, firing up the Pocket Rocket for oil-dark coffee and oatmeal in the sunshine. The sun warmed up quickly and we shed clothes, then broke camp and packed up for an easy day of hiking, though we weren't sure yet where.

We considered Ross Lake overlook and there was some confusion about where exactly that was, since there is a large parking lot for the Ross Lake Resort, but it's not an overlook so we kept going and going... and going. Soon, Brian commented that the overlook seemed like it should be within a few miles and I casually mentioned that we were long past Ross Lake and it's only, oh,

about 20 miles to Washington Pass and it's so lovely out and what a scenic drive and ooh, aah, check out those peaks and, hey, I've hiked that trail and that one, until suddenly, we were turning in to the Washington Pass Overlook.

At the risk of sounding like all we did was drive, take strolls and eat, I will admit that we pulled out the cooler and found a seat with a view of Liberty Bell and Early Winters Spire and had lunch; it was that time of day. Then, we headed up the trail that was supposedly closed, but the man with the machine was on his lunch break, so we were free to wander, which is exactly why we came in the first place. We quickly made our way to the highest point and sat down, feeling dizzy. It wasn't just from the altitude – the mountains rose up in front of us so close and clear and sharp that the sight was one that made me dizzy (and for the fact that I could see straight down to the highway below, about 800 feet or more). It was so beautiful and just what I needed, like the antidote to city living, a mountain girl returning home.

PIE is the new ICE

2010-06-25T19:18:00.000-07:00

In the past when I've been injured, the way to remember the cure has been the acronym ICE: Ice, compression, elevation. That always bothered me, seeing that ice is part of ICE, making it a little tricky to remember the rest. C is for... chocolate, compassion, cookies?

To simplify and improve upon the old acronym, I propose the following change:

Peas (frozen bag of)
Ibuprofen
Elevation

What does that spell? PIE! Pie is much more fun than ice, is easier to remember (especially for pie aficionados like me) and includes the drug of my generation, Ibuprofen. Plus, peas are a more controllable substance than ice in the art of cooling down and can be reused.

The next time I have an injury, instead of fearing the cold, steely ICE, I will look forward to PIE.

Gratuitous Photos

2010-06-13T17:41:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend in the Olympics, hiking with an old friend along a creek, a river and up high on a mountain.

Hikes:

Tunnel Creek, outside of Quilcene, a quiet trail that was being worked on by WTA to repair a washout. Hiked 2.7 steep-ish miles to the restored shelter, then crossed the creek on a bridge and headed up toward Harrison Lake. A steep trail, made difficult and possibly dangerous by lots of hard snow so we turned around. On the way out, I noticed a side trail that looked like it went nowhere, only to discover it led to the banks of the creek. Read more in my WTA trip report.

Dungeness River, south of Sequim Bay State Park, where we camped, was about a 45 minute drive with wonderful views of the valley and peaks. We went as a digestive after-dinner hike, going just a mile up the trail, but enjoying every minute of it. The trail along the Dungeness is very open to the sky and follows the bank of the river very closely (sometimes too closely, as there was evidence of flooding along the trail). We turned around at the bridge over Royal Creek, where a trail led to Royal Basin (must do that some day). The trail was smooth and easy, as I wore my Crocs and had no problem.

Hurricane Ridge Tourist Trek, the network of paved trails at Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic National Park. The elevation is 5,000' so there is some snow, but on this sunny Sunday, it was soft enough to hike on safely. As the clouds were starting to lift, we were treated to views of surrounding peaks. Plus, we could see the road winding uphill and could spot our fellow cyclists making the climb to the Ridge.

Hurricane Hill, another tourist trek but with substance, as you actually have to be out of sight of your car for more than an hour (heavens!) and have to do some ascending. The views all along the way were fabulous, and getting better by the minute, as the clouds continued to lift. At the summit, there are 360 degrees of views, from Mt Olympus and the Bailey Range, to Sequim and Dungeness Spit, as if you can see all the mountains and valleys. It was hard to take photos, as a feeling of being overwhelmed came over me.

Before and After

2010-06-07T22:12:00.001-07:00

Before our backpack trip up Ingalls Creek in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, I tried to impress upon Brian that we were entering the rainshadow and the weather would be better than Seattle's wet and drippy climate of early June. It was hard for either of us to believe as we encountered rain in Cle Elum, rain on Blewett Pass and, finally, rain at the trailhead. When our packs were all loaded up, our boots on and our rain jackets zipped, there was no more procrastinating and we left the dry car for the wet trail. After a few minutes on the trail, I was heating up and, noticing the rain had stopped, took off my jacket as Brian did the same. After a couple of miles, we were both down to t-shirts and pants, enjoying perfect hiking weather.

Wildflowers seem to shine in rainy weather with moist petals and leaves. At first, we saw mostly Lupine and different colors of Paintbrush, including yellow, a species native to the area, but then out came the Balsamroot and lilies and lots of other varieties, one of the best flower shows around. We hiked in about 6.5 miles while everyone was hiking out from the Saturday overnight stay and we felt confident that we would be the only ones spending the night. We hoped we were right due to the next person we saw on the trail.

