New Home

This update is very long overdue but Lucy and Charlie, and Josh and I, have a new home. For the first time in my life, I can officially say I'm from Washington, DC. On January 22, we moved to the quaint but urban neighborhood that is Cleveland Park. We are a three minute walk from the metro and I am a fifteen minute walk from work. This is very good news for me, not such good news for my two-wheeled companions, as there is little point in riding them to the office now that it is only .8 miles away. The upside, though, is that they can be ridden to the grocery store, to countless restaurants and bars, and to almost all of my friends places. And they will be. For now, they're chilling in these new digs and waiting on a tiny tire pumping attachment that has held them back too many times now.

Stress dreams? Or just dreams?

Apparently I'm stressing about the half. I thought I was being pretty calm about it. I'm relaxed and confident and I'm actually getting really excited about it. But the past three nights I've had really weird stress dreams about running. Friday night, I dreamt that I woke up Saturday morning and called Nikki to meet up and run, which we had real plans to do. My friend Mary, who doesn't know Nikki at all, answered her phone and said "Nikki is busy, she can't run with you right now". We played a lot of phone tag and by the time I finally got a hold of Nikki three hours later, she had already gone for a run. I went home planning to run by myself but kept putting it off until after dark. I decided to run in the dark but spent 15 or 20 minutes trying to tie my shoes and just couldn't do it. I never did get my shoes tied and I woke up. But then I got out of bed, ate breakfast, met up with Nikki, and ran 7 miles in the rain. It was great and I should have had nothing more to stress about. Saturday night, I dreamt that the half was moved up from March 26th to March 10th and I was freaking out because I wouldn't be ready in time. I woke up weirded out by so many running dreams. Sunday night, I dreamt that I woke up early Monday morning to go for a run, something I also had plans to do. I got in my car and drove to my old neighborhood to run but when I got there, realized that I could have run in my new neighborhood so I drove back to Cleveland Park. When I got here, it was too late and I had to get ready for work. I woke up even more weirded out and went for a short run in my lovely new neighborhood. I got ready for work and all was fine.

This all implies anxiety and stress at my upcoming challenge in March. But I just find it so weird because, in my waking life, I don't think I'm scared. I'm just excited. Maybe on some deeper level I'm scared. Or maybe I've just been thinking a lot about running so it's naturally what I'll dream about. Right now, I hate that we think dreams need to signify all of our deepest fears and desires. In fact, I don't think that. In this case, I don't think there needs to be a deeper level. I'm excited, I'm getting myself ready, I'll have butterflies the day of the race but I'll be fine, and I'll probably keep dreaming about running but it's just because there's a lot of it going on in my life right now. Which is a very good thing. So, byebye stress dreams. I won't let you stress me out.

Davenport's Mississippi River

My mom has many attachments to Iowa. Obviously. She grew up there, she went to school there, she has many many friends there. She lived in both college towns: Iowa City and Ames. But there is no place in the state that she is more attached to than Davenport, the place where she lived from ages 5-18, the place where she took her kids home to many times, the place where she goes for all of her High School reunions, and, unfortunately, the place where Ragbrai neglected to include in their route for the past four years. This is understandable, as it is a large state with many east coast river towns for the ride to end in. But, every year since 2007, my mom has planned on biking Iowa in July, she's been on the website the day the route is announced to see where it will take her. And since 2007, it has taken her to the Mississippi in Bellevue, LeClaire, Burlington, and Dubuque. Ending in Davenport is not the reason she rides by any means, but I'm sure it's something she hopes for every summer.

Well, if you can't already tell where this story is going, here it is: For the first time since 1982, Ragbrai is ending in Davenport. And, for the first time since 2006, my mom was not planning to bike Iowa. She and my dad have a three week trip to France planned in August, a week of which they will spend biking around Birttany. They thought they'd have their fill of summer biking but now they have to re-think everything. Despite the hassle, the oh so complicated logistics, and the need to work some this summer, my mom is trying to ride at least the final 3 or 4 days of Ragbrai XXXIX and dip that front tire of hers in Davenport's Mississippi River. She loves that town and the people in it. But now she's got me all confused as I revel more in the nostalgia of last summer's trip. Do I want to join her for a few days? Kind of. A lot, actually. In all honesty, it's probably not worth the hassle and logistics for me. For now, though, I'll remain optimistic. And I'll wish my mom the best of luck in her planning and optimism.

