Monday, August 30, 2010

Random Laurel Highlands trail running and training






The bearded Woodz Ninja @ Middle Fork overlook

The weeks are flying by and I've been running as much as I can. Training has been improving with my increased intensity. The last couple of weeks have been productive as recent runs reflect. I've begun light weight work on my shoulder without any pain. Lots of time to get it healthier before the ice begins to form later this year. I feel like things are setting up for continued running and a good winter climbing season (weather permitting).Running has been a lot of fun lately. Miles have been blurring together, each run more fun than the last. I've enjoyed sharing trail time with my wonderful girlfriend Laura. We spent a few days hiking on rest days from separate solo runs. Several days were spent in Quebec Run on the great trails that reside there. Hill training has become a staple once again. I love climbing, rocks, ice whatever. It's only natural that I like the climbs in running as well. My focus has been on the larger vertical rises in the region. I've spent a few heart pounding days doing hill repeats (4 mile laps) down and up "Heart Attack Hill" on the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail (mile 8 to 6 then back up to 8). Great for building hill climbing efficiency and endurance. "Heart Attack" along with many other up and down runs are helping a lot.



Statistics for July:

Miles - 185

Duration - 40:48

Elevation - Gain 39,362' - Loss 38,539'



Miles per week is down, but elevations have greatly increased.



Some run highlights since last post:

July 19

Bear Run Nature Reserve, I went and ran the super fun 5 mile trail sprint we call the "Tiny Tulip Traverse" This was my second time running this challenge. I lowered my record to 44:16 from 45:41. A slight improvement.



July 22


Ran 14 miles of the LHHT. Gate to 7 and back in 2:46 for a pace of 11:51. Elevation: gain 3700' loss 3700'





July 25

On a whim, I enjoyed a nice long run from Ohiopyle to Hickory Flats Road (38miles). Thursday night around 11:00pm I was talking to Laura, telling her I wanted to do a long run, but was uncertain where I wanted to go. Laura offered the idea that I should run as much of the LHHT as possible, she'd support along the way. I quickly accepted and stayed up a few more hours. With 3 hours of sleep, Laura lovingly dumped me in Ohiopyle the following morning. Early on I could feel my elevation workouts paying off. I starting slow and calm, but couldn't help kicking it up a notch on the long climbs. A 15 minute or so emergency bathroom stop and chaffing had me burning and doubting early. This was around Maple Summit. Luckily an emergency Vaseline tube kept things only slightly uncomfortable until Laura saved the day with some Mission Anti-friction cream and replacement shorts at Route 653 trail head. The rest of the run I ran at a comfortable pace enjoying the views, cooler temperatures and empty trails. I was expecting to get water at 7 Springs, but upon arrival the faucet was damaged and running. The continual flow was spewing nasty, orange iron water. Skipping the refill and stretching what I was carrying sent me to Route 31 parking area and Laura with clean water. My 50K time was 6:18 despite my breaks. A slight discomfort was developing in my left foot. I was aware, but not concerned. I refilled and continued on as did the pounding on my left foot. I met Laura at Hickory flats Rd. (MP 38) where my foot was considerably more tender than before. Fearing that continuing might lead to missed running days ahead, I finished there and ended with an elapsed time of 7:45. I was happy with how fresh and spry I was feeling, but disappointed random pain kept me from continuing. A good nights sleep and a couple easy days had my foot back to normal and doing "Heart Attack Hill" repeats again. In retrospect it was a good call! Here are some photos from my run. It was one of the sunniest, driest days in the last couple weeks. It was great to enjoy a long section of the trail on a glorious uncrowded weekday. Elevation: gain 7100' loss 5500'






Clouds over the Youghiogheny River valley




Overlook of Middle Fork at mile 21.3 on the LHHT




Turnpike bridge over the PA Turnpike mile 36.75




Trail sign at Firetower Rd., Rt. 31 intersection.






July 28



I recently signed up for Strava GPS run tracker and have been having fun with their "segments." Runtastic is my normal GPS of use. (I find both equally inaccurate, but help in tracking elevation). I'm new to using Strava so I don't understand all of it, but segments appear to be short challenges (segments) created by Strava based on runs by users. You can compete against all others that have completed each "segment." Many segments exist along the LHHT due to Laurel Ultra racers using Strava on race day. I decided to set my sights on some of the current Strava records for local "segments". The segment I was excited to try was named "Conn Rd Climb." This segment starts at Bidwell Rd. and climbs 1.6 miles and 1,264' of elevation to Conn Rd. It has an average grade of 15.4%. There have been 19 recorded users on the segment. The record of 25:27 was held by Jim Trautmann of Pittsburgh. He set the record on June 12, . Seventeen runners have done the segment since him. I would be number 18 to try. I parked at Conn Rd. and walked to milepost 8 to begin. I did 2 slow warmup laps of MP 8 to 6 to 8 repeats sans GPS. I used my watch to clock splits. On my way back up on repeat 2 (mile 7.25) I stopped and grabbed my phone. I started it at mile post 8. My third time down to 6 I picked up the pace increasing my cadence as well as stride adjusting to the high turnover about to commence for my record attempt up. I turned around at milepost 6 and started the long grind up with vigor. I ran close to red line for quite a while until I broke to a power hike. I kept attacking "Heart Attack." The grade backs off just before MP 7. I picked back up into a sprint at the shelf and continued past 7 and up to the next steep section. I ran all I could from MP7 up to the finish at Conn Rd. I wasn't sure where it ended, so I kept my effort up all the way to MP8 where I ended my lap. I uploaded my run and it was official. I squeaked by the old Strava record for Conn Rd. Climb. My time was 24:56. A minor record, but still cool in my eyes. I'm sure its been run faster by others. It would be cool to get a King of the Climb going on for "Heart Attack Hill" Mile post 6 to 8 which I officially clocked (with a watch at mile posts) 27:56. After spending some time looking around Strava I've noticed that Jim did quite a few quick trail runs on the trails in the Laurel Highlands. How cool! Hope to see you out there some day...