We had set up our tent and were preparing for dinner when we saw him. The first thing I noticed was that he had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Then I saw he was wearing a dirty jacket that might have been made out of cotton canvas. But it was what he was carrying that really got my attention: a duffel bag nearly 3/4 his size was carried on his right arm and a 5-gallon water jug in his left. He moved slowly, passing our site heading downhill, not saying a word. Just when we began to wonder what was going on, he walked back up the trail where he had come from. The next time we saw him, he was pulling something with a rope behind him – it was a suitcase with rollers but the rollers weren't rolling and he was dragging it down the trail. He looked at us and gave a nod. Brian and I quickly came to the conclusion that the bags were full of marijuana, that he was growing it up the trail somewhere and was now harvesting it and, with his rate of progress on the trail (which we estimated at 2 hours per mile), would have to hike all night, making his 20-yard load transports to get back to the trailhead by dawn with no one seeing him. Except that we saw him. Was he armed? Was he meeting someone at the trailhead who was armed and would wait for our arrival? We tried to be logical, figuring it would be too much trouble to eliminate us, but it still made for an uneasy night with fitful sleep and way too much listening for footsteps.

During the night, we had a visitor, but it was of the rodent variety. Something was nibbling on Brian's backpack, outside under the eaves of the rainfly. Brian knocked around the walls of the tent but still the gnawing continued. Then a noise emanated from him that was so guttural, so primal that it made me laugh, then cry, so that between the two of us, every mammal and rodent should have cleared out a 1-mile radius from our tent. Every one except the rodent gnawing on Brian's pack. He eventually got out of the tent with a headlamp and turned our site into daylight so that the little nocturnal beast went scampering away (but not before it also sampled my backpack, boots and our cooking supplies, though no damage was done).

After a crazy night of sleep and antics, we woke to blue skies. We could see mountains and rocky peaks! The sun shone on us while we ate breakfast. We hiked out and re-took all of the photos we had taken the day before, when the peaks had been enshrouded in clouds and fog.

Then we ran into him again on the trail. Brian and I agreed to say nothing as we passed but the guy with the duffel, water jug and rolling suitcase that was being dragged started to talk to us. I think it's fair to say he was chatty. He said he was hiking 25 miles and that there was 10 feet of snow at Stuart Pass near Lake Ingalls, way back up at the headwaters of Ingalls Creek. He sounded amazed as he stated he stood atop 10 feet of snow up there. We commented that it was a late snow year, wished him well and moved on. Our fears of being shot at the trailhead subsided as a new assessment of the guy was taking place. He was a hobo without a train, a mountain traveler, moving by the only means he was able and with the only equipment he had: a duffel, water jug and rolling suitcase.

After our fears were soothed, we enjoyed all the flowers, the views, the sunshine and the roaring of the creek, taking our time to return to the trailhead, this time not out of fear of what would happen there, but because it was so enjoyable.

See the full photos here.

Postscript: through posting this to my Facebook page, I have found out that other hikers have seen this guy, whose name is Robert. He appears in trip reports as far back as 2004, like this one at NW Hikers. If you run into him on the trail, he is harmless and probably has seen more backcountry (at a snail's pace and in duplication) than most people.

Oh! to the weather

2010-06-02T11:45:00.001-07:00

You seem so benign, nary a disturbance to the puddles of water on a nearby roof. When I go outside, I can just barely feel you, gently caressing my skin so that I think it would be a fine time to get out on my bike, imagining you like a spa treatment, misting my face, keeping me young-looking.

And then I am on my bike and you are all around me, like a standing-water-soaked sleeping bag I am forced to spend the night in. You are not just coming at me from above, no, you are there from the side, from the bottom; you are a mystery as to how you can defy gravity, all in the interest of getting me soaked.

You are Super-Soaker Rain! You are sneaky, conniving and crafty. You defy umbrellas, raincoats, hats. You come in different strengths – super stealth, cat-sized and Gore-Tex beater.

You are now on the outside and I am warm and dry inside. Until we meet again.

First Backpack of the Season

2010-05-24T10:24:00.000-07:00

While the weather system in Seattle was in a holding pattern of sun, clouds and sudden, intense downpours, two of its inhabitants journeyed to the Alpine Lakes Wilderness near Skykomish. They loaded up their newly acquired backpacks with down sleeping bags, identical sleep pads, a tent split between them, incredibly lightweight stove (3oz) and fuel, some food (though never enough) and rain gear, as always.

The trailhead was surprisingly empty, with just a few cars and a forest service truck preparing to depart. The two backpackers were not discouraged by the lack of people, nor by the clouds overhead. This was to be their first backpack of the season to prepare them for more adventure. They talked to a pair who had camped at the lake the night before and it sounded as though they would have solitude. Luckily, the scout group of 10 young (and apparently loud) backpackers was readying to break camp when they were last spotted.

Up the trail the pair hiked, noting the almost-manicured condition of the first part of the trail, as though it were the example by which all trails should ideally be built. Over boardwalks, crossing creeks on nicely placed rocks and ascending steps, the pair made their way the two miles to the lake, with little more than mist falling briefly. They continued past the lake to find a campsite and were tipped off to a good spot by an exiting couple.