5 boros by bike

Yesterday morning, my mom so patiently signed herself, my dad, me and Josh up for the five boro bike tour in New York City. This is is a 42 mile ride through New York's five boros, beginning in Battery Park and ending with a "lively" outdoor festival on Staten Island. It is an annual ride, taking place the first Sunday in May each year. It is a carless ride and, based on it's history of having over 30,000 participants, I imagine it's a slow one. But the appeal of this ride is not the speed. The opportunity to see so much of New York City in such a real and unusual way seems hard to beat. And the commitment to an organized ride is uplifting for this cyclist (if I can still call myself that) who hasn't been on her bike in two months. Unlike Ragbrai, this doesn't seem like it will require much training, but it gives me something to look forward to and will inspire me to re-adjust to my hard bike seat and drop down handlebars. Besides, the groundhog has spoken: spring is coming early this year and that means dry roads and warm air for many warm-up rides in the city. This (nation's capital) city, that is.

MogulFULL Diamonds

It's been a long time and it's hard to know where to begin. This will be long and detailed and it will include variations of the words "ski" and "double black" and "mogul" many times. This is your decision point. Proceed at your own risk.

The day we got to Colorado, I called Erik to make plans. We had trouble making our schedules fit but he asked me to do something that completely transformed my attitude toward skiing for the week. He asked me to ski the Aspen Highland Bowl with him sometime before I left, something he'd had Ingrid do two weeks before while she was out there for Christmas. I studied it on a map and discovered that the highland bowl, the peak of which requires an 1,100 foot hike from the highest chairlift to get to, is super steep and complete with eighteen runs, all of which are double black diamonds. So began my quest to ski a double black and my endless dreaming about the deepest mysteries of the mountain.

Highland Bowl

Our first day of skiing, Sunday, was marked by a wild white-out blizzard. You couldn't see more than 50 or so feet in front of you. What a perfect day for Josh to learn how to ski! I kid. But also, it kind of was perfect because the snow was powdery so he didn't get going too fast. He face planted a lot but he also pizzaed a lot and that helped. Eventually he went inside and the rest of us had a wild day in the storm. I did one black by myself but it had been ten years since I'd been on skis and I was a little rusty. The snow was deep and fluffy and my legs were burning and it was wonderful. Legs, body and spirit happy and well worked, I fell asleep on the couch at 8:30 pm and I am not ashamed.

The next day it was cold. Really really cold. Our lift tickets went into hibernation for the day and we spent an hour skiing via the free fanny hill gondola so that Josh could get some more practice in. We went into Aspen in the afternoon and tried to have fun exploring but it was a little too painful to be outside. We met up with Erik for a little while and toured his studio, perused the insanely expensive ski shops, bought a sweet pair of vintage cowboy boots, had drinks and fromage at the historic Hotel Jerome, and went to the newly re-opened Red Onion restaurant for dinner and a viewing of the BCS National Championship game. We went home at half time and, right on cue, I fell asleep by 9 pm and slept soundly through the night.