July 29

I decided to run the Route 31 to Route 30 section of the LHHT. Another glorious day with plentiful sunshine and temps around 68°. I had the trail to myself. I passed one lone hiker on this roughly 15 mile section. This time I went with limited water, no electro replacement capsules and only 1 gel as a slight handicap. The whole section went well and I cruised along at a good pace finishing the section in 2:35. Elevation Gain 2805', Loss 3202'. The trail was recently maintained in this section and is in wonderful condition where thick spots usually exist.




So many good runs recently, I could mention them all. To end this and save you from a longer post. I'll leave with some recent photos. Happy trails!





First Copperhead I've ever seen on the LHHT! I can't believe it...





Quebec Run, Hess trail





Quebec Run, Hess trail, Photo L. Hahn






Laura and Elmo
Grove Run Trail head, Linn Run State Park

Friday, August 27, 2010

Talks on the Beach

We try to get out and do a beach walk just about every day. They could just as easily be called beach talks though because something about the walking and the environment seems to lend to much talking too. This little cutie must have experienced the same thing because she talked non-stop the entire time we were there together.



Living the life in OBX!

Thursday, August 26, 2010

A Day in the Picos de Europa: Espolon del Agero ("Agero Spur"), 6a (5.10a)



(Photo: Mount Agero, seen here in the afternoon after the morning fog cleared away.)



It has been several years since I've used a guide for clmbing.



My experiences with guides have always been very professional, educational and satisfying. But these experiences were all in the United States. And the guides spoke the same language I did.



Last week in Spain, in the Picos de Europa, I didn't know whether I could expect the same sort of experience.



I had never planned on climbing there. The Picos were not a part of my climbing dreams. Until recently I'd never heard of these mountains. They are largely unknown to American climbers.



Oddly enough, my wife Robin made it happen. She'd planned a family vacation in Northwest Spain for the whole family: the two of us plus the kids. I was passively, notionally involved but really I left the details to her. She picked the locations in Galicia where we'd spend the first week of our trip. As she looked into Asturias and learned about the Picos de Europa, she knew we'd love the place and decided we should spend several days in the region. She wanted us to go hiking in the area as a foursome, which we did. (It is a hiker's paradise.) But she also planned things so I could take one day apart from the family and go rock climbing on my own. I don't know many non-climbing spouses who would do something like that. That's just the kind of generous person she is!



In the months leading up to the trip, I looked into finding a climbing partner in the Picos. There weren't many resources (in English) for finding a climbing partner. I did some web searches but did not stumble on any guide services with English-language web sites. I posted queries on both rockclimbing.com and mountainproject forums but got no responses, either about potential partners or a guide.



Eventually I decided I would just find a way to hire someone. This would be simpler-- I wouldn't have to bring much, just my harness, shoes and helmet. It was unlikely I'd find a partner for just the one day any other way. I asked my old partner Greg about the guides I knew he'd used when he was in Chamonix. He put me in touch with a reputable guide, an American that he'd used over in Europe. Greg's guide wasn't planning on being anywhere near the Picos in August but he put me in touch with Kjeld Andreasen, who co-founded a service called ATG out there that offers guiding not just for climbing, but also caving, rafting, mountain biking, and other adventure sports.



Kjeld immediately contacted me by email and when I told him I was looking for long mountain trad routes in the 5.9 to 5.10 range he said, in perfect English, that he knew exactly what I was looking for and that I would love the Picos.



As the appointed day approached my biggest worry was the weather. We'd had a mix of rainy and sunny days in Galicia and temperatures that were a little cool for August. On the day before my planned climbing day, we'd arrived at our hotel in Arenas de Cabrales to find overcast skies and mountains shrouded in a damp fog. We'd gone ahead and done an afternoon hike with the kids despite the weather, and been immediately amazed at the beauty of these mountains. We were instantly in love with the Picos, even in the fog.



That night I spoke to Kjeld. He had hoped to take me out personally, but he had bad news: he had just broken his ankle in a motorcycle race.