Once in camp, they set up the tent, hung the food bag and set off again down toward the south end of the lake. They passed what looked to be a veritable forest of trillium, a harbinger of the spring season that was already in full bloom in the city yet in the wilderness, it looked as though it had barely just begun. Then, some snow patches were navigated, growing in frequency and duration as the time passed, until they reached the marshy area at the south end of the lake where the snow was solid. It was then that they took note of the clouds and the way they congealed at that end of the lake. Just then, it started raining in earnest, when a member of the party took out an umbrella to deflect the large drops.

Back at camp the backpackers prepared a hearty meal and prepared for a long night of (hopefully) sleep. After retiring into their bags, one of the hikers noted shadow of trees on the side of the tent. The clouds had parted to reveal a waxing moon and it was doing its best to create a light show on the tent. The other thing the parting clouds provided was for the heat of the day to sneak out, leaving a very cold night, with bags zipped up and hats on heads, with faces just barely showing.

It was no surprise that the morning dawned cloudy, yet there was no precipitation. However, during breakfast, the clouds began to move apart, revealing tops of ridges and mountains, brightening the scene and making the lake water blue. Even the hummingbirds took notice of the change in weather as they hummed and zipped around camp, landing momentarily on a branch above the campers.

Due to time constraints in the city, the pair made a plan to depart, dreaming of a particular bakery in a particular town on the way home. On the hike out, they passed 3 dayhikers coming up the trail, confirming that they had been the only campers at the lake the night before.

Cheap Sleep with a View

2010-05-14T18:54:00.001-07:00

We had four-star accommodations: a room with a view, trails out the back door, a lake and ocean nearby, wildflowers blooming, views to the Olympics and Mt Baker, bunny rabbits hopping and sounds of surf and frogs. All for just $21 a night!

Where, you ask? Deception Pass State Park, on the Whidbey Island side of Deception Pass. For a midweek outing, Wednesday and Thursday, the campground was occupied but not crowded, there were plenty of trails to keep us interested and lots of scenic opportunities to photograph and enjoy.

I highly recommend the Park for camping or a day trip. As a bonus, you can see and hear your tax dollars at work (Navy jets practice maneuvers during the day).

Mix & Match

2010-05-11T21:50:00.001-07:00

I was on my bike this morning, rounding the corner from Greenwood to Phinney Ave, when I heard someone calling my name. It was my friend, Todd, standing outside Red Mill Burgers (hey, that's no way to watch your cholesterol). I did a quick u-turn, taking advantage of the kindness of Phinney Ridge drivers, and headed over to him.

I told him of my plans to head north tomorrow with my beau, in part to test out our new backpack gear by going car-camping and in part to get away and celebrate my upcoming birthday. My friend asked why I wasn't going to Spencer Spit State Park on Lopez, a personal favorite of mine and his, too, apparently. He added something about leaving the car behind at Anacortes. I countered that it's quite a long walk with full packs to the park and he looked at me, amazed that I hadn't thought of it, and suggested we take our bikes. I answered quietly, "he's not a bike person" to which my friend raised his voice, the words erupting forth from his mouth, forming clouds in the sky, then cascading down all around us, "WHAT! You're dating a non-bike person!?" That's when I noticed a former Board member from the Bicycle Alliance of Washington sitting at a bench behind us – he gave a little wave, right on cue.

Some would consider my relationship a "mixed" one, with one of us a devoted

member of the church of the skinny tire, the other not. I consider it a welcome change, a breath of fresh air. It is much easier to go away for the weekend without the accoutrements of cycling: the floor pump, extra tubes, rags, raingear, a variety of clothing and, of course, bikes. All of our hiking gear fits in our backpacks, including camera and food. Plus, hiking fashion for men is actually fashionable, hikers don't ever have to consider whether or not to shave their legs, although the hiker/biker tan lines are nearly the same. Plus, I have all the cycling friends I could ever want (and can always make more) but a match for me is much more rare.

Karma Ride

2010-04-25T14:11:00.000-07:00

Dangling, what a word. It's one that gets your attention – dangling off the edge of a cliff or from the roof of a building. And then there's that dangling participle that our English teachers warned us or even scolded us about. Can anyone define "dangling participle"? It sounds like a physics experiment gone terribly wrong, a cross between a perilous moment and particles of matter.

There I was, dangling off the back of the COGS group on a 57-mile ride, wondering how I'd gotten myself into that predicament and if I would ever make it back home. I was having a tough day – maybe it was too long of a ride or maybe I started off too fast, but my problem muscles were acting up and tightening down my range of motion, not allowing me to go any faster or climb worth a damn.

I have been on rides in the past where other people were having bad days and I didn't just leave them on the backside of a mountain to perish, but instead, I slowed down and made sure they were on my wheel, pulling them along in my draft. Cycling is a great thing in that it works really well if everyone stays together and shares the work, rather than to scatter everyone out on the same road each expending their own energy. You don't have to wear flowers in your hair to find a communal work effort while riding. All it takes is a steady pace and making sure you aren't going too fast for those behind you.

Lucky for me, Emily remembered my act of kindness, towards her and others. She waited for me, then rode with me, encouragingly. Then she pulled me back to the start where she quickly loaded my bike on her car (her rack only holds one bike so she locked hers up nearby) and drove me home. Dangling no more.

