Cotton

Cotton is a major crop in southern New Mexico. But the drought didn't do the cotton crop any good this year. 1st photo is of cotton still on the plants that were dead at this time of the year. Most of the fields had already been harvested.

Sojourn at Green River

By now, you probably know that I was planning a visit to GeneaMecca - the ultimate destination for any genealogist. I had spent an hour or two, almost every night since leaving Indiana on May 2nd, reviewing the information I had on my ancestors. But that just wasn't enough time to develop a research plan. The library at Green River was rather small but very nice and the ladies that worked there were terrific. Much of my time was spent at the library during my five-day stay at Green River. There wasn't a lot to do in the immediate area of Green River, but the days were beautiful and it was tempting to venture out to Arches, Moab, and Canyonlands.



In addition to working on the ancestor summaries I was able to get a few blog posts written and scheduled. What I was trying to accomplish with the ancestor summaries was to identify the weak links in each line. I reviewed the information I had in my Legacy database as well as the files and documents I have scanned that haven't been entered in Legacy yet. Yes, there is a lot of data entry to be done and it would have made this process much simpler if all the data was in Legacy. Someday. Maybe. It will get done!



At any rate, I was able to make some headway on that task as well as identifying some of the “dead-end” lines. You have to remember that it has been nearly two years since I've really done anything with my genealogy research. I was surprised to learn that I had documentation for relationships for the entire first five generations! In the sixth generation there are two sets of 3rd great grandparents for whom I don't have names plus two 3rd great grandmothers whose names I don't know, so I'm “missing” 6 of the 32 great-great-great grandparents. For the other 26 of the 32, I have documentation that firmly links them to their children. It has been an interesting and enlightening task.



Beyond the sixth generation, there are definitely some “weak links” in the connections between generations. But there are a few lines that I've traced back to the immigrant ancestor and have the documentation for each generation. Others are mostly wishful thinking!



It wasn't all work and no play during the five days at Green River. I did manage to get out a bit. No major hikes, but I did do a little walking. The legs seem to be doing quite well with the medication I'm taking as long as I don't overdo it. Hopefully they will continue to get stronger.





The road leading up to Canyonlands National Park.



At the top of the plateau, looking down on the highway. I didn't go much further, in fact I didn't even get into Canyonlands. Last years visit didn't do much for me and I had only a few hours of daylight left on this day (May 15th). The best thing about my visit there last year was the sunset at Horsethief Campground and seeing my new friend Hunter again.





Desiring to see a little more “green” in the landscape I headed back down the mountain and toward Moab. Turning off on Utah highway 128 on the north edge of Moab, I followed the highway which followed the Colorado River much of the way back to I-70.





The La Sal Mountains in the distance with the Colorado River in the foreground. It was a wonderful drive. All photographs were taken on May 15th.

Autumn on Hollow Rock Creek

Lately the weather has been really cloudy and rainy, which generally doesn't make for very good landscape images... unless, of course, you head into the woods in which case overcast skies are a good thing! These images were captured along Hollow Rock Creek, along some areas with some interesting small waterfalls and fascinating rocks (notice the red lines in the rocks on the image below).



(Below: Autumn forest on the banks of Hollow Rock Creek)

For those that wonder..

what I do with all the stuff.....couple times a year I sell some of it. If you live in the US,have asize 45 or 12 foot, ice climbor wear a XL jacket there are some great deals.



http://cascadeclimbers.com/forum/ubbthreads.php/topics/1030762/Re_Mega_gear_sale#Post1030762

Still raining

The only problems with all this rain... a dirty dog and a grassy garden.

Oh yeah, and the yard can't be mowed because it hasn't dried out yet.

But I'm not complaining.

There won't be any such thing as "too much rain" for quite a while - we're still something like 20 inches below normal rainfall for the year.

DROVES Diaries I: Que Sera Sera

One of these does not belong...



