tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29161132451182222132024-03-13T22:47:36.471-07:00From My Rock in The Tropical SunGreghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-15425893115583814492009-04-23T17:29:00.000-07:002009-04-23T17:30:34.851-07:00Saipan On NBC Nightly News!<div><iframe height="339" width="425" src="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22425001/vp/30376206#30376206" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe><p style="font-size:11px; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: #999; margin-top: 5px; background: transparent; text-align: center; width: 425px;">Visit msnbc.com for <a style="text-decoration:none !important; border-bottom: 1px dotted #999 !important; font-weight:normal !important; height: 13px; color:#5799DB !important;" href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com">Breaking News</a>, <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032507" style="text-decoration:none !important; border-bottom: 1px dotted #999 !important; font-weight:normal !important; height: 13px; color:#5799DB !important;">World News</a>, and <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032072" style="text-decoration:none !important; border-bottom: 1px dotted #999 !important; font-weight:normal !important; height: 13px; color:#5799DB !important;">News about the Economy</a></p></div><br /><br /><br /><div><iframe height="339" width="425" src="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22425001/vp/30369070#30369070" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe><p style="font-size:11px; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: #999; margin-top: 5px; background: transparent; text-align: center; width: 425px;">Visit msnbc.com for <a style="text-decoration:none !important; border-bottom: 1px dotted #999 !important; font-weight:normal !important; height: 13px; color:#5799DB !important;" href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com">Breaking News</a>, <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032507" style="text-decoration:none !important; border-bottom: 1px dotted #999 !important; font-weight:normal !important; height: 13px; color:#5799DB !important;">World News</a>, and <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032072" style="text-decoration:none !important; border-bottom: 1px dotted #999 !important; font-weight:normal !important; height: 13px; color:#5799DB !important;">News about the Economy</a></p></div>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-81988717060620919322008-06-04T18:26:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:41.945-08:00A Day In Belize: Why I Do What I DoSome of my friends and family members probably wonder why I am the way I am, why I enjoy wandering the planet and putting myself in unusual places like small fishing villages in Belize. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEteVZQ1BAYZVGa6mnshZu21BXIlHzn5gGjyOUz-XOZNMRQ6jXQ-cnyyZKz-kqk7G5_BDsBhxf1yjDSG3pseCPUe0kIFmuitUMgLj8XP0t6yzOV5IRbRweFodziqkGAUfDbzYFbdyBG7g/s1600-h/DSC_0982e_bw.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEteVZQ1BAYZVGa6mnshZu21BXIlHzn5gGjyOUz-XOZNMRQ6jXQ-cnyyZKz-kqk7G5_BDsBhxf1yjDSG3pseCPUe0kIFmuitUMgLj8XP0t6yzOV5IRbRweFodziqkGAUfDbzYFbdyBG7g/s200/DSC_0982e_bw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210067542601594274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This was my day today, and I think it may give some perspective on why I do what I do:<br /><br />With no real plan for the day, I awake. I eat some cornflakes with a fresh local <span style="font-style: italic;">platano</span> in my guesthouse room, and walk down to “Tiny’s Internet Café” <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95FbrcysMCSqPnm-qMkrplFncIMC1JvRVsmq10vok8wLUNCLvLdM2zjcrxbHtcTYMD4YlYFF4wCtt5B5wqyv0tNbu2fdWCf04PI_x0uuNxfhAKFH3sopMz6I49EJMZEZbeQY2NBXYqsg/s1600-h/DSC_1032e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95FbrcysMCSqPnm-qMkrplFncIMC1JvRVsmq10vok8wLUNCLvLdM2zjcrxbHtcTYMD4YlYFF4wCtt5B5wqyv0tNbu2fdWCf04PI_x0uuNxfhAKFH3sopMz6I49EJMZEZbeQY2NBXYqsg/s200/DSC_1032e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209982457315086930" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgar87EWEkAg8ilGGQvC9vx0WIZ9JRVwpBoC1AM7pDMH41r1UYPoArk9Lc-_Kj_3yS4DRIzhyNvHOTC-fsJG2pvyLzuHpy6j8iC2Z5fF0HnXK-AzFUzcBwBOkQz3Co2IGu3Fu9mno-KGnM/s1600-h/IMG_4065e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgar87EWEkAg8ilGGQvC9vx0WIZ9JRVwpBoC1AM7pDMH41r1UYPoArk9Lc-_Kj_3yS4DRIzhyNvHOTC-fsJG2pvyLzuHpy6j8iC2Z5fF0HnXK-AzFUzcBwBOkQz3Co2IGu3Fu9mno-KGnM/s200/IMG_4065e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210067555261486178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />for a hot cup of Joe and to check my email. The fishermen are already out along the shore working on their boats. Less than two weeks until lobster season opens and that’s what these guys live for. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdy1EhqhTCNkYgKix3aikQALltycJOxynbPVB-wZzKoDVmUh4dX3LLp8RYevdFltV8hg4FrWbvEyq6Zuxgv15uvB2buBIG8VvOLsF_HSjkLPh0cwTw-e619Lgkeepo5E5cjzIDgjoSBY/s1600-h/IMG_4071e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdy1EhqhTCNkYgKix3aikQALltycJOxynbPVB-wZzKoDVmUh4dX3LLp8RYevdFltV8hg4FrWbvEyq6Zuxgv15uvB2buBIG8VvOLsF_HSjkLPh0cwTw-e619Lgkeepo5E5cjzIDgjoSBY/s200/IMG_4071e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209982460349693682" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I sit at the crudely hand-made “tiki-style” bar as I wait for Antonia (“Tina”) to turn on the internet, while we chat about the verb “<span style="font-style: italic;">madrugar</span>” which means “to wake up” but is literally translated as something like “to dawn”. I tell her I like that word. I’m still dawning. About 5 minutes later I’m checking my email and sipping a cup of fresh Nescafe Instant. I catch up with my girlfriend over chat, get advice from my brother about getting a new dog, and make a quick book recommendation to an old friend who I still keep in touch with now and again. Faustino (“Tino”) comes in shirtless with sandals as usual and asks if I’m going to my rounds with the fishermen again today. I say yes, feeling good about myself because yesterday morning he took one look at me and said, in Spanish, “Who died?”. Their son, “Tiny” (as in, Small "Tino") hasn’t <span style="font-style: italic;">madrugada </span>yet. If you haven’t put it all together yet, Father, Mother, and Son are Tino, Toni, and Tiny. <span style="font-style: italic;">(Tiny’s in his 20’s, by the way.)</span><br /><br />I hit the dirt road walking, with a plan I formulated over coffee. I’m going back to Dylan Sosa’s house where I had a good but Spanishly difficult interview with a fisherman and his two fishermen sons. There’s definitely not as much English spoken here as in other parts of Belize, and I’m feeling rusty. It’ll come back.<br /><br />My plan to confirm this list of names of fishermen who fish in the South is temporarily derailed when I pass a <span style="font-style: italic;">“tortilleria” </span>aka the local totilla-making shop called <span style="font-style: italic;">(translated)</span> the "Speedy Tortilla Shop". <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3AFIh34nmCPS1czzjO_oHhXZ1vHWOVJukqdo2mhDp4saB_hDGTCFYjNJbWhJUblqe50P7tMKKfT9DajnUcMMGBvGX9xkODoyd2xbvYErDlGZn_MBmupyberKJ9UeAxRyS12jitViYMQ/s1600-h/IMG_4095e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3AFIh34nmCPS1czzjO_oHhXZ1vHWOVJukqdo2mhDp4saB_hDGTCFYjNJbWhJUblqe50P7tMKKfT9DajnUcMMGBvGX9xkODoyd2xbvYErDlGZn_MBmupyberKJ9UeAxRyS12jitViYMQ/s200/IMG_4095e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209982467243270514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Now I undrestand what that woman I interviewed two days ago meant when she said, <span style="font-style: italic;">“It’s a good life here in this village. We have everything: a school, a store, and a tortilleria.”</span> It’s a small wooden building with a vent on the roof and I can’t help but poke my head in.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYThM1CWbMH6oYA13Srq9g1jPaGcpCiUDESEBr-1BRoUw1_4l1pD_Oz714flwxU9rUI_0FPRrDNHjx5UYF70O4qvEGabe06Wwvo02h6XQX1FcepDy7c9o25XlcANbEckHZYQM_hSkwJA/s1600-h/IMG_4096e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYThM1CWbMH6oYA13Srq9g1jPaGcpCiUDESEBr-1BRoUw1_4l1pD_Oz714flwxU9rUI_0FPRrDNHjx5UYF70O4qvEGabe06Wwvo02h6XQX1FcepDy7c9o25XlcANbEckHZYQM_hSkwJA/s200/IMG_4096e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209982477409444498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I start chatting with the old man who explains to me how they make these corn tortillas. He’s feeding corn kernels through a grinding machine and a doughy substance is coming out below in a catch bucket. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK2LGQR3PSBjZaMKzEjlnUs0Zq93Y9wcCPmv_tykcvjC9h-5OlENLg4NXvNwrbUkPR8tjfUWsEMm0emqGlOjYZVpcAoGY8fHoVmhuCejno3hkQRmR_06EHHlIP5qA8ke8loOXNGcLsCNE/s1600-h/IMG_4088e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK2LGQR3PSBjZaMKzEjlnUs0Zq93Y9wcCPmv_tykcvjC9h-5OlENLg4NXvNwrbUkPR8tjfUWsEMm0emqGlOjYZVpcAoGY8fHoVmhuCejno3hkQRmR_06EHHlIP5qA8ke8loOXNGcLsCNE/s200/IMG_4088e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210067532305334802" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />He tells me they get their corn from the German Mennonite community in Little Belize, not too far from Sarteneja. He asks me if I’m from Mexico and compliments me on my Spanish, which makes me feel good because I had a rough day with the language yesterday. He tells me to come back in an hour because they are going to turn on the oven and start making the tortillas.<br /><br />I walk out and remember my plan: Dylan’s house, check the names. I forgot to do that when I was talking to him yesterday. I arrive at the house, and nobody’s outside. I knock on the downstairs door and they tell me to go upstairs up the outside staircase (interior staircases don’t seem to exist here). I go upstairs and can’t see through the screen door but I hear a voice and out comes Dylan. He seems glad to see me, and I ask him if I can get the names of the other southern fishermen to compare those names to the names on my list. He sends me downstairs and we sit on the stairs chatting. My list is good; I’m only missing one name. When I ask where these guys live, he starts to tell me but then says “I’ll just show you.” He yells to a woman downstairs to see if we can borrow a bike.<br /><br />Next thing I know I’m riding down a dirt road on an old rusty single speed fat tire beach cruiser with a seat that’s way too low and cruiser style handlebars, notebook in hand. He’s chatting as we go along, and then we stop at one house, and he yells to a guy about a bike, then he takes the third bike and points out a house down the road where one fisherman lives. Then we ride back to the house, and leaving the bike I was on, I resume on the 2nd bike he had just borrowed. This one fit’s a bit better but has one half-flat tire and a pedal’s missing which makes it hard to pedal in my sandals but most everybody else is cruising around barefoot, so I think I'll be fine.<br /><br />We wind through the unfamiliar, typically car-less dirt streets lined with mostly unpainted cinder block houses, a thatched roof here and there, and flooded yards form the big storm the other night. Everything looks the same to me. He points down one street, says that’s so-and-so’s house, then we ride, I happen to take mental note of a church or a store that I had seen before. Teobaldo lives THERE. We continue, turn, turn again. Romeldo lives THERE. “OK“, he says, “now you know where all the guys live, you can use this bike today and just bring it back and leave it at the house when you are done.” I realize that we’re back near his house, and he bids me farewell.<br /><br />I manage to negotiate my way back to the first house, and a young guy with 2 kids is outside and walks up to me (picture Gringo on local bike carrying notebook).<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Now at this point I forget who lives here, because I just got the tour of 4 houses and 4 names and they are all mixed up in my head. I say that Dylan told me that a fisherman who works in the south lives here. He says, yah, its his dad, and I figure out it’s the house of Antonio. One down … but he’s out, and I should try to come back this afternoon. He should be back then. I pedal away, wind my way back by Dylan’s house and hope I can find the others. I remember the pink house, so I stop there and an old lady comes out and after a little wrangling I figure out it’s the house of Armando. But he’s not here, he’ll be back in the afternoon. Two down.<br /><br />I pedal on, and think I remember the third house. I get it right, amazingly, and now its down to two names so I guess and ask for Teobaldo and my 50-50 chance paid off. And he’s home. But he’s working on the roof on this little shelter-like addition on the side of his house. He says to come back tomorrow early in the morning. Before 8. The earlier the better, because he has to work on repairing his cooler. The fishermen have these huge iceboxes that they keep on the sailboats to store their catch in. Three down. I pedal away, noticing that <span style="font-style: italic;">all</span> the fishermen seem to be out and about making repairs to coolers, to the <span style="font-style: italic;">“cayuko” </span>one-man canoes that they stack 5-high on their wooden sailboats, or on the boats themselves.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyEUxiYvZ87eVs_LdFDkAKcnGloTKCNH0DOAJJwyAt7C54OLcMyqMQhP1rN7OqIElhM9seLA9WvZ2y9-_tG9g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />I stop at the corner house. I really can’t remember where this last one was. I ask if Romeldo lives here. No, they say, next street up. On the corner. I pedal on. This house has a gate and a fence and I can hear the TV on through the windowless cinderblock windows. I yell “hello!” and “good morning” in Spanish a few times, to no avail. I reach through the fence, undo the latch, and walk up to the front door. Is it OK to just walk up to someone’s gated house like this? I knock and yell hello. I hear something, then notice the door knob turn then turn again slowly like something out of a low-budget horror flick. It opens, and a young guy in his 20’s greets me. I ask for Romeldo and he says its his father, that he’s not home. But then he invites me in. I kick off my muddy sandals and walk in. His young daughter is swinging in the living room hammock watching cartoons. He seats me in a folding camp chair with some torn flower patterned cushions on top. We chat a bit, I tell him about my study, and he seems interested. He’s a student at the University in Belmopan and is studying nursing. He knows the professor of natural resource management that I met on my dive boat last weekend. He tells me that he went out fishing a few times with his father, but then decided to continue his schooling. We talk a bit about protected areas. Eventually I get up to leave and he over-politely bids me farewell. As I close the outer gate yells to me and asks if I eat mangos. “Of Course!” I say and he re-emerges with a bag of gigantic papaya sized “Apple Mangos” that are from his dad’s <span style="font-style: italic;">“milpa” </span>or farm. It turns out to be his grandfather’s farm, but his dad still keeps it running. Another example of grandfather-farmer, father-fisherman, son-something else. It’s funny how you get information like this just from something like a gift of mangos. Four down. I pedal on, mangoes in hand.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx7Uc0e2tPM6ON6tL668a9qp6rO69v0UlLRO-1Da-7WnSB7Z7NjlKVM-rRBCq7ZD3yt9aHkWPXXZwD1LkT7fw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />I head back to Dylan’s house to return the bike and, smelling something warm, I suddenly remember: the tortilleria! There are a few people lined up to buy fresh-from-the-machine tortillas. I walk in, they greet me warmly, and I ask if I can go behind the counter to take some pictures. The old man feeds the dough into the machine, the dough gets pressed, cut into circles, and flopped onto the rotating flat metal feeder that goes into the oven. On the other side fresh warm corn tortillas emerge, piping hot and perfectly browned, and feed onto a wire conveyor belt to the awaiting hands of the 2nd of 2 employees who collects them, stacks them, and then weighs and packs them for the awaiting customers.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwIe4gRs7MC9qwfDrKLOLxjlftwW3iuKCZjpb8pPpGmLcO8aqsEU4jRdx6kwQwyWNUic9DyYDMXxLaazpgFZg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />The old man asks me if I want to try one, and then pulls one off the conveyor belt, rolls it very professionally between his dark, flour-covered hands and hands it to me. One word: DELICIOUS.<br /><br />I get on the bike smiling, thinking about how lucky I am to be here, doing this intentionally random type of work. Besides my somewhat formal interviews, I am also here to do something called “observational ethnography” and it entails just living somewhere a while and getting a sense of the place and how it works. I’m going to like this, I think to myself, as I return the bike to Dylan’s house. Walking back past the <span style="font-style: italic;">tortilleria</span>, I can’t resist and stop in again, this time with a $2 Belizean bill in my hand ($1 US) and ask for a pound of tortillas not knowing how much it will be. It’s a huge stack, so I tell her to halve it. She does, I get BZ$1.25 back in change, and walk back home with a bag full of hot, fresh tortillas, munching on one as I go.<br /><br />I head back to Antonia’s where my homemade chicken and vegetable soup lunch is ready and waiting for me, which I eat with my stack of fresh tortillas and my usual “Fanta Orange” out of a large 500mL glass bottle.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimN-pABQXyanLZpmmNuhMU7U2q6MG9ibRIqIJV2o49qtWChOsaayYzoOriw-1q-gLiupNb94UAfDjiw_iRx6UNqEHKIOAI_kZgzFmwQf5-SYCM8SW0k5by8Ff4IO-4AxM3FuGaINlvaUk/s1600-h/IMG_4107e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimN-pABQXyanLZpmmNuhMU7U2q6MG9ibRIqIJV2o49qtWChOsaayYzoOriw-1q-gLiupNb94UAfDjiw_iRx6UNqEHKIOAI_kZgzFmwQf5-SYCM8SW0k5by8Ff4IO-4AxM3FuGaINlvaUk/s200/IMG_4107e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210067506680912050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I may need a siesta after a lunch this size, but eventually I’ll head back down the dirt road to find and interview these elusive fishermen…Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-22508633509318442032008-05-28T21:03:00.000-07:002008-05-29T12:35:46.419-07:00Clean Water GadgetHave you ever been traveling in a foreign country and been afraid to drink the water? I have. Especially when the guidebook says, "Tap water in [country] is not safe to drink." But then the locals say they all drink the tap water, and you're not really sure what is safe and who to trust. When I was in South Africa recently, I kept hearing things like, "Well, you <span style="font-weight: bold;">CAN</span> drink the water here ... but I don't."<br /><br />That's what's happening to me now, as I'm working and traveling through Belize. Before I left, I bought this little gadget that I really want to write about, because it's so useful, and (hopefully!) effective, especially when you are traveling for long periods of time and don't want to be constantly buying expensive bottled water. It's called the <a href="http://www.steripen.com/">Steripen</a>. It's a small, battery powered (CR123) handheld device that emits an Ultraviolet light that is effective against bacteria, viruses, and protozoa (like that pesky Giardia).<br /><br />So what I've been doing, just to be safe, is filling my Nalgene bottles (yes, I have the new <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/12/24/polycarbonate.worries.ap/">BPA-free</a> ones!) with tap water, zapping them with the Steripen (1L takes less than 2 minutes) and I can drink all the water I want, instantly, and worry-free! The Nalgene bottles are nice to use with this Steripen because you need a nice wide-mouth bottle.<br /><br />The Steripen has a light on it that blinks green if your purification has worked properly, red if it hasn't. I've used it about 10 times so far and only had one red light incident. (<span style="font-style: italic;">I think I may have pulled it partly out of the water while using it. Got the green light on the 2nd try.</span>) Although I tend to prefer fail-safe products that can't break (or run out of batteries), this thing is really useful. You can always carry water purification tablets with you as a fail-safe back-up if you are backpacking or camping. The nice thing about the Steripen is that you don't have to wait 4 hours to drink your water.