Big Rocks, Little Flowers

2010-03-28T16:06:00.000-07:00

This was the weekend to head east for hiking, flower spotting and relaxing. The flower I was so hot on seeing was the Hedgehog Cactus, a brilliant pink and yellow flower bursting forth from a lump of a dark, spiny cactus. But first, we set off for Frenchman Coulee and Echo Basin for some hiking and geological wonderment. I read up on the geology of the area in "Roadside Geology of Washington", learning about the lava that covered the area and then the floodwaters that followed. The drive to the area is transformational (for the terrain, but maybe a little for me, too). After crossing the Columbia River and passing the Horses statue on the hill, we exited at exit #143, the same that you'd take to get to the Gorge Amphitheater. From there, a left onto Vantage Highway and we dropped into the canyon, first with the road following a creek and a waterfall over a cliff, then basalt cliffs and vast basins came into view. We were both drawn by the sandy-looking area in the distance and parked and started hiking.

It was difficult for me to judge the scale of distance but soon the sand we had seen from the trailhead was before us- it was a sand dune in the desert! We both had our cameras out, doing our best Ansel Adams impressions and trying to capture the best images that juxtaposed the sand in the foreground with the mountains in the distance. While wandering, we came upon an easy route up to the top of the plateau where there were trees and tall grasses. Walking to the other side, we could see the climbers on the basalt towers on the other side of the basin.

Once we exhausted all the angles and viewpoints that we could capture with our cameras, we headed back to the car for part two of the day's explorations. We drove back across the Columbia and to Vantage where we took the old highway toward Ellensburg. There were two access points for Whiskey Dick Mountain and we chose the second one by default. While the coulee area was warm and sunny, this area was cool and windy and we endured the cold to get up to a viewpoint. The viewpoint was pointing in the direction of the wind turbines, a major source of power out here where the winds always blow. But just underfoot were some flowers and that's when I remembered that the scale of things here was much different than on the west side. The mountains, while shorter, seem taller and the flowers and small and dainty. We saw lots of violets and yellow and blue bells and buttercups. When we stepped off the road to go back cross-country, we saw the Hedgehog Cactus but it was not blooming yet. It looks like it will be another few weeks.

The following day was cool and cloudy so we were discouraged to drive to 2,600' for the Black Canyon hike and instead chose Umtanum Canyon, a place I had been to many times. We chose well, as the sun came out after a half-hour on the trail and the trail has seen much improvement over the years. Plus, I ran into 3 people I had hiked with in the past so I felt right at home. The creek crossings gave us some early season confidence for the necessary skills of backcountry hiking and we took even more photos of Ponderosa Pine, bassalt rocks and foliage. As a bonus, we hiked out just as the first raindrops of the day began to fall.

For the complete photos, click here.

Eat your Vegan Shoes Here!

2010-03-22T22:05:00.001-07:00

My 'hood is Phinney Ridge/ Greenwood (Phinney when I feel I need to boost my status, Greenwood when I want to live among the common folk) and I just read on the Phinney blog that a new store is opening. The word, "chocolate" caught my eye, but my brain started having trouble associating the next word with it, "shoe".

The new store is called The Chocolate Shoe Box. Now, there is a store near the Pike Place Market called The Chocolate Box that sells chocolate (expensive but not necessarily good) but this shop, to be located on 74th & Greenwood, sells primarily two items: chocolate and vegan shoes. Please, someone tell those crazy vegans that shoes are made for walking, not for eating!

And chocolate is vegan already, unless you are interested in the milk chocolate variety which is sugar first, milk second and chocolate a distant third. Dark chocolate or, specifically, chocolate with at least 70% chocolate mass has no animal products in it. There's no butter in cocoa butter which I think throws some people off. The "butter" is a vegetable fat from the cacao bean. Vegans and everyone else can enjoy chocolate without giving up their food beliefs.

But the only kind of Chocolate Shoe Box I want anything to do with is a shoebox full of my many favorite chocolates: Claudio Corallo, Michel Cluizel, Pralus...

Ride for Pi(e)

2010-03-14T16:34:00.000-07:00

For the crowd that showed up at Gasworks, today's ride seemed to be tougher than yesterday's climbing. It was a daunting challenge- ride 33 miles and eat 3 slices of pie. Or, from another perspective, eat 3 slices of pie and get 33 miles of riding worked in between slices. I preferred looking at it that way.

A newbie to the Pie Ride, Bill admitted to eating a large breakfast that morning. Once he realized that the group, made up of his peers, would really be eating pie at all three stops, he tucked away his energy bars into the deep recesses of his saddle bag.

First stop: Seattle Pie Company in Magnolia. They always have a great assortment of flavors, may with crumb toppings. I had the Strapple (strawberry apple). Missing from our group was David, a Magnolia resident and pie aficionado. We went in search of him, but didn't find him at home, either. Where was David?

On to Discovery Park, back through Fremont and on to Montlake where we visited our old friend, Fuel Coffee at Montlake. We had a contest for the first person to recite the most digits of Pi: 3.141592 is where most people ended. Then, Becky took a lucky guess of "6" and she won a free coffee. Maybe she should buy a lottery ticket!

From Montlake, the riding got serious and we went many miles of pure pedalling, not so much pie eating. Down to Lake Washington, up through Mt Baker Park and Boulevard, and up my new favorite road, Cheasty Boulevard. A climbing traverse along a tree-lined road for over a mile, leading to Beacon Ave (or Bacon Ave, as I was getting hungry again). Descend over the Green Bridge, climb up Jackson and head north to Capitol Hill. There, we had 2 pies awaiting us that I had special ordered: Cherry Almond and Apple, two of the best pies that Fuel's High Five Pie makes. We weren't sure we could eat both of them so Emily offered to take home the leftovers. But in no time, we were working on the second pie and then there was only one slice remaining which I tucked into my saddlebag for later.