But I was not to worry, he told me. He had set me up with one of ATG's guides, Fernando Zamora. He said Fernando spoke English well, and that they had talked about good routes for me. Fernando knew what I was looking for and had a few options in mind, one of which was easier, and the other more difficult, depending on how “eager” and “enthusiastic” I was. Then Kjeld chuckled. I wasn’t sure what to make of the chuckle.



I told him I was well known for my enthusiasm.



The next day dawned sunny and bright, although with fog still surrounding many peaks. It was much clearer than the day before, giving Robin and me our first real look at the full beauty of the Picos. We drove to the appointed meeting place in Potes and marveled at the giant formations so close to us on either side of the road. The forecast still called for potential rain in the afternoon, but I was hopeful I could get a good day in. (We learned over the course of our stay that the weather forecast is pretty meaningless in the Picos.)



We met up with Fernando at 9 a.m. in a parking lot in the middle of Potes, where we learned his English wasn’t really so hot. But as Robin told him (in her broken Spanish), his English was surely much better than my Spanish! I’m terrible with languages. After a week in Spain I could still barely order coffee or beer.



Fernando told us in a mixture of Spanish and English that he thought we’d have a good day, but that we should do routes not too far up in elevation, because of the potential for bad weather later in the afternoon. It seemed very reasonable to me. He told Robin to expect us back in the lot about 4 p.m., and then we were off.



On the way to the climb, Fernando and I communicated to the extent we could about my climbing history. I realized after a few questions that he was trying to figure out what I was capable of. He asked me how long I’d been climbing (5 years), and if I had any experience with long mountain routes (a little but not much). Eventually, and I don’t know how this happened, he got the idea that I knew what I was doing and that he could take a chance on me. He told me he’d been planning to take me up a very nice, long route that is pretty easy, but that he’d changed his mind and decided to take me up a similarly long route that is even nicer, but also harder. He said it was rated 6a, which I later learned is considered equivalent to the American/YDS grade of 5.10a. At the time, I didn’t know what 6a meant, but I told him I was game to try whatever route he wanted.



We drove about 8 kilometers north out of Potes, to where Route 621 crosses the Deva river and the first sign for the town of Lebena appears. Suddenly Fernando turned to me and said “This car, it is good.”



Before I had time to wonder why he was telling me this, he turned off onto an extremely steep, narrow road that headed upward towards a large mountain (which I later learned is called Agero) sitting directly above Lebena. The pavement soon ended, and the road turned to dirt. It seemed our first thrills were going to come on the drive up. After a week in Spain I’d become accustomed to driving on narrow, curvy roads, but this one was crazy, barely wider than his small pickup, twisting and turning past tiny farms and houses. I couldn’t imagine driving on this road myself, and it’s unlikely I could ever find my way again on it even if I were willing to. Fernando made several sudden turns at various unmarked tiny intersections, going ever upward towards the mountain. Suddenly a gravel parking area, big enough for two cars, appeared. He gingerly found a way to squeeze his truck into the second space.



We had arrived. Fernando told me that by braving this road we’d saved ourselves an hour of hiking.





(Photo: Agero upon our arrival at the base, shrouded in fog.)



He instructed me to put my harness on at the truck. I had brought a small Camelback pack with water and a little food but Fernando told me he preferred it if I left all that behind. He handed me an even smaller water pack (cyclist size) that he wished me to carry.



For his part, he carried a rack of only 6 cams (Camalots .4 through # 2, plus a yellow Alien) and a similar number of quick draws/shoulder-length slings. That’s it. Nothing else. No nuts, nada. A couple locking carabiners. I have long known guides to carry less gear than the rest of us, but still I was surprised at just how little Fernando was bringing.



The mountain was right across the road from the tiny parking area. I thought we had arrived at the base of our climb, and I tried to engage Fernando in a discussion about belay commands. But he told me this wasn’t necessary, since we weren’t using the ropes just yet. Then he started up the rock, and I realized there was a cable attached to the rock heading upwards and to the right. This approach pitch was apparently going to be my first via ferrata. Fernando attached himself to the cable with a sling; I went ahead and used my Metolius PAS, with Fernando’s approval. It was hardly necessary, but there were a few exposed spots. Periodically, as he would throughout the day, he would ask me if I was "good," to make sure I was comfortable with whatever we were doing.





(Photo: Ascending the via ferrata approach pitch.)



After the via ferrata pitch we headed left for another approach pitch, this one probably third class, without any cable or need for one. It follows a faint trail up a dirt path with occasional rocks to the main wall of the formation.



We were already high above the towns in the valley, and finally ready for the first real pitch of climbing, on what I later learned is a classic 9-pitch (if you don’t count the two approach pitches) route called Espolon del Agero ("Agero Spur").



Fernando flaked the ropes (9 mm doubles) and talked to me about belay commands. He didn’t use the terminology I would use, but I understood what he wanted. He told me when he reached the end of the climbing he would say "open the system," and that I should not climb until he said "you go up!" In an effort to help his future business with English speakers, I tried to explain the terms "on belay" and "off belay," but I don’t think much of what I said got through. It didn’t matter. I knew what he meant and the system was the one I was comfortable with.