<br /><br />Here's a video of it in action in Belize:<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzwYwUUUq4Grl_8kKWsh97ISOIzryL3mjt13BtMfykmE1ULhUSKV9wmnJ7zWFbrBNlhCqXt_x9GjhfkTRC-oQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-80824984376518258842008-05-28T11:22:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:42.053-08:00How To Find A FishermanI'm working on a 2-month long research project in Belize right now, doing what is called an "ethnography" of the <a href="http://www.sarteneja.net/">Sarteneja fishing community</a> in Northern Belize. I'm looking at the impacts, if any, that the establishment of two marine managed areas (<a href="http://www.friendsofnaturebelize.org/gladden_spit.html">Gladden Spit Marine Reserve</a> and <a href="http://www.laughingbird.org/">Laughing Bird Caye National Park</a>) have had on this particular community. To do this, I must find and interview the fishermen from this community to see what I can piece together about how their community has changed over the last 10-20 years and what factors have caused those changes.<br /><br />So the first thing people ask me is, "How do you know who the fishermen are?" I mean, they are not always standing next to their boat with a fish in their hand.<br /><br />So I just look for the guys wearing these shirts:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikP9I_BbDmhLLS8mBqXuvvIApdSqPjulrP2-oKJ_3kw3NLGj9VTfDikMg6Fn8viTYMxSRM-c2m7CQs7kTrSGXHwPO9GoIZen6TZqEn3opitH865uC7O-u7r8bjJ11ujHuC8DBnNglj51c/s1600-h/IMG_3957.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikP9I_BbDmhLLS8mBqXuvvIApdSqPjulrP2-oKJ_3kw3NLGj9VTfDikMg6Fn8viTYMxSRM-c2m7CQs7kTrSGXHwPO9GoIZen6TZqEn3opitH865uC7O-u7r8bjJ11ujHuC8DBnNglj51c/s400/IMG_3957.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205497960767267442" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Translation: "<span style="font-weight: bold;">I am a fisherman.</span>"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-91045046830091101312008-05-18T16:52:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:43.380-08:00A New MorettiOn May 14th, 2008, shortly before midnight, a new <span>Moretti</span> joined the family.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >My brother Mark and his wife Carolina.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7WjPPMpTbs3TIXwHwpYjEkwPIyRun-Ko4HvOJmUxA_zw74gJH5TGAyRQZAdBph2yqQHvOErCudW3qdDikw8mabfqQGBnFxGD8jUv3HDvL17SoBVDoGDO36m5t4QPPcjglBnTqKNVj10/s1600-h/IMG_3723.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7WjPPMpTbs3TIXwHwpYjEkwPIyRun-Ko4HvOJmUxA_zw74gJH5TGAyRQZAdBph2yqQHvOErCudW3qdDikw8mabfqQGBnFxGD8jUv3HDvL17SoBVDoGDO36m5t4QPPcjglBnTqKNVj10/s200/IMG_3723.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205855585514136290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" ><br /></span><br />Welcome, <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mr. Lucas John Moretti</span></span>!<br /><br />As his proud Godfather (<span style="font-weight: bold;">Gulp!</span>), I thought I'd share some pictures:<br />(Click them to enlarge to original size)<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >A Baby Lucas foot at 0 days old.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzT_zTRAHJbPt4JaXyq0DQtORmKbx8Vni_NeNjYJR-1Xl8yp4w80t0xrJyy2qEy4rck9nKPYR8EFOwTKyWH2xyf8hRXTVcoul_n8Xvi2vc35z6_zEotTeDfSFuFYhaTaUTQ06vjQevv9U/s1600-h/IMG_3704e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzT_zTRAHJbPt4JaXyq0DQtORmKbx8Vni_NeNjYJR-1Xl8yp4w80t0xrJyy2qEy4rck9nKPYR8EFOwTKyWH2xyf8hRXTVcoul_n8Xvi2vc35z6_zEotTeDfSFuFYhaTaUTQ06vjQevv9U/s200/IMG_3704e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205582880860643970" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >An emotional mom and baby.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWtL8YtSoo784aSpK6_Ks11xLYW5h3bxvlZjgd6YrQhOjS8gDJ92e5MDDLhHt5TSvdvK0hqQrkOJIQHKcVG_qTtURlbHrAbPin4X1KDUt30oIXcXHrEbJ2ZitlSIc7C-huIc3gfW2hX4/s1600-h/IMG_3717.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWtL8YtSoo784aSpK6_Ks11xLYW5h3bxvlZjgd6YrQhOjS8gDJ92e5MDDLhHt5TSvdvK0hqQrkOJIQHKcVG_qTtURlbHrAbPin4X1KDUt30oIXcXHrEbJ2ZitlSIc7C-huIc3gfW2hX4/s200/IMG_3717.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205582898040513186" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It's pretty rough having been in a nice dark, warm environment for so long and then getting thrown into the lights and all these people making a fuss over you<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrc-iduD_OgvrnllIZnHpwShw6Nfhp8to3I38hbioMgBr9y1CpT6mO5qJ-bT_RdgAXhnznOGPtibh97EyfuozxKLEhjGATOUv5Tf9E2fhBqKby6EPCidPIpaEVZN6gX38KpK3uIJlkY8/s1600-h/IMG_3714.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrc-iduD_OgvrnllIZnHpwShw6Nfhp8to3I38hbioMgBr9y1CpT6mO5qJ-bT_RdgAXhnznOGPtibh97EyfuozxKLEhjGATOUv5Tf9E2fhBqKby6EPCidPIpaEVZN6gX38KpK3uIJlkY8/s200/IMG_3714.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205582893745545874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Here's the little guy blinking his eyes open for the first time, with the whole family looking on: He's thinking, "Oh no! Not <span style="font-weight: bold;">THIS</span> family!!"<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyr8FqHJCvDrNpfrO3ZRZeh1pkEHC9iWMynD6RfzxYZbWQmDgXdY0-kj3bOP4DdXwPh3jHJYaS0XEyzXzMFgQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br />Here's Lucas getting weighed in (7lbs 8 oz):<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwy51FDwQ8hFqMWITOVjJ86OwAfdOhZTNe0uARbnJ0WAuU_NGvVrFxB5srqpgPnVeny9PQ-Rx4S11fOJ56RYA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br />Lucas getting handed over to mom for the first time. Everyone's laughing at his pouty lips:<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzH_VvVmyArmCuus0M_eEpqekg1IiIEFe9ukwe2GS6ovUv2Qo9gjWYIh3M01eb0MTWqH8hDEjx2E1efQLGNug' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >Grandma (and Aunt Julie) with Lucas.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKxVwgcxU-E4QPWIpFNzl9BB5DcnYzN_uYsPxx2nytN-U7C3IDX4U-EGBeJb5hSYyX73J5sUqvDxsmWUB1lJ7vmHo8uN1TZYCGTKb2-0w_A0vAyth2oVkuzwledVeFevI1MT6-O8qzVc/s1600-h/IMG_3736.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKxVwgcxU-E4QPWIpFNzl9BB5DcnYzN_uYsPxx2nytN-U7C3IDX4U-EGBeJb5hSYyX73J5sUqvDxsmWUB1lJ7vmHo8uN1TZYCGTKb2-0w_A0vAyth2oVkuzwledVeFevI1MT6-O8qzVc/s200/IMG_3736.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205855568334267074" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A couple of crazy Uncles.</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2MethN1Y8L3jnxkCcTRgKTRYVYyjCVAvfi-X8EQGngiNEZkHMw6f2LCuFc_fKSZqI8_ejLmp3BRnzsaSEwbkbkFCmtpMtFSfEypC5-DGn1GD0BQf6D8GJucd4ExenGAKNbm7IrDf3DA/s1600-h/IMG_3724.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2MethN1Y8L3jnxkCcTRgKTRYVYyjCVAvfi-X8EQGngiNEZkHMw6f2LCuFc_fKSZqI8_ejLmp3BRnzsaSEwbkbkFCmtpMtFSfEypC5-DGn1GD0BQf6D8GJucd4ExenGAKNbm7IrDf3DA/s200/IMG_3724.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205855576924201682" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >Grandpa.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv6OrjPHbWzJQzu7ta5jXAUSNuGgP9HqJoZbqJGSJm5LGZeLl8LKgZny0Ook99SZ-UBn1yqX1YzJ1ZK6C-AVLZFCldEFbI2wlQA3xmHqcWLs6kf5C3cUvY_ZU56sNy18E3Ak3v8iQnuwQ/s1600-h/IMG_3742.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv6OrjPHbWzJQzu7ta5jXAUSNuGgP9HqJoZbqJGSJm5LGZeLl8LKgZny0Ook99SZ-UBn1yqX1YzJ1ZK6C-AVLZFCldEFbI2wlQA3xmHqcWLs6kf5C3cUvY_ZU56sNy18E3Ak3v8iQnuwQ/s200/IMG_3742.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205857831782032130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lucas, Abuela, and Grandma.</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDq469bksUhh6MHgaGffeHVdv9Lf4DIAoZx4RMfpiE-89T4hWWKhtcCZQOz3zyeaAZtsQnz20TL2dFUhYf44e79jzKwFK4MREAlO6qyhmUW3MstOV00zDTZW68dlqVW6tmXi6QQ5bx1_o/s1600-h/IMG_3734.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDq469bksUhh6MHgaGffeHVdv9Lf4DIAoZx4RMfpiE-89T4hWWKhtcCZQOz3zyeaAZtsQnz20TL2dFUhYf44e79jzKwFK4MREAlO6qyhmUW3MstOV00zDTZW68dlqVW6tmXi6QQ5bx1_o/s200/IMG_3734.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205855555449365170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Grandpa, Dad, and Abuelo.</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb157kU13A5Udb9RrV6EodBh0B1i659R86aeSdsbQd82hotnH7KUqFR1nxd5te1QQYxYWgCKv5OHuYA1xVv0np7p_UXCpIl2tBJgQLPxGyUnePpQwbOmbxKBqJ5Nl3Q7yT7ZY4tRLS10E/s1600-h/IMG_3710.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb157kU13A5Udb9RrV6EodBh0B1i659R86aeSdsbQd82hotnH7KUqFR1nxd5te1QQYxYWgCKv5OHuYA1xVv0np7p_UXCpIl2tBJgQLPxGyUnePpQwbOmbxKBqJ5Nl3Q7yT7ZY4tRLS10E/s200/IMG_3710.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205857814602162930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A family tradition that we've been doing (and arguing over!) for years is the coveted "You Are Special Today" plate. Let's just say that you've got to do something <span style="font-weight: bold;">really significant</span> to earn the right to eat off this plate at Sunday night dinner. (<span style="font-style: italic;">I had to ride my bike <a href="http://morettiblog.blogspot.com/2008/05/2008-absa-cape-epic.html">600 miles across Africa</a> to get it!</span>) Lucas now holds the record for the youngest family member to earn the plate (4 days old). We figured "being born" was enough to qualify him for the distinction. He'll have to try a little harder the next time he gets it, though.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfltLPr0khRJIvETg82RKYwItpdhkOC6ILntFxhwSLWKsic5Er8sFUx5cDD-OOmTyxqLeUGn7vN1Mqw1tLwBdyPT5Hvub0Ka2xufDFNKDnxPV4JfiOKgHQ_B9RTAW79BvjkBOwYoNcvPA/s1600-h/IMG_3743e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfltLPr0khRJIvETg82RKYwItpdhkOC6ILntFxhwSLWKsic5Er8sFUx5cDD-OOmTyxqLeUGn7vN1Mqw1tLwBdyPT5Hvub0Ka2xufDFNKDnxPV4JfiOKgHQ_B9RTAW79BvjkBOwYoNcvPA/s200/IMG_3743e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205864007945003810" border="0" /></a>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-34146822861724331922008-05-08T18:55:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:44.344-08:00Bottling Time at Mark Moretti WineryToday I went up to San Francisco to help my brother with the bottling of the <a href="http://www.markmorettiwinery.com/">Mark Moretti Winery</a> 2005 Pinot Noir.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6Thr-lpj5hErzP5RqzOeKUcVNK5x95OQ0LY4EhF-bUop_Fy5MjF7zRdOiFSpjTy8GW3AexaJp5nrkeM01PB1mEkj3RaNDyu7NMxowSgc7W-V6gGxcYHHnqngPuM5eLTr88xvnMX4BoY/s1600-h/IMG_3680.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6Thr-lpj5hErzP5RqzOeKUcVNK5x95OQ0LY4EhF-bUop_Fy5MjF7zRdOiFSpjTy8GW3AexaJp5nrkeM01PB1mEkj3RaNDyu7NMxowSgc7W-V6gGxcYHHnqngPuM5eLTr88xvnMX4BoY/s320/IMG_3680.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203768746804355650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjseYQNj43Kaw-4IfoqIUaz0v8lRLpGr3pSM4OSpSsP9k0ILwSF5UaTbWYOu7ZXSOAn9x28_7OcsdRVHbiEnXlVvZhwTmLZwaweYPFSLluLQJePi3czW-SGDBXOWT2Or4Cq-o50jmpKuts/s1600-h/IMG_3670.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjseYQNj43Kaw-4IfoqIUaz0v8lRLpGr3pSM4OSpSsP9k0ILwSF5UaTbWYOu7ZXSOAn9x28_7OcsdRVHbiEnXlVvZhwTmLZwaweYPFSLluLQJePi3czW-SGDBXOWT2Or4Cq-o50jmpKuts/s320/IMG_3670.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203768733919453730" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />We each had a sample glass of it and let me say this is going to be one tasty Pinot, especially after a few months in the bottle. It has a really nice full palate and smooth oakey flavor. The dense color adds to the small-batch handcrafted qualities of this wine, in my personal opinion. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Look at me and all my fancy newly acquired wine lingo!</span>)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXUyBW_1nznS5rkYJVh1GIzdfhPSVi1bPxSUh_foomWwGDTu2euA99NLUJP-iASQ3FH9rHGGmrr3_I-jNpf1P2vVqgm5Il0EKW8MkXyfYuOUAaLKiGnh4giPuREivdMOmcUWKdK24CIw/s1600-h/IMG_3687.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXUyBW_1nznS5rkYJVh1GIzdfhPSVi1bPxSUh_foomWwGDTu2euA99NLUJP-iASQ3FH9rHGGmrr3_I-jNpf1P2vVqgm5Il0EKW8MkXyfYuOUAaLKiGnh4giPuREivdMOmcUWKdK24CIw/s320/IMG_3687.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203769665927357026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This was my second visit to the Winery, since I've been so far away from home for so long.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjECUAPgP7ou8DxOS8bbXNyaHvwudGbEzji8z8PnWmXl3qN1ny4LDgiL7LhYN5yKrMW-FzTZYUrQ74eYMyMkHw9L02pF-BSGqi-AWkAxVTAwtC-u1OqKGu2p98Ls5fdZyRfbuP37JYKkqg/s1600-h/IMG_3661.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjECUAPgP7ou8DxOS8bbXNyaHvwudGbEzji8z8PnWmXl3qN1ny4LDgiL7LhYN5yKrMW-FzTZYUrQ74eYMyMkHw9L02pF-BSGqi-AWkAxVTAwtC-u1OqKGu2p98Ls5fdZyRfbuP37JYKkqg/s320/IMG_3661.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203767097536913938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Here is the wine going into the clean bottles after the inert Argon gas has been pumped into the bottles to remove any oxygen. After the wine goes in, carbon dioxide is "shot" onto the surface of the wine before it is corked. You can see Mark in the background casing up the finished product. (<span style="font-style: italic;">I guess wasn't being very productive when I shot these photos and videos...</span>)<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwmHkMe8JRURaAVxJKFmGODjN8SeIEyrBOlef3RDoOi5jsBMAWsQ-zFtolypHfKzzwGZdINrc22zgeI4QmayA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />This is the label machine:<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxCU4iPucAIQZEJMGgKHrDR-kOdZKYctmsl87ivcSBykkrSusnCzB6gN3ggHEN_TCyovM9Rx_xpQK57IMvv8Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />And this is a shot of the bottles getting labeled, coming off the assembly line, and getting double checked before getting boxed up and stored away until they get shipped off to a happy customer:<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxFf0aATVxi1VWvqtP6aVEWzkLpPnmn9DxI5rmbEsd3oT1vTdr0KmwaHNgnpqT76e7FsFqtvz-tB1vCbG70uQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />I packed up this whole case myself:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcIVxtmHhRWwhj5QPcLb5vff_BtG5f6KrW9f1yR7N5E3ujDwk3che6_2Gv6xYYR5zVS5s3n_MgCXnF7xKkkFy8WqwqiCuc4i1MOBMbTiiaVRgqY3zi_9BUIahirze_YvR-qDGYJhMZK8/s1600-h/IMG_3673.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcIVxtmHhRWwhj5QPcLb5vff_BtG5f6KrW9f1yR7N5E3ujDwk3che6_2Gv6xYYR5zVS5s3n_MgCXnF7xKkkFy8WqwqiCuc4i1MOBMbTiiaVRgqY3zi_9BUIahirze_YvR-qDGYJhMZK8/s320/IMG_3673.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203768742509388338" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWW1UorHHDNwH8SKZWUQ0ACbJCyzhKPiUQmjGIzLT3SNJ6RfCnp0XpPpLTarT53MKI7HfIu7otoNF7kZ-CseLhu3EbOozLKtHpi17kcwvtgj2WMsHEJpXy8kWC7o1fUOGS0L1iPooZtDI/s1600-h/IMG_3681.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWW1UorHHDNwH8SKZWUQ0ACbJCyzhKPiUQmjGIzLT3SNJ6RfCnp0XpPpLTarT53MKI7HfIu7otoNF7kZ-CseLhu3EbOozLKtHpi17kcwvtgj2WMsHEJpXy8kWC7o1fUOGS0L1iPooZtDI/s320/IMG_3681.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203769657337422418" border="0" /></a>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-6858219779113140572008-04-26T19:00:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:44.702-08:00My Birthday DinnerI finally had the chance to try a sushi restaurant that I had heard a lot of good things about, the <a href="http://www.sakaesushi.com/">Sakae Sushi & Grill</a> in Burlingame, CA, where we went to celebrate my 35th birthday.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VxRZdny_uhHKXBAfJcoGdptfw6CYQAo51NRpfCXOhqvFMcOii6TzeOL50dAKG5yLi-ZC2Jy6jYUBAE9tdk96xp4Xij4e1cCy6m9ns8oR0ORcHk8SJdcHcWfySPDzg7_X0mdI_ApP9ik/s1600-h/IMG_3579.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VxRZdny_uhHKXBAfJcoGdptfw6CYQAo51NRpfCXOhqvFMcOii6TzeOL50dAKG5yLi-ZC2Jy6jYUBAE9tdk96xp4Xij4e1cCy6m9ns8oR0ORcHk8SJdcHcWfySPDzg7_X0mdI_ApP9ik/s320/IMG_3579.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203427279724454402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I'll start by saying that the best sushi I've ever eaten, by far, was at the <a href="http://www.tsukiji-market.or.jp/tukiji_e.htm">Tsukiji Fish Market</a> in Tokyo, Japan (and it was for breakfast!). Sakae is now my <span style="font-weight: bold;">2nd favorite place</span> to eat sushi! This is a great little restaurant, with a very authentic Japanese atmosphere, and the food is fantastic. If you want the good stuff, and you'll pay for it, order off the Sushi Specials menu. Everything on there is flown in direct from the Tsukiji Market 3 times a week. I finally tried something I've never had before but have always been curious about: Sea Urchin. It was, well, interesting. I don't think I'll be ordering it again, but I'll try anything once. And of course I ate my fried shrimp head just like my Japanese friend <a href="http://blog.goo.ne.jp/womaninsaipan">Hozumi</a> in Saipan taught me! The fish was outstanding, as was the rest of the very large meal we managed to consume. They also have a great selection of premium Japanese Sake. Thanks everyone for a great birthday dinner!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyacLqCRI_u4BSWnxvuCef4mJ9c3wR9KIpE4_-BbCXZ0a1YWGJxUt4UlPG7uG0ZwFhs5Rs0lguMJNEuxAnXrVjhgXJAsQ7JmApWvOh_Qm4kQxAJShGysQq9L3t_85vNEnwbSoOjawUqLI/s1600-h/IMG_3580-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyacLqCRI_u4BSWnxvuCef4mJ9c3wR9KIpE4_-BbCXZ0a1YWGJxUt4UlPG7uG0ZwFhs5Rs0lguMJNEuxAnXrVjhgXJAsQ7JmApWvOh_Qm4kQxAJShGysQq9L3t_85vNEnwbSoOjawUqLI/s320/IMG_3580-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203427275429487090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I feel like I must make a recommendation here <span style="font-weight: bold;">against</span> ordering the <a href="http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/cr/SeafoodWatch/web/sfw_factsheet.aspx?gid=69">Bluefin tuna</a> or the "Toro" or fatty tuna, which is the belly-fat section from (most likely) a Bluefin tuna. I admit that I have tried a piece of each once before in order to try and understand why it is such a prized fish. It <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">is</span> delicious, but your wallet, the environment, and hopefully your conscience will take a hit when you order these items. Bluefin are a very large, impressive species of tuna whose populations are suffering due to the fact that they are slow to mature, because there is such a high demand for them for the sushi market, and because they are difficult stocks to manage due to their migratory nature. If you want to see a live one, go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium's <a href="http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/efc/outerbay.asp">Outer Bay Exhibit</a> and you will be mesmerized by these amazing animals.<br /><br />One ironic fact about the Bluefin at this and other US restaurants is that there is a good chance that it was caught off the East coast of the USA, frozen, flown to Japan, sold at the fish market, then shipped back to CA and onto your plate! A fisherman friend of mine in North Carolina landed a Bluefin once back in 2002. When he got to the dock, there was a Japanese fish market "middleman" there, in the small North Carolina coastal town of Beaufort, waiting to take the last few Bluefin of the season (there is a quota, and when it is reached the U.S. fishery is closed down) to the Japanese market. The three of them are all very experienced fishermen, and there is a very specific technique and procedure that must be followed when landing and bleeding a Bluefin in order to preserve the quality of the meat. They thought they had done everything "by the book" but even so the buyer took a sample of the meat, analyzed it closely, and told them just by looking at the tissue what they had done wrong. They still sold the one large fish for THOUSANDS of dollars.<br /><br />The fact of the matter is that we can use the market system, good old supply and demand, to <a href="http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/cr/seafoodwatch.asp">help influence</a> the fish that restaurants buy for their customers. If people stop ordering it, they will stop purchasing it, and hopefully the populations will recover to a point where they can be sustainably harvested in the future.<br /><br />And don't forget that if you are pregnant or nursing (like my sister-in-law, ahem!) you should be <a href="http://www.edf.org/page.cfm?tagID=17694">limiting your consumption</a> of tuna and other upper-tier predators like king mackerel, shark, and swordfish because of the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/23/dining/23sushi.html?_r=1&pagewanted=print&oref=slogin">higher levels of mercury</a> that they contain in their tissues. I was worried about this when I was living in Micronesia because I ate local line-caught tuna very frequently for over 2 years. During my last physical, I had my doctor run a blood test on my mercury levels and it was still well within the normal values. Funny how we have "normal" levels of things like mercury in our bodies ...Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-27988866112563808572008-04-06T20:14:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:45.533-08:00The 2008 Absa Cape Epic<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBEOUqiri63qvCMCzFz5yjoX6Q559dDj7Ib_5Hp5Dg_Om3izyu1A7EfRzvQVIpYRLmeNZvSm1j0Nh1QOwj_OkES2ajQypYPIFMxi8sr04OomzfxdtRjVBwWkGsQ8Z8U8LdbbCYvnud24/s1600-h/ace_2008_map.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBEOUqiri63qvCMCzFz5yjoX6Q559dDj7Ib_5Hp5Dg_Om3izyu1A7EfRzvQVIpYRLmeNZvSm1j0Nh1QOwj_OkES2ajQypYPIFMxi8sr04OomzfxdtRjVBwWkGsQ8Z8U8LdbbCYvnud24/s400/ace_2008_map.