That thought runs through my mind as I look at the others, scattered around the rustic living room, drinking wine and beer by the dim cabin light. Outside it is pitch black, and alarmingly noisy - the sound of heavy rain hitting the metal roof. The forecast says it will be the same over the next three days: The storm is circling in place, "tornado-like." No one talks about this out loud.



We are in Vermont for Memorial Day weekend. The group includes the Ride Studio Cafe endurance team (Matt Roy, David Wilcox and John Bayley), cyclocross racer Mo Bruno Roy, Dominique and Christine - two French Canadian women who specialise in hill climb races, randonneuring superstars Jake Kassen and Emily O'Brien, 1200K legend Ted Lapinski, and of coursePamela Blalock. A couple of others cancelled due to weather.





DROVES stands for Dirt Roads Of Vermont Epic Sojourn - an eventhosted by the Blayleys,now in its fourth year. They rent a cabin near Burke, VT and invite friends for 3 days of riding beautiful, steep dirt roads. For some DROVES is a training camp before the string of summer's competitive events. For others it is a mini-vacation. As for me, I had no expectations. I could use a weekend away, that's all. When I asked Pamela if she thought I could handle the routes, I got the honest answer "I don't know" - followed up with "...but you're welcome to find out!" So I tagged along, bringing the bike "with the lowest gears" per Pamela's emphatic advice.



As the weekend approached, it became obvious that the forecast was dire. Not just a regular sort of dire, but exceptionally, obscenely, laughably dire: temperatures in the 40s and heavy rain for the entire weekend. Following the weather with morbid curiosity, I packed my winter gear.





Earlier in the afternoon...



I wait for John and Pamela on the curb outside my house. Bags in one hand, front fender in the other, bike propped up against the fence. It is a humid 70° in Somerville, the kind that makes it feel like 90°. Sweat trickles down my forehead. Finally the black Honda Fit approaches. Like a 4-year old, I jump up and down with anticipation as it rolls down the street, almost in slow motion, a tandem perched upon its roof majestically, along with a cluster of other bikes in various states of assembly. The neighbours line up to watch. Whatever is happening here, it looks important. By the time my bike is hoisted onto the roof rack, we are all drenched in sweat.



An hour into the drive, we stop for fuel and feel a drastic temperature drop. Half hour later, the skies opened up. We continue north, under increasingly heavy rain and a blanket of black clouds. Pamela drives. John entertains us with stories of cycling in Ireland and his early custom bikes. Studiously we ignore the topic of weather. In the distance I begin to see hints of mountains, shrouded in thick fog. The view looks like lumpy pea soup.



We turn onto the private dirt road not long after 7pm, but it might as well be midnight. I can vaguely see the outlines of a cabin, a tractor, and a pile of logs in a field. Everything else fades to black. Running from the car to the front porch, my teeth chatter. It is freezing. There is non-stop thunder.





But inside is a different world...



As I crack open the door, I am overwhelmed by the burst of orange - the interior is all wooden planks and beams, aglow from the light of many small lamps. An electric heater is blasting. There are couches and quilts and a heavy large table and a cozy kitchenette. A winding staircase leads upstairs.



A tall man rises from the couch, who I learn is Ted. He reminds me of someone, but not, as the other ladies start to tell him, of "that actor from The English Patient." Ted is quiet, but with a heavy, deliberate presence to him, like one of those salt of the earth male Twin Peaks characters. Within moments he and John Bayley remove all the bikes from the car roof and bring them indoors in one fell swoop. Then they shake hands and open some beers.





By the kitchen counter, two exquisitely fit women -Christine and Dominique - are opening a bottle of wine. "Ah Pamela!" they exclaim, with that charming Quebec intonation that stresses the last syllable in every sentence. Later they ask where I'm from. I am the new kid here, the object of curiosity, and a little out of my element. But at that point we have all had a drink and the story of my origins makes more sense than usually. Mo Bruno-Roy relates to my mess of an accent. She herself can sound Canadian prairie one minute, Nawth Shoah the next. She demonstrates back and forth for our amusement.