(Photo: At the crux of pitch one.)



He climbed the first pitch, telling me as he left that it is the hardest one on the route. He didn’t seem concerned with whether I could belay him properly. I soon learned this was because he didn’t really need much of a belay. He placed hardly any gear. In fact he probably soloed at least the first 60 feet, passing what I later found to be the first crux of the pitch without a single piece. Eventually he put in a piece and clipped a fixed piton (this route has lots of old pitons) before telling me he had reached the hardest section. Then he was quickly through it and it was my turn.





(Photo: Climbing pitch one.)



I was nervous. This was my first time climbing on limestone, and I didn’t know how it would feel. I also didn’t know what kind of hard climbing to expect. If we were talking about overhangs or a few thin face moves, I’d be right at home. If, on the other hand, I was going to be expected to climb a jam-crack for 100 feet or do a hard slab-climbing pitch, I could end up humiliated.



I needn’t have worried. The climbing felt very familiar to me.



The rock was featured with cracks, mostly vertical in orientation, but horizontal often enough for my taste. Lots of pockets as well. And the way the rock was formed was very Gunks-like in one respect: incredibly positive edges tended to form along the cracks. A steep face might appear impossible, but then a crack would turn out to provide the most awesome jug, sidepull or undercling. And I loved the texture of the limestone. It was so grippy, I felt I could put my toe on the smallest dimple; even rounded corners could form positive handholds.



I got through a couple 5.8-ish cruxy moments in the first pitch, shaking my head that Fernando had climbed through this same territory without placing any gear. Then I confronted the real crux of the pitch, a steep corner/slot with a finger crack at the back. I stood there, thinking of it as a test. If I could do these moves, Fernando would know I could do the whole climb. If I couldn‘t do them, what would happen? Would he try to pull me through it? Would we bail off the route and do something easier? Either of those possibilities was very unappealing.



The crack gave good finger locks. I placed the fingers of my right hand in one direction, my left in the other. Pulling outward in opposite directions (a move known as a Gaston but which I always think of as "forcing open an elevator"), I committed to moving my feet up, then got a better hold with my left hand. It was still steep, but then the holds improved. The crux moves were strenuous but the sequence was blissfully short. I got through it just fine.



When I arrived at the belay Fernando seemed overjoyed.



“You!” he said. “You are a professional! You are a very good climber!”



I was very happy, too. I had passed the test. I was also impressed at Fernando’s trust in me, a total stranger. He knew this was the type of climb I wanted, but he didn’t know ahead of time if it would work out well, or instead turn into an epic with a whiny, incapable client. He took a chance on me. He could easily have taken me up something easier and I wouldn’t have complained. Instead he gave me precisely what I’d asked for, a long route in the mountains at the upper limit of what I could do.



After this first pitch I relaxed completely. We were going to have a very good day.





(Photo: Fernando atop pitch one, with the fog already clearing.)



The rest of the climb unfolded smoothly.



Pitch two was an easier pitch up unremarkable territory.



Pitch three started out easy, but ended in another steep corner similar in size and difficulty to the one on the first pitch.





(Photo: Fernando shooting a photo of me from the end of the crux corner on pitch three.)



As we got higher, the day got clearer and hotter, and the peak, which was shrouded in fog at the start of our day, emerged into the bright sunshine.





(Photo: Emerging from the steep crux corner on pitch three.)



Despite what Fernando told me about the difficulties of pitch one, I later learned that pitches four and five are generally considered the crux 6a pitches of the route.





(Photo: Heading up the wide stemming section on pitch four.)



Pitch four is short, ascending a technical stem corner using wide-split legs. I thought it was really fun, but I didn’t think it was actually terribly demanding. I hate to be that guy who says "in the Gunks this wouldn’t be considered so hard," but in this one instance I am tempted. And let’s face it, I am that guy. I wanted to bring Fernando to the Trapps and have him climb Ants’ Line (5.9) or maybe Simple Stuff (5.10a, which I’ve never done), and ask him how he thinks they compare.





(Photo: Standing at the belay for pitch four.)



Pitch five was the actual crux for me, and on this particular day it seems it was for Fernando too. He did the early hard bit, ascending an arching crack which provides great hands but no footholds at all. Then he moved to the right onto the steep face and got to what looked like a committing layback move off a side-pull. He started to move up, grimaced and stepped down a couple times. This was the first time I’d seen him hesitate all day.



Then he called down and apologized, saying he was having trouble because he’d broken his hand a couple weeks before.



I quickly decided he couldn’t possibly mean what he’d just said. There was no way he was climbing on a broken hand. Right? (I figured out later that he believes he strained a tendon.)





(Photo: In the steep, exposed face-climbing on pitch five.)



Eventually he did the move and finished the pitch. It was my turn.



The early moves up the arching crack were tense. There really are no footholds at all for this rising traverse, but the texture of the limestone is so good, I felt my feet were stuck to the wall with glue. And Fernando had really done right by me, placing pro at reasonable intervals for my benefit along the traverse, the one place in the route it actually mattered. After this I got to the steep face, which Fernando had described to me as "impresionante." I didn’t know what he meant when he said it but as I made the moves I realized he'd meant "exposed." I was above a drop of several hundred feet.





