Chris ran the Waldo 100K yesterday. It was more than 100K; you’ll have to ask him about it.
The kids and I supported him, but only a little. We really just wanted to get out of town and go swimming in a beautiful mountain lake. We succeeded.
Chris ran the Waldo 100K yesterday. It was more than 100K; you’ll have to ask him about it.
The kids and I supported him, but only a little. We really just wanted to get out of town and go swimming in a beautiful mountain lake. We succeeded.
Each year, ODOT, the Oregon Department of Transportation, plows through the snow to open up McKenzie Pass to summer traffic. For some short number of days after it’s completely plowed, the snow gates remain closed, making the Scenic Highway an RV-free paved path through the mountains—perfect for bicyclists.
My friend Leslie has been my biking companion every time I’ve made it to the summit from the west side (Chris and I tried it at least one year before the road was completely plowed, and, after slogging through some snow, we realized that we should turn around). Last time, Leslie and I looked at each other and said, “We could go farther, maybe all the way to Sisters. And there are donuts in Sisters…”
So, appropriately enough, on National Donut Day, as I later learned, Leslie and I biked to McKenzie Pass, then cruised 15 miles down the east side into Sisters for a donut and a coffee. We enjoyed our caffeine and calories in rocking chairs on the porch of the charmingly Western, surprisingly Christian Sisters Coffee Company (the donuts came from the not-to-miss Sisters Bakery, whose donuts are always superbly fresh and whose pies look tart and delicious).
After our quick “lunch,” we headed back uphill through the open, butterscotch and ceanothus-scented ponderosa pine forest that led to the higher, mixed coniferous forest before giving way to basalt and snow at the Pass.
After some serious braking down the steep, west, roller coaster side, we re-entered the vine maple and Douglas fir of the wet side and found the van almost too soon. We didn’t hit any deer on the way down, unlike the man we talked to at the Pass who was helicoptered out of this ride a few years ago for doing just that (!).
Leslie didn’t know it earlier today, but she just instigated my longest day on a bike, 54 miles with 4000 feet of elevation gain. But who wouldn’t do that for donuts?
I’ve started my volcano habit early this year, specifically my Diamond Peak habit. I’ve hoped to ski down Diamond Peak for a few years, and yesterday was my day. The weather report said 70 and sunny in town, which boded well for a bluebird day in the mountains.
Seven years ago (!), Chris and I backpacked into Diamond Rockpile, at the south end of Diamond Peak, with him carrying most of the gear and me carrying my belly with a 25-week-old Sylvan inside (photo available here). The following morning, we snowshoed up the south end on a route I’ve taken a few times since, but always when the snow has melted. The route that day was wind-scoured and scary. I was apprehensive about: climbing a mountain with a bean inside me; ever being able to climb a mountain again; and the mostly-melted-out summit ridge, which looked hairy and difficult. We stopped and turned around at that south, false summit seven years ago. Yesterday the summit ridge was a highway, wide and accommodating of the 21 total people we saw on the mountain:
My climbing buddy, Wayne, and I left Pleasant Hill at 6:30 a.m., and, after a short hike from the car up a road not quite passable yet due to snow, we were stepping into our skis around 9 a.m. We started near the Pioneer Gulch trail, but to avoid the walk on snowless trail we walked up the road a little higher into an old clearcut, perfect for finding more snow. After some route-finding for complete snow passages through manzanita and small Doug firs, we got high enough to find more snow, and we were on our way uphill, 4000 feet in four miles.
A prominent west ridge at the south end of Diamond Peak was our, and everyone else’s, route. Climbing skins and climbing wires on my bindings made the climb possible. I did take off my skis for some very steep, 3-4 foot steps that I just didn’t feel confident negotiating with skis on. There was also some rime ice at about 8000 feet for which I de-skied in order not to slide too far down the mountain.
We climbed steadily, and, when we popped out on the south summit, we both agreed that the south slope looked like nice, mellow skiing compared to the steeper bowls, which sounded a little icy at the top whenever anyone skied down them. We skied the summit ridge easily, since it was wide and inviting, staying away from the corniced east side. In no time, we were on the summit, eating cheese and snapping pictures.