Descending through Interlaken Boulevard, we all thought about what a beautiful city and part of the country we live in, having a park to ride through, nearly car-free. Similarly, I was thinking about how lucky we were to have such great bakeries all within riding distance.

Want to do your own ride for pie? See the route here

COGS Ride for Pi(e) Share your bike routes @ Bikely.com

See here for the photos

Lost in Translation

2010-03-13T11:09:00.000-08:00

"Oh, no, it's not a flat ride", Martha said while we chatted at the start of her south end jaunt, promoted as "mostly flat with a couple of easy hills". I watched as her hand snaked upward in the air, imitating the grade and length of one of the climbs. "We'll wait for you...", she encouraged. The route description had been translated in a game of telephone where "strenuous" was replaced with "easy", hmmm.

It seemed as though most of the group were surprised by the presence of serious hills: Arnie was on a fixed-gear bike, Ron and Lyly were on their tandem and Tony had brought his 11 year-old daughter along (the last two turned back after Fort Dent and were spared).

The ride started out flat and moderate-paced, a comfortable start to a Saturday morning. We were even treated to a police escort through a very short traffic light. Then we found ourselves climbing up and out of the Kent valley. And up some more, and around a bend. Several of us stopped for "photo-opps" (a nice way to say we were gasping for breath). The steepest and longest climb of the day was out of the way, but there were plenty more hills (but with views, too). I think we all felt stronger and fitter by the time we reached Burien. And we were hungry!

Off to lunch in White Center at the Salvadorean Bakery where we had sandwiches, stewed chicken, yucca root, pupusas, fried plantains and porridge. That hit the spot. On the return, we opted for the "quick and dirty" route on Delridge Way, due to the storm clouds from the west. For the first time in 20 years, I finally got to see the West Seattle bridge open. We were merely christened by a few drops of rain before getting back to Tully's and our cars and to a few beers at Smarty Pants down the road.

On Safari

2010-02-25T19:51:00.001-08:00

I may be an unemployed slacker girl, but even folks like me get breaks and we get to go somewhere exotic and exciting. My exotic destination may have just been down the street, but I was transported to the African Savannah, Asia, a tropical rainforest and even transformed the day into night.

The plan was to get to the Woodland Park Zoo right when it opened, at 9:30, so as to avoid the crowds of screaming children and righteous stroller-pushers (oh, come on, you know exactly what I'm talking about). We were in line with only about 7 children and, spread out over the entire zoo, that wouldn't be much.

As is the case with many zoos from my past, a lot of animals were snoozing. Granted, on this sunny February day, it was prime nap-in-the-sun time, but some animals looked to be nearly unconscious from boredom. We moved on.

In the African Savannah, we had a close encounter with a giraffe who was curious about us and who made eye contact with me. "Hey, buddy, I know how you feel, standing head and shoulders above everyone." We saw jaguars who were new to their exhibit and we listened to the narrative of two zoo keepers as to how the big cats were handling their new home and each other (1 male, 1 female with territorial struggles). We watched as otters joyfully dove and swam, sometimes deftly swimming on their backs underwater. They always know how to have a good time- just hit the water. We read that the eagles were brought to the zoo because they had been injured so we didn't feel too much sympathy for them being in an aviary since the alternative was probably death (survival of the fittest).

Honestly, the kid situation wasn't so bad. The birds in the birdhouse screamed louder than they did and I felt myself feel like a kid again when we were approaching the elephants, feeling the earth thunder with their movement and hearing their trumpeting cry. Suddenly, I had a craving for cotton candy.

sweating never felt so good...

2010-02-21T16:28:00.000-08:00

It wasn't just that it was a warm day in February, a day when the mercury would rise to 55 degrees, at least. This was the day that I was able to go for my first honest-to-goodness, bonafide, hills and dales RIDE. No more recovery ride on the Burke-Gilman trail, no city cruising on my Surly with a pannier on the rack. This was a real ride, on the Litespeed, the kind of ride with long stretches of no stops, with heart-pumping hills and twisting descents. A ride with a group of twelve COGS, using the corner system for the turns (which was mostly successful).

A coffee stop but no pie at a new (for me) cafe that Larry, our sweep, introduced us to. Thanks Larry! Views of the Olympics on this bright and sunny day and twelve bicycles with happy riders getting their caffeine fix at Walnut Street Coffee.

The return from Edmonds was cobbled together from poring over bike maps, Google terrain maps and street views and from a long-ago route of the RSVP event. First we went south, then east, then south, east some more, north, etching and sketching our way to Perkins Way, easily the best cycling road in the area, and back to Logboom.
And I sweated on the bike for the first time in a long time and damn, it felt good.

We did the following route, with a little 5-mile loop added in. Most people, following their leader blindly, weren't aware of it.

