The Wages of Sin is Death…Say What?!

My Tour of California Big Bear climb raised my heart rate to say the least.  A few days before my cycling heroes would roll into town, we took a  hike of the Cougar Crest & Pacific Crest Trails above Big Bear Lake in California.  Huffing and puffing up an hour-long switch backed climb, we came across a patch of wide trail.  Big hunks of stumps littered the trailside.  Apparently the forest service was doing some thinning of the dead tree cover.  Two barkless stumps caught my eye, each 2 ½ feet tall and about the same diameter.  A dollar flagged each one.  Folded in thirds and stuck in the cracks on the edge of the wood you could clearly make out the “1” and half of a George Washington in the unmistakable greenback color from at least 15 yards away.  “Look a dollar!  And, another!” 

We stepped up.  As we drew closer we saw the dollars each blanketed a business card.  Hmm.  Fishy.  Money with a message.  Inquisitively I plucked one from the stump crack.  Not only was the buck wrapped around the business card, it was taped tight with clear Scotch tape, making it nearly impossible to snag the dollar without at least reading part of the card. 

Reluctant to completely take the bait, I took a nibble.  I yanked on the card a few times till it pulled though the dollar, enough to see the card while leaving it still somewhat taped to the dollar.  The text on the plain white card looked like this:

Yikes!  I quickly stuffed the card back in the dollar, noticing there was some church stuff printed on the back.  Then pulled it out again to snap a photo.

“Should we take it,” my wife asked.  “No.  Bad Karma,” I said stuffing the buck back into the stump crack.  We turned and continued our climb.  Then the thoughts stewed.  My wife wondered if it was the handiwork of the old guy with the trekking poles we passed earlier.  Maybe.  He was an odd looking guy, but kind.  He did say hi when we passed.  Then again, elderly people can be more Bible banger than most. 

But, the message, it was so harsh.  Sin and DEATH?  It’s a dollar found in the woods.  It’s not stealing.  Where’s the sin in that?  Or, is it the modern day version of the biblical apple temptation?  Then I worried.  I touched the dollar.  What if it was covered in Anthrax or something deathly diabolical?  What if that old guy was a freaking Saw 5 psychopath and found an ingenious way to kill mountain bikers and hikers in the middle of nowhere?  Shit.  I rubbed my fingers in dirt and then cleaned ‘em off with water from my Camelback.  I know nothing about Anthrax, besides them being a rockin’ band, but washing couldn’t hurt.

Not axed in half by some lunatic and thankfully clear-headed, we made it to the top, snapped a few photos of tiny mountain flowers, and returned to the stump area about 2 ½ hours later.   The dollars and business cards were gone.  Someone else took the bait.  I was bummed.  By then, I had rationalized the perfect excuse to take the cash.  It was littering, pure and simple.  Pack it in, pack it out.  Who’s the sinner now?

And Now, You May Race The Bride

(My wife and I were talking the other day about some favorite stories and the one about the competitive couple popped up. I reread it and deemed it good enough for a repost. Originally posted on the Joe Biker Blog January, 2008, enjoy "And Now, You May Race The Bride.")

It was as if they started their lives together with the words, “with this ring, I thee race.” I can imagine their first kiss, seemingly endless, with both parties taking it way past the point of public comfortableness to see who could endure the longest as the guests covered the eyes of their children. It was game on from day one. As I watched them from my perch along the trail above them, I wondered who drank more at the reception, who opened the most gifts the day after, and if I was witnessing their honeymoon right now.

My first experience with Mr. & Mrs. Race was at Arches National Park near Moab, Utah. The cover shot of the Rand McNally road atlas spread across the sky, the Delicate Arch. To get there, my wife and I rode our mountain bikes from the lot nearest the entry off the highway. It was our first two week vacation together, plenty of time to mountain bike Moab, ride the trails around the 10-Mile Range near Vail, and then head to northern Wisconsin for the Chequamegon 40 mountain bike race. It was a dream vacation for a pair of daytime amateur adventurers.