(Photo: Belaying pitch five. Above me you can see the curving edge that is followed up and right, with smearing feet.)



I didn’t have any trouble with the sidepull Fernando had struggled with, but the holds above weren’t as good as I hoped they’d be. I still needed to move right and up to finish the pitch, and I suddenly felt for the first time all day that I was about to peel off. I was barely hanging on.



But I had to freeze when Fernando said "stop!"



I looked up, startled, to find he was pointing his camera at me. "Facebook!" he said.



Urg, not right now, I thought. I finished the pitch and the hard stuff was over.





(Photo: Belaying pitch six or seven.)



After two more easy pitches, the 5th class climbing was over as far as Fernando was concerned. For two full rope lengths to the top, Fernando instructed me to feed him the rope but told me not to put it through my belay device while he was climbing. He put me on some kind of body belay when I climbed each of these pitches behind him. Although he had climbed them without the benefit of a belay, I thought there were a handful of fifth class moves in these two pitches. Some people might not feel comfortable without a better belay, not to mention an anchor. I don’t know if the AMGA would have approved of Fernando’s approach to these final pitches, but I felt secure enough.



At the top we enjoyed the splendid view on what had turned into a gorgeous, sunny day. Fernando told me we’d finished more quickly than he’d expected by an hour, and he confirmed my suspicion that he’d really rolled the dice on me at the beginning. He said he’d normally never take someone on this route on his first day with that person. I guess something in our conversation had made him understand that I wouldn’t be a disaster for him, and that I’d really enjoy this route. I’m really grateful to both Fernando and Kjeld for giving me such a fine day in the mountains.













(Photos: On top of Agero.)



As I enjoyed the walk-off down the beautiful gully next to Agero I wondered if I’ll ever get back to the Picos. Before we left the area I bought the Adrados guidebook (which is in Spanish), a huge tome which contains select highlights of the region. I purchased it as both a souvenir and a motivator. If I look over it enough maybe I’ll stay motivated and find a way to come back some day.



And by then maybe I’ll learn how to order a beer in Spanish with confidence.







(Photos: Heading down.)

Monday, August 23, 2010

Even More Adirondack Acktion: Pitchoff Chimney Cliff & Barkeater



(Photo: Getting ready to commit to the crack on the 5.6 pitch two of Pete's Farewell.)



It seems I can't get enough of climbing in the Adirondacks.



Columbus Day weekend seemed like a good opportunity to go hiking with the kids. The weather was forecasted to be outstanding, with highs upwards of 70 degrees. My wife and I made last-minute arrangements to rent a house in Keene Valley. We were set for three days of hiking. Then my wife suggested that on one of the days maybe I could go climbing, if I got a partner.



It sounded like a great deal to me. Done! Show me where to sign.



Adrian was willing to come up and crash on our couch so I was in business.



We got a reasonably early start on Saturday and arrived at our first destination, Pitchoff Chimney Cliff, by 8:00 a.m. This cliff sits in a pretty location, right above Cascade Lakes. It is just seconds from the road and has a couple very good moderate climbs on it. So it is no surprise that it has a reputation for being crowded. We were lucky enough to be the first party to arrive on our chosen day so we headed straight for the most popular line on the cliff, Pete's Farewell (5.7).



Nominally Pete's Farewell is a three pitch climb, but pitch one is only about 40 feet of 5.2. And in reality most of the 40 feet is fourth class. There is probably just one move that qualifies as fifth class on the whole pitch. As we racked up to get started we talked about how we would divide up the pitches. I said I was attracted to the traverse and corner climbing of pitch two and less attracted to the pure handcrack of pitch three. It seemed like I'd hardly gotten the words out when Adrian was already at the belay point for pitch two, having run up the first pitch while placing exactly one piece of pro.





(Photo: Most of the way through pitch two of Pete's Farewell.)



Pitch two is rated 5.6. It begins with a traverse of 20 feet or so to the obvious corner with a crack at the back. There is a pretty good ledge for the feet all the way over to the corner, although there is a little gap that must be stepped across right at the same time the handholds suddenly seem to disappear. It took a little looking around but I found good hands for the step across, then the foot rail became wider and I walked more than climbed the rest of the way over to the corner.



Once at the corner I had to step up into the crack. This to me was the crux. There is fantastic gear available, but still the move is committing. You have to get into the stem/layback with feet that aren't really great. Once I went ahead and made the move, it was no problem, but I was once again confronted with the same old Adirondack feeling of being sandbagged. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so insecure on a 5.6. Once established in the corner, the next few moves don't require quite the same gut check, and before you know it you're out of the corner and at the belay.





(Photo: A few moves up the 5.7 pitch three of Pete's Farewell.)



The final 5.7 pitch was Adrian's lead, and this pitch yet again felt challenging for the grade to me. The pitch follows a slanting handcrack and it is hard to make the first move up into the crack. Once you're in it you've got another good move to a horizontal before the angle eases to the finish.