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203037833564889458" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It's hard to know where to begin this entry. On April 5th, 2008, my Team <a href="http://www.pioneerafrica.net/">Pioneer Africa</a> teammate <span class="caption">Roualeyn de Haas</span> and I managed to struggle across the finish line of what is one of the toughest, longest, and most-elevation-gained mountain bike races in the world. If you zoom in you can see the tears in our eyes:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlAMByvoBtFJ_4NvldmyAUr6493uRfrmUZ-OceDclMcis0ku5zATZCCjdjhBRO-00rZBe5WgnUfGorfc-6de0gh3kG411uB81OXmYMXLEbR5GNS7VWRSYOxsCv0K-1Fj6Wbzl4PmEF7U/s1600-h/finishline.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlAMByvoBtFJ_4NvldmyAUr6493uRfrmUZ-OceDclMcis0ku5zATZCCjdjhBRO-00rZBe5WgnUfGorfc-6de0gh3kG411uB81OXmYMXLEbR5GNS7VWRSYOxsCv0K-1Fj6Wbzl4PmEF7U/s320/finishline.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203045177958965650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />1,200 riders started the race on March 28th, and something like 967 riders finished all 8 stages and the pre-race Prologue on April 5th. The race is 966 Km (600.2 miles) long and has 18,529m (60,790.68 feet) of vertical gain. That's the equivalent of riding your bike up Mt. Everest from sea level ... <span style="font-weight: bold;">TWICE</span>.<br /><br />Rou and I began preparing for this event over a year ago. I should start by saying that Rou and I are <span style="font-weight: bold;">not </span>competitive mountain bike racers. We are, at best, experienced weekend warriors who are passionate about riding. We followed a strict training regimen that we downloaded from the race website that had us begin our training in November of 2007. We did a lot of riding before that in order to "train for the training"; our first week had us doing a 5 hour ride with 5,000 feet of elevation gain, and we had to be ready for it. We read all the manuals and blogs and talked to folks who had ridden this race before. Despite all our training and preparation, we were consistently at the tail-end of this group of over 1,000 extremely talented riders. It was a humbling experience to say the least.<br /><br />The hardest thing about the race was not knowing what to expect. Every day we were riding on new terrain. We were riding more miles and more hours and climbing higher than we had ever done before, and we were doing it day after day. We had no idea what was around the next bend, but experience taught us that more likely than not, it was another hill. I learned very quickly that there is no such thing as "the last hill" or "the last climb" in the Cape Epic. After days on end of riding, even the short staircase to door of the shower trailer feels like scaling a sheer cliff. Walking to your tent feels like its uphill. The whole world seemed to be leaning up towards wherever you wanted to go!<br /><br />The best thing about the race was the finish line. Seriously, even the stage finish lines were amazing mini-victories. In the back of the pack, where we were, it was not uncommon to see tears from those riders barely making the cutoff times ... but making it! The feeling of crossing that line each day was one of the things that kept us going. For the first few days, we kept saying, "I can't believe we just finished Stage 1 (...Stage 2... Stage 3...). Even better than crossing the finish line was what got us there - all of the riders ahead of us (if they can do it...) and the riders around us (We can do it guys!). There was a great deal of camaraderie amongst the riders at the back of the pack. Everybody helped everybody along. We rode in groups, drafted off one another, and pushed one another, helped each other repair flats. And when it came to our teammates, we LITERALLY pushed one another up hills!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX9hgwLpVjtgzdbEEAxovkFqXifn7U-Zyws68Q8XiVYmXNhaegTimpAM0CeSFs5htrvwaCTZ9iZKc0lpTRG5GTC76_LvylJGpPuQCcWkoB1iXsbV97sJs5ivB6K3_q6neQBSetHYQOyoQ/s1600-h/team.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX9hgwLpVjtgzdbEEAxovkFqXifn7U-Zyws68Q8XiVYmXNhaegTimpAM0CeSFs5htrvwaCTZ9iZKc0lpTRG5GTC76_LvylJGpPuQCcWkoB1iXsbV97sJs5ivB6K3_q6neQBSetHYQOyoQ/s320/team.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203050787186254242" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The race is done in teams of two. All around you are pairs of riders in matching kit, sometimes even matching bikes. Although this makes the race extremely challenging in some ways (when you have a bad day, your partner does too!), you quickly realize that despite the drawbacks of having to ride at the same pace and having to put up with that guy who is constantly RIGHT next to you, it is actually a blessing in disguise. When you are in the 5th hour, 7th hour, up to the 10th hour of riding(in our case), you really appreciate having that teammate to help you along. The thought of doing this race solo is just unbearable. A lot of guys write about the importance of having the right teammate, who is at your same condition level, and you realize just how right they are. Having the right teammate can make (or break) the race for you.<br /><br />This is my version of a typical day during the race. All of these things happened at one point or another during the race:<br /><br />The sound of 18-wheeler semi-trucks blaring their horns at 5:00a.m. startles you awake when awake is the last thing you want to be. You thank God for the sleeping pills you brought and wonder why you didn't take them sooner. You crawl out of your sleeping bag and throw on some clothes, the only ones you have and the same ones you've been wearing for the last 3 mornings and evenings. You check your bike computer and for some reason it didn't charge properly during the night. It's cold and pitch black outside. The lights on the ball-field slowly begin to turn on. You stumble to the porta potty to have a pee. About half way there, you decide to just pee on the grass because it's too far and your legs hurt. You walk to the dining hall tent to get some breakfast. You get there and realize that in your stupor you forgot your pass, so you have to walk 200 meters back to your tent to get your pass. You get lost and can't find your tent which is hidden among 1,000 other identical tents. At the dining tent you are bumping shoulders with about 1,000 other hungry riders who are in line for food. You get to the eggs and they are gone. You wait as a fresh tray arrives. You stack your plate high with eggs, topped with cheese, with a side of bread. You make two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to eat on the trail. You sit quietly at your table with a bunch of other weary riders. You ask yourself why you are doing this. You want it to stop and there are still 5 more days.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sqpIpcO-2twQsGImgbKDsRhvradsHFPNppHHxj48vI53s83B43Brtq2dR8tsAU47HV2F-KsH_4GDfECvkfixJk1VSGsYkuwVanJ8-xPFUE5Wqk5Fcu5oBlmok0Kwe5x5C9DkH3VaIng/s1600-h/CE08s7_tom_ww0830.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3sqpIpcO-2twQsGImgbKDsRhvradsHFPNppHHxj48vI53s83B43Brtq2dR8tsAU47HV2F-KsH_4GDfECvkfixJk1VSGsYkuwVanJ8-xPFUE5Wqk5Fcu5oBlmok0Kwe5x5C9DkH3VaIng/s320/CE08s7_tom_ww0830.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203077441753293250" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />You stagger back to your tent, wondering how these guys can put their bike clothes on so early in the morning. It's like they slept in them. Half way back to your tent nature calls and you'd better answer because it's your only chance that day. You answer in a dark, cramped, smelly port-a-potty. Back at your tent, you prep your bag for the days ride. If you were smart, you filled and mixed your camelbak the night before. Of course you were too tired last night, so you are doing it now. You walk 150m to the water truck and fill your spare bottle and your camelbak. Back at your tent you slowly pour your drink mix into the small hole on your camelbak spilling sugary powder all over your bag. You don't care. You unwrap your cliff bars, make sure all your tools are back in your pack, and get today's stage map out to have handy during the ride to see how many more hills there are ahead of you. There are always a lot more. You pull on your bike clothes, which are still cold and wet from being washed yesterday because you got finished with the stage so late that the sun was setting by the time you put your clothes out to dry. You don't really care. You get dressed out in the open, right in front of everyone. Guys, girls, it doesn't matter. You don't care because getting dressed inside your tent would be too hard. You put on your shirt before your bib shorts because you forgot what order to get dressed in. Then you have to take your shirt off and start over. You put on sunscreen, which seems ridiculous at 6:30a.m., but you are going to be riding a bike in the shadeless African sun for 10 hours, so you don't have a choice. (<span style="font-style: italic;">You will change sunscreen brands after the race because the smell of your race sunscreen will cause flashbacks that trigger bouts of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.</span>) You struggle to find something to wipe your sunglasses clean with. You walk 150m to the bike corral, where your bike is stored, and you walk, not ride, back to your tent. You check your bike to make sure its running. It is. You are thankful for your <a href="http://www.ibiscycles.com/mountain/mojo/">Ibis Mojo</a> and your great <a href="http://www.passiontrailbikes.com/">LBS</a> back home. It's been running flawlessly (not even a flat!) the entire race and you hope it stays that way. (It does.) You lube the chain. You check your Maxxis Crossmark tires, hoping you put enough Stan's in them to last the race. Your teammate's tire is flat. You pump it up, hoping it holds, thanking god for tubeless tires and sealant. He had to use Slime because the entire country of South Africa was <span style="font-style: italic;">literally </span>out of Stan's because of this race. You climb back into your tent and pack up your sleeping bag, your clothes, your junk. Then you put your big race bag on the seat of your bike (because you lack the strength to carry it) and wheel it 100m over to the big trailer and the overly-enthusiastic bag boys who provide you a little much-needed entertainment each morning with their calisthenics routine choreographed to the song, "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raYS3RGVdCE&feature=related">Tie Me Kangaroo Down</a>". They take your bag, and now it's just you, your teammate, your bikes, and 100 miles and 8,000 feet of climbing until you get to crawl back into your tent.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzJvwhh51RIdakSy_XITb4_38Tr92u9zLY2IdEqxo5saDZ0eDVv-8-1WN-h5TULoHPm03nKAfaNvN8C8W6rzsOTTD_pywO_17TUjtFp3GpvhrmQNB5QUj4dFQDRvIRu4L-POfH2tYvMg/s1600-h/CE08s1_tjtele_11777.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzJvwhh51RIdakSy_XITb4_38Tr92u9zLY2IdEqxo5saDZ0eDVv-8-1WN-h5TULoHPm03nKAfaNvN8C8W6rzsOTTD_pywO_17TUjtFp3GpvhrmQNB5QUj4dFQDRvIRu4L-POfH2tYvMg/s320/CE08s1_tjtele_11777.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203077437458325938" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />You head to the start line. Actually, you head to about a 1/2 mile behind the start line because that's where you and the other sloths in the "Open" category get to start. You once-over your bike and realize something is loose. It's your brake where it bolts to the frame. You pull out your tool and frantically tighten it before the gun goes off. The gun goes, then you wait about 4 minutes before anyone starts moving, then you walk like cattle for another 2 minutes before the group gets moving fast enough to warrant pedaling. And off you go. Your butt is killing you, your legs are stiff and sore. Your back hurts. Your hands can't grip. But you want this and you want it badly so you just go. You just keep pedaling. The morning is nice, there is <a href="http://www.sportzpics.net/viewphoto.php?albumId=36669&imageId=1536166">a beautiful sunrise</a> starting to come up and its casting long shadows of you on your bike through the open fields. The beauty distracts you for about an hour. Then you realize you are climbing up a really steep hill, again. The pack spreads out. You fall back but keep going, wondering how all these guys from the NETHERLANDS of all places are beating you up the hills. You decide it's because they are born on bikes. "Music Man" slowly approaches you from behind. This guy brought an iPod and some portable speakers and put them in his pack and would play music when the going got tough. Some raunchy rap song comes on and he skips to the next track. 5 guys all yell out in protest, so he turns it back and the beat pushes you up yet another hill. On the hour you pull out your PB&J sandwich and wolf it down, because your partner reminds you to eat. Otherwise you would have forgotten. It's 9am and you've been riding for 2 hours. At 10 am you hit your first water-stop. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. You grab a cup of Coke, refill your camelbak with water, and throw two bananas in your pockets, and go. No resting for you, because you are at the back of the pack and you are racing against a cutoff time. You ask the water saviors how many Km to the next station. It's 43. Oh, and there's a lot of sand up ahead, they warn. Off you go, down the dirt roads, which turn to sand. The sand kills your legs. You simply can't ride through it. Riders are trying anything possible to ride around the deep sand in the double-tracks of the jeep trail. The <a href="http://www.sportzpics.net/viewphoto.php?albumId=36671&imageId=1544220">sand goes on for miles and miles</a> and never ends. You hike through most of it. When you finally get some speed on a downhill you hit a hidden sandy patch and it throws you off your bike. It's hot now. Really hot. You use your spare water bottle to pour water on your head to keep from overheating. Your lips are chapped raw and burn every time you eat or drink anything. You want to take your shoes off because they are filled with sand but you can't because your teammate ran over the release buckle yesterday in line for the bike wash and broke it off. It now takes 3 people working in unison and 5 minutes to take off your left shoe. You don't have that kind of time. You eventually make it to the 2nd water station, where (because you signed up for the <a href="http://www.cape-epic.com/content.php?page_id=51&title=/Optional_Extras/">Nutrition Service</a>) they have an ice-cold camelbak bladder of yours, pre-mixed with your drink mix, waiting for you. You swap out your bladder with the cold, full one, chug a Coke, quickly re-apply sunscreen from the little film case you stored it in, and off you go. Only 28Km to the next station! The bad news is that there's a mandatory cut-off time at Station 3 so you'd better hurry. And <a href="http://www.sportzpics.net/viewphoto.php?albumId=36669&imageId=1536187">a really big hill</a>. That you have to hike up. You trudge on. Immediately you get off your bike and start hiking. It's steep and loose and un-ridable in your condition. You take your video camera, turn it on yourself, and film a minute of your misery. (<span style="font-style: italic;">You will laugh at this later and wish you made more movies during the race.</span>) You get to the top and you see the sign with the three arrows pointing down, which means, "You're probably going to crash going down this descent." It's a nasty downhill which lasts forever and by the time you get to the bottom your hands are cramped and your legs are shaking from all the time out of the saddle. You wonder if going up is easier. You're lucky, and don't crash. You stop to pee. Your teammate joins you. Another team of 2 joins you. It's a pee-fest. The next guy riding by takes a picture of everybody peeing in pairs of two. Anything is funny at this point. You make it to Water Stop 3 with an hour to spare before the cutoff. You think you can rest a bit but they tell you there's a hard 34Km to the finish and you better hurry because it's going to take you all the time you have left to get there before the cutoff. You hurry, not like you haven't been hurrying for the past 7 hours, and chug a Coke and take an energy Gel and off you go. 5 minutes later your stomach is revolting against the sugary Gel and you have horrible and painful stomach cramps. You feel more sorry for the guy behind you. Luckily it "passes" and you feel like you are back to your normal, suffering miserable self again. Your teammate is complaining again about his saddle sores. He decides to have them checked. You pass the Medical Truck and you finally get a break from the pedaling. The nurse puts on a glove, introduces herself (seriously), and tells him to drop his shorts and bend over. "It helps if you grab your ankles", she says. You take a picture. He doesn't care. You've stopped caring about anything by this point. All you care about is getting to that finish line. All lubed up and approved to continue, your partner joins you as you pull through the last stretch, hours 8-10 of the day. You realize you are in a real time crunch, so you pick up the pace. Then you realize you can't pick it up much, but you try regardless. You pass two teams, then, behind you, you hear a crash and cussing and yelling. One rider, while passing another team, inadvertently swerved into another rider and made her fall. Looking back you can see them checking on her, she seems OK. (<span style="font-style: italic;">You find out later that the woman who crashed dropped out of the race shortly thereafter.</span>) Ten minutes later the same team passes you. The same rider swerves again, in his exhaustion, and nearly takes out another rider. You let them pass with plenty of room for error. Everyone is so exhausted at this point that you can't blame them for swerving. You pass through a small town and there are <a href="http://www.sportzpics.net/viewphoto.php?albumId=36669&imageId=1536213">children on the side of the road</a> running, yelling for chocolates. You are sprinting frantically at this point because you have only an hour until cutoff and too many Km to go. The children run along side of you, barefoot, keeping up with you. You realize only then how slow your "sprint" really is, but it's all you've got. You ride on, mile after mile. You hit a paved road, which offers you some relief, mainly because you can ride faster now. A young man from the village, wearing jeans and sandals, suddenly passes you and your teammate on a rusty old fixed-speed bike, head bobbing to the beat coming through his headphones. You look at your teammate and you both burst out laughing at the irony of the situation. The laughter gives you a little boost to keep going. You look down at your legs and they shaking, caked with dust. A thick layer of dust. You feel lightheaded. Your butt is killing so you stand up to take the pressure off. As soon as you come off the saddle there is a red-hot searing pain from your rear that feels like someone has sliced deep into your skin with razors. You groan audibly, loudly, in pain until it passes. It's the blood rushing to your saddle sores as you take off the pressure. Then your legs begin to protest and you sit back down, shifting around trying desperately to find a spot that doesn't hurt quite as badly as the others. When you find it, you hit a bump in the trail that knocks you off that sweet spot. You give up and just deal with the constant pain. You join up with another group of riders and group together to fend off the howling head-wind. It's still hot, and <a href="http://www.sportzpics.net/viewphoto.php?&albumId=36669&imageId=1535896&page=1&imagepos=18">the dust is relentless</a>. The stronger riders from each team take turns "pulling" the rest of the group through the wind. On the last few hills, you push your teammate up the hills to keep the momentum going, and he takes over on the downhills, letting you rest as you draft behind him. You notice that your shadows are getting long again. You see the 5Km to finish sign, but you keep sprinting because you have less than 10 minutes until cutoff. You are in a crazed state of panic now. You realize that if anything went wrong you miss the cutoff. You continue sprinting, up the last hill. No, there is another. You sprint, push, pull, you don't know how you are doing it or where it is coming from but you finish with a burst of speed from deep within. 1Km to finish. Almost there! You can see the finish line and know you will make it but keep sprinting anyways. You won't stop unitl you cross the line. <a href="http://www.sportzpics.net/viewphoto.php?albumId=36669&imageId=1536242">Nothing will stop you now.</a> You cross, grab your partner's hand and your eyes well up with tears. You just finished Stage 4, with 5 minutes to spare before the dreaded cutoff. Only 4 more days like this to go.<br /><br />There aren't many people around the finish line at this point. You grab a couple cups of Coke to pull your sugar levels up. The other back-enders are congratulating you and you them for making one more stage. You wait to see who else makes it across the finish line before the cutoff. You feel dizzy and sit on the pavement for a minute. You feel utterly, completely, totally wrecked. Wasted. You can barely walk, but somehow you will convince yourself to get on your bike and ride another 90 miles tomorrow.