COGS Logboom- Edmonds Share your bike routes @ Bikely.com

Fueling up for National Pie Day

2010-01-23T14:16:00.000-08:00

Just by chance, I was reading the blog for Fuel Coffee, the folks whose owner also makes great pie, when I saw that Saturday, January 23 was National Pie Day. While that's enough for celebration on its own, I had the finely-tuned-into-pie sense to have already scheduled a ride for that day, passing precariously near the Montlake Fuel, on our way to the Winter Garden at the Arboretum. Quickly, before my news was scooped by anyone else, I sent out a notice to the COGS group:

"What luck
How Serendipitous
Or Just Plain Delicious!

Saturday is National Pie Day
and I am leading a ride that will stop for pie.
I am going to order a couple of pies for us so they don't run out by the
time we get there.
Maybe we should skip the plants and just go for pie?"

The response was overwhelmingly for pie, not plants. And though there may have been a few riders who wanted to scratch and sniff plants, when I told them about the two pies I had ordered (apple and sweet potato), they acquiesced and we headed toward pie.

The sweet potato pie was none like I had ever seen before. It reminded me of Thanksgivings past- particularly, the stress that ensued while a member of our family waited for the marshmallows to melt atop the potatoes. The apple pie is one of their best, with thick slices of fruit and lots of cinnamon. We made friends with a nice dog outside who was a pie fan. First, I went out and let him lick my fingers after getting them covered while doing the slicing. Then, another member of our group was kind enough to leave him an empty pie plate to lick. My kind of dog!

We cleared the mass of pie-dirtied dishes and coffee cups and continued on with the ride. The front end surged while the rear-end sagged but we all met up again at various points and made our way, on the easiest of all climbs, back up to Phinney Ridge. Friends think I'm a good hill-climber but they don't realize I have a talent for finding the easiest ways around what could be tough climbs. The other talent is for finding good pie, which I will do again in a couple of weeks. See you then!

Cruising the Burke-Gilman

2010-01-10T18:04:00.000-08:00

Just in time to help me figure out how (or if) to use my kayak paddle with my bicycle, Claire arrived at Gasworks Park, ready to ride, sans paddle. It had been so long off the bike for me that I wasn't quite sure I was all together, yet I trusted her advice that it was unnecessary. This ride was unlike any of the others I had led- there were some qualifying factors to allow participants. For example, Claire is currently receiving chemotherapy for breast cancer - an instant qualifier. Next, Trina arrived, noting she had only been on one COGS ride since joining and didn't even feel worthy of the Holiday Party, yet here she was. When Mark B arrived, I barely recognized him, since I'd never seen him on his bike (we don't normally ride in the same circles). Then there were the posers, the fakers, the wannabe easy riders, the I-didn't-have-anything-else-to-do-today riders like David and Michael who think they are out of shape, yet they have merely been taking some off-bike rest time, laying in wait for their next hill-fest or century. And although cause for suspicion, they agreed to help with flats, repairs and locating pie at the market so I welcomed them to the group.

We headed north on the trail through the UW campus and managed to make every light, an unusual occurrence. The plan was to ride to Magnuson Park but when we made it to 65th St, the turn-off point, I felt so good and everyone else said they would like to continue. There was a sudden rise in chatter and I saw that Eric had caught up with us. He had ridden over from his house in West Seattle and is an easy-going guy (and photographer) so he fit in just fine.

We rode into Matthews Beach Park and I must not have been the only one with some endorphin production because suddenly everyone became a little silly. Good thing Eric was there to capture it on film. I think we were good subjects and the weather provided us with a great backdrop of the Cascades. Soon, it was time to leave, regaining the little hill that we had descended to the water and heading back to Gasworks and on to Ballard.

Although the Burke-Gilman is a flat trail, there are some subtle ups and downs and heading south from 65th St is one of those downs. So I was just going too fast to figure out who the guy in blue coming toward us was. But, sure enough, he joined the group and I realized it was Bruce. OK, so by now you might be thinking that there are an awful lot of guys on this easy ride. Don't these kind of dilly-dally rides usually attract women more than they do guys? Well, this is the COGS group and, though it officially stands for Cyclists Of Greater Seattle, the vast majority of us (guys included) know it as Creepy Old Guys in Spandex. Of course, they are nice! creepy old guys, otherwise we'd lose them somewhere along the way.

And off we went to the Ballard Farmers Market, in search of treats.

A Christmas Song- Short and Sweet

2009-12-25T17:23:00.001-08:00

On the first hour of xmas was a stand of beautiful trees

On the second hour of xmas, we ate two slices of pumpkin pie

On the third hour of xmas, three grey jays stole my trail mix

On the fourth hour of xmas, my four limbs made a snow angel

On the fifth hour of xmas, we counted Five Snowy Peaks!

A nice hike on Rattlesnake Mountain to Stan's Overlook was the backdrop for this little song on a beautiful day in the foothills. Wishing you all a Happy Holiday!

Bike Dreams and other bits of my subconcious

2009-12-04T10:30:00.001-08:00

It must have been the half jar of Nutella I ate before going to bed. I had some weird dreams. They started off with my car disappearing from what seemed like a legal space at Pike Place Market (where I would never drive), so I assumed it had been stolen. My friend lent me his cell phone to call 9-1-1 but the reception was so bad that the dispatcher couldn't hear me and hung up on me.