I thought the two main pitches of Pete's Farewell were both great, and very different from each other. We descended by rapping down the chimney behind the cliff. There is a fixed line that gets you to a ledge inside the chimney and then a walk over to a set of bolts will put you in a position to get to the ground, at the base of Pete's Farewell, in a single-rope rap.



We wanted to do the other most popular line at Pitchoff, The El (5.8). But unfortunately we were no longer alone at the cliff. Pete's Farewell and The El start at the exact same place, and as we rapped down we could see a party coming up the approach pitch for both climbs, as well as another pair on the ground waiting to start up. We were happy to learn that the first of these parties was planning on Pete's, not The El. I decided to just rap at an angle over to the stance for the start of pitch two of both climbs and get in line to begin leading the El as soon as they were out of the way. We were sort of jumping in front of the party on the ground. Was this wrong of us? I don't know. They didn't complain. Carpe Diem, bitches.





(Photo: At the most exposed moment on the 5.7 pitch two of The El.)



It was my turn to lead again so I took on the big traverse that makes up the second pitch of The El. This pitch heads towards the same corner as Pete's Farewell, but instead of going up at the corner, the traverse continues to the outside arete beneath a little overhang, and then around this outside corner/arete onto the face. The traverse then goes on another 20 or 30 feet until you are beneath a crack system that leads up to a big left-facing corner.



Lawyer & Haas call this a 5.7 pitch. I had a fun time leading it and thought it was totally mellow, perhaps because I'm used to traverses from my Gunks experience. The pitch becomes a touch more steep and thin once you come around the arete and onto the main face, out of your belayer's sight. But there is great pro throughout. I never felt like I was at any risk of taking a swing. And the crux is short; the climbing mellows again after a couple moves.





(Photo: Looking up at the 5.8 pitch three of The El.)



The final, 5.8 pitch of The El is another fun, high-quality pitch, with good face moves up to the big corner and then an awkward escape up and right to the top. I felt pretty good about my escape from the corner. Adrian on lead employed an ass-jam onto the shelf above, but I needed just a brief elbow to get through it. A nice pitch, and sustained too. I wouldn't call it a sandbag but it has several 5.8 moves on it.



We liked The El even more than Pete's Farewell, though both climbs are very worthwhile.



By the time we got down from The El the small cliff had become quite crowded. Since pretty much everyone was there for the two climbs we'd already done, we had our pick of other routes we could still do. But with plenty of time left in our day, we decided to head out from Pitchoff and give Barkeater Cliff a try.



When we arrived at the parking lot (at the scenic headquarters of Rock and River guides) we set off immediately on the Jackrabbit trail. There was an obvious, wide path into the woods that matched the description in the guidebook. After about fifteen minutes on the trail we came to a wooden bridge, as the guidebook said we would, and then we started to look for the cairn to our left that the guidebook said would lead us to Barkeater.



But there was no cairn to be found.



So after a bit we started up left, hoping to cross the correct climbers' trail or stumble upon the cliff. The going was steep. We kept going up, trending right, trending left, looking for rock. But no dice. Occasionally we stopped to listen for the sound of clanking carabiners, or belay commands. We heard nothing.



After who knows how long, I tried to use my smart phone to figure out our gps coordinates. But I guess I don't have the app for that; it was fruitless.



Then I looked again at the map in the book, and I realized something was off. There were two little creeks on the map, coming to a "T" at the wooden bridge. But at the bridge we'd crossed we had only seen one little creek.



I started to think we were in the wrong place entirely, but for some reason we kept bushwhacking around. Finally I suggested to Adrian that we head down and retrace our steps. Maybe we'd missed a turn on the Jackrabbit trail; it hadn't been that easy to follow with all the fallen leaves.



As we started to head back, we ran into another pair of climbers.



I have never been happier to see other climbers! I figured they could tell us if we were in the right place.



But no. They were new to the area as well, and were also looking for Barkeater. They were just as lost as we were. In fact, they'd come out to Barkeater after bushwhacking for two hours looking unsuccessfully for Hurricane Crag! Now, I have never been to Hurricane Crag. I don't know if it is really that hard to find. But I had to pity these two. Having just spent an hour and a half searching vainly for Barkeater I wasn't about to criticize them.



I suggested to Adrian that we give up. We could go back to the car and drive to the Beer Walls, near Chapel Pond. They'd be easy to find, and we'd still have time for a couple of pitches.



Back at the parking lot, I was about to put my stuff in the car when I saw an obvious, clear sign pointing to the Jackrabbit trail. It was on the opposite side of the lot. Somehow we'd missed this sign when we pulled up. We'd headed down the wrong trail from the very beginning!



We felt like morons for sure.



If you're moronic like us, please take note. There is a sign at the lot that points to the correct Jackrabbit Trail. Do not go on the other obvious (but unmarked) trail that leaves the parking lot. It will not take you to Barkeater Cliff. Once you're on the correct Jackrabbit trail, the bridge and the cairn could not be easier to locate.