There’s no bikes allowed on the trail to the Delicate Arch. So, we leaned our bikes against a sign post and hiked the shortish trail to the vista point in our cycling shoes. Just up the trail was another couple, a little older than us maybe in their mid 30’s, and the spunk they had in their steps was a tish more than most people on the trail had, given the tendency of the epic landscape panorama to make you stop and eek out a silent wow. As we paused to take in another view along the trail, we noticed something peculiar about the other couple up the trail. Maybe we spend too much time watching Seinfeld, but as they crossed into our view, they were hiking, quickly, almost at the point of stepping into a jog, but never quite crossing the line. It was almost hard to look at, like their tempo was ruining the landscape.

Sure they could’ve been Moab locals out for an everyday hike in their backyard, but still, this was the Delicate Arch. Like the Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls, you could probably see it hundreds of times and, every time it would look different and stun you with another eye popper. Still, they held their uncomfortable clip along the trail. Long stretching steps, pumping arms, they overlapped their strides and covered more ground with every step than seemed possible. My wife asked, “Are they racing?” I looked. The woman passed the guy when he got hung up on a corner of loose rocks. Not to be outdone, the guy quickly passed her back, even turning sideways to get around on the tight trail. “I dunno, maybe they’re just locals out training for an adventure race or something. There’s some pro athletes that live out here.” We wrote it off.

We reached the Arch, dropped out bags and dug out our camera. Amazingly, Mr. & Mrs. Race did too. Granted they had a tiny lightweight camera to match their pace, but still they obviously were photo snapping snacking tourists just like us. Now granted, at the time, we were nothing resembling fast hikers, just your average couple that enjoyed doing stuff in the outdoors. Maybe we we’re just slow in our bike shoes and witnessing a couple with a few years on us sticking it to the lesser fit. We downed a Snickers and a not-so-yellow banana, asked a woman from a bus tour to take our picture in front of the arch, and we were off.

Sure enough, the fast hiking couple was already on their way back, once again, just a hundred yards or so down the trail. And, they were at it again, a fraction of a mile per hour from running, but still hiking. It was almost hard to ignore now. I had to force myself to look away and enjoy probably the only day in my life I would ever see this landscape. My wife said, “It’s like they’re the competitive couple.” We joked, notched up our pace and mocked them by passing each other as we giggled along the trail.

Wou Hou Devou - Devou Park Mountain Bike Trail Building

His chat turned to complaint.  Finally, the poor kid who wore sneakers to the Cincinnati Off Road Alliance (CORA) trail building day Saturday at Devou Park said he had to rest.  In a pair of big hikers I plodded on, initially to deliver empty buckets to the U-Give Cincinnati volunteers picking up garbage.  I soon realized I had passed the last trail group around section nine.  “Well, might as well see where this trail tops out,” I thought.  I put my bucket down to pick up on the way back and kept up a stiff pace.  A half hour and sections 10 through 19 passed quickly. 

From the trail head at the ball fields at the bottom of Sleepy Hollow Road, It was an hour round trip to the vista.  My hike of what will become the first mountain bike trails in Covington, KY’s Devou Park made me think more of Bent Creek in Asheville, NC or Brown County in Nashville, IN than local trails like Tower Park, Harbin Park or Mitchell Memorial. The trail is located on the west side of Sleepy Hollow Road.  While the amount of available land in Devou won’t match that of Bent Creek or Brown County, the topography certainly does.  I lost count of the switchbacks that crisscross the beginning of the climb.  Unlike most area trails, the switchbacks at Devou don’t end at the top.  That made me smile.  About 2/3’s up the first hill, the trail wraps around the south side and into a pretty valley with flowering

 trees.  Eventually there will be some Bent Creek-esque deep bench cuts in this steep valley.  After crossing a bridge-worthy creek which dropped nearly 6-7 feet from the trail markers above, a handful of switchbacks take you to the first real vista of the west side Cincinnati skyline.  Looking at my watch, then at the green trail flags wrapping around the bend, I shook my head in disbelief.  Just like the kid in sneakers, I had to turn back. 

This is going to be big.  Cincinnati is about to have its first trail system with a sustained mountain bike climb that will top out at what?  Nearly a mile and a half I guess.  I’m a strong hiker.  It took me a half hour to reach the top on foot.  On a bike, I’d hedge a guess that expert riders will be looking at a 12-15 minute climb and novices may be knocking on that half hour door.  There’s nothing within 20 miles of Cincinnati with a climb of more than a few minutes.  This is just to get to the top.  The trail keeps going around the 2^nd hill and on and on.  This is just the warm-up.  There’s enough land here for 15-18 miles of trail.  There are plenty of trail days ahead, plenty of time to learn that a Pulaski is a tool and Pulaski is a historic Chicago figure.  We’ll see you at the next Devou Park trail day. 