<br /><br />You walk your bike over to the bike wash, and there is a huge line of bikes. You stagger around and find and tip a kid to take your bike over and get it washed and put away. You walk to the baggage truck and you tip another kid to carry your bag over to a tent, if they can find an open one. Most are taken now. Your bag is one of the last ones there. At your tent, you struggle for 5 minutes, with help, to get your shoes off. The guy across from your tent is getting a full-body massage on a proper massage table from his support team. You realize you have no support team and joke with them about getting you a massage even though you really aren't joking. Shoes off, you grab your soap and wet, stinky towel and your one change of clothes and make the long trek across the field to the shower trucks. There is a line, which you wait in. You shower, and it takes ages for you to wash the dirt off every last bit of your body. You slowly make your way down the stairs, knees on fire, feeling a little better but quickly realize that your blood sugar is dropping dangerously low and that you need some food in you. You grab some M&Ms back at your tent and lay down for a minute enjoying the downtime. It doesn't last long because you rememeber that your brake lever was getting stuck so you have to get your bike over to the mechanic, then you have to eat dinner, then you have to prep your drink mix for the Nutrition Service before they shut down for the night, and then you have to get your Garmin Edge GPS bike computer charged up and hopefully it will work this time. (<span style="font-style: italic;">You find out after the race that the unit can only hold about 15-20 hours, or 2 days, of riding and is automatically deleting all your previous days' rides.</span>) Oh, and you have to wash and dry your clothes for tomorrow. Luckily there is a laundry service at this Stage so you can drop it off and pick up clean DRY clothes in the morning. You crawl into your tent, pop a sleeping pill, and get ready for that 5am wake-up call. And last but certainly not least, you think about quietly suffocating your teammate in his sleep for talking you into this ordeal...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I'll be posting up some of the pics and videos I took from my on-board camera during the race when I get back home in July. For now these were the only pics I had.</span>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-63497802397496787442007-10-15T16:05:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:45.676-08:00The StatisticsHere are the statistics from the Great Mountain Bike Adventure of 2007 (excluding one evening ride around town in Durango where both of our computers' batteries died):<br /><br />Number of Consecutive Days Riding: 14<br />Number of Rides: 15<br />Number of States Ridden In: 3<br />Total Hours in the Saddle: 35 hours, 46 minutes<br />Total Miles Ridden: 231.94 miles<br />Total Elevation Gain (uphill): 27,287 feet<br />Total Elevation Loss (downhill): 37,749 feet<br />Highest Elevation: 12,052 feet (top of Santa Fe Ski Resort)<br />Lowest Elevation: 4,003 feet (Moab, UT)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIqM29gLQaK8PKwAlNBwZjVjXp9CUTOWjfYyfW4Y_iigBexRTUy8lnnVDeDV_T-eg61rPhPHrR_XY0QrWl8I9DfHzDaoQOFc-mK7ybNbD_TNUaDAn7hmY0KrgdZ7NebNReVpmCFVax74/s1600-h/Map_all_rides.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIqM29gLQaK8PKwAlNBwZjVjXp9CUTOWjfYyfW4Y_iigBexRTUy8lnnVDeDV_T-eg61rPhPHrR_XY0QrWl8I9DfHzDaoQOFc-mK7ybNbD_TNUaDAn7hmY0KrgdZ7NebNReVpmCFVax74/s400/Map_all_rides.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121709962201847890" border="0" /></a>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-5334930144524331792007-10-14T22:06:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:46.117-08:00The Last Ride ... and A Bit of Japan in New MexicoI leave for Saipan tomorrow.<br /><br />Today we did our final ride, ride number 15 in 14 days. Today's ride was a nice and easy road climb up the hill from Santa Fe to the Ten Thousand Waves Spa. We deserve it, don't you think? Rou's wife Mary met us at the spa so she could enjoy it with us and also so we didn't have to ride home.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJwGuSg618iOg69BUioIBMbcfj1LWfHrT6VnkmxoATHPQKPx3v7ztoCA9X2UDgOZ98GSHvcAktPcnZkLlVYMyi7_omz_sud4P1LRs_jm_ncazZKVifcRkjuEu5LcHSSPYaEZPAMsE2iWk/s1600-h/sparide.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJwGuSg618iOg69BUioIBMbcfj1LWfHrT6VnkmxoATHPQKPx3v7ztoCA9X2UDgOZ98GSHvcAktPcnZkLlVYMyi7_omz_sud4P1LRs_jm_ncazZKVifcRkjuEu5LcHSSPYaEZPAMsE2iWk/s320/sparide.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121702239850649634" border="0" /></a><br />The ride turned out to be a really good uphill climb, as the spa sits on top of the ridge on the way up to the mountains from Santa Fe. We rode 16.6 miles, and climbed 1,460 feet in an hour and 13 minutes. It was a gradual climb for the most part, so we maintained a good pace. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXa3mDGXX0Hm8d8UsWXbp6IWyHDGyfXO-xZlzFNy9NKYORWWOrRIq14qYza3jl-VYjNCdZpYbd5EcoqZqW5OzsoFt2UIyJBLc0M9B5W2Gk76P27WK_dH5mCgBWIOYYwRgfISXT9EgRR-Y/s1600-h/waves.jpeg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXa3mDGXX0Hm8d8UsWXbp6IWyHDGyfXO-xZlzFNy9NKYORWWOrRIq14qYza3jl-VYjNCdZpYbd5EcoqZqW5OzsoFt2UIyJBLc0M9B5W2Gk76P27WK_dH5mCgBWIOYYwRgfISXT9EgRR-Y/s320/waves.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121702248440584242" border="0" /></a><br />What made it most enjoyable was the fact that as we were climbing up the road, the drivers of three separate cars honked and waved or gave us the thumbs up as they passed in the opposite direction. I can only assume they were fellow bikers trying to help us up the hill with their encouragement. I can't tell you how many times I've been honked at or yelled at in a negative way, just for riding along and minding my own business, so it was great to be riding in a city that's so biker-friendly. <br /><br />The spa was amazing and can only be described as a little bit of Japan in New Mexico. They have private outdoor spas, so for an hour we had a small patio with a hot spa, a cold spa, and our own private dry sauna. It was strange, in a way, to see all the Japanese style in New Mexico, but it also felt a bit like my home back in Saipan. They even had my favorite Japanese chocolate covered bread-stick candies!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqo_2kRmrUyVZl-orPW8ekiTTg6QJyIXfXnrV2N0E2_ou7Dv03sNHmVUaewBbUC4fMLBGPbXDd65g4tfqb8U5ypMFCfb9Ekih15xrZa3Ob5SqxEVrxxpX0mJaog27l6M6ppFwebcAulT8/s1600-h/Picture+3.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqo_2kRmrUyVZl-orPW8ekiTTg6QJyIXfXnrV2N0E2_ou7Dv03sNHmVUaewBbUC4fMLBGPbXDd65g4tfqb8U5ypMFCfb9Ekih15xrZa3Ob5SqxEVrxxpX0mJaog27l6M6ppFwebcAulT8/s320/Picture+3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121702153951303682" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVcz0oDHAHRuUFaCWRJptpN5NbZnnheyZjcREYk6oRfFH5abBxAls7wle7pbklIJ_ze1QF5Nmjk28BKOP3Q8_WMe7boTPY6uaX9aSzVNo2uoxOb0aWbxLKhRS-dCTHYfqydos0XRjp-EA/s1600-h/Picture+4.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVcz0oDHAHRuUFaCWRJptpN5NbZnnheyZjcREYk6oRfFH5abBxAls7wle7pbklIJ_ze1QF5Nmjk28BKOP3Q8_WMe7boTPY6uaX9aSzVNo2uoxOb0aWbxLKhRS-dCTHYfqydos0XRjp-EA/s320/Picture+4.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121702209785878546" border="0" /></a>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-27914893641143067982007-10-14T21:54:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:46.616-08:00The Colorado Trail, Durango, COI woke up and, looking at the blue skies, decided to try and get in that ride on the Colorado Trail that was rained out our first time through Durango. What I didn’t realize looking out the Motel window was that it was 32 degrees outside. Oh well. I bundled up and went anyways. Rou was feeling a bit under the weather and had some work to catch up on anyways, so he dropped me off at the trailhead to the <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4220469">Colorado Trail</a> and I rode back to the hotel from there. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAVJyzc-BoqnLvyONZ6mJU2VcSB7kvJ0qJEOJXBLRP9e1AJtceppjkj3yNTMT6XFLW-wscFyqeFaNUQO6sFykvvYuH9kTzNJos2vTTe1ciX6DlQVF0EUWn0AuTqHCdKdqFCbeG-2dklY/s1600-h/IMG_1834-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAVJyzc-BoqnLvyONZ6mJU2VcSB7kvJ0qJEOJXBLRP9e1AJtceppjkj3yNTMT6XFLW-wscFyqeFaNUQO6sFykvvYuH9kTzNJos2vTTe1ciX6DlQVF0EUWn0AuTqHCdKdqFCbeG-2dklY/s320/IMG_1834-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121572935565236178" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The ride, though cold, was spectacular. It was a nice smooth hardpack trail that began with a long 2000 foot climb that I was expecting, so it wasn’t too bad. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1IXI3ygbkHEsH4XKlRuU5gYe15aQAAdm7sg0Mf3USr6qXTX2Umwj4X6JJoL1FwOxy3VDx2KlVO1ccnvrIRMZaFzgLKxF_3OWqBBiNsxn1UtayNsrzh0JvISJI6FzaGoe0ExStfPYAHiI/s1600-h/coloradotrail.jpeg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1IXI3ygbkHEsH4XKlRuU5gYe15aQAAdm7sg0Mf3USr6qXTX2Umwj4X6JJoL1FwOxy3VDx2KlVO1ccnvrIRMZaFzgLKxF_3OWqBBiNsxn1UtayNsrzh0JvISJI6FzaGoe0ExStfPYAHiI/s320/coloradotrail.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121574559062874098" border="0" /></a><br />About half way to the top there was a beautiful lookout and I found myself alone in a quiet beautiful pine and Aspen forest with the bright yellows of the aspens changing color. I realized that this must be why they call Colorado “Colorado”, which means “colorful” in Spanish. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3vWX7tcASK68t1eoW_sOwZBRPbOkKKDRPzTiaV_xeeIpk3qnhKzfntDH5o_bCURF5xTtqbFfVstLW1oPmtEgOMkMB6SEAZkccor8XV61UkRZVJm8hiEpPI9-zyLWyVzYqQkU_8BpTmo/s1600-h/IMG_1833-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3vWX7tcASK68t1eoW_sOwZBRPbOkKKDRPzTiaV_xeeIpk3qnhKzfntDH5o_bCURF5xTtqbFfVstLW1oPmtEgOMkMB6SEAZkccor8XV61UkRZVJm8hiEpPI9-zyLWyVzYqQkU_8BpTmo/s320/IMG_1833-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121572922680334274" border="0" /></a><br />I finished the climb and hooked back into the Colorado Trail after taking a side loop on Hoffeins Connect and Dry Fork Trail. The way down was fast and mostly smooth, with a few challenging sections but nothing too technical. Once I got past the “Gudy’s Rest” lookout, and started heading back down to the trailhead, I passed bikers, runners, hikers and dogs galore. Everyone was out enjoying this beautiful Sunday morning. I was glad I started early and had beaten everyone to the top and had a nice quiet climb to myself. I took the road back down to the hotel, showered up and we took off at noon for the 4 hour drive back to Santa Fe. <br /><br />When we got back to the house in Santa Fe, Rou and Mary took the dogs for a walk at sunset. I stayed home and hopped in the hot tub on the back deck. As I sat there, the sun began to set and I realized how amazing and colorful the desert can be. This was my view:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgyqtkZLEnRBE589b7TUhX3Dtf5oY_aHBhKHs-ppF-8CVIzzM08NfbwMUShtQBHuLY-ZmFJ3yfEt3V5QpdRubhwu018B5ynrNg8x1Q2XE7faFq6a0-kuOEihWlBjuQelZzvlT0mcu2fzY/s1600-h/IMG_1839-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgyqtkZLEnRBE589b7TUhX3Dtf5oY_aHBhKHs-ppF-8CVIzzM08NfbwMUShtQBHuLY-ZmFJ3yfEt3V5QpdRubhwu018B5ynrNg8x1Q2XE7faFq6a0-kuOEihWlBjuQelZzvlT0mcu2fzY/s320/IMG_1839-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121572939860203490" border="0" /></a><br />When I looked at this picture on my computer, I thought I must have accidentally had the camera on "Underwater" mode because the reds were so vibrant. The camera wasn't on underwater mode; this is just how vibrant the colors are here.<br /><br />Tomorrow is the day before I leave, and thus according to the pact of biking every day, we’re doing one last ride. This one is going to be a road climb up to a spa called Ten Thousand Waves where Rou’s wife Mary is going to meet us for a nice post-training celebration at the spa!Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-5001005023302145602007-10-13T21:18:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:47.119-08:00Kessel's Run, Fruita, CO ... and back to DurangoWe woke up, cooked up some bacon, egg and cheese burritos, and then I went for a quick 45-minute ride down <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4214695">Kessel’s Run and up Prime Cut</a> while Rou packed up the tent. Along the trail I met a dad and his 10-yr old son riding in the opposite direction. One of the cool things about the riding we’ve done on this trip is that we’ve met men and women, skinny and big-boned, aged from 10-60+ all riding bikes on these amazing trails. And everybody has been friendly and willing to stop and chat to a fellow biker along the way. We’ve even exchanged emails with a number of folks at the end of rides. <br /><br />We’re heading back towards Durango now, and may give the Colorado Trail a shot tomorrow if we’re feeling up to another three hour challenge. The scenic highway 550 south between Ridgeway, CO and Ouray, CO (the “Switzerland of America”) is an unbelievably gorgeous stretch of road through an aspen-yellow valley with horses grazing in fields of green grass on humble yet beautiful ranches. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDo0sCuwjjaEFzJ64su1eHRt6IHiKOiS2OKrEX_5Xb5QkOSAOi9czaBQoxSGaye-V2GB8orbxBtptXWJm2oXTIdOkCfv54B_mQ3y50hk7vYJEhkUhXeqbpTuKpcVozYi1PKJUJQps-JY/s1600-h/IMG_1786-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDo0sCuwjjaEFzJ64su1eHRt6IHiKOiS2OKrEX_5Xb5QkOSAOi9czaBQoxSGaye-V2GB8orbxBtptXWJm2oXTIdOkCfv54B_mQ3y50hk7vYJEhkUhXeqbpTuKpcVozYi1PKJUJQps-JY/s320/IMG_1786-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121570496023811986" border="0" /></a><br />The road winds slowly towards the jagged mountain peaks painted white with snow in the distance.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZJp-PjMhVGweqpaxl3QMppSAQHcCxSisCvoMshxsejmwt6Bmy68QAG1nvwqMR1AED3-BMUTqgBN6k_oiEsKY0fh_rP4t_FZN41iPkdOOnIiajaK1bPFLKiGZm-DbD_ZV431SI1fVH9hU/s1600-h/IMG_1802-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZJp-PjMhVGweqpaxl3QMppSAQHcCxSisCvoMshxsejmwt6Bmy68QAG1nvwqMR1AED3-BMUTqgBN6k_oiEsKY0fh_rP4t_FZN41iPkdOOnIiajaK1bPFLKiGZm-DbD_ZV431SI1fVH9hU/s320/IMG_1802-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121570504613746594" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiiVfnmVBEAmEVEx1H1KRsNw78QkvC9g49Jf6px3EyU1xtiOZLarVhUnaMEcdz4AJffRz9Ebm5AqH6UDBCD0Q75QxdJeosRmsJEvOk6zYkSjsEIftNs8WYncfrVske8b63uUxFdU3oGgw/s1600-h/IMG_1822-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiiVfnmVBEAmEVEx1H1KRsNw78QkvC9g49Jf6px3EyU1xtiOZLarVhUnaMEcdz4AJffRz9Ebm5AqH6UDBCD0Q75QxdJeosRmsJEvOk6zYkSjsEIftNs8WYncfrVske8b63uUxFdU3oGgw/s320/IMG_1822-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121570508908713906" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It got down to 34 degrees and started snowing as we went over some of the mountain passes. I hope the weather holds out for tomorrow's ride in Durango.Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-12760625368262693062007-10-12T21:17:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:48.573-08:00Porcupine Rim, Moab, UTToday we woke up at 18 Roads campsite once again, ate a quick breakfast, got in the car and drove straight to Moab. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbknI9N5sp2HOe81r57SVXRLG3_izVZ1btdMktpFZ13HTbSyKG4xohHSlyVro2lqC9UqiP5l-cifdwCQQ6bFp9iNdES_tmfDIJnhyphenhyphenc3qNSRNlgH8_qI5VUSsELmrHO1Ca-6YamVuGRLY/s1600-h/IMG_1728-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbknI9N5sp2HOe81r57SVXRLG3_izVZ1btdMktpFZ13HTbSyKG4xohHSlyVro2lqC9UqiP5l-cifdwCQQ6bFp9iNdES_tmfDIJnhyphenhyphenc3qNSRNlgH8_qI5VUSsELmrHO1Ca-6YamVuGRLY/s320/IMG_1728-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121416491381479058" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigZU8L5RsZl0VeU8VwhvHRFdCBy3sisqsXRf8Uj7Qnwict3KVZeclDhogWAfbxIyf-W1lp1yFzDoWXrWzGG0mykr-qfo4wbU7vuAU7omTsM2xiU_AvI_0l4EcWpr1aWILv1z65VEY-zi0/s1600-h/IMG_1730-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigZU8L5RsZl0VeU8VwhvHRFdCBy3sisqsXRf8Uj7Qnwict3KVZeclDhogWAfbxIyf-W1lp1yFzDoWXrWzGG0mykr-qfo4wbU7vuAU7omTsM2xiU_AvI_0l4EcWpr1aWILv1z65VEY-zi0/s320/IMG_1730-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121416491381479074" /></a><br />It took about twice the 45 minutes that someone told us it would… but we got there just in time to catch an 11:30 shuttle on “Coyote Shuttles” to the LBS (or something like that) trailhead. Our driver Christie was great and drew us a homemade map of the trail. We didn’t have any cash with us, and they don’t take credit cards, but she told us it was no problem and said to just leave her some cash at Slickrock Cycles when we got done. We got dropped at the entrance gate to the Manti-Lasal National Forest, rode about a half mile up the fire road, and then cut left onto a trail that led to the rim of the canyon. From there, we followed the canyon along one of the most beautifully scenic stretches of singletrack that I’ve ever ridden.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJW1XXUIxalzPst5jD76nawXbKdtaiQP3I2sbqLU3tWGS794AJxEWOMvUxHjYv3kaj55QO8Co0gSDda6Gm5w8yspQYb7F6ZYAwSLHf6IDT9dzVdmo07yUc6X5YIs4ttipNUaMuN84iFI/s1600-h/IMG_1753-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJW1XXUIxalzPst5jD76nawXbKdtaiQP3I2sbqLU3tWGS794AJxEWOMvUxHjYv3kaj55QO8Co0gSDda6Gm5w8yspQYb7F6ZYAwSLHf6IDT9dzVdmo07yUc6X5YIs4ttipNUaMuN84iFI/s320/IMG_1753-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121416813504026354" /></a><br />What made it difficult was choosing between looking at the unbelievable canyon views and concentrating on the intermittently technical sections of trail. Here are a few photos demonstrating what I mean when I say "technical":<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ICdPfcni62h4zZLyrJu_-vTOAuDaVVCegQ-InqD1NnxeB96gdWNBgPSpeV4xQIiAY26mXM48yMyGUyZpehgZ5hLf05eb1G6ZAwzm_9DVwuJX3VwTbpjgktZ5k8Gzna2irbF6PjbEDl4/s1600-h/IMG_1766-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ICdPfcni62h4zZLyrJu_-vTOAuDaVVCegQ-InqD1NnxeB96gdWNBgPSpeV4xQIiAY26mXM48yMyGUyZpehgZ5hLf05eb1G6ZAwzm_9DVwuJX3VwTbpjgktZ5k8Gzna2irbF6PjbEDl4/s320/IMG_1766-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121417174281279282" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQG0eghBfZwWkPGygn9ty2JDLBStEEBaes9udBouGIJu4fR9VQr5TeGBeQ_U-RjuO6eVsWjfVQJtPVifbvR2r1RNxPkaIlgsQW-RpmgmTxe5NLa-i-ILyhaB0Q_cQZrXSXeX3JE1FEyI/s1600-h/IMG_1768-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQG0eghBfZwWkPGygn9ty2JDLBStEEBaes9udBouGIJu4fR9VQr5TeGBeQ_U-RjuO6eVsWjfVQJtPVifbvR2r1RNxPkaIlgsQW-RpmgmTxe5NLa-i-ILyhaB0Q_cQZrXSXeX3JE1FEyI/s320/IMG_1768-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121417178576246594" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicumxvF8TwWOiFaMsayDRGZMUcz-xBn4WzoRiK3sjU0quspFfYj4k8rtA1u6cxlVDKcE3uTsxmfi-Whyphenhyphenm_z7naNfOiaHoNI6jNDjEJCADBL4UVKVBp67uUo16k2z33eGdVPEJOTs7Odg/s1600-h/IMG_1769-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicumxvF8TwWOiFaMsayDRGZMUcz-xBn4WzoRiK3sjU0quspFfYj4k8rtA1u6cxlVDKcE3uTsxmfi-Whyphenhyphenm_z7naNfOiaHoNI6jNDjEJCADBL4UVKVBp67uUo16k2z33eGdVPEJOTs7Odg/s320/IMG_1769-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121417182871213906" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSDQW9eHrfvXCQxYA-8Co1FQMOBWQo_jVL1hTnNvpmGqmAgbe4mhHMpEvO08Da3ShUbv_AIEI7WDRkC5Wv_Q3lFe_jwBefkyG8ohWK8peZOUHBdw21xXqohyphenhyphen73_dAobDbRkpT3ADX-ns/s1600-h/IMG_1751-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSDQW9eHrfvXCQxYA-8Co1FQMOBWQo_jVL1hTnNvpmGqmAgbe4mhHMpEvO08Da3ShUbv_AIEI7WDRkC5Wv_Q3lFe_jwBefkyG8ohWK8peZOUHBdw21xXqohyphenhyphen73_dAobDbRkpT3ADX-ns/s320/IMG_1751-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121419515038455666" /></a><br /><br />The trail started as a narrow singletrack that followed the edge of the canyon, and then progressed to a narrow doubletrack that descended to the lower rolling hills. Just when I thought the views had subsided, the trail brought us to a bluff overlooking “Negro Bill Canyon”. We could see the trail snaking down below us and it took us right to the edge of the Canyon, once again turning back to singletrack. The last section of trail was moderately technical and really tested our concentration, skills, and weary bodies. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy6B-Ks_Xtj15Jknt7TPt8tTtckQ8xLpvVTKsB388NpVJFD9cB7rIaBqDFNs6VkX7UHxcPI6ZDatA9LRwA_-jV-lgGjBgn5ZF7RjMgsXgg86I9vMe-nKvAfbZCfw3HW-bHNPAU0qjS-g8/s1600-h/IMG_1758-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy6B-Ks_Xtj15Jknt7TPt8tTtckQ8xLpvVTKsB388NpVJFD9cB7rIaBqDFNs6VkX7UHxcPI6ZDatA9LRwA_-jV-lgGjBgn5ZF7RjMgsXgg86I9vMe-nKvAfbZCfw3HW-bHNPAU0qjS-g8/s320/IMG_1758-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121416817798993666" /></a><br />After all, this was our 11th day of riding in a row. Not every day has been a big ride, but we’ve done a lot of climbing and a lot of really technical descents, which are fairly taxing on both your body and mind. What made it even more frustrating was the constant stream of riders of all ages and shapes who descended effortlessly (on presumably fresh legs) and passed us by every time we stopped for any reason, whether it was to take in a view, a little food, or to make an adjustment on our bikes. We just decided to take it slow, enjoy the views and the ride and not push ourselves too hard. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBphY273potqz_j8losCiwEyqR7q0zj4SLtjau-gTr1vmqZm5OStsqFpUmWgerYO5zTG4IjhCzARv69ZCGDABR8mBMl5T3go3IXNCVIfrMuZXC_OyIs8giEMRdV5SW49DWHYzWbhAZrU/s1600-h/IMG_1760-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBphY273potqz_j8losCiwEyqR7q0zj4SLtjau-gTr1vmqZm5OStsqFpUmWgerYO5zTG4IjhCzARv69ZCGDABR8mBMl5T3go3IXNCVIfrMuZXC_OyIs8giEMRdV5SW49DWHYzWbhAZrU/s320/IMG_1760-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121416822093960978" /></a><br />It always seems like you are most likely to crash when you’re at the end of a ride and are tired and you are focusing on your sore body instead of the obstacles ahead. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUQ8b2VTU5kv4fO0HI5JGdj1Mm8GKJzclsInfQ1PVZMZV0bjpIBywy2iLg0fXMnYApg3PySLb0D-HYm0Pq9qnocehx9HzjC-SE92Ot9pW7jKJ6cGy6Nxs_PuDrcBN_38515k4siLiZrys/s1600-h/IMG_1773-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUQ8b2VTU5kv4fO0HI5JGdj1Mm8GKJzclsInfQ1PVZMZV0bjpIBywy2iLg0fXMnYApg3PySLb0D-HYm0Pq9qnocehx9HzjC-SE92Ot9pW7jKJ6cGy6Nxs_PuDrcBN_38515k4siLiZrys/s320/IMG_1773-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121420331082241922" /></a><br /><br />We finished the trail section of the ride which quickly snaked down through the canyon with a few short portages over rocky sections. The end of the Porcupine Rim trail is actually on Highway 128 about 4 miles shy of Moab. We did a road-bike pace sprint (19-20mph) over the mostly flat road back to Moab, passing a big group of riders who had overtaken us on the trail. It’s a beautiful section of road along the Colorado River that passes a number of National Recreation Area camping sites. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjyqSMs6f7GftVu35sVGxbcf4pV95drMhBb_li6zRBx3zjnjxnBjx3jLcPZ3W-beeGNjxKRVeA5fu7ReFItlq-5hS6GqKetYI-Treko2MOcuwq61dNA_uYmAwTexrCwCaYOqO9lVkDXLg/s1600-h/IMG_1722-01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjyqSMs6f7GftVu35sVGxbcf4pV95drMhBb_li6zRBx3zjnjxnBjx3jLcPZ3W-beeGNjxKRVeA5fu7ReFItlq-5hS6GqKetYI-Treko2MOcuwq61dNA_uYmAwTexrCwCaYOqO9lVkDXLg/s320/IMG_1722-01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121416487086511746" /></a><br />We packed up our gear, and I bought a couple of stickers for my bike from the Poison Spider Bikes shop (they are the shop I rented from the first couple of times I had ever ridden Moab with my brother Mark and his friend Dave back in 1997). We grabbed well-earned beer, burgers, and fries at the crowded Moab Brewery (tomorrow is the big 24hours at Moab race), and headed back to camp at 18 Roads in Fruita. <br /><br />When we got back to the now crowded campground, there were two tents set up next to ours at our campsite. Chris, Karen, and Kelly (a Beaver Creek Ski Patrol/EMT, a civil engineer, and a marketing guy, respectively) were from Vail, CO and ended up joining us around the campfire for some bike and life talk before we hit the sack for the night.Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-69310315978449231682007-10-11T19:43:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:50.072-08:00Chutes & Ladders and Mary's Loop, Fruita, COWe woke up this morning and after a quick breakfast hit the trail right away. We rode to the north trailhead and this time took Chutes & Ladders. In the photo it is the red loop on the right.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8a60UVyGziHGrue16KRJ6x7KCTisK4yaQNr0u37nQcELxH6ODKT8I_rlDCl5Lg60Ol0eowCqtdmMtuNu93a9WKB6ciqeWYzNGusEoPbC9qhipLkfAwV6RT2omdHAEsoMAscWSKNUVNPE/s1600-h/18road.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8a60UVyGziHGrue16KRJ6x7KCTisK4yaQNr0u37nQcELxH6ODKT8I_rlDCl5Lg60Ol0eowCqtdmMtuNu93a9WKB6ciqeWYzNGusEoPbC9qhipLkfAwV6RT2omdHAEsoMAscWSKNUVNPE/s320/18road.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121397803978773986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4214693">Chutes & Ladders</a> started out with some fairly tough but short climbs (some you had to walk up) with fun narrow, steep, swoopy downhills with sudden sharp short uphills (hence the name). The terrain was a combo of hardpack and slickrock with desert shrubs. After coming out of the rolling hills, we descended into a vast flat plain with nothing but dried grasses and small cactus. The trail was a super fast, slightly downhill winding ribbon of singletrack that seemed to go on forever between the prairie dog mounds and skeletal remains of lost bovine creatures. As we careened along at full speed, I suddenly noticed something out of the ordinary… a deep ditch in across the trail which was uncrossable. I slammed on my brakes and came to a stop with my front tire teetering over the edge. As I thought about how this was definitely a collar bone-breaker, I heard Rou’s back tire skidding to a sliding stop, also just inches from the precipice. It was so close that his rear tire actually skimmed the heel of my left shoe as slid past me. We hooked back into Prime Cut trail, which wound us up and to the north back to the main trailhead. Along the way I experienced the unfortunate but all-too-familiar chainsuck, which not only "sucked" my chain up between my frame and front chainrings, but also managed to unfixably bend one of my chain links. I removed my chain, removed the bent link, and reconnected the chain during a short 15-minute trailside bike shop session. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX8yLhumytroEQ0-44UeNTG-RZng3sm1-x338iSoxE02nvrXC4ca5SUS9nQltYYbBW41_7WU7KmN1-R-L1AXvEku2BiNPYYBbjAm4bft-Q-7XKCmg0HXF_nxq6OXCj0HctxWumCsYLzfc/s1600-h/IMG_1362-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX8yLhumytroEQ0-44UeNTG-RZng3sm1-x338iSoxE02nvrXC4ca5SUS9nQltYYbBW41_7WU7KmN1-R-L1AXvEku2BiNPYYBbjAm4bft-Q-7XKCmg0HXF_nxq6OXCj0HctxWumCsYLzfc/s320/IMG_1362-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121398336554718738" border="0" /></a><br />At the top of the trailhead, we decided we hadn’t had enough yet, so we rode Kessel’s Run in the downhill North-South direction which was a rollercoaster-like 20 minutes of tight singletrack that wound up and down between the desert scrub brush. We took the gravel road back up to the campsite and called it quits…. until we went out for our second ride! <br /><br />We ate a quick lunch at camp, then drove into downtown Fruita and gave our bikes a bath at the SingleTracks bike shop<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOuBoyCaVcnwc3V89-hDX5IVd4W6UgJmrJCblffLb2N5jhakQSgFyJxoXZWFUzbBtAfb4CZHXnmzmJDbmfwfBf302knsar9elq_noB8ge_WTnQ6yV0-LME6PYXi0YrMAiTr9AhTn5I3M/s1600-h/IMG_1687-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOuBoyCaVcnwc3V89-hDX5IVd4W6UgJmrJCblffLb2N5jhakQSgFyJxoXZWFUzbBtAfb4CZHXnmzmJDbmfwfBf302knsar9elq_noB8ge_WTnQ6yV0-LME6PYXi0YrMAiTr9AhTn5I3M/s320/IMG_1687-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121398323669816818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwWsn1B0SxXIZCrt5rfVAy10MSESmroMEfKvGi2sdLT8iHuzEtVdiGqq7hdT4-0QsSeEMLaDBROciZKUkXR-dKx9y7uZ8r_sm6MqcWJyN9Bg9ATa0jwFZwO-qczK8_MKduZ0dTRdgpTw/s1600-h/IMG_1688-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwWsn1B0SxXIZCrt5rfVAy10MSESmroMEfKvGi2sdLT8iHuzEtVdiGqq7hdT4-0QsSeEMLaDBROciZKUkXR-dKx9y7uZ8r_sm6MqcWJyN9Bg9ATa0jwFZwO-qczK8_MKduZ0dTRdgpTw/s320/IMG_1688-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121398332259751426" border="0" /></a><br />while the amiable and attentive owner Chris added a new link to my chain to replace the one I had taken out on the trail. We were still hungry, so we had a 2nd lunch at Aspen Street coffee shop. From there we drove to the Kokopelli Trailhead in Loma, just west of Fruita on I-70. From the trailhead we rode <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4214694">Mary’s Loop</a> in a clockwise direction. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh8MTUC6eVn7KALvYDTY-HoXyVcNPYg4l64YY1e19NmNJ3rNzNGuC7U9GPILQ5LzR4N2de5mOlrMtXKw4exiMq9JO0C-CHGvUN3xrbRExsa3U7xQy57d-NnSRpIb18hUc6lN0q4kVJg9A/s1600-h/Marysloop.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh8MTUC6eVn7KALvYDTY-HoXyVcNPYg4l64YY1e19NmNJ3rNzNGuC7U9GPILQ5LzR4N2de5mOlrMtXKw4exiMq9JO0C-CHGvUN3xrbRExsa3U7xQy57d-NnSRpIb18hUc6lN0q4kVJg9A/s320/Marysloop.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121402116125939282" border="0" /></a><br />This was definitely some of the most dramatic scenery we’ve seen so far on this trip. The trail wound around the rim of a canyon and we were surrounded by deep red slickrock outcroppings with sheer dropoffs to the valley below.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2fVmzeB1zkt3Y3ue6TJKMlNehypbRGG-6wE-A832LYhbyPfIEFDm4X8W4p8PKuWOIPcmCG4nJuXT6xN_inMB3AITsV-LRPjA1mcFx1QHkqROvZcdPYwFW7ri3zqJxnww4A2gJS1DfI8/s1600-h/IMG_1703-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2fVmzeB1zkt3Y3ue6TJKMlNehypbRGG-6wE-A832LYhbyPfIEFDm4X8W4p8PKuWOIPcmCG4nJuXT6xN_inMB3AITsV-LRPjA1mcFx1QHkqROvZcdPYwFW7ri3zqJxnww4A2gJS1DfI8/s320/IMG_1703-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121401141168363042" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdbKIbDyaSLTBeHMEsLW5OQQ3kxs-mcecroulKSPPo28cU-_MLCNtg1xqvterbV_Mldt-52lIAAXNaZ6QJL4OLqESS9h1LpZML7Eg-xS6u-RtKXUQ8hcuJi8opPZY_mbrfPwxIZrPCUQA/s1600-h/IMG_1705-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdbKIbDyaSLTBeHMEsLW5OQQ3kxs-mcecroulKSPPo28cU-_MLCNtg1xqvterbV_Mldt-52lIAAXNaZ6QJL4OLqESS9h1LpZML7Eg-xS6u-RtKXUQ8hcuJi8opPZY_mbrfPwxIZrPCUQA/s320/IMG_1705-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121408940828972658" border="0" /></a><br />This is the view from Mary's Loop looking down on part of the Horsetheif Bench Loop trail.<br /><br />The trail turned into a slickrock staircase that we rode up before winding down and around the valley to the cattleguard marking the entrance to the Horsetheif Bench trail. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37AZdsGe6UanK5nswbOdV6rR6UGTtiNBxGeR0F2W7TZq4zUyR2ITPZLOdtZa2-7GkvrBNhSumgiA4S7DVvhs3_R6yL9rIvw8l6yKKZgAYVlkwRHTzgJq1Ou3AOXKcj57SgIUNFYoqPek/s1600-h/IMG_1694-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37AZdsGe6UanK5nswbOdV6rR6UGTtiNBxGeR0F2W7TZq4zUyR2ITPZLOdtZa2-7GkvrBNhSumgiA4S7DVvhs3_R6yL9rIvw8l6yKKZgAYVlkwRHTzgJq1Ou3AOXKcj57SgIUNFYoqPek/s320/IMG_1694-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121401527715419698" border="0" /></a><br />The entrance to Horsetheif is a seemingly impossible to traverse field of boulders, although it is rumored that some bikers have made the descent (though none without having to put a foot down). So naturally, we walked. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvcIa0Cu158ElKQ3SYpQNBHGSJM_-DHddHeIUYNduq-0eFAwoIyYPZ7caBcUXsIamaDaoHIlsvIbanrpcTaj_LbkLVegyvzUSCp0BSqOl1rzGwbxQarKBkye_22kXEDSUosJDQUsPn7g/s1600-h/IMG_1708-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvcIa0Cu158ElKQ3SYpQNBHGSJM_-DHddHeIUYNduq-0eFAwoIyYPZ7caBcUXsIamaDaoHIlsvIbanrpcTaj_LbkLVegyvzUSCp0BSqOl1rzGwbxQarKBkye_22kXEDSUosJDQUsPn7g/s320/IMG_1708-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121401532010387010" border="0" /></a><br />Once we got to the rideable trail, we rode in a counter clockwise direction around the loop that takes you right back to the boulders guarding the trailhead. This was one trail that everybody we met had told us we had to ride. And it was well worth traversing the field of boulders for. It was a swoopy and intermittently technical ride that took about 45 minutes and included a bit of everything from slickrock, dried streambeds, hardpack, and technical descents and climbs to canyon views of the Colorado River below. Here's a video that Rou shot wearing the helmet-cam:<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzfwe-An3vM8l2fFXJkv0h4cCq8uxBQta7veU5h9Sbzfp1ohfSiTwpxZYz_p3_UpJAVw81ZWbsGPeOxlNv1DQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />It was the type of trail that was mostly if not all rideable, and called for the occasional “mulligan”, which is when you get stuck on a fun section, back up 100 feet, and try again until you successfully navigate the obstacle. You know you’re having fun when you have to unclip from your pedals and you yell, “Wait! I can do that! Do over!” before going back and attempting it again. At one point we were doing a technical ascent up a sheer face of slickrock that I couldn’t get up and I tried it again and again until I finally made it up on the 4th try.<br /><br />While we rode Horsetheif we met two riders from Golden and Boulder, CO who joined us for the rest of the ride. They were on a similar type of trip except that they were doing both Motocross and mountain biking.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyP6zOjkMP350AdtEJpLW22iZ9se_QDB1Gd7sN2Hxt8jFvO9UIFV2L1OEb0Y9WLX7PsJtjawf1oLouLvG5RTQoYOAa8EZE3HctkCp3gxMlP6joRNscIWh_qmkh9FOoisq3o0PaIRpiHM/s1600-h/IMG_1716-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyP6zOjkMP350AdtEJpLW22iZ9se_QDB1Gd7sN2Hxt8jFvO9UIFV2L1OEb0Y9WLX7PsJtjawf1oLouLvG5RTQoYOAa8EZE3HctkCp3gxMlP6joRNscIWh_qmkh9FOoisq3o0PaIRpiHM/s320/IMG_1716-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121407742533097058" border="0" /></a><br />They were pretty inspiring to ride with because despite their being 49 years old, they were very fast and good technical riders. In fact, they made such an impression that Rou and I made a pact at the end of the ride that shortly before my 50th birthday (I’m 34 and he’s 33) we’d come out and ride this trail again and hopefully be able to keep up with a couple of young bucks 15 years our junior. <br /><br />The rest of the ride had a bit climbing but was dominated by fast descending and moderately technical double track that gave us the opportunity to get a few jumps in down the short rock ledges that protruded occasionally from the trail. I’m amazed at how much my technical riding has improved with my new bike. The bike really makes things like short bunny-hop drops off 1-2 foot ledges a breeze. We hit an intersection in the trail where we could choose between taking a fire road about two miles back to the trailhead, or a singletrack trail called Moore Fun that wound along the ridge before dropping down to the trailhead. Naturally we choose Moore Fun, but after about 20 minutes of a very technical climb that included a lot of walking, we decided that we might run out of light before getting off the singletrack. <br /><br />As my brother’s wife can attest, it’s no fun to be stuck hiking out of a trail on singletrack at night with me. So I spared everyone and suggested we turn back. The trail was slightly more rideable in the downhill direction, but at that point we were so exhausted that anything mildly technical was getting increasingly difficult. So we took it easy on the way down, then rode the gravel road back to the trailhead, arriving just as the sky began to get dark. We grabbed a quick dinner at Fiesta Guadalajara, the only restaurant in town that’s open past 9pm, and went back to the campsite at 18 Roads.Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-4890974728320894372007-10-10T15:57:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:51.059-08:00Book Cliffs Trails, Fruita, COToday we woke up in Durango, and as it was raining, we decided not to ride the Colorado Trail as planned, but instead drove the 4 hours or so to Fruita, CO. On the way we passed over some beautiful terrain,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1W1RfVe-cAWUpPsjg-0-JcaZb2Y5Dic9GIFd9xDyMks3i_flriPkuhmpF9lmDGHxrkTo0Wk8QZXER1Wy91favDFzDGqScxpyNLC1QFmjwAzMZYXF1R0SueZf4QkXE5D9KSPCGIL0M3Jw/s1600-h/IMG_1581-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1W1RfVe-cAWUpPsjg-0-JcaZb2Y5Dic9GIFd9xDyMks3i_flriPkuhmpF9lmDGHxrkTo0Wk8QZXER1Wy91favDFzDGqScxpyNLC1QFmjwAzMZYXF1R0SueZf4QkXE5D9KSPCGIL0M3Jw/s320/IMG_1581-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120983507138434434" border="0" /></a> (<br />drove over impressive mountain passes,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliFUK1DcexNJ-THud52ZE0fmNn3nl-wW5vO1w96xP5v_i5CSbdXu1huDoQRaGMS63zBvp1GZy5krRX2lKa4keo8vduVD4bmPq33t7zhCIcZ6jfy19fFW-eDphVi2ZqlfybB1vssGlkC8/s1600-h/IMG_1614-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliFUK1DcexNJ-THud52ZE0fmNn3nl-wW5vO1w96xP5v_i5CSbdXu1huDoQRaGMS63zBvp1GZy5krRX2lKa4keo8vduVD4bmPq33t7zhCIcZ6jfy19fFW-eDphVi2ZqlfybB1vssGlkC8/s320/IMG_1614-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120983511433401762" border="0" /></a><br />and stopped at the really quaint little mountain town called Silverton, which was a Victorian mining town established in 1874. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggV7KGy5lUH6f1cMyuELgWnr2V0xWy8KlAxzcARqzm_BjF7EoYrjr-DQlGhrVPugUr7zu0iS7Eilq142m9xhXFmsmsRjskKpYZvpV_q1fWTsKb8h19RfHdNejYbHfOh9KqmYykYdkj2w/s1600-h/IMG_1609-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggV7KGy5lUH6f1cMyuELgWnr2V0xWy8KlAxzcARqzm_BjF7EoYrjr-DQlGhrVPugUr7zu0iS7Eilq142m9xhXFmsmsRjskKpYZvpV_q1fWTsKb8h19RfHdNejYbHfOh9KqmYykYdkj2w/s320/IMG_1609-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120983511433401746" border="0" /></a><br />So long as it’s not winter, you can take a narrow gauge train from Durango all the way to Silverton. I wouldn’t be surprised if Silverton has been the set for a number of Western movies, as one block parallel to the paved main road there is another all dirt “main” street that has very western mountain-town styled buildings that look like they they could be straight off a movie set in Hollywood. We stopped in the Avalanche Café, which is on the dirt side street, and enjoyed the cozy atmosphere, a wireless internet connection, and some hot chocolate and chai at the as-advertised 9,318 foot-high coffee shop before continuing on to Fruita. <br /><br />I couldn't help but snap a picture of this pickup truck that was carrying a taxidermied bobcat attacking a wild boar. You don't see that everyday.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLuu4k4sZbQWujYkpwigZv00MGNWoiJCvLbGq4mgDzTP4qahH5kYnx2tt76FiZ82ufmVK58Na6-K3noDOki_0G4wB8N75UtaLGkQQlhf-7uR-J80B2IrS0afeXDNRZAVszV9x8j8JdSlM/s1600-h/IMG_1650-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLuu4k4sZbQWujYkpwigZv00MGNWoiJCvLbGq4mgDzTP4qahH5kYnx2tt76FiZ82ufmVK58Na6-K3noDOki_0G4wB8N75UtaLGkQQlhf-7uR-J80B2IrS0afeXDNRZAVszV9x8j8JdSlM/s320/IMG_1650-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120983515728369074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Once we got to Fruita, we stopped at Over the Edge bike shop which Rou had heard of on the internet, and enjoyed looking at their Ibis Mojo frames with rubberized paint as we got the scoop on the local trails. We drove out to the 18 Road “Book Cliffs” Area which is also known as the “North Fruita Desert Special Recreation Management Area”, set up camp, and got on our bikes for our first ride in Fruita.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTs9mBmd1syzQcGPRov21lFfGHoB9CQKbxgzgiIgVjoBqdfT-1e7YBoIe3HElvLL79ahfUPLO2Q8i2CQp0NSsybIPDfiWwavS41tdaLgXCE9IBMrCyr9hc8eJf0wHimBJ_YABWJEnpl8/s1600-h/18road.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTs9mBmd1syzQcGPRov21lFfGHoB9CQKbxgzgiIgVjoBqdfT-1e7YBoIe3HElvLL79ahfUPLO2Q8i2CQp0NSsybIPDfiWwavS41tdaLgXCE9IBMrCyr9hc8eJf0wHimBJ_YABWJEnpl8/s320/18road.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121014473852638674" border="0" /></a><br />We decided to start out on the double-black diamond trail called Zippety.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTj6_IBFBlFazX0qNSXpqyYEWUmtBxmDqL5PdWlDEvNpM9oSXFIePdBjGrjUNedBgvWtLcljx5_tsusBABxOoGvBCZo6KqI03O0OkLmaCCI_MCQ6ZunVMwt0MYRoJcUv4lpwX49Gpj7Qg/s1600-h/IMG_1672-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTj6_IBFBlFazX0qNSXpqyYEWUmtBxmDqL5PdWlDEvNpM9oSXFIePdBjGrjUNedBgvWtLcljx5_tsusBABxOoGvBCZo6KqI03O0OkLmaCCI_MCQ6ZunVMwt0MYRoJcUv4lpwX49Gpj7Qg/s320/IMG_1672-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120983520023336386" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We rode up the dirt road to the north trailhead where Zippety started. It began with fun up and downs on dry deserty hardpack, with lots of hairpins and banked berms, then tunred into steep climbs with steep drops. We suddenly found ourselves riding along a gravely knife-edge ridge. At one point we came around a hairpin turn to the left with a 100+ foot sheer drop to the right. <br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy89vqgafMoWhWPm36XilRQ84xKIS3s2h0VWs1pMUUnxDHj-Kq537cz6aXkopSoVUDLITCIFgj3-07uprDEgw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />[If the movie gets stuck at 2:47, just drag the marker past that point and it should start playing again.]<br />Then a minute later the trail itself took a sharp left turn and with a similar drop, which we descended only after playing rock paper scissors to see who would attempt it first. I won, and here's the video footage from my headcam:<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxdarI_u2J4gvu1ol4YXmK2g2d1Im-51kRgdVtWXD1VTCof4A0MdzZVbtXdHf1wFIXj1dPu88pITI_kTauKgg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />We hooked into Kessel’s Run. After a few minutes of the gradual climb back to camp, we decided would be better run in the opposite direction. We got back to camp, cooked up some hot soup with Elk meat, ate wild boar sandwiches, and hit the sack.Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-7938360107305916452007-10-09T19:26:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:52.244-08:00Hermosa Creek Trail, Durango, COYesterday we left Santa Fe and drove to beautiful Durango, CO.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtm7aQaf8yNbfkCBpQg5AxqJ644MEvIETmjyz_x8Ec3x3aJ8MXAfBmphO-OhhKhB6gYv8G3MW3qqQL9sUJjLfoZ73sTBegwOY9Nmg5E3erkvi_iQ3bw4VPMqjT33EYUB0Z-IDw66ClkYo/s1600-h/IMG_1551-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtm7aQaf8yNbfkCBpQg5AxqJ644MEvIETmjyz_x8Ec3x3aJ8MXAfBmphO-OhhKhB6gYv8G3MW3qqQL9sUJjLfoZ73sTBegwOY9Nmg5E3erkvi_iQ3bw4VPMqjT33EYUB0Z-IDw66ClkYo/s320/IMG_1551-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119552784812659970" border="0" /></a><br />The city lies along a beautiful river, the Animas, and after we checked into our Motel, we took the bikes out just after sunset and headed towards downtown Durango. We ended up cutting through a dog park and found a trail that followed the river quite a ways. As we rode back towards the city, we stumbled upon a large "skate park" that had ramps and jumps for skateboarders as well as what looked like big round dried out swimming pools for BMX-type bike tricks, full of bikers and skaters of course. Then along the river there was a big slalom course set up for white water kayaking. Everybody in town seems very earthy and outdoorsy... most are dressed in some kind of outdoor gear by brands like Mountain Hardware.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHEKbY0yMWNkzvBAp3iSZe3UTidgzPkCNWAJHXaUvikUMsZ0mAkxeAQBwIsU24ZPg7pXXfe7-5MzC_JeSt9rZckxpKmm-QlGmOb-TY-RhFDVU0yMNV0-eGexzHBAxCCN9a5qTm6Xl98w/s1600-h/IMG_1556-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHEKbY0yMWNkzvBAp3iSZe3UTidgzPkCNWAJHXaUvikUMsZ0mAkxeAQBwIsU24ZPg7pXXfe7-5MzC_JeSt9rZckxpKmm-QlGmOb-TY-RhFDVU0yMNV0-eGexzHBAxCCN9a5qTm6Xl98w/s320/IMG_1556-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119552789107627282" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Durango has a very cool historic downtown, which looks like a typical mountain town you'd find anywhere out west.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5lSz3oeJfEfUpFGODab7CXEJWs9zNVk6i0mo8nQpP_dJ6se5AEq1wDU7N-k98LHxV9dnStkCXGCaEJyyP-yBDf6CeXvNbX0tvJxG6n0OO_ncPpDANEHpvCzjoaOiSCdt5Iw6eIhHjGM/s1600-h/IMG_1557-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5lSz3oeJfEfUpFGODab7CXEJWs9zNVk6i0mo8nQpP_dJ6se5AEq1wDU7N-k98LHxV9dnStkCXGCaEJyyP-yBDf6CeXvNbX0tvJxG6n0OO_ncPpDANEHpvCzjoaOiSCdt5Iw6eIhHjGM/s320/IMG_1557-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119552793402594594" border="0" /></a><br />But the city seems very large now and there is a lot of development on the fringes of the town with plenty of strip malls and big warehouse stores like Home Depot and Super Wal*Mart.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOrW0YsdkA4puZaSS2PPcfE7WplHFJXUlE-uOBR5ibEj5RNxyhTAZJ5yBKKoNmqIO92g1d2Utgqyh38ZWXWCkoef2nDbYDwwtvQnaR9ntCsLFi14rvia8sbfSvHN-Sez6AZlUFSa8oyU/s1600-h/Picture+5.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOrW0YsdkA4puZaSS2PPcfE7WplHFJXUlE-uOBR5ibEj5RNxyhTAZJ5yBKKoNmqIO92g1d2Utgqyh38ZWXWCkoef2nDbYDwwtvQnaR9ntCsLFi14rvia8sbfSvHN-Sez6AZlUFSa8oyU/s320/Picture+5.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119552776222725346" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Today's ride was down the famous (to bikers) "Hermosa Creek Trail". The fun way to do the ride is to get a shuttle up to the ski resort, and then just bomb down the trail. We decided that in order to get the best training possible, we had better ride up the trail ourselves. [OK, I admit it, the shuttle service wasn't running.] We stopped in one of the local bike shops yesterday, which is the best way to get advice on local trails, and the guy there told us about a loop that includes part of the Hermosa Creek Trail, but is called the <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4190249">Jones-Pinkerton-Dutch Creek-Hermosa Creek</a> Loop. He said it was better than riding the Hermosa Creek trail out-and-back as we were planning, so we took his advice. But we had no idea what we were in for!<br /><br />We started out our ride at about 11am. As we were getting ready by the car, another biker rode by us and Rou asked him if he was finishing or just starting out. He said he was just starting out, and in typical biker fashion we started talking about the trail and others in the area and he ended up joining up with us for the ride. Craig was from Dekalb, Illinois, and had just quit his job and was thinking about moving out this way so was driving around the Southwest checking out different towns and biking everywhere he could. He started out with the disclaimer that he was on his 7th straight day of riding so he was pretty tired and would be riding slow. Of course, this was our 7th day straight of riding too. Little did we know at that point that he was actually a competitive cross-country racer who races in the Comp (just below pro) category. He was a very strong, we found out. Mostly because we spent a lot of time looking at his back during the ride.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxsS7B9zY9qnoBDEmTBPlhJ6Cqcy69kgqvq8y4JfnwjoWltaa7GhuHMHISWhYQKpQ8V2peuQmZLTEL_eQnmb7-PBvfk-HGby3OXG3SVPmyfCTCVgjfXkVfYo31_9EVx4P-6bbYzZ-4T4/s1600-h/IMG_1562-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxsS7B9zY9qnoBDEmTBPlhJ6Cqcy69kgqvq8y4JfnwjoWltaa7GhuHMHISWhYQKpQ8V2peuQmZLTEL_eQnmb7-PBvfk-HGby3OXG3SVPmyfCTCVgjfXkVfYo31_9EVx4P-6bbYzZ-4T4/s320/IMG_1562-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119555336023233842" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As we started up the trail I said, "Well, the guy at the shop said to expect 3,000-3,500 feet of climbing, and I think it's mostly in the beginning, so let's take it easy. We have a lot of climbing up ahead!" I remember at one point being very hot, sweating very profusely, and breathing heavily on the high mountain air (we started at 7,750 feet elevation). I looked down at my computer and we had done only 800 feet of climbing! This was a very tough climb. It was a narrow singletrack and it was rocky. So you couldn't just sit back and spin the crank. You had to work. And as you avoid a rock with your front tire your back tire hits it and slows you down. We finally hit a nice downhill section at mile 1, but the right back up we went. Then at mile 2, down, and then back up. Then at mile 5, 6, 7, 7.5, 8, 8.5... etc etc... we went up and down no more than 12 times before we really hit any extended downhill section. We were all hot and tired, and not knowing what was ahead made it all that much more difficult.<br /><br />Each time we started down, once of us would say, "I think that was the last climb." We literally said that throughout the ENTIRE ride. As you can see from the elevation chart,<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTmQCkfT-JVhNsAczbRejZRw_7xsYIgSyRipXVDsFnXuVcSqfLfgdZ7YrEtqeEokO8uZh_gCGMml1PeOOhhVr7i7ceRTSrpeo51Bh5WekAIJxWhJ-axnFVNPXtfJKnUEf6tBeWsmE8V1g/s1600-h/get.mb.jpeg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTmQCkfT-JVhNsAczbRejZRw_7xsYIgSyRipXVDsFnXuVcSqfLfgdZ7YrEtqeEokO8uZh_gCGMml1PeOOhhVr7i7ceRTSrpeo51Bh5WekAIJxWhJ-axnFVNPXtfJKnUEf6tBeWsmE8V1g/s320/get.mb.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119552780517692658" border="0" /></a><br /><br />it was up and down the whole way. The hardest part was that most of the uphill was actually unrideable. It's called hike-a-bike and let me tell you it's no fun. Most of the section between mile 2 and 5 was this way.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLU6gqJg58Rgs8YQpO5zoTSKzFsvDsBltitY8zlT4fGMN6zfPpy1HcFo_Y4rsmOhP8YDYK-Hx8HI4KBMcewnlDxP_AGxsw_T_RglpVVneNiN4f-WES_2lSLTco8g5zJaf8OdBwRs4WPGk/s1600-h/IMG_1576-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLU6gqJg58Rgs8YQpO5zoTSKzFsvDsBltitY8zlT4fGMN6zfPpy1HcFo_Y4rsmOhP8YDYK-Hx8HI4KBMcewnlDxP_AGxsw_T_RglpVVneNiN4f-WES_2lSLTco8g5zJaf8OdBwRs4WPGk/s320/IMG_1576-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119555353203103090" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was tough going, steep and rocky. To me, the trail just looked like it was overused. This is in a National Forest, and its a multi-use trail, which means that hikers, bikers, motocross motorcycles, ATV's, horses, and cows are all using the trails. Yes, we actually had to chase cattle off the trail on two occasions! But the result was a deeply rutted trail that has high berms on both sides, causing water runoff to flow down exacerbating the erosion.<br /><br />I remember looking at my computer at 3 hours 42 minutes and we had NOT reached mile 9 of this 20-mile ride. I started to get a bit worried that we may have started out too late. But the good news was that according to the GPS and the topo map we had stopped to check, we were at the top and heading down! Then the downhill started. We started on our bikes and all ended up hiking DOWN! That's how steep, rocky, and rutted many sections of the trail were. We rode some of them, but at that point were so tired and frustrated that we just didn't want to risk a crash or injury this far into the trail. Rou actually ended up flying over his handlebars twice and got a bit banged up. Fortunately, the trail spared Craig and I from the same fate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrqWN1akn8yxAaqw0CaZO4Huu5c1bQhbywylCHC2IeYZz7iq7siOR0789vCUzutpqGf7nuh19IApRJa0hclNntnlzhwXZKD9Nge9OEOSOKJwxQIgrZOLYq5NV4jHiReiizHz_Sq4pJzw/s1600-h/IMG_1573-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrqWN1akn8yxAaqw0CaZO4Huu5c1bQhbywylCHC2IeYZz7iq7siOR0789vCUzutpqGf7nuh19IApRJa0hclNntnlzhwXZKD9Nge9OEOSOKJwxQIgrZOLYq5NV4jHiReiizHz_Sq4pJzw/s320/IMG_1573-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119555344613168482" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Luckily after a couple of miles it turned to rideable terrain once again and we even hit some really nice sections of everybody's favorite: fast, smooth winding singletrack. But even that was intermixed with really technical sections that required slowing down, sitting waaay back on your saddle and holding on tight. We even had a few stream crossings, which are always fun. But after this nice downhill came the up and down, once again, which lasted all the way to the end of the ride. As we neared the trailhead, we passed a number of real-life Colorado cowboys who were riding horses down the trail in cowboy hats, chaps, and all. Behind them the had a chain of 5 or 6 horses with saddlebags carrying gear. They told us they were 'hiking' in to camp and to go Elk hunting. At that point I decided that it was good that I have a bright orange bike! At this point all three of us had completely finished the water in our camelbaks, and we were not sure how much longer we had to go. The cowboys told us it was only 15-20 minutes farther to the campground, so up and down we went right up to the very end. In the end, we rode for 5 hours 20 minutes (4 hours of it actually moving), climbed 4,332 feet, our highest elevation was 10,320 feet, and we traveled only 19.89 miles!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYuLLBXaUPkdC4FM9Dd89TOVdZcFlNuYfOc1wU9WU3KyCxss380iMaZG5_yzN1DhNRr3COxuFG_8aleClnNewRHnd48JUuSmTf3h8pFe4hB8OYulDV20d7fc3IYqx2Pc02yoAnD7hyzq0/s1600-h/IMG_1569-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYuLLBXaUPkdC4FM9Dd89TOVdZcFlNuYfOc1wU9WU3KyCxss380iMaZG5_yzN1DhNRr3COxuFG_8aleClnNewRHnd48JUuSmTf3h8pFe4hB8OYulDV20d7fc3IYqx2Pc02yoAnD7hyzq0/s320/IMG_1569-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119555340318201170" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sore and tired, the three of us sat by the campsite we parked at, talked bikes and racing and munched on the fresh fruit we had in the car. Tomorrow we are going out early to ride the Colorado Trail here in Durango, then back to the motel for quick showers before checkout time and we're heading to Fruita and Grand Junction, CO, hopefully before dark so we can find a campsite.Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-23617683252366226442007-10-08T22:36:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:53.770-08:00South Boundary Trail, Taos, NM<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zG1VTdNimUag_cJvL5B5v1wKJtCpgoyN9iZZie16GjLCGloE_xbCdYUWzHz7jrz9_NKauC4eUfq6yzWarLD0W3h9x_RkVQf0J2BOapoKnkvuHlA7ZZTUzEf9z6BAaaxA1ZqFkuX3x9Y/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-zG1VTdNimUag_cJvL5B5v1wKJtCpgoyN9iZZie16GjLCGloE_xbCdYUWzHz7jrz9_NKauC4eUfq6yzWarLD0W3h9x_RkVQf0J2BOapoKnkvuHlA7ZZTUzEf9z6BAaaxA1ZqFkuX3x9Y/s320/Picture+2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119343555480835282" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Yesterday, October 7th, Rou and I rode the <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4184097">South Boundary Trail</a> in the Carson National Forest in Taos, New Mexico. We woke up early in Santa Fe and hit the road (in the car) for the 1.5 hour drive up to Taos. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jT5xxtgZ82OdtgvPOCCCOIiiU-kseTNmaDGBzMG-zjQb3N64dn-L8tZyxm79o70k92l10VbMqw8rRmZAvysAUSed3Jvsk82dG8gXY07JEePJ1p4RpYEx2xPgjuXtjYjwsj2ZmWyrVfI/s1600-h/IMG_1495-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jT5xxtgZ82OdtgvPOCCCOIiiU-kseTNmaDGBzMG-zjQb3N64dn-L8tZyxm79o70k92l10VbMqw8rRmZAvysAUSed3Jvsk82dG8gXY07JEePJ1p4RpYEx2xPgjuXtjYjwsj2ZmWyrVfI/s320/IMG_1495-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119215883282994178" border="0" /></a><br />We got to the bike shop parking lot as the sun was just starting to come over the hills, which was a good thing because to my Saipan-thin blood, it was FREEZING out! We had arranged a shuttle with the bike shop, and there were two other riders who joined us for the van ride up to the trailhead. It took about an hour in the van to get up to the trailhead which started at around 9,400 feet. As we arrived, the driver jokingly said, "The weather is perfect... to bad the colors couldn't be better." He was referring to the Aspens that were nearly at their peak of changing color. <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPslQxFxHu9IJPIbuRdLZlghmFB8P2G_liDayWFqVuKjxKbpTPIUohxo_lcqQkmhpyIODV6U9yzBiCKdnH9Ce57Rst0x38iFs5DmTeNtwI11kRlVxv6fRpfo5JNzztKYSGsOoYhN0BEk/s1600-h/IMG_1500-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPslQxFxHu9IJPIbuRdLZlghmFB8P2G_liDayWFqVuKjxKbpTPIUohxo_lcqQkmhpyIODV6U9yzBiCKdnH9Ce57Rst0x38iFs5DmTeNtwI11kRlVxv6fRpfo5JNzztKYSGsOoYhN0BEk/s320/IMG_1500-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119341609860650130" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The bright yellow trees were all around us. After getting everything adjusted off we started on what was to be a 25-mile, 4.5 hour adventure down the mountain back to Taos. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1vR0CpJs0vQ9DadNn1XKIOPHehGyHjGtYZuvxzzm1s0nuntTzCNOBVDBwPcccNb8TZbcOOFz7yoQTMe581USzE-dUmLHMZDOGtEm5xeF1ZF-jOGgTuzDJvJwwAAlNY1KrvOBBzrVX0k/s1600-h/IMG_1503-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1vR0CpJs0vQ9DadNn1XKIOPHehGyHjGtYZuvxzzm1s0nuntTzCNOBVDBwPcccNb8TZbcOOFz7yoQTMe581USzE-dUmLHMZDOGtEm5xeF1ZF-jOGgTuzDJvJwwAAlNY1KrvOBBzrVX0k/s320/IMG_1503-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119215904757830690" border="0" /></a><br />This ride is described as being "mostly downhill" but we quickly learned that mostly is a relative term. The first section was a narrow singletrack that slowly wound up to 11,000 feet ... and by the time we finished we ended up climbing 2,910 feet. <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4184097"></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSKGjKX4S8QFOhLpkNoOtFEngZpXxSLjzsJTWqzIVP4ozIXDjYOHyhX_Y3iZfN3es5ceGnre5TNl1EMmEHzsTv4R5MYiygw0teAOIDU4MmCei0RxA6H5Imfo599JisXX9mO41D8Q3QYg/s1600-h/elevation.jpeg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSKGjKX4S8QFOhLpkNoOtFEngZpXxSLjzsJTWqzIVP4ozIXDjYOHyhX_Y3iZfN3es5ceGnre5TNl1EMmEHzsTv4R5MYiygw0teAOIDU4MmCei0RxA6H5Imfo599JisXX9mO41D8Q3QYg/s320/elevation.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119343551185867970" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was a hard way to start out, especially when your lungs aren't adjusted to the altitude yet. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquBQ0pSyDHcipew-teCEjGxcO3SlHGkZjI3L4up-KhZYAPjNmVII4fq7ChItuj-nxV5wQ_1UQNEaqG4uem1RAC5ujf9Pwko6hzCS2WqGk2Nn-yt_5QSV-QYvOskcF2X7gCrpvJQrZxx4/s1600-h/IMG_1506-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquBQ0pSyDHcipew-teCEjGxcO3SlHGkZjI3L4up-KhZYAPjNmVII4fq7ChItuj-nxV5wQ_1UQNEaqG4uem1RAC5ujf9Pwko6hzCS2WqGk2Nn-yt_5QSV-QYvOskcF2X7gCrpvJQrZxx4/s320/IMG_1506-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119215913347765298" border="0" /></a><br />But we knew the rewards were coming shortly! From the top of the trail,<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR3zPu_83uOq_bi5FmtXGbzFB2OO3Pw1j0H2oZFm5QCSAb-F4mfnOayv7G6SUd6uRDFN6X7pJ0XxhNPfX4VIcH8zNulGUAAp4GTtTyG4dEtuUNL9JOaJLEEfTVNECqxRdWo_jioaQ-USA/s1600-h/IMG_1517-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR3zPu_83uOq_bi5FmtXGbzFB2OO3Pw1j0H2oZFm5QCSAb-F4mfnOayv7G6SUd6uRDFN6X7pJ0XxhNPfX4VIcH8zNulGUAAp4GTtTyG4dEtuUNL9JOaJLEEfTVNECqxRdWo_jioaQ-USA/s320/IMG_1517-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119340312780526674" border="0" /></a><br /><br />we began the first descent, and it was all singletrack the rest of the way down. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4n26yXGstic0x5KWzMgsm4BcyfOzSlsAuhguSdcdQIj3JqDJRvV-Fj1ST9UJh_UMeTXFLw0IvtYvyUPlDWVE_LaltWBd1H5SfuJTgMBBjPETb6lt4KCEVdWrM1IGQ74m-mpFjbeddFU/s1600-h/IMG_1507-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4n26yXGstic0x5KWzMgsm4BcyfOzSlsAuhguSdcdQIj3JqDJRvV-Fj1ST9UJh_UMeTXFLw0IvtYvyUPlDWVE_LaltWBd1H5SfuJTgMBBjPETb6lt4KCEVdWrM1IGQ74m-mpFjbeddFU/s320/IMG_1507-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119215921937699906" border="0" /></a><br />We wound our way down through a pine forest which turned into a mixed pine and yellow Aspen forest, and eventually climbed back up to another peak where we had a beautiful 360 degree view. From there we had a nice long section of singletrack through the Apen and pine forest. The trail was clinging to the narrow edge of the mountainside and weaved carefully between the trees. There were some very fast sections with a lot of ups and downs where you could keep your speed up by pedaling a bit here and there...but you had to be careful because the trail was narrow and there wasn't much room for mistakes. To make it even more fun, every few miles we would encounter a large tree across the trail that had sticks stacked up on either side so the skilled riders could navigate over it without getting off the bike. Here's Rou deciding whether or not to navigate over one...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dKimCmUeiVDS4eezXHc8uCD2j8CCxyICmI9UPsnv37ggNo6J2IyA7HX8uyFkd_shQe4BeKvAaaYIEA8doZz8-pvnXAlMTCs8sCMxQWLbYmbl6EIJ7a2S-CnCVuopg8nElTp5y1GF5GM/s1600-h/IMG_1531-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dKimCmUeiVDS4eezXHc8uCD2j8CCxyICmI9UPsnv37ggNo6J2IyA7HX8uyFkd_shQe4BeKvAaaYIEA8doZz8-pvnXAlMTCs8sCMxQWLbYmbl6EIJ7a2S-CnCVuopg8nElTp5y1GF5GM/s320/IMG_1531-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119340325665428594" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After an energy bar snack in a beautiful grove of Aspens, we continued on to what was to be the hardest section of trail that I have ever ridden in my life, and it really tested the limits of my riding skills, my concentration, and me new bike. But they all pulled through in the end! The last leg of the trail was a 45-minute ride down what can only be described as a rock staircase on a cliff. The trail was ridable for 25 meters at a time, then you had to sit WAY back in your saddle, hold your breath, and steer through the least dangerous section of rocks and you went down... down.... down the rocky trail. To put it in some perspective, all four of us were very experienced riders... and all four of us went down at least once on this trail. It was tough, challenging, and a blast in the end! We all survived uninjured and just a little bit bruised. All of our bikes got nice new scratches that will remind us of our epic ride down the South Boundary Trail. This was the perfect time of year to ride it... it was a little cool out but not too cold once the sun came out, and the Aspens changing color made it all that much more memorable.<br /><br />Almost as memorable was our dinner that night. Rou and his wife Mary have a friend who is a professional chef. The chef Jean Luc and his wife Denise had us over for a dinner party at their house where he served among other delicacies, Wild Boar and Quail with Mole sauce served with tortillas. We ate outside in the chilly desert night air next to a mexican ceramic fire pit that was throwing sparks into the starry sky... My home in Saipan feels very far away right now!