Once we found the cliff, I was impressed. Most of the climbs are just one pitch, but the cliff is still imposing, and beautiful too. The remote setting was refreshing after our morning at the roadside Pitchoff Chimney Cliff.



We didn't have time to do much at Barkeater. I wanted to lead either the face climb Eat Yourself a Pie (5.8+) or the crack climb Mr. Clean (5.9). I expected that given my skill set (and the fact that I love to bake and eat pie) I would choose the face climb, but as we examined Eat Yourself a Pie some guys working on a 5.12 told us they thought it was pretty "in your face" for a 5.8+.



I figured if the guys who climb 5.12 think Eat Yourself a Pie is hard, then maybe I should pick the other climb.



And so I gamely went at Mr. Clean (5.9), a wonderful 60-foot handcrack pitch. I do believe I've made some crack-climbing progress in these visits to the Adirondacks, but since jamming still is not my strong suit I felt insecure the whole way up, and wore myself out constantly placing and replacing gear. I brought up doubles of all the bigger cams and I kept leapfrogging the yellow and red Camalots. If I could have relaxed more and placed about half as much gear, I think I would have led it cleanly, but as it happened I did pop out while stemming at the crux, taking a short fall on a perfect cam placement. Then I finished the pitch.



It was an educational pitch for me. Adrian led it after I did, jamming with his left hand and foot the entire way up, at times ignoring very good face holds in the process. After watching Adrian do it, I tried it again on toprope and cruised to the top, no problem. I tried to do it his way but it just seemed silly to avoid the good holds outside the crack and so sometimes I used them. Then after I toproped it Adrian gave it another go on toprope as well, laybacking and stemming the whole way instead of jamming. He still made it to the top but found it far less secure than when he jammed it.



I wish we had just a few cracks like this at the Gunks so I could get this kind of practice there.



Adrian led Eat Yourself a Pie after we were through with Mr. Clean and I have to say that "in your face" is an apt description for it. The pitch starts with thin face climbing left and up to an arete, with pretty shaky pro for the opening move and a bad landing on pointy boulders if you blow it. Then the crux comes as you move into an alcove and make a very awkward escape from the alcove (with good pro). Finally, lower-angled face/slab climbing takes you past two bolts (it might be nice if there were three) to a steeper corner, which leads to a fixed anchor.



A full quality pitch, with tons of good moves, and yet another testament to how serious the grades are in the Adirondacks.



These two climbs were a great introduction to Barkeater. I'd go back in a heartbeat to repeat them and explore the rest of the cliff.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Peace Lilly

My Mother's Peace Lilly is blooming and I wanted to share. It's so beautiful... and appropriate for today, I think.



Monday, August 16, 2010

Positively Biketastic

Mo and Pinky

When I look back at (I know it's been a while, but I needed time to take it all in!) I remember it as the year when I started to notice a lot of positive changes in the cycling world around me. Positive changes not only in the widening selection of transport bikes available in local shops and not only in the public perception of bicycling, but also in the increasing amount of rapport, cooperation and even overlap between different "camps" of bicyclists. And I think this latter point is just as important as the others. We cyclists can be tribal and divisive; we can be each other's harshest, cruelest critics. But if we insist on identifying within rigid parameters and lashing out against each other's choice of bike, attire, and riding style, how can we hope for positive changes for cyclists as a group?




When my cycling club, the Ride Studio Cafe, began to blur the lines between the randonneuring and racing cultures, I remember it felt as if a paradigm shift was taking place. They threw a big party, where cyclists of different stripes interacted with each other with a degree of enthusiasm that showed a genuine eagerness. Dynamo lighting, racks, and wool were discussed. Unexpected common interests were found. It was truly an exciting thing to be witnessing.




At this same party, I finally met Maureen Bruno Roy, a Massachusetts-based professional cyclocross racer. In her off time Mo leads a regular life, and part of that regular life involves riding her pink mixte for transportation. For me, seeing Mo so happy and casual on her city bike was an encouraging moment: I had not encountered an athlete-cyclist outside of Europe before who saw value and usefulness in such bicycles. But to Mo the value is pretty clear, and she credits her attitude to her time racing in Belgium. "There were these Dutch bikes, and I rode them to get around when I wasn't racing; it was great!"




Around the same time, a local man named Jeff Palter got himself a Brompton folding bike and began commuting on it, posting excitedlyon Twitterabout how much he enjoyed that. If you're outside New England that name might not mean anything to you, but Mr. Palter happens to be the CEO of the Northeast Velodrome and theowner of Cycle Loft -one of the biggest roadie shops around. CycleLoft is also the main sponsor ofthe Northeast Bicycle Club - the largest local racing club and the very club that offers the "infamous" paceline ridesthat so divided my readership two summers ago. Until recently, it would have been difficult to imagine anyone associated with this camp entertaining the idea of riding around on anything but a racing bike with a backpack. I was more than a little surprised when Jeff approached me about sponsorship, explaining that CycleLoft was expanding into the city bike market.




