Eastside Four Day Blowout

Shana and I launched out of town last weekend leaving this note behind. I'll translate since I am the only one able to decipher the hack-job known as my handwriting.

Scott,

We will be in the Virginia Lakes area tonight and maybe Fri. Then to June Mtn/San Joaquin Ridge or maybe Owen's River Gorge Sat and Sun. That's all I know. See you Monday afternoon or evening.

VB

I leave notes for my housemate, Scott on occasion so that he need not worry. I'll return to pay the mortgage and gas bill at some point.

Shana and I held a pretty loose agenda for the weekend. #1 Try to ski in a winterless reality, #2 climb as needed and, if all else fails, #3 soak in hot springs as much as possible.

We took care of item #3 right off the bat at Travertine as we headed south of Reno. That turned out to be a good idea, cooking ourselves from the inside out since Shana's two burner stove hadn't been touched since a multi-day Eel River trip this summer. We dug out quite a nugget or two of sand from those hard to reach places, but to no avail.

Saddened and cold, camping at 9,000ft we consumed an excellent bottle of red wine and went right to bed.

The next morning held more promise than the stove. Thin bands of stubborn and pessimistic snow draped themselves down Black Mountain.

After skinning and scraping our way up to the highest snowfield in sight, we finally eked out a few turns.

Our non-scientific snowvaluation is as follows:

Later that day, we headed to lower elevations and warmer ground. Less than fired up on skiing, we consumed yet another bottle of red wine.

We rebounded pretty quickly from our lackluster turns by climbing some routes that put hair on our lips.

When I wasn't digging deep into my basket of sketch on lead, I wrenched in the slack for Shana and let my mind wander here and there...

Feeling overly ambitious, we added a fourth item to our agenda and capped off our mulitsporting weekend with a session at the Mammoth Lakes Ice Skating rink.

All loosely assembled agenda items accounted for, we headed home smellier, better people than when we left.

Rêve de Neige

Oh winter, where art thou? My heating bill is too low. My super warm Capaline isn't stinky from ski touring. My bike seat is a nagging, chafing reminder that I'm still commuting to work in what feels like late Spring.

In all reality, I haven't missed winter all that much, until just this week. Right up until last Monday, my free time agenda was replete with unseasonably warm early mornings runs, and some interesting bouldering sessions, both indoors and out.

And then, the best and the worst happened. It snowed pretty darn huge around here and the storm system all too conveniently hovered right above our home resort, Mt. Rose. The storm pledged it's allegiance to Reno by producing more snowfall right over our mountain than anywhere else in the area. In an obedient haze, I cobbled my ski gear together for the first time since May 31st only to discover a few missing parts and pieces. But I pushed on, undeterred and headed up 431 with rock skis balanced on one shoulder and Raw Pass slung around my neck. And then, I was off, swinging up the fifth Northwest chair of the day, eagerly turning my head in every which direction to determine my best plan of attack. The ground was covered in a familiar forgiving white for the first time this year. Winter was here at least for the day. At the top, I was overwhelmed with excitement ignored my unbuckled ski boots and proceeded to ski. My knees knocked the top of the snowpack, poles dug in deep and then...I face planted right off the bat. Wouldn't be a ski season with out serving as a booter for someone who actually knows how to ski. But I'm a professional at falling down and getting up again and in just another run or two I found my ski legs, or what's left of them and noodled my way down and down for the next hour and a half. Work was calling in the background, it was Monday after all, I packed up and headed into the office with smokey trails lingering in my head.

The storm was an amazing gift for the Sierra snowpack and for skiers, but a brutal tease for anyone like me who wants more. And now, I'm left here sitting around, wondering of that one-off of a day ever happened at all and if it will happen again since we're back to 60 degree temps. My bike seat is once again a chafing reminder that winter has yet to settle in for the duration. Until next time, it's back to bouldering.

Road Maps

Reno is filled with full-time gamblers, heavy duty smokers, and fascinating, wandering tweakers who line the streets at night resulting in endless entertainment as I ride or walk by. The Biggest Little City is the butt of many jokes and the victim of judgemental furrowed brows. When asked, "Where do you live?" I stand tall and reply "Reno." Usually, the disappointment is as palatable as the thick taste of inescapable exhaust in the heart of Kathmandu. A little known fact: for anyone who loves multi-sporting, Reno is geographically gifted. As a result, this town is home to some of the most interesting, diverse, intelligent, adventurous, athletic, creative people I have ever met. It's a small world of clean fun junkies surrounded by a larger world of dirty fun junkies. We're motivated to stick together. So, when someone who belongs to our tightly knit community gets taken down, and taken down suddenly, shock waves vibrate steadily through family, best friends, good friends, acquaintances, and beyond. Email, phone calls, SMSs turn into supportive hugs and hilarious stories and fond, sincere remembrances. With the passing of Mike Colpo, I am wrenched from a state of complacency and thrown into hyper awareness that life is short, overwhelming and precious.

The pictures below serve as a road map of sorts, helping me to remember that I started clinging to rocks, skinny dipping in freezing cold rivers, and sniffing out good snow years ago because it felt good. It felt good to know my limits. To push and sometimes to retreat. To feel uncomfortably cold or hot since I spend most of my life being too comfortable at home. To share stories with friends over an adventure who's ending, by definition, remains unknown until the first celebratory beer is cracked.

And so, here it is. A snap shot of the best of the best from last week's road trip. Lee and I witnessed the odometer quietly roll through advancing numbers as we traveled from Reno, to the San Rafeal Swell, to Moab, to Ridgway and back round again. As I picked my way through tight meandering canyons, scratched along a dusty trails, rocky sandstone ledges, and visited with dear friends, each experience came with it's own lesson about how move through tight spots and wide open no brainers with style, appreciation and a little bit of humor.