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9gNxsFoyypnwX7r-XOmafEHQ277Pnwmii1OtbFIhbvZuBjeNJ-hEXJEVA1qVaOWmCpWrUQBa_m_JHz7jxe-WJ3P9hgGpdWuAcqCkNW05N2pwWRRVz3BNQfIjnTmTWzuTrp42q1-xkw8/s1600-h/IMG_1542-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9gNxsFoyypnwX7r-XOmafEHQ277Pnwmii1OtbFIhbvZuBjeNJ-hEXJEVA1qVaOWmCpWrUQBa_m_JHz7jxe-WJ3P9hgGpdWuAcqCkNW05N2pwWRRVz3BNQfIjnTmTWzuTrp42q1-xkw8/s320/IMG_1542-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119340329960395906" border="0" /></a>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-13280500040501002942007-10-05T22:32:00.001-07:002008-12-08T23:55:56.103-08:00Mountain Bike Training Camp<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwcqDRue01I/AAAAAAAAAGk/ISdmr-vEQoc/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwcqDRue01I/AAAAAAAAAGk/ISdmr-vEQoc/s320/Picture+1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118105737316193106" border="0"></a><br /><br />As some of you may know, I am competing in an endurance mountain bike race in South Africa next April, called the Cape Epic. There will be 500 teams of two. After the 1st day, which is a team time trial to determine the starting lineup, you race for 8 days straight. The race is over 500 miles long in total distance, and the shortest of the 8 race days is 46 miles, while the longest is 82 miles. The shortest amount of elevation gain in one day is over 4,200 feet, and the most elevation gain in a day can reach 9,000 feet! The rules are simple: You have 10 hours to complete each stage (day) of the race. You must stay within 2 minutes of your teammate at all times. If you don't complete any stage of the race, you are disqualified. If you miss the 10 hour cutoff limit once, you are deemed a "non-finisher" and are allowed to restart the next day. After a second missed cutoff time, you are disqualified and are not allowed to continue on. Needless to say, my teammate and I are hoping to just complete the race and be official finishers of one of the hardest mountain bike races on the planet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwcprRue00I/AAAAAAAAAGc/rfil2oAT2s4/s1600-h/IMG_1406-01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwcprRue00I/AAAAAAAAAGc/rfil2oAT2s4/s200/IMG_1406-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118105324999332674" border="0"></a><br /><br />You can imagine that this race will require quite a bit of preparation. My teammate for the race, Rou (who is from South Africa and owns a Safari Tour Company called <a href="http://www.pioneerafrica.net">Pioneer Africa</a>) is now living in Santa Fe, New Mexico and has been riding and training in the unfair elevation of at least 7,500 feet. Being that we must ride together for the entire race, we decided that it was time to get together and do some training to see where we each stand. I've been training in a hot, humid, tropical climate on a tiny island with a maximum elevation of 1,500 feet. He's been training in the mountains of New Mexico in cool, dry air. Who has the advantage and who has to pick up his training regimen? Well, that's what these next two weeks are all about! I flew into New Mexico on October 1st, and will be flying out on the 17th, giving us over two weeks of quality training time. Our one goal that we discussed on the way to his house from the aiport was straightforward: Ride Every Day! Shouldn't be too hard for two guys who love mountain biking and have a very pressing need to ride. (The less preparation you go into the race with, the more it's going to hurt!)<br /><br />I wanted to share a bit about some of the rides we've been going on so far, and also try to demonstrate for anyone out there willing to watch some videos, why mountain biking is one of my passions. Why would someone possibly want to pedal literally thousands of feet uphill on a dirt trail or road for thousands of feet? Well, the challenge of it is one aspect. There's nothing that feels as good as getting to the top of a really difficult climb ... except the great reward you've earned: The ride down! And going down isn't always as easy as it seems. On long downhills you often are dealing with fatigue (from the climb) and technical single-track descents with a lot of obstacles that you have to navigate, jump, and avoid. It requires great concentration and the ability to relax and trust your bike's suspension and wheels to do their job, which is very hard to do sometimes when you are going over 20mph and there are trees, rocks, drops, and streams to avoid on a trail that's only a few feet wide! But it's one of the greatest rushes in the world! Hopefully you'll be able to get a taste of that from some of the videos.<br /><br />The rides in this post are right here just outside of Santa Fe. On Monday we are going to spend a week in the car and are heading up to a few of the great mountain bike Mecca's of the US, namely, Durango, Colorado (home to some of the mountain bike legends), Fruita/Grand Junction, Colorado, and Moab, Utah. Until then, it's all about the trails around Santa Fe, and I must say that they are some of the best I've ridden. For example, the trail we rode today, from the Santa Fe Ski resort to Santa Fe, is definitely what I would call and "epic" ride. A distinction not a lot of rides get! <br /><br />So I arrived here on Monday, and on Tuesday we took both our bikes into Rou's LBS (Local Bike Shop, for those of you who don't speak mountain bike). The shop is called <a href="http://www.sunmountainbikeco.com/contact.html">Mello Vello</a> and is right in Downtown Santa Fe. The owner Dave is a really great guy: very professional and a fantastic mechanic. He gave our bikes (2007 Ibis Mojo's) a checkup and some TLC and we had them back that afternoon for our first ride. If you are ever in Santa Fe and looking for a bike to rent or advice on local trails, check this shop out. There's a group of guys who ride from the shop at 5pm every Tuesday evening for a weekly group ride.<br /><br />So off we went on the Tuesday group ride, this one was right from the shop and up to a trail called the Dale Ball trail. Rou and I both have these handy gizmos we bought so we could track and compare our training, so if you click <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4117937">here</a> you can see everything about the ride: time, distance, speed, elevation, my (fast) heart rate, even a map of the course we took. It was a short ride ... just over an hour, 12 miles. But we managed to get in over 1,600 feet of climbing on the undulating up and down course. It was a lot of fun riding with the group, and it felt like we were a bunch of kids riding dirt bikes as we practiced jumps (for a video camera of course!) and rode through the streets of the city going down back alley shortcuts with steep staircases. Nothing like a reminder of why you love to ride! I managed to get caught in my pedal going around a tight hairpin at one point in the ride and my bike and I both went tumbling down a short hill, causing a huge "log jam" behind me as I had somehow managed to get to the front of the pack of 11 guys that were riding! Here's a picture of me looking plum tuckered out after a climb at 8,000 feet elevation and only 18 hours after I arrived from my 27 hour journey.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwctJxue02I/AAAAAAAAAGs/0m1Kr8fSALQ/s1600-h/IMG_1417-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwctJxue02I/AAAAAAAAAGs/0m1Kr8fSALQ/s400/IMG_1417-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118109147520226146" border="0"></a><br /><br />On Tuesday we rode the <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4117938">Rail Trail</a>, which is a very cool 13 mile long trail that runs from Rou's house in El Dorado right into Santa Fe. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc9thue0_I/AAAAAAAAAH0/wd69wsgoWRs/s1600-h/IMG_1422-3-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc9thue0_I/AAAAAAAAAH0/wd69wsgoWRs/s320/IMG_1422-3-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118127353886594034" border="0"></a><br />It follows an old rail line and has some beautiful desert scenery, some fun little jumps, and couple sections of really fast, tight, swoopy single track. It's not a bad way to get into town! So we dropped our bikes off at the shop for a few final things that we needed to have done and then caught a ride home with Rou's wife Mary. <br /><br />By Wednesday Rou had decided that I was fully acclimatized to the altitude (it takes normal people more like a month... he must think I'm super-human...) so we drove up to 9,600 feet where my light head and I began our first big ride, 30 miles and over 2 hours, though much of it was downhill. The ride was the <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4124488#">Winsor Trail</a> from Big Tesuque to Little Tesuque. Here's a profile of the ride. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwcxIxue04I/AAAAAAAAAG8/hIaW7kb2S1A/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwcxIxue04I/AAAAAAAAAG8/hIaW7kb2S1A/s320/Picture+2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118113528386868098" border="0"></a> As you can see, it was pretty much straight downhill for the first 9 miles! This is 9 miles of downhill singletrack, some of the best I've ever ridden. It was fast and smooth in parts, but very challenging and technical in others. We took a breather at the end of the first big descent and I just couldn't stop laughing and grinning it was such a blast to ride down. It's been a long time since I've ridden a trail like that. Here's what the HUGE grin on my face looked like (I took this picture to remind myself of what pure joy looks like! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwcycRue05I/AAAAAAAAAHE/psjvN9KP6Ew/s1600-h/IMG_1429-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/RwcycRue05I/AAAAAAAAAHE/psjvN9KP6Ew/s320/IMG_1429-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118114962905944978" border="0"></a><br /><br />And here's a short video clip of one of the 14 stream crossings at the lower portion of the trail:http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyo2P3f_ucgeXVO_-xxeAKuEHwSf3rTArAvvX41EVGzFQ_b2KYXDmRVPtA6j96zq4qh6eaSdscRTojF8VFVNQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />On Thursday we did another <a href="http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4129621">big ride</a>, this time with a bit more climbing. We went for nearly 3 hours, 25 miles, and climbed over 3,300 feet. To some of the crazy bikers out there, that might not sound like THAT much climbing... but we rode from the Aspen Vista Trailhead, at 9,700 feet, to the Radio Towers/Santa Fe Ski Resort the top of which is 12,050 feet above sea level! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc14xue06I/AAAAAAAAAHM/0lp9LYk1MeQ/s1600-h/Picture+3.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc14xue06I/AAAAAAAAAHM/0lp9LYk1MeQ/s320/Picture+3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118118751067100066" border="0"></a><br />When I reached to top of the mountain, up past the ski lifts and the radio towers, I checked my GPS and it registered 12,050 feet, higher than I've ever been on a bike. I jumped off my bike and let out a huge WOOOO HOOOOOOOO! Then I promptly had to put my hands on my knees because I felt like I was going to pass out from the thin air! I turned to Rou and said, "LET'S GO! NOW!" I didn't want to stay up there and experiment with how well I had acclimatized to the high elevation! It probably didn't help that my heartrate was up over 160bpm. It was interesting because Rou's heartrate was consistently lower than mine was at the higher elevations, but very similar at the lower elevations, indicating that all his training at high elevation has increased the hemoglobin in his blood to help transport more oxygen to his muscles, whereas my muscles were screaming for oxygen and my heart was pumping its darndest to get it there! <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc5XRue08I/AAAAAAAAAHc/8tBd_lSsgFs/s1600-h/Picture+4.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc5XRue08I/AAAAAAAAAHc/8tBd_lSsgFs/s320/Picture+4.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118122573587993538" border="0"></a><br />So after climbing over 2,000 feet in just 5.5 miles, we descended FOUR THOUSAND FEET in 8 miles!! The first four miles was a gravel access road, leaving four miles of single track downhill bliss! The night before we had discussed trying to film some video of the Winsor Trail, since it is such an amazing ride. So we managed to build a helmet mount for my Canon Powershot digital camera out of a tripod stand and a helmet mount for a bike light. This is the alien-looking configuration that we came up with:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc7Axue09I/AAAAAAAAAHk/hgBl3DBD9a0/s1600-h/IMG_1449-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc7Axue09I/AAAAAAAAAHk/hgBl3DBD9a0/s320/IMG_1449-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118124386064192466" border="0"></a><br />Now that you've stopped laughing, I'll try to continue. By the way, the funny orange sunglasses increase the contrast to help you see the trail when you are riding in the shadows of the trees. I know the camera mount looks funny, but it WORKS! Here's a picture of Rou I took while riding uphill, without stopping. I just reached up, hit the power button and then snapped the photo:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc7nxue0-I/AAAAAAAAAHs/FAIZM5PPj1s/s1600-h/IMG_1480-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t05i-alUgC8/Rwc7nxue0-I/AAAAAAAAAHs/FAIZM5PPj1s/s320/IMG_1480-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118125056079090658" border="0"></a><br />So not only was this an epic ride in terms of the trail, but you can see that it was absolutely beautiful with a forest of Aspens all turning color now that Fall is upon us.<br /><br />So here is one of the videos I made of the big descent. I'm learning right now how to splice the 7 separate videos we took during the descent together... and to convert them to a size that's under the 100MB upload limit! Look for it in my next post!<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxoygEv5F7xuc_dHOwJJg10im0_9NEleXl5nZaqKcEKWP2s3wB0i7EVX01utnLsbBGTPCuyOXYGXQ-FdulM' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-27075874755636369662007-07-10T07:00:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:57.401-08:00Coiba National Park, Panama<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim6gizvdk1nkO1a80UF9eHCwwUVixGK2QiCbrtD-mgT08i-Km9b97GKFdGdqK170DnBqAoUxHyEGl3ZIXvZjm1zAsvlsIfnhApc7TAZDYr04Z2JW-Ac9hiodMktg56WaL97a_LQiw4UjQ/s1600-h/BoatFish.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim6gizvdk1nkO1a80UF9eHCwwUVixGK2QiCbrtD-mgT08i-Km9b97GKFdGdqK170DnBqAoUxHyEGl3ZIXvZjm1zAsvlsIfnhApc7TAZDYr04Z2JW-Ac9hiodMktg56WaL97a_LQiw4UjQ/s320/BoatFish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085910672384164946" /></a><br /><br />Over the past few years I have received a number of requests, mostly by graduate students or researchers, for copies of my Master's thesis which is titled, "IDENTIFYING AND UNDERSTANDING RESOURCE USERS OF PANAMA’S COIBA NATIONAL PARK". Just today I received a request from a student at the Graduate School of Kuroshio Science, Kochi University, Japan. It's amazing how far reaching one study can be and how the internet connects people so easily! I am posting this link so that in the future anybody interested can download this PDF of my thesis. <br /><br /><a href="http://groups.google.com/group/coiba-national-park/web/MP+Final_pdf.pdf">DOWNLOAD FILE</a><br /><br />I conducted this research during the summer of 2001. Working with the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute (STRI) was a really amazing opportunity I had while in graduate school at Duke University. It was early in the Spring of 2001 and I still hadn't solidified a topic yet for my master's research, though I knew I wanted to do work on Marine Protected Areas. I attended a lecture one afternoon being given by Dr. Todd Capson of STRI. Though his topic was on terrestrial conservation, I attended anyways just to hear his talk. Afterwards, I went up to him and on a whim asked, "So, do you do any marine research that is like the work you presented today?" His eyes lit up and he began to tell me about a "pet project" of his that had to do with a large marine protected area on the Pacific coast of Panama. And that's how it all began! A random question after a random presentation I attended. I've always been a believer that you never know where life is going to take you. And that day it took me to Panama.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBui3k28nNlag2AE0aXdu2kpEuHUEDG7J-rz7bJDiVEt2qPrY3FkSDEtSavgd6cy3OnUsyD1UEMNKqI6nS-haw7FPbwcz24BY5kf7berD2s2_extSkDIHv16g5nXQ4sDakhjdO9_ev8ek/s1600-h/bridman.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBui3k28nNlag2AE0aXdu2kpEuHUEDG7J-rz7bJDiVEt2qPrY3FkSDEtSavgd6cy3OnUsyD1UEMNKqI6nS-haw7FPbwcz24BY5kf7berD2s2_extSkDIHv16g5nXQ4sDakhjdO9_ev8ek/s320/bridman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085907004482094098" /></a><br /><br />So I spent over three months that summer designing and implementing a social science research survey in fishing villages all over the west coast of Panama. Here's a map of where I worked.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWlp4jgkZboA-97TYn0xI6FPRNUWKQx6_jNEQmwKyE4IGPh4vVTBUOE0GALYW0sHll8AOtrLtzem54Np_zmg01IZMfRmKbIiyQOyQDwf5TI2tOHvG5Hg-uck6pRO5tNFOmAffFbI5ptc/s1600-h/coiba_Map.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWlp4jgkZboA-97TYn0xI6FPRNUWKQx6_jNEQmwKyE4IGPh4vVTBUOE0GALYW0sHll8AOtrLtzem54Np_zmg01IZMfRmKbIiyQOyQDwf5TI2tOHvG5Hg-uck6pRO5tNFOmAffFbI5ptc/s320/coiba_Map.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085785538511995906" /></a><br />If you can read the city names, I interviewed fishermen from Puerto Armuelles in the west to Mariato in the east. My research question boiled down to this: Who are the people who fish or otherwise utilize the area in and around this large marine protected area? So I got to travel up and down the coast all summer long, walking into large towns and tiny villages, walking up to total strangers, asking where I could find and talk to fishermen. I met some really amazing people during my travels.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJ_TUcWivqtvf76BQm-UDG1tQ5AIvBmbxlLEUinIQE50FRh5GAvK7_wH2w2OYS1RRFROusv9wQ_Xc5OiHDZLmDA3vtKAlnXuRG0ZJTEYZRnRwohGiqOcyKSFnxqbLEW2-C-qiSZ8HwFU/s1600-h/Fisherman.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJ_TUcWivqtvf76BQm-UDG1tQ5AIvBmbxlLEUinIQE50FRh5GAvK7_wH2w2OYS1RRFROusv9wQ_Xc5OiHDZLmDA3vtKAlnXuRG0ZJTEYZRnRwohGiqOcyKSFnxqbLEW2-C-qiSZ8HwFU/s320/Fisherman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085907541353006114" /></a><br /><br />I remember one fisherman in particular who lived in the tiny island village of Bahia Honda, which you can see in the inset on the map next to Pixvae. The only way to get there was by boat. And there was no public boat or ferry to take you there. You just had to ask around to see when a boat was going. So I happened to catch a ride on the boat of this fishermen. When I arrived in the village, he told me I could stay in his house. What I hadn't realized was that there was no hotel, no restaurants, of any kind in this tiny village! So he made room for me in his very simple cinder block house with no power, no windows. I even had a small bed and room to my own. There was no running water either, and no indoor bathroom. He showed me where the "bathroom" was. We walked outside and there was a small concrete block "room" with four walls and no roof. There was a large wooden door, but it had no hinges. So you just had to lift it up and slide it over when you went in or out. Inside was a large hole in the ground covered by a toilet. He told me this is where I could "shower", and then walked me across the square where there was a water pump. You had to prime the pump (the only one in the village), then fill a bucket with water, and carry the water over to the concrete bathroom. Then, as you stood there with your head poking out above the five-foot tall walls, you scooped the water from the bucket into a little cup that had a small hole in it that let the water flow out in a crude shower-like fashion. And that was that! It was at times like that when I would have flashbacks of growing up in California and complaining angrily that my sister had used up used up all the hot water in the shower! Had I only known how good I had things! I also remember on the first morning I woke up in that village, I was sitting in the house with that fisherman, his wife, and his little baby girl and the baby stood up from a crawl and took her first steps across kitchen floor. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAyaZOQA4VLvo7zq2TklJ9n3esSAk6evGkGcBHoSETwtF_jDoYiFGcFdbIloPyOnVAkwcz4GcR0F8Ok8g70kZTVvLvFqdcWsuEq554z7fzu06JrnYludjl59nKnI_9CPvBk8G81LCAtU/s1600-h/beachbaby.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAyaZOQA4VLvo7zq2TklJ9n3esSAk6evGkGcBHoSETwtF_jDoYiFGcFdbIloPyOnVAkwcz4GcR0F8Ok8g70kZTVvLvFqdcWsuEq554z7fzu06JrnYludjl59nKnI_9CPvBk8G81LCAtU/s320/beachbaby.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085908052454114354" /></a><br /><br />This is a picture of my accomodations in a small village called Pixvae. The bottom left door is for the jail. The top left door with the cross on it is, appropriately, where the village priest lived. The bottom right was an office, and the top right was a small room with a single bed where visitors to the village could stay. You could see through the floorboards right into the room below.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7srnYdT0qwCemSuR_FQs3AAlEtSr3PeJ5QSBJFYbSYukqcBqDuJg6AaOF4tueOveP96KF8-osK7_YmYr_vNYmIZiTtRvljppCYsmIEOirTDdBH99NeCzTydspmVUEItcp5eYxzXxrf7Q/s1600-h/carcel.