"Looks like the war is over," said a local cyclist when I shared this news with her. I guess sometimes, with all the insults flung about, it can indeed feel like a war - especially when some are described as "riding tanks" and others as being "weekend warriors." With a chuckle, I pictured an army of speeding Cervelos clashing with an army of menacingly rolling Workcycles (incidentally - a Dutch bike company founded by an American, who got his start at Fat City).




Some time in December, I was approached by Bicycling Magazine and invited to write a weekly online column about "city bikes and gear." I was initially skeptical about what they had in mind, but it seemed pretty straightforward: They wanted to expand their coverage beyond racing, to encourage people to commute by bike, introducing them to a variety of bikes and accessories for the purpose.I agreed to writethe column. It's a short-term contract and I may not be the one doing it in the long run, but I hope to give it a running start. Or rather, a re-start: Historically, such coverage is not new for Bicycling. A 1978 copyI found of the magazine includes articles such as "Choosing a Three-Speed Commuting Bike"and "Road Test: the Bickerton Folding Bicycle."These things are cyclical. Hopefully the current cycle, with its interest in transportation and city bikes, will be around for a while.




A few days ago I read a story in the New York Times about a man who, a couple of times a week, commutes from the suburbs outside New York City to his office in Manhattan on his racing bike. It's a 40 mile ride and he uses the milage for training. He does it year round, sometimes in snow. I thought it was a cool story, especially after the cyclist himself provided additional details on Velocipede Salon. Then today I read astory in Atlantic Citiesin response to it, about ordinary New Yorkers commuting. The author mentions that some readers criticised the NYT piece for "alienating [ordinary people] who might want to ride to work," but I am glad the author herself did not go that route. Instead she gave examples of some interesting New Yorkers who rideand urged cyclists to unite in promoting their shared interests.




For those of us who have been cycling in major North American cities over the past few years, it is hard not to notice that things are changing. Now more than ever, I feel there is room for everyone who loves to be on a bike to promote their style of riding without criticising others in the process. Whether 4 miles or 40, whether in a business suit or a skin suit, whether on a cheap or expensive bike, bottom line is: It's all positively biketastic. The more we understand that, the better off we will be.

Buttercup

When I posted another photo of these flowers I said I didn't know what they were so I looked them up and they are a type of buttercup.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Lugged Non-Steel?

[image via the IF Blog]

I have been curious about bicycles that are lugged, but not made of steel. The first ones I noticed were the lugged carbon fiber frames made by our local Independent Fabrications.I have seen a couple of these in person, and they are beautifully done. The picture above is a detail from the XS model. The lugs are painted titanium, over a clear-coated carbon fiber frame.



[image via theIF Blog]

Here is a detail shot of a cyclocross model where both the lugs and the frame are carbon fiber.



[image via theIF Blog]

And here is a Corvid model frame, from a bicycle built for Boston Celtic Ray Allen - the carbon lugs painted a metallic Celtics green. The lugs on the Independent Fabrications bikes are molded to incorporate the stylised crowns in the company's logo, so the look is especially striking.



[image via Alchemy Bicycles]

Though I have never seen their frames in person, Alchemy Bicycles seems to be doing something similar - carbon fiber frames with aluminum lugwork.



[image via Bruce Gordon]

And Bruce Gordon takes it one step further by making his titanium-lugged carbon fiber frames look like true classics.



Reading the manufacturers' descriptions of the construction, I am wondering how IF and Alchemy integrate the lugs with the frame. I am nowhere close to knowledgeable when it comes to these manufacturing techniques, but don't the lugs run the risk of making the infamously brittle carbon fiber even more so? Is a lugged carbon frame "safe"? And is there any purpose, other than decorative, to lugging these frames? After all, I had thought that the very benefit of carbon fiber construction, was that it enabled the frame to be built in a single mold.



[image via aj_the_first]

But carbon fiber is not the only non-steel material being used in lugged bicycle construction. The above detail is from a wooden Porteur made by a small frame builder.



[image viaaj_the_first]

The lug sleeves here are parts of actual lugged tubing, the lugwork rather elaborately done. Have a look at the flickr pictures that show his process - it's fascinating.



[image via Urban Velo and Sylvan Cycles]

And a lugged faceted frame, made bySylvan Cyclesout of composite wood. The faceted tubing reminds me of this vintage lugged aluminum Caminade bicycleI wrote about earlier. It must feel interesting to ride a faceted bike. I have never heard of Sylvan Cycles before, but apparently they are made in Massachusetts. Amazing how many interesting local builders there are in our vicinity.



[image via antbikemike]

And speaking of local builders and wooden tubing, I still can't get over the antique wooden showbike by ANT.



[image viaantbikemike]

The lugsleeves are copper-plated steel and they were designed to attain the aged look - which makes this bicycle seem wonderfully "alive" to me.



But, same as with carbon fiber, I am wondering whether these wooden bicycles are truly ridable, and what effect the lugwork has on them structurally. Does it improve things, or is it mainly there for the "wow" factor? I would love to try a lugged wooden bicycle or a lugged carbon fiber bicycle some time, and would be interested to hear from those who have ridden one. These construction methods do not receive a great deal of attention, but they are certainly intriguing - and beautiful.