David Wilcox is keeping busy in the background. Minutes later he produces a tray of steamed potatoes and asparagus from the oven. The room is warm, garlicky. More wine is opened. No one talks about bikes, or the weather.





The bikes are everywhere though; everyone seems to have brought at least one. Soon Jake and Emily arrive and bring more. My bike is propped against the side of the staircase. I park myself on the rug beside it to re-attach the front fender. "Look, she is eager to ride!" someone teases me.



The evening is warm and familiar and endless. With a cup of tea, I sit across the couch from the Canadian hill climbers. Dominique is a brunette with a serene facial expression. Christine is blond and animated. They are about the same height. There is a ying-yang symmetry to them that is mesmerising. "Why do you climb Mt. Washington?" I ask, innocent that I am. Taking turns, they recount the history of them doing the race, which includes the story of how they met Pamela. But they don't say what compels them to do it.





This is the most relaxed evening I've had in ages...





Just when it seems to be nearing bed time, Matt Roy arrives, dripping wet. He is carrying boxes of components, a bag of tools and a work stand. The RSC Endurance Team has recently snagged a sponsorship deal (Seven Cycles, SRAM, Rapha, Zipp and Clement), which would equip the three riders with bikes for long distance mixed terrain racing. John Bayley's frame had just been welded earlier in the day. They'd dragged it up to Vermont and now planned to build it up.



At around 10pm, they set up the stand in the kitchen.I make endless cups of tea and look on with fascination. An eccentric bottom bracket. Road levers for hydraulic disc brakes. 700X40mm tires. Everyone gathers to watch and ask questions, drunk on the exoticism of the strange machine.



The rain beats against the metal roof like a chorus of tribal drums. I resist imagining the condition of the dirt roads. But then no one seems intent on forcing me to ride. Not only that, but by the group's demeanor it isn't clear whether they plan to ride themselves. Perhaps there is an unspoken agreement to write the weekend off and spend it indoors - drinking, catching up with friends and building bikes? It does not feel right to ask.



Finally I see Pamela at the far end of the room, producing her laptop and GPS unit. I walk over, and, feeling as if I'm vocalising the unspeakable, ask whether she plans to ride tomorrow. She says "Let's play it by ear and see how it goes?" - a stunning pronouncement coming from her. She shows me the updated forecast, which now threatens temperatures in the 30s, floods, and - my eyes can hardly believe it - chances of snow.





The original plan had been to set off at 8am and ride either a 90 mile or a 60 mile loop. The new plan is to sleep in and see what the road conditions are, come mid-morning. Walking upstairs, I can hear the clinks of wine glasses below, complemented by rolls of thunder and the sound of rain outside.

Chicken and Couscous Salad

One of my resolutions for .. is to cook more from Cooking Light magazine.

Earlier this month, Marsha over at Hot Water Bath wrote about her "rigorous aesthetic," which reminded me that I need to be more rigorous with my resolutions.

I was hungry and only took one photo. The picture didn't turn out quite as well as the meal did.




Sometimes I cook like this and sometimes my aesthetic isn't quite so rigorous. And sometimes I manage to trick my husband into cooking.

The Chicken and Couscous Salad is wonderful, and somehow manages to be light and filling at the same time.

The wonderful people at Cooking Light gave me permission to share the recipe. After clicking here, enter the code word "cheesecake" in the newstand buyers' section. You'll be able to read the salad recipe, as well as have access to the whole web site through the first of June.

Thanks Cooking Light! I love it when great products turn out to be made by nice people.

I've never made anything from Cooking Light that I disliked. I should probably qualify that to add "when I follow the directions".

The other salad in the picture is Garden Salad with Citrus Vinaigrette.

Mt. Baker

The other guys had to head home after Shuksan, but Dave and Doug stayed to climb Baker the next day. As the forest thinned out, we came to a staircase of flat rocks.