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7srnYdT0qwCemSuR_FQs3AAlEtSr3PeJ5QSBJFYbSYukqcBqDuJg6AaOF4tueOveP96KF8-osK7_YmYr_vNYmIZiTtRvljppCYsmIEOirTDdBH99NeCzTydspmVUEItcp5eYxzXxrf7Q/s320/carcel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085908507720647746" /></a><br /><br />This is a picture of a fisherman who caught a swordfish that was almost bigger than the hand carved canoe he was in. As we approached this village, we happened upon this small canoe that just hooked a fish with a hand-line. The man in the back was digging his paddle into the water to slow the boat down, while the man in the front was holding tight onto the line. The fish was dragging the canoe through the water. It looked like they had landed a big one, so we pulled up along side them to watch them bring it in.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-FP-TG7DU9iGcmp-yQ1kwN0UrPUCcONeNBWUY6kLD9vEiS5B8PZ7aWRQYSQ8xvphYNhcS4pMwfx2GWJxHk1fu7u4RxNqAApbRH2u8QfeUGqDxje_AOUr_wPWxqnLqFthFfGI6IpwmkRg/s1600-h/fishcanoe.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-FP-TG7DU9iGcmp-yQ1kwN0UrPUCcONeNBWUY6kLD9vEiS5B8PZ7aWRQYSQ8xvphYNhcS4pMwfx2GWJxHk1fu7u4RxNqAApbRH2u8QfeUGqDxje_AOUr_wPWxqnLqFthFfGI6IpwmkRg/s320/fishcanoe.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085911011686581346" /></a><br /><br /><br />As different as it might look on the outside, life's pretty much the same wherever you go in this world. I'll post up some of my pictures from Panama when I have time. It's stories and moments like those that really make traveling worthwhile. The most memorable and most enjoyable events always seem to be when you are completely out of your element experiencing life in a way that you never knew existed. I know I'll always have a friend and a place to stay if I ever wander back to that tiny little island village in Panama.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45EbviGU2p1kobbnwgswHd-GBBlovHgOhy4Qz39ZC9lRuat0gPzWfYjqjycLDRHAKA2Wj4rXRgcI39bT7cC-zEyIyGAVGB2PTnKWVu1KxkhN3yy5fpkIJ5YA2WXXAYOV958mDJK7TQi4/s1600-h/kids.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45EbviGU2p1kobbnwgswHd-GBBlovHgOhy4Qz39ZC9lRuat0gPzWfYjqjycLDRHAKA2Wj4rXRgcI39bT7cC-zEyIyGAVGB2PTnKWVu1KxkhN3yy5fpkIJ5YA2WXXAYOV958mDJK7TQi4/s320/kids.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085912188507620466" /></a>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-71916026314392278582007-07-09T20:23:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:57.774-08:00Coral SpawningI finally witnessed something I've always wanted to see, which is the once-yearly coral spawning event. I had seen videos of this before but had never witnessed it in person. I think once while I was on the great barrier reef I saw the "slick" of coral eggs on the water from land, but I've always wanted to see it up close and in person. Here's the video I shot of this amazing event which took place on Friday night, July 6th, 2007:<br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OiaJ2h9sgaI"> </param> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OiaJ2h9sgaI" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"> </embed> </object><br /><br />Getting to witness this event wasn't as easy as one might think. The corals usually spawn 6 days after the full moon in July. We weren't sure of the exact day, since they can always spawn a day early or late. Since the full moon was on June 30th, there was also a chance they were not going to go until after the full moon at the end of July. On my first attempt I went out to LauLau Bay on July 5th and met up with John, Angleo, Bev, Brie, and EJ. We snorkeled out the main dive cut and explored around for over an hour. It was a beautiful night-snorkel, and the water was nice and calm, but no spawning! <br /><br />On my second attempt, I was lucky to be in the company of a PhD coral biologist, Dr. Peter Houk ("Dr. Coral") who taught me how to spot the spawning corals. We left in his small boat from Smiling Cove marina at 7pm, since the corals usually spawn between sunset and the moonrise. So friends Pete, Fran, Michelle and I headed out to a spot right next to the Dimple dive site. We saw a spectacular sunset on the way out and the water was as smooth as glass, with Pete guiding us with the GPS course he had plotted and downloaded onto his handheld GPS.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJE638bITBkH3xsYB8MrYqN8uGeTsGb1FgIbHdEnohq94ai05D6FsyC-t6XGH4cVf41EHOwJVPQQzd0ifbc-IZaaRN5GXS7zLDgeKs1GVQOO7kAUDtVhZpAKbV1eFB3gKhNuNXwXOwj1E/s1600-h/IMG_0597.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJE638bITBkH3xsYB8MrYqN8uGeTsGb1FgIbHdEnohq94ai05D6FsyC-t6XGH4cVf41EHOwJVPQQzd0ifbc-IZaaRN5GXS7zLDgeKs1GVQOO7kAUDtVhZpAKbV1eFB3gKhNuNXwXOwj1E/s320/IMG_0597.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085755469445956578" /></a><br /><br />There was a fisherman moored to the Dimple dive buoy, so we picked a spot a little closer to the reef crest and found a nice sandy patch to drop our anchor on. As we were getting geared up, Pete started seeing coral eggs on the surface of the water. So Pete and Fran jumped right in and headed for the shallow water along the reef crest while Michelle and I took a little longer getting our dive gear sorted out in the dark. Unfortunately I experienced some user-induced issues with my camera which rendered it unusable, but Michelle was kind enough to let me borrow hers, since she had two underwater cameras ready to go. (Thank you!) While we were in the water sorting out the cameras, I noticed a "fire worm" or "bristle worm" swimming through the dark water column heading straight for Michelle's light, and it didn't look like it had any plans to stop! (<span style="font-style:italic;">Eurythoe complanata</span>?) I warned her and she tried to get out of the way, but she didn't do a very good job. Luckily it didn't sting her as it brushed against her kicking legs as she swam frantically to avoid it. (They don't call them fire worms for nothing!) Here's a picture I took of one on a reef in the Virgin Islands. You can see the venomous bristles exposed. I've never seen on on the reef here, so I was excited to see my first one in Saipan.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68nj0QzndYlWdmhACUXrYw8z0Se4lMqS43ZLg5IqmTGEhpm9sWbo1L0GI8IzR8HmAbgzpRvvzDm6E9IvmAxZgmqIin-41PaeERiicyYvRasxPhpVyLv7uR9mw9uXVzdf-vhA1S90AUbw/s1600-h/DSCF1563_edit.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68nj0QzndYlWdmhACUXrYw8z0Se4lMqS43ZLg5IqmTGEhpm9sWbo1L0GI8IzR8HmAbgzpRvvzDm6E9IvmAxZgmqIin-41PaeERiicyYvRasxPhpVyLv7uR9mw9uXVzdf-vhA1S90AUbw/s320/DSCF1563_edit.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085754314099753938" /></a> <br /><br />As I made it over to the spot where Pete and Fran were, I could see a lot of eggs in the water column and on the surface, but I couldn't see the actual corals that were releasing the eggs. Finally, Pete flashed his light at me and pointed out a colony of Acropora coral that was loaded with eggs. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSerlsxiNu899l8t1lByP6go2wDCdBBpWUqTL3rTkTPe9T8OKQjHwbDTCPRrN92rOaUVdJ6M95cneGiQ6RalLZ1j4xDqNKW0EFmxfwHoLP3x_TdE4c0_ww_AVkGxwqIXlSp0sVejle5o/s1600-h/IMG_0615.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSerlsxiNu899l8t1lByP6go2wDCdBBpWUqTL3rTkTPe9T8OKQjHwbDTCPRrN92rOaUVdJ6M95cneGiQ6RalLZ1j4xDqNKW0EFmxfwHoLP3x_TdE4c0_ww_AVkGxwqIXlSp0sVejle5o/s320/IMG_0615.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085757986296792050" /></a><br /><br />It hadn't begun to spawn yet, but it was about to. The trick is to find a coral that is full of the pink eggs and you just have to sit there and wait it out. In my case I sat with my face in this coral for over 30 minutes before it started releasing its tiny eggs. It was sure worth the wait, though! Having my dive gear on made it very easy to sit and watch, (while taking pictures, of course!) even though we were only in about 5 feet of water. When the coral started to release its eggs, Pete came over and used my octopus (my 2nd regulator) to breathe off of as we watched the show. It started slowly at first, just releasing one or two eggs, but then after a few minutes it really started to pump the eggs out. We managed to catch a few other colonies that were in the act of spawning as we made our way back to the boat. <br /><br />As we relaxed in the boat and enjoyed some great food that Fran had brought along, we saw another neat show, this time it was all the plankton and other small sea critters that our lights were attracting. I started just looking overboard shining my light on the thousands of little pink and red eggs on the surface of the water, but then I started noticing a whole world of little things that were attracted by my light. We saw tiny worms, shrimp-like stomatapods feeding on the coral eggs, and even a tiny cubozoa (box) jellyfish! Coral eggs are actually a egg and sperm combination packet, and after floating on the surface for a while and mixing with all the other sperm/egg packets that were released, they break apart so the eggs can be fertilized by sperm from another colony. As we decided to pull up anchor and head back home, we could start to make out a thin layer of an oil-like substance on the surface of the water which was actually the sperm from the packets that had broken apart. <br /><br />The ride home was beautiful, as the water was still like glass. We all had our lights shining ahead into the water watching fish jump, bioluminescing critters shine, and the reflection of the stars on the water. <br /><br />Now, if I could just witness those turtles hatching... !Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-5321814726895777022007-06-24T21:48:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:57.987-08:00My Nephew's First Sea Turtle! (And a story about mine)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0JYBVBcaZTsS3YU1f3T5YzraV5l6WIBLuPKYUTYdfhKL29Qaz2TAUGhXEh2A0z2_LzLpDpjgTmhgf_e2Ro4ock9bcyRZOOIoBBPaQ_8lf3pHXQkZucJqDDZoLv83FlEuaX86TPeqJkA/s1600-h/P6180186.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0JYBVBcaZTsS3YU1f3T5YzraV5l6WIBLuPKYUTYdfhKL29Qaz2TAUGhXEh2A0z2_LzLpDpjgTmhgf_e2Ro4ock9bcyRZOOIoBBPaQ_8lf3pHXQkZucJqDDZoLv83FlEuaX86TPeqJkA/s320/P6180186.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079869158676862098" border="0" /></a><br />I had a great trip to Hawaii to celebrate my parent's 40<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> wedding anniversary, and one of the highlights was taking my 4 year-old nephew Alex out snorkeling where he got to see his first sea turtle! I'm not sure who was more excited, me or him. I did manage to dive down and get this great picture of him looking down at the turtle. It took a couple of days to talk him into braving the scary ocean waters, but once he did it I think he was pretty excited, though he decided to stick to the safety of his boogie board/viewing platform.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6-MbmawIc8C2EsQYxPx5rfRAQyB7BzoIIe4vXeJMhozGtG3zTUYARADHYFYFeQelyL_4cDQnyRnqff2a0gp118WpmmMSfe99XeAA4YvEoB6rlsZUFUOPrON7u2L65WVeCWF_WwtoLAU/s1600-h/P6180184.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6-MbmawIc8C2EsQYxPx5rfRAQyB7BzoIIe4vXeJMhozGtG3zTUYARADHYFYFeQelyL_4cDQnyRnqff2a0gp118WpmmMSfe99XeAA4YvEoB6rlsZUFUOPrON7u2L65WVeCWF_WwtoLAU/s320/P6180184.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079860671821485186" border="0" /></a><br />I was amazed at how "tame" the Hawaiian Green Sea Turtles (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Chelonia</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">mydas</span>) were in comparison to the turtles here in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Saipan</span>. The green's I've seen here in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Saipan</span> tend to bolt in the presence of people, whereas these turtles didn't seem to mind at all that I was swimming around them. Of course, knowing that these are an endangered species and that they are protected by the federal Endangered Species Act, we made sure to keep our distance and to not disturb or harass them in any way. But even so, at one point as I was snorkeling with my brother John I was startled when I looked down because a large female was about 2 feet from my leg and had just drifted right up alongside me without my knowing it. I would have to guess that the turtles in Saipan might be a bit more weary of people since they do still get occasionally poached here. The difference in their behavior is pretty obvious, whatever the cause.<br /><br />Another big difference between the turtles here in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Saipan</span> and the ones I saw in Maui is that many of the Maui turtles I saw were infected with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">fibropapilloma</span> virus, which is a wart-like virus that is unfortunately increasing in prevalence in Hawaiian sea turtles. The first Hawaii case was reported in 1958, and incidences of the virus have increased in number and geographical range ever since. The virus causes large tumors to grow on the turtles, usually beginning on their eyes and spreading to the neck and flippers. The tumors can block the turtle's vision, can impede eating when on the mouth, and can eventually lead to emaciation and death. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Kahului</span> Bay area, where we were snorkeling, is known to have a high incidence of this disease.<br /><br />When I was studying at the University of Hawaii in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Hilo</span>, I had the opportunity to spend a couple days working alongside Dr. George H. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Balazs</span>, who is the famous "Turtle Doctor" of Hawaii. It was an amazing once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get to hand-catch turtles in the wild and bring them in for their "yearly physical" on the beach with the Turtle Doctor! That was the first time I had ever been that close to a turtle. Mind you, the researchers had to go through a lengthy federal permitting process in order for us to be able to handle or even touch the turtles, and we were all trained in the proper procedures so no turtles were harmed. Normally any contact with a turtle would be illegal. The turtles got weighed, measured, scanned for tags, tagged if they had none, and checked for disease. We did not see any evidence of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">fibropapilloma</span> on the turtles we caught and tagged, which was a good sign.<br /><br />My other working experience with turtles was while I was at Duke at the Duke University Marine Lab in Beaufort, NC. There I worked on a project with Dr. Larry <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Crowder</span>, and it was my responsibility (along with a few classmates) to take care of 500 baby Loggerhead Sea Turtles (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Caretta</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">caretta</span>) that we were raising for a sex ratio study. Sea turtles are curious critters because their being male or female is not a genetic thing, like it is in humans with our X and Y chromosomes, but rather it has to do with the presence or absence of testosterone and estrogen while they are developing in the egg. Sea turtles lay their eggs in the sand on beaches, and the temperature of the nest determines whether or not they will be male or female. At higher temperatures, the enzyme that converts estrogen to testosterone breaks down and the turtle will be a female. At colder temperatures, that enzyme sticks around and converts the estrogen to testosterone and the turtle will hatch a male. At least that's how I remember it! But the catch is that with turtles you can't tell if they are male or female until they are large. Males have much longer tails than females do. So when a nest hatches, you have no way of knowing how many are males and how many are females. But of course my ingenious professor at Duke figured out a way! Along with another professor from Florida Atlantic University, Dr. Jeanette <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Wyneken</span>, they designed an "experiment" where they took 1,000 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">hatchlings</span>, right as they hatched, and raised them in labs at Duke and FAU for a few months. When they are a few months old, their sex organs finally start to differentiate into male and female. But those are internal, of course, just to make things harder! So we (and by we, I mean the Doctors) had to perform a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">laproscopy</span> (basically like an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">arthroscopic</span> surgery) on these little turtles in order to get a peek at their internal private parts. We had a sterile operating room set up with 2 or 3 marine veterinarians, along with the researchers and a crew of helpers. After the turtles were stitched up, we let them recover for a few weeks before releasing them into the Gulf Stream where they would have been had we never scooped them up off the beach. Because of this experiment, they were able to get some invaluable data on the sex distribution of sea turtles all along the U.S. east coast. This was the first time anything like this had been done. They could also use the data to predict the sex ratio of males to females in the adult turtle population.<br /><br />Now with all the talk of Global Warming, you might start to wonder if rising sea and land temperatures could change the sex of sea turtles. That was one of the driving forces behind the study. As things warm, we might be seeing more and more female turtles being born without the males. Some researchers are even suggesting that a warming of 7 degrees F could eliminate male sea turtles altogether. So turtles could be another potential victim of Global Warming. Isn't it about time we get serious about addressing it? So many of our precious natural resources are at risk, not to mention the potential human toll. Living on a small island where the impacts could be so severe really changes your perspective on things. My friend and colleague Albon who lives in the Marshall Islands has it even worse ... their highest point is only a few meters above sea level! So anyways, that's what I was doing for a few months in a lab in NC after I finished graduate school. Pet-sitting 500 baby sea turtles.Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-63288123379171985492007-06-17T00:11:00.001-07:002008-12-08T23:55:58.122-08:00The Moretti Family in Hawaii, 2007<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcJ_xR2TbLare-oVm-lHBU0AognGz59d9zfGbFGgRpwTmoCTB45moOXlXtgDJp0JcVtK8lA0fTjAbSnt8oXJPi0Bpm8QCGpuy_7L1B7lejDhe6pzG2rUzK0PfBwvEXnoViXa-eZTj-04/s1600-h/hawaii07-01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcJ_xR2TbLare-oVm-lHBU0AognGz59d9zfGbFGgRpwTmoCTB45moOXlXtgDJp0JcVtK8lA0fTjAbSnt8oXJPi0Bpm8QCGpuy_7L1B7lejDhe6pzG2rUzK0PfBwvEXnoViXa-eZTj-04/s320/hawaii07-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076930662312023154" border="0" /></a><br />Here's a picture of the entire Moretti family taken during a delicious meal at Sarento's On The Beach, Maui. From the left... Carolina (my sister-in-law, holding my nephew Alex), Mark (my brother, holding my niece Sofia), Les (my Dad), Sally (my Mom), Me, John (my brother), Mia (John's girlfriend), Julie (my sister) and Ryan (my brother-in-law).Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-69502201178684557972007-06-10T00:00:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:58.255-08:00Happy 40th Anniversary Mom & Dad!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQ2vnNzLDnL5Bpj3K9zaqwYwZV-AeFIDl4HkuuyN4kUhp4R5T154WnnM5sd3MADO2Zeg_ri553Qn3Jml9H151P53PqAHcnBF1Fn8bb05syy7g1xkIdMRKmeAy5EcZmIw7ExV3zZKT5N0/s1600-h/anniversary.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQ2vnNzLDnL5Bpj3K9zaqwYwZV-AeFIDl4HkuuyN4kUhp4R5T154WnnM5sd3MADO2Zeg_ri553Qn3Jml9H151P53PqAHcnBF1Fn8bb05syy7g1xkIdMRKmeAy5EcZmIw7ExV3zZKT5N0/s320/anniversary.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074737085075002466" border="0" /></a><br />I can't imagine being married for 40 years, but they did it! Congratulations Mom and Dad! I'm looking forward to celebrating with you in Hawaii next week!Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2916113245118222213.post-90755856036671515622007-06-09T22:51:00.000-07:002008-12-08T23:55:58.504-08:00Bali<div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_SGRAcSXyMdyOFHfsh3BRxO0k5UK1_IX8NVHlrp7fDPeSIyPeCSPEhS1iXFuxEUfySnv4qeTg5EwM8g1-c6MIXr1zxFrrXW2FDDbWEpjFLoX5uruuM5jAOjD5Nx0bzeTDTn9qH4fFQc/s1600-h/DSC_7472e.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_SGRAcSXyMdyOFHfsh3BRxO0k5UK1_IX8NVHlrp7fDPeSIyPeCSPEhS1iXFuxEUfySnv4qeTg5EwM8g1-c6MIXr1zxFrrXW2FDDbWEpjFLoX5uruuM5jAOjD5Nx0bzeTDTn9qH4fFQc/s320/DSC_7472e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074680954147411026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A photograph from my recent trip to Bali, more of which you can see at:<br />www.moretti.smugmug.com<br /></div><br /></div>Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13794699205592305451noreply@blogger.com4