Then came the sad part; my Surly was gone from my bike room and, if that wasn't sad enough, here's the kicker- I thought to myself, "well, I'm not riding it anyway". My bikes are crying out to me after not being ridden for 3 months due to an injury (of mine, not the bikes, though they do need a little work) and my subconcious is hearing the call.

Then I was at the airport, ready to leave for Costa Rica and talking to the pilot (uh, were we having a drink together?). It was then that I realized that my plane ticket was the of paper variety and was in the car that was stolen. He winked at me and said he would let me on the plane without a ticket. And I imagined myself in a jungle, with no way to get back home.

I really need to find a better compliment to peanut butter than nutella.

Soggy Bottom Hikers

2009-11-22T09:52:00.000-08:00

Wet. From the trail up to (and a little bit through) my boots. From the drips coming down from the leaves and needles as I brush by them. And wet, coming down in cat- and dog-sized drops, puddles from the sky, sheets not from the bed I wished I were still in but from the sky. As wet as you can get. That's a Sunday morning hike in November in North Bend, the foothills town slammed up against the mountains, serving as a congregating place for rain clouds in Western Washington. "This sermon will now begin- clouds, drop your moisture!"

When three out of four hikers carry umbrellas on a hike, there are some assumptions to be made: it's really raining, these are experienced hikers and someone is going to get soaked. When we made the summit of Cedar Butte and had the option of stopping for a snack or hurrying back to the trailhead to eat our lunches in the car, the hiker sans umbrella voted for the latter. Soaked, indeed!

My peanut butter and nutella sandwich tasted ever so good in the warmth of my car, heat blasting and tushy toasters on high.

(the photo above is not from the hike, but it was another time that I felt totally soggy)

42,000

2009-11-05T18:19:00.001-08:00

42,000 is the number of people who die in car accidents every year, the number of people who have been killed by leftover explosives in Vietnam, and the number of attendees at Obama's Inauguration Ceremony at the Convention Center in Washington, DC.

And on November 1 in New York City, 42,000 runners made their way from chilly Staten Island through the rest of the boroughs (Queens, Brooklyn, Bronx) to Manhattan and into full-of-fall-foliage Central Park for the New York City Marathon.

And they all passed by my parents' apartment where I was staying while visiting family. I went down to First Ave at 59th Street and wedged myself into the crowd, partly to get warm but partly to get a decent photo. One guy yelled, "we love Paula!" (Paula Radcliffe was the favorite in the women's race) and I asked if he was her biggest fan. He replied that everyone there was her biggest fan today. That's New York for you, excited about everything, waiting 6-deep along a city street to see their favorites, their friends and 40,000 or so other runners. There were flags from many nations, amplified bands playing upbeat music and people dressed up in orange, the color of the sponsor, but also the color of the season. I found a great vantage point from atop a discarded mattress on the sidewalk and tried to steady my camera as a woman near me bounced and swayed to the music.

I returned to the apartment in time for lunch and we watched as the stream of runners grew thicker, the middle-of-the-pack runners crowding the lower roadway of the Queensboro Bridge. I could hear screams from the crowd and loud music and I felt a nervous energy that wouldn't allow me to sit still. When my dad announced that he had to go to the wine shop for some Montepulciano, I eagerly volunteered to accompany him, feeling the need to be near the crowd of fans. At seeing the hordes, the blocked streets and the police officers and cars piling up on side streets, my dad panicked over how we were going to be able to leave the city, imagining that all routes north would be blocked while trying to get to my sister's house in Connecticut.

Once in the car, we just had to make a few "New Yorker" moves and we were cruising north. That put to bed the marathon for the day, but I caught back up to it via the NY Times' excellent coverage the following day, where they devoted an entire section to the race, from many different perspectives and listed all the 42,000 names of the finishers. Pictured at right is Meb, the winner of the men's race. Paula, Nike's "Running Royalty", had tendinitis troubles and had a bad day but was treated royally by a fellow competitor and fan and eventual race winner for the women, Derartu Tulu of Ethiopia. In New York, even the competition cheers on the runners.

Phrase of the Day

2009-10-29T20:59:00.001-07:00

Bone marrow edema.

How does that group of words make you feel? A little uncomfortable, I'm guessing. Most people don't think about their bone marrow. It's like the floorboards in your house- you know of them, may have never seen them, but they're there and are doing their job. So, imagine coming into the kitchen one morning and seeing a big bulge in the floor- you've got an edema!

Now imagine the walls are also banged up, like someone trashed your place while you were asleep or, more likely, when you were doing something fun that makes you totally oblivious to the pounding of your walls and cabinets. Yup, that's what I have, a bruised bone and swelling of the bone marrow. Nice ring to it, huh?

How did I do it? Well, it wasn't from doing something in my bedroom that made me totally oblivious. Most likely, it was from years of snowshoeing, scrambling and hiking with a (Mountaineers-approved) heavy pack on. Yes, I had fun, lots of it. Snowshoeing up to mountain tops in deep snow for hours so I could teleshoe downhill for 20 minutes with a grin on my face that was so wide, I swore my smile was going to tear my face all the way to my ears. Totally high, totally blissed, totally oblivious to the inner workings of my knee and the forces that were acting upon it. Or scrambling to a ridge top, like I did this past summer, in the Teanaway in July and Lake Stuart area in August.

All for a great photo- oh, what I won't do for a great photo! Sure, I was sore afterwards, but that's what Ibuprofen is for, right?