We see a lot of awesome flowers on our climbs.





Sulfur gas and clouds high on Baker. We climbed the Easton Glacier.





An icefall area low on the Easton.




Baker is known for it's numerous huge crevasses!






Dave taking in the view.



Climbers on the edge of Sherman Crater. Sulfur gas is rising behind them.







Sherman Crater as seen from the summit.







Sulfur gas is constantly hissing out of fumaroles in Sherman Crater.













Dave and Doug on the summit.







Doug looking down at the Easton and Deming Glaciers.

Friends

Stormy and the dogs are friends.See more photos of the dogs at my other blog - the puppy tale - at blogspot.com (for some reason the link refused to come up here. It is in the labels below)

Gunks Routes: Blistered Toe (Direct 5.9+) & Double Crack (5.8)

(Photo: Gail getting started on Higher Stannard (5.9-).)



A pattern has started to develop.



I go to the Gunks.



I pick a 5.10 to try.



I struggle.



I back off of that 5.10 and do something else.



At the beginning of July this was what happened when I decided to try Simple Stuff (5.10a) with Gail. It was a super-hot, miserable day. We had planned on just doing a half day and had started early to beat the heat, doing the first pitch of Higher Stannard (5.9-) at 6:30 a.m.



I really enjoyed doing Higher Stannard again. It was one of my favorites last year and it was just as good the second time around. It was a little stiff for a warm-up but I cruised through the thin crux, feeling strong. It seemed like a good omen.



Then we trooped on down the cliff to Simple Stuff.



It is an unusual climb for the Gunks. It is no jug-haul, but rather features a sustained stemming corner. It is one of those climbs people mention as a good early 5.10, I think because there is pro available in the corner almost the whole way to the chains. Others, however, think it is a bad choice for an early 5.10 because it is sustained, and because people have gotten hurt when they have fallen in the initial moves, cracking ankles before getting established in the corner.






(Photo: The overhanging corner ascended by Simple Stuff (5.10a).)



I didn't get very far. Climbing up to the first difficult moves, I was very careful to place pro often. I got through a hard move and found the position very pumpy. I had a solid nut but I wanted to place something higher up before committing to the next bit. Unfortunately I could not get anything I had real confidence in. I tried getting another nut but I couldn't make it stick. Then I tried a small C3, eventually working it into a crack but not feeling really happy about it. By this point I had worn myself out and took a hang. The C3 creaked a bit, which was disconcerting. I did not relish the thought of taking a fall onto it.



It was suddenly so hot outside. I was drenched with sweat. This climb was just beginning and I was already struggling, climbing scared, very tentative. I wasn't at all sure I was ready for this.



I decided this wasn't my time for Simple Stuff. I left the bomber nut as insurance and downclimbed to the ground.






(Photo: Happy to have finally cleared the bulge on Blistered Toe Direct (5.9+).)



Still hoping to wring some progress from the day, I suggested to Gail that we do the nearby Blistered Toe Direct, a climb which had defeated me last year. I had tried it with Parker, making the first hard move up to the horizontal. But I hadn't found a way to get over the bulge that completes the direct start.



This time I hoped to get it done. And eventually I did. But not without a few false starts.



Depending on your height, the direct start has either one or two hard moves. If you are short like me, it is a challenge just to step up onto the wall and reach a good crimp that will allow you to reach up to the good horizontal. If you are tall, I envy you because you can just reach the crimp or maybe even the horizontal from the ground. Whether you are tall or short, you can protect the first move with a great nut placed over your head from the ground. (Clip it short by just placing a single biner on the nut.) Then you can get a good cam once you reach the horizontal.



The next move is what still gave me trouble. A pebbly ball of rock looks good but is very hard to use effectively. I struggled with it a couple of times before a little advice from Gail on turning my body and getting my feet up got me to the breakthrough.



Finally! I could put this 5.9+ in the bank. Next time I hope it will seem easy.