Aspen Town

We were up and on the slopes bright and early on a sunny and freezing Tuesday morning. We all took turns skiing, reaching higher altitudes than we had in Sunday's haze. Dad and Nathan and I went up to Big Burn, the highest point in Snowmass accessible by traditional chairlift. Mom and Nathan and I went to the top of Elk Camp, from which we had a crisp purple view of the Maroon Bells. On our way down, we skied alongside the Hanging Valley Wall and it's many double diamonds. I marveled at them, took pictures, and looked them up on the map as if I believed I'd actually ski them sometime. Josh and Nathan and I finished the day on greens labeled "easiest way down the mountain" on the map. As we repeated this, we noticed how Josh had improved immensely in his three days of skiing. I got a little nervous every time he got too close to a chair lift pole but he made it down multiple times without falling-- a vast improvement! I felt pride like a mother must feel when her child learns and succeeds at something new. Of course, Nathan doesn't love Josh like I do and was a bit less entertained by multiple trips down "the easiest way down the mountain" and had to do what he could to keep interested. He took whatever little paths through the woods he could find and decided to attempt a jump that should have been meant only for those training for the upcoming X Games. I went first but I pizzaed the shit out of the downhill so I took the puniest little jump you've ever seen. We decided that my wimpiness led Nathan to be much more ballsy than he otherwise would have been. He went BALLS TO THE WALL on that jump. I don't know how it happened but he landed kinda face and hands first, legs spread eagle, and just slid down the slope that way. And, on the easy greens, entertainment was fully born. My only regret of the week is that I didn't video tape that jump. It is recorded only in the three of our memories and we are still laughing about it.

Hanging Valley Wall-- Maybe next time

On Wednesday morning, the three of us started the day off together, just as we'd finished it. Nathan decided he had to get it right and he attempted the jump again. This time, I was sure to have my camera running. The wimpiness kicked in, unfortunately, and his jump was as puny as mine had been the day before (even though he'll argue otherwise). What matters is that he didn't give up. When Josh went inside for a break, Nathan and I rode up to the Slot, our most notorious black diamond. This may have been the first black I ever skied back in 1998 and it was about to be Nathan's first as well. We skied to it's sign for a picture of him and he fell right off the bat. So we took his picture sitting down. He got up and he skied slowly and steadily. He had burning legs but he made it down and was ready for more. We went back up to the top and skied Campground. We cut off the bottom on Hustler, a supposed mogulless black. Little did we know, not all mogulless slopes had been groomed since Sunday's big storm and this huslter was very mogulFULL. This was  Nathan's first experience with moguls and, well, talk about burning legs. After the moguls, we went in to eat and veg. Of course, vegging never lasts long when you're sitting on a lift ticket that cost you $100 for the day and your day is quickly ticking away. Mom and Nathan and I went up to big burn and jumped on the new Cirque lift. This is a Poma lift on which you don't ever leave the ground but, instead,  put a little T-bar between your legs that pulls you up the mountain. We held our poles, gripped the bone chilling metal bar, and watched as we headed into this seemingly desolate abyss of blowing snow and sunshine. Turns out it wasn't so desolate. There were plenty of people at the other end. Some were all business, efficiently skiing on to the Cirque Headwall, Hanging Valley, and other double black diamonds of my dreams. Others were touristy like us, taking pictures of themselves with a John Denver quote or with the sign stating that you've reached 12,510 feet above sea level. And another was climbing, in his ski boots, up a hill in the distance to a gate with a sign we couldn't read. I didn't know where he was going but I decided to follow him. Nathan started to come with me but the altitude, the ski boots, and his tobacco poisoned lungs made him change his mind pretty immediately. I reached the gate and it was covered in signs signifying death and disaster. I had reached the edge of the ski area. Passing the gate meant entering the "back country" where dangerous (and I'm sure really crazy, awesome and spectacular) things happen. I went through and impossibly tried to document the beauty. I watched as real skiers planned their route down these untouched slopes. I never wanted to stop seeing what I was seeing in those moments. But I was being yelled at from far away, and rightfully so. I was holding up the others whose precious lift ticket minutes were also ticking away. I went down and we skied the only blue down from the Cirque. If I left right then, my trip would have been complete. But we weren't leaving and I still had to ski that double black. That afternoon, I became independent and skied some good blacks by myself. I explored slopes that my cousin told me were harder than the double blacks she'd skied. The first was called Free Fall Glades and for good reason. It was unbelievably steep and covered in moguls. I stopped one turn in to take pictures and that was a bad idea because I became even more acutely aware of my situation and my knees and hands began shaking. I put my camera away and skied. I didn't stop, I just went and by the end I felt more adrenaline than I have in a long time. I was yelling "fuck yea" and "woooooo" more from the heart than I ever have. I was so elated and tired and proud and I knew at that moment that I'd ski a double diamond before the week was through.