That's what makes me part of the "I Generation". We all carry it and we know that taking a couple before going to the mountains and then maybe a couple more when returning will set you right, allowing you to climb the stairs back to your bedroom, allow you to go out and follow the sun another weekend.

That system broke down a couple of months ago when, after a scramble at Lake Stuart, my knee started locking, hurting like hell and not allowing me to climb back to my bedroom. After x-rays and an MRI (not nearly as bad as everyone tells you it is- YoYo Ma helped), it was determined that my cartilage has been worn down and I have the afore-mentioned bone bruise (contusion). Each doctor I saw tried to draw information out of me about a supposed "blow" to my knee. Did I fall? No. Did I jump, landing on one leg? Nope. Did someone beat me with a baseball bat and somehow I have repressed the memory? Not likely, though possible if there could be litigation monies involved.

Another year, another injury, another medical mystery. Unlike the floorboards, this one isn't quite so easy to fix. At the moment, I am waiting on pins and needles (sorry, just a little acupuncture humor).

All hail the bicycle- a brief review of David Byrne's Bicycle Diaries

2009-10-12T15:05:00.001-07:00

photo from StreetFilms.org site

In the September 24 issue of the Seattle Times, Andrew Matson reviews David Byrne's new book, Bicycle Diaries, by saying, "it's not really about cycling". Obviously, Matson is not a cyclist or somehow misses out on the fact that the ruminations by Byrne while in different cities around the world are coming from him while perched atop his bicycle. No, it's not about cycling and aerobic threshold or lactic acid or gear ratios or that other technical regurgitation that you can get by reading Bicycling or a cycling training book. But it is about the very heart of cycling and the special point-of-view that it affords as you roll, human-powered, through a town, taking in details that would otherwise be missed from a car or train.

David Byrne's Bicycle Diaries is exactly what the title implies: if only your bicycle could write and give the perspective of a slow-moving mode of transportation ("faster than a walk, slower than a train"). He compares riding through a city with all of its offices, shops, storefronts and people to "navigating the collective neural pathways of some vast global mind". Everything about that area can be gleaned from a bicycle, as you observe situations as they happen and can interact, instead of just observe, like you would from a car.

The cities he writes about (and he does mention Seattle, saying many areas are very rideable) are those that he has visited for a performance, stating that cycling helps him stay sane when he has lost his bearings from plane travel and multiple time zone crossings. It is a compass of sorts that steers him in the right direction, his legs feeling a familiar movement in the spinning of the pedals and his brain following along, freeing his unconscious mind to think and to catch up to the present.

For parts of the book, I have to agree with Matson's review in that it isn't about cycling because it becomes much larger than that, as Byrne delves into the history and development of the cities he rides through. Cultural, lingual, socio-economic, all the components that make cities either into livable, dynamic areas or into wastelands of shopping malls and parking lots. But it is always the bicycle that he comes back to, as his source of grounding and finding of place.

A picture speaks...

2009-09-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

photo by Mark Reibman (the sensible one)

Photography Summer Camp

2009-09-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

After spending 3 days hiking mid-week in the Twisp area of the North Cascades, I packed up and headed over Washington Pass, stopping to take stunning photos at the lookout, of course, to the North Cascades Institute, an Environmental Learning Center on Diablo Lake within the National Park. Upon check-in, I received a name badge with a note inside to remind me of where my dorm was located: Fir 2, reminiscient of my mom pinning my gloves to my jacket when I was five. The campus has multiple buildings: the main office, classrooms, 2 dorms for weekend students and more for graduate students, a dining hall and areas for composting and maintenance.

The Outdoor Digital Photography class was housed in the Fir dorm while the Carnivores (they were studying them, not being them) were in the Cedar dorm. We had a schedule of activities like field trips and classroom editing (no Capture-the-Flag) and meals in the dining hall. Our instructor, Benj Drummond, is a photographer who specializes in Climate Change, something that has been recently adopted by the National Parks as a hot (no pun intended) issue. After introductions with my fellow classmates and an overview of the class with Benj and his assistant, Emily, we wasted no time by getting up and moving to the Dining Room. The food

at NCI ranks high in importance, unlike most summer camps that I have had experience with- No bug juice here!. The food they serve is sourced locally and organic, where possible, and included lots of vegetables and salad, pork, chicken and great desserts. I wouldn't go there just for the food, but you definitely won't go hungry.

We went out for some shooting behind the center, where there are trails through the trees, a photogenic stream and a shelter for instruction. It had beauty in its own ways, though the photo subjects weren't my regular materials, as I tend toward landscape photography in the mountains. But the importance is to find beauty everywhere and it wasn't hard to do in that setting.

That night, our instructor, Benj Drummond, showed two presentations. One

was from his personal project about Climate Change and how it affects people in different communities around the world, the other about a partnership between the North Cascades Institute, North Cascades National Park, and the National Parks Foundation that brought 19 high school students from all over the country to the North Cascades to experience climate change firsthand. Here's the link for more info: http://www.bendrum.com/blog/?cat=3 . His photos are amazing and the message is clear and informative.

We spent Saturday and Sunday hiking and walking in woods and to a lake (yes, I went swimming), finding more subjects for good photos. Here is a sampling of what I shot.

And, no, I was not homesick for even one moment.