This direct start is a worthwhile little puzzle, I think, and the payoff is that the rest of the first pitch of Blistered Toe is awesome. It isn't a long pitch but it is steep and fun, with some nice layback moves and reaches up a natural line to a ledge with a bolted anchor off to the left. Considered without the direct start, Blistered Toe is one of the better 5.7 climbs in the Trapps, I'd say. And the direct start makes it even better. It is an under-appreciated small gem.



After we were done with Blistered Toe, Gail suggested Double Crack, a climb I had led once back in . I thought it was great back then and nothing about my experience in changed my opinion. Back in the day people would do a belay at a small ledge part of the way up the cliff but nowadays most everyone does the climb as one sustained 150 foot pitch. The hardest part comes early, in the first 20 feet, but even though the angle thereafter eases off a touch, it remains steep and consistent the whole way to the finish. Classic Gunks-style climbing, with overhanging reaches between good holds.



I wouldn't recommend Double Crack when it is nearly 100 degrees out, however. It seemed to go on and on. At one point Gail told me that I was glistening in the sun, I was sweating so much. I think I lost several pounds of water weight on this climb.



As we left the cliff I questioned whether we really should have come out at all. Climbing in the miserable heat can get you down. After just half a day I was exhausted and happy to call it quits.

Rose Crème Brûlée

Rose Crème Brûlée, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

After seeing a recipe for rose-flavored crème brûlée on Dessert First's blog, I decided to try the recipe with my French friend.

It ended up turning out wonderful. The vanilla cream was marked by the floral, spicy flavor of roses. Delicious.

How good is Yangshuo?

When a Bike Is Not for You, What to Do?

Regardless of how much time we put into looking for a new bike, how much research we do, how many reviews we read, and even how wonderful the bicycle seems during a test ride, sometimes it happens: We buy a bike that isn't right for us. Perhaps the handling ends up not being to our liking. Or perhaps the bike is too heavy, too aggressive, not aggressive enough... There can be so many reasons. And often, those reasons only become apparent after we get into the swing of using the bike.



And so there we are: As far as resale value goes, our new bicycle is now a used bicycle. And we feel excruciatingly guilty for having made the wrong choice.



Once we realise that the bicycle we so longed for is not all we had hoped, the question is: what to do next? We may try to deal with the situation by continuing to ride the bike even if we are not entirely happy with it, hoping that over time we'll get used to it. We might make modifications to the bike, in attempts to get it to handle how we want it to handle. Or we could admit defeat and sell it. Some of us tried the first two approaches, before ultimately deciding to sell. Others just cannot bear to sell the bike - either because of the monetary loss they will incur, or because of sentimental attachment.



It's a tough call which decision is best. It took me a while before I could bring myself to sell my Pashley, while an acquaintance sold her Batavus just a month after buying it. "Mama Vee" of Suburban Bike Mama has been struggling with her Sorte Jernhest cargo trike for nearly two years now and is still torn over what to do (in fact, she has just issued an exasperated plea for help, so perhaps someone can advise her!).



Not counting myself, I know of about half a dozen ladies in the blogosphere who either have recently sold, or are considering selling the bicycle that was supposed to be their "dream bike." We did everything right and the bike seemed like the perfect choice at the time. And yet it wasn't. If you've ever been in this situation, how did you deal with it and what was your ultimate decision?

Thunderstorm over Wooly's Bluff

Taken last night at the end of the Arrowhead Trail at McFarland Lake. We were hoping for clear skies to try some star trail photography over the lake, but with the forecast calling for rain we knew it wasn't a good chance of clear skies. On the other hand, we knew that with the forecast being what it was there was a possibility of seeing some lightning if the thunderstorms that were forecast arrived early enough. Sure enough, not long after we arrived at the lake it was very cloudy and we saw some lightning flashes across the lake. Before long we were seeing lightning bolts coming down on the far shore. It made for a fun show for about an hour, then the rain came and we had to pack up our gear.