Thursday, we skied a half day so we had to take full advantage of our measly four hours on the slopes. Dad and Nathan and I went out and did the Slot and Campground several times over. After a while, the two of them went in to meet my mom and I stayed up top. I did my free fall glades again along with a few others in the area. I tried traversing these woods between the slopes that Katy and Tony had written about in their recent guest book entry. That was scary and not something I want to do again alone. I was riding up the lift, looking at the map and picked out a short little double black called Buckskin that started on Sheer Bliss, the run I'd be on. There were a few others before it but they'd all be longer so I should hold out for this one. Skiing Sheer Bliss, I got to KT Gully, the first of these double blacks and just kind of gazed off at the mystery. As I was standing there, a ski patrol came by and roped off the run. He then skied on to close the next one. It was 2:45 and all these doubles were being shut down for the day. Well shit, I had finally decided to go for it and now it might be too late. I hurried on and got to Buckskin before he did. I skied by the sign without even stopping to have second thoughts or to take a picture of myself with it. I just had to get in before it closed. I did get in and was immediately scared for my life. Not only was it steep as shit but it was entirely in the trees. Lucky for me, my little ski patrol friend came in to rope off the slope and chose Buckskin as his way down the mountain. I told him shakily that this was my first double black and I was fucked. He said I could either take my skis off and hike out or I could follow him down. Follow him I did and it was awesome. What a treat to have a free lesson on my first double diamond run?! My mom and I skied blues the rest of the day and for the first time that week I was so ready to be done by the end. In a good way.

Buckskin is in those trees in the center there

Friday Friday Friday. It had to come even though I hoped it never would. Though the Cirque trip on Wednesday was hard to compete with, Friday takes the cake as the best day of the week. It was just full and perfect. Nathan and I skied together pretty much all day. We stuck mostly to blacks. And we did another double black. It was called Powderhorn and it wasn't too too hard it was just really long and full of moguls. Go Nathan! This little boy who hadn't skied since he was 9, who has a completely different body than he did then, who looked awesomely ridiculous in his purple thrift store onesie and 40 year old ski mask comes into the week never having done a black and here he is finishing his first DOUBLE BLACK DIAMOND. It was great. My mom and Dad took the day off but I finished it up with Josh, who had made it onto little blues by then. Unlike Thursday, I was not ready to be done. But we were and we'll be back.

We did other things besides ski, of course, but not too many. We swam in the pool and sat in the hot tub, we drank beers that went straight to our heads, we saw a man my mom had been watching since the 1970s do magic, we had a few good dinners out, we also cooked in a lot, we went to town at the Aspen Thrift Store, we watched a lot of Friends, we took pictures and played games, and we slept a lot. The family time is valuable, the hot tub is relaxing, and the exercise is great, but the spectacular view of those mountains and the love of skiing are what will keep me going back to Snowmass. Next time I'll make sure to bring my shovel and probe.

*I never skied the Highland Bowl with Erik- all the more reason for a return trip asap!

Sweet Dreams

Tonight, I'm dreaming about memories like these:




Leichenhearth Number Nine

 


Ski Love




babetastic shades




Santa always found us...




Colorado Shaws





hey neighbor

 


Nathan, is that you?




such form



weird kids for life




PIZZA




FRENCH FRIES




Oh, if I only had a pink onesie ski suitand fanny pack at age 23




the coolest








Tomorrow, I'll see what's changed in the past ten years and I'll begin creating all new snowmass memories. SWEET DREAMS!

Yesterday I got an e-mail that said this:

Caroline, your trip is around the corner!

That's right, Southwest Airlines, the 9 day trip to Colorado that I've been planning since last February begins this Saturday. I don't need a reminder because I've been counting the days since I booked my flight in August. But I appreciate the information and I can't wait to take off on Flight 1300 from BWI to DEN at 8:45am on Saturday, January 8. See you then and please, may your flight attendants be as funny as always.