And then it was time for the glorious ski down. Nice softened snow, skiing in a T-shirt, perfect slopes, “adventure” skiing through the trees lower down. Highly recommended.
If I ride my Xtracycle, with Burley trailer attached, to the soccer game—instead of, heaven forbid, my nonexistent mini-van—am I still considered a Soccer Mom? (I hate that term nearly as much as I hate Playdate. Ick.)
Sylvan’s first soccer game:
And did they win? This league doesn’t keep score for the 6-10-year-olds. But the boys knew—or at least they had an exaggerated score of something like 11-2. Who won? It’s more fun learning to dribble.
A photographic list:
It’s almost Christmas in Oregon, which means it’s time to go cut a Christmas tree!
It hasn’t snowed in the mountains for weeks, but it has been nice and cold, so I figured there would still be some snow for sledding. We decided to gather some friends and make a day of it.
We cut the tree first, while we had lots of energy. Since there was only about six inches of packed snow on the ground, we were able to walk into the woods after the tree in our regular snow boots. Much easier than snowshoes!
It took us a little while to find a tree that was short enough and full enough to make a good Christmas tree. Wild-grown trees are necessarily a little Charlie Brown-ish, but they always look great with lots of lights and ornaments on them.
The kids practiced their saw safety:
Cries of “Timber!” rang through the woods, and we heaved and pulled the monstrous beast back to the van.
And then it was time for:
The kids loved the hard, fast snow. They are fearless. I, on the other hand, got jounced around hard enough that two runs was enough for me. I was happy to be the designated photographer.
After a peaceful ride home (Sylvan read aloud to himself from chapter books during the whole ride there and back), we took a quick break to go down the street and watch a little Thomas the Tank Engine with Señor Cupcake…
… followed by putting up the tree!
I do wonder sometimes. I mean, southwestern Massachusetts is really beautiful. And northeastern Vermont? Ha-cha-cha! And then I’d see those people I miss so desperately this time of year much more often.
But then there’s my lovely home’s Walk Score of 77%, which falls into the “Very Walkable” category. It’s true. I love not having to get in the car to pick up milk, or go to the library, or pick up my son at Kindergarten, or go to rehearsal. I also think I owe it to my kids to show them a life spent biking and walking.
This video, though, will show you EXACTLY why I choose to live all the way across the country.
[A post from the past. Explanation here.]
19 May 2010. Sylvan, age 4 2/3, and Julie, a bit older:
Julie: “That donut looks so good. What’s it filled with?”
Sylvan (clearly not wanting to share; deadpan delivery): “Ticks.”
We got off to a slow start, but the day picked up, with a hike in the afternoon followed by an evening birthday party at Skateworld!
When we started off on the Spencer Butte trail—a one-mile trail to the top of a mountain south of Eugene with fantastic views of the city—a forest fairy played a panflute somewhere in the woods above us. We never saw our musician (perhaps because, as Chris noted, when forest fairies stand still, they camouflage themselves as trees), but her notes wafting through the yellow leaves added a general magic to our hike. Elena searched for forest fairies in any likely hollowed log or hole in the ground on the way up.
Both kids reached the top with no (very little?) whining. I’ve been avoiding taking both kids up here alone, because I didn’t want to have a whiney melt-down (or deal with the kids having one), but they were both troopers. Skittles helped (four each on the way up, two on the way down).
After a quick hike down, which included a troll under a bridge (Sylvan the troll chasing some college girls [wouldn’t you have thought I’d have at least another six years before that happened?]), a family of five hiking with seventeen dogs (okay, seven), and a feral chicken, it was on to Skateworld! Okay, Tecnu showers and then Skateworld!
Lots of skating fun! Rachael’s skate mix was superb, and included Stevie Wonder’s Superstitious, Summer Lovin’ from Grease, Barry Manilow’s Copacabana (which is somehow inexplicably linked to Carvel ice cream with rainbow sprinkles in my brain), the Gambler, and Take Me Home, Country Roads. Passing on roller skating to another generation! Sylvan’s going again on Friday with the other school-age children who don’t have school on account of my Mom’s birthday (don’t tell her it’s Veteran’s Day; she knows everything shuts down for her birthday).