 POST SCRIPT-TRAILSIDE TREASURES:

While picking up trash, debris and relics along the path of the new trail at Devou Park, I came across this unusual apparatus.  At first I thought it might be a spur of sorts for horseback riding, but upon further inspection it appears to be some sort of tool that would hang from a chain or maybe some sort of candle sconce.  Any ideas?  Leave a comment below.

Four Christmases and Four Bikes

As I see it, at the heart of the movie Four Christmases, Vince Vaughn and Reese Witherspoon weren’t evil to want to do their own thang instead of dealing, uh, I mean spending loving time with family over the holidays. See below for the Four Christmases holiday survival guide. One year I brought both the mountain bike, the road bike and, what the “f” was I thinking, a trainer…for both of us. Add luggage for a 4-5 day trip and a bunch of wrapped gifts and I start to think about telling relatives that I’m spending the holiday inoculating babies in Namibia. Since then, I’ve narrowed it to just a cross bike. This year I might just plan on a snowy hike or trail run. Then again, how much is that flight to Tahiti?

The real issue is eeking in the ride or run while running between her Dad’s on the west side, my Mom’s on the north side, her Aunt’s out in the boonies, our friends on the south side and my brothers back on the west side again. It’s $2226.80pp round trip to Tahiti on Delta. This of course all gets complicated with sharing the shower with your step Dad’s kids, running last minute gift errands, finding time to wrap presents without anyone catching a glimpse early and picking up muffins at the bakery for your mom. Hmm Cancun is only $535.80pp nonstop. This year is the 8th time I go home for my Four Christmases and I’ve learned a few tricks on how to get in some outdoor fun amidst a full house of relatively unfit relatives:

1 Don’t make plans for the morning; even brunch is cutting it too close. This is your time to get up and get out the door before anyone creeps downstairs and throws you a curveball like Mom asking you to go pick up creepy Uncle Harold who lives out in the sticks and see’s his golden years as his opportunity to fill your car with farts. If you do run into mom prepping food in the kitchen at 6:30am, you’re not totally screwed. Just get dressed for your run or ride before you walk into the kitchen, chat over a quick breakfast and then make a break for it.

2 Think of where all your relatives and friends live in relation to the best places in town to ride and pick the best one to stay at for the holiday. You’ll make brownie points for visiting. My mom’s is perfect: a few blocks from the bike trail and close to some bushwackable neighborhood trails.

3 KISS Keep It Short Silly. Bang out a quick hour, especially if you’re headed someplace cold. When you add up the time getting dressed and undressed you’re looking at least an hour and a half anyway. Plan it right and the last of your in-laws will be tweezing the last of their monobrow in the bathroom when you roll in the door.

4 Don’t bring a trainer. This is your chance to have fun in your old haunts. If it’s really too cold to ride, go for a run, walk or hike. Besides, do you really want creepy Uncle Harold to see you in your bike shorts or your in-laws to think your wife couldn’t have picked a bigger doof to marry.

5 Bring the cyclocross or mountain bike. Unless you’re traveling to So Cal, Phoenix, or Florida, it’s pretty dang chilly out on the roads. Secondly, bring the cheapest one you own. Your relatives won’t cry when they accidently knock it over getting a Miller High Life out of the garage refrigerator, but you might. If you don’t have trails near where you’re staying, ride the knobbies on the road or go rip up a neighborhood park.

6 Check the map for good places to ride before you get to your destination or on you’re way back. Play it right and it’s almost like going on a cycling vacation and just running into your relatives…almost.

7 Check the web for local club rides. Every city has a local club ride during the week, even in winter. Tell your mom you’re staying through Sunday because you love her so much, and then go rip it up with the locals.

8 Make sure you have your own key for wherever you’re staying or at least the code for the automatic garage door. Again, make sure you have your own key for wherever you’re staying or at least the code for the automatic garage door. As much as the holidays may pain you, you still want to make it to Grammy’s on time to unwrap those new mukluks.