Where's that confounded trail?

Yesterday was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day here in the US of A. I did take the opportunity to talk to my daughter a little bit about the civil rights movement, but I didn't do a good job of explaining how we're supposed to celebrate the holiday. I did, however, get out for a nice winter hike in the mountains.

Last year I went snowshoeing with a coworker on the Long's Peak Trail in the RMNP. We kept it fairly short, just going up to treeline and back. I decided that I wanted to go back and see more of the trail, so yesterday I set out for Chasm Lake.

The weather was pretty good, being neither too windy nor too cold, but it was overcast with a light snowfall. Visibility was very poor. There was plenty of snow on the trail, but it was packed down pretty hard, so I left my snowshoes in the truck and strapped on my new MICROspikes - a kind of light-duty crampon.

They worked very well on the trail, providing plenty of traction without the added weight or bulk of snowshoes. The pictures above were taken at the end of the hike. I didn't experience any accumulation of snow on the spikes.

The trail was pretty quiet on Monday. I only saw two people while I was out there, though there was evidence of a third. I stopped and chatted for a while with the couple I saw. This was at the point where the winter trail splits off from the main trail to follow a stream uphill to treeline. From there I followed the main trail.

The funny thing about hiking in the snow is that, once beyond treeline, it becomes exceedingly difficult to tell where the trail is. I strayed from the path a number of times, finding myself in snow that wasn't packed as solidly. Without snowshoes, my feet were stove-piping in drifts that came up to my hips.

Thigh-deep in snow

Without the ability to see the landmarks that would unfailingly take me to Chasm Lake, I eventually decided to turn around. You'd think that backtracking would be a simple matter of following my own footprints the way I came, but because of the falling snow, wind, and hard-packed surface, I managed to lose myself in the drifts. Once again, my topo map and compass came in handy and I rejoined the trail just south of the junction with the Battle Mountain trail.

Back on the trail near Battle Mountain

I got a new phone recently, and one of the things I forgot to do was re-cache the maps for this area. So while GPS was tracking my route, it was overlaid on a featureless gray grid. Not very helpful except in retrospect, though I could have used the route line to get myself back on track.


View 1/16/12 9:29 AM in a larger map

Once I got back to the parking lot, I got a decent view of Twin Sisters where I'd gone hiking a couple of weeks ago.

View of Twin Sisters from the Long's Peak parking lot

I'm going to try the Chasm Lake trail again some time soon. Hopefully next time I'll be better prepared, and maybe have better weather as well.

Something I Have to Do

It was probably about 7 years ago that I visited Lily Lake near Estes Park, Colorado. Some of my family were in town visiting. We hadn't planned it - it was just a spur of the moment stop on our way to the Rocky Mountain National Park. My young niece rode on my back part of the time while singing an improvised a song to the clouds above us. It was a really pleasant discovery.

Directly across the road from Lily Lake I saw a sign for the Twin Sisters trail head. And while the memory of that trail has been nagging at the back of my mind ever since, I somehow had never made it back to see what it had to offer. Last Friday I took advantage of a day off work to remedy that.

I didn't know what to expect as far as trail conditions go. There has been some snow this year, but not very much. So I brought my snowshoes, just in case they were necessary. It was pretty windy at the parking lot, but otherwise the weather was nice - temperatures were in the 40s and it was mostly sunny. There was snow on most of the trail, but it was packed down pretty solid in most places. I ended up using the snowshoes part of the time, and the rest of the time, I just hiked.

The first couple of miles of Twin Sisters Trail is much like any other trail through lodgepole pine forest, traversing hillsides and switching back and forth up the mountains. Occasionally the view opens up and you can see Longs Peak to the West.

I wore my snowshoes for the first stretch of the trail, but as I approached treeline, the wind had scoured the snow and there were too many exposed rocks to proceed with them on. So I unbound the snowshoes and strapped them to my backpack.

The wind got progressively worse as I gained elevation. The first pair of fellow hikers I encountered told me that it was even stronger up on top of the mountain. I didn't doubt but that what they said was true. And it was looking like some dark clouds were trying to blow in, but I pressed on anyway, unwilling to turn back without a really good reason.

When I got above treeline, my persistence was rewarded by an amazing view of the Indian Peaks, Estes Lake, and the plains beyond the mountains to the east. But the wind was so strong I was nearly blown - nay, shoved - off the trail several times. It was frequently necessary to crouch down until the gusts subsided enough to continue to the top.

On my way up the trail, I thought of little more than the physical effort required to make it up the mountain. It was, after all, my first strenuous hike in ages, and at a higher elevation than I've been accustomed to lately. But on the way back down, the going was much easier, which afforded me the ability to let my thoughts wander. These kinds of moments of solitude are what the outdoors are all about for me.

One curious thought that came into my mind was that This - going out alone into nature to physically exert myself - is something that I have to do. Something that is as essential to my life as an artist's need to create, a scholar's need to learn, or a child's need to play. I've spent much time since then pondering what it means, exactly. Maybe it's strictly aesthetic. Maybe it's just playing, in my kinda-grown-up way. Maybe it's a way of recovering some piece of identity that is buried under other obligations when I'm at home or work. I don't know.

What I do know is that I need more of it. And maybe in time it will become more clear to me why it's so necessary. And hopefully I can pass on its importance to my kids. The beautiful things in this world will endure only so long as there are people around who love them and are willing to make them a priority in life.

Vegging Out in NYC: Gobo

It isn't the kind of place I want to live, but I love visiting New York. Running beside the river around the southern perimeter of Manhattan is a nice change of scenery.

Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges at sunrise

And of course, there is a great selection of vegan restaurants.

Earlier this month, on my most recent visit there, I was disappointed to find Bonobo's closed. I'd eaten there before, and it was an excellent vegan fast food joint. I went with some coworkers to have dinner at Blossom, which is deservedly one of the most famous vegan restaurants in the city. That was a very fine meal indeed. But I was most delighted to have an equally wonderful meal one night when I went out alone one evening to Gobo.

Should read: "food for the five senses"

I found Gobo on Google Maps, and it sounded pretty good, but I'd never heard of it before. It turns out that I couldn't have picked a better place.

Multi-grain bread with pumpkin puree

The complimentary appetizer was multi-grain bread with what looked like hummus, but I think was a pumpkin puree. At any rate, it tasted good, and it was a step above what I would have expected.

Tofu rolls with mango puree

I also ordered the "five spice tofu rolls with mango puree" from the appetizer menu - also recommendable.

Yam fries

The side of yam fries was enormous. They were cooked with a crispy batter on the outside, and the insides were perfectly soft and melty. The homemade ketchup was great, with kind of a sweet-and-sour sauce taste to it. I ate over half of the fries, but I eventually had the waiter take them away to save me from my uncontrollable urge to eat them all. They were definitely the most fattening thing I ate there.

Butternut squash risotto

My main course was the butternut squash risotto with toasted almonds. It was delicious. After dinner, I had a nice cup of chai.

And to make a great meal even better, the service was excellent and prices were quite reasonable. I think this meal was under $40 before tip.

The lady at the table next to mine, when she saw me taking pictures of everything, said "Is this going to be a meal to remember?" My reply was, "You never know." But I think it really was, and I look forward to eating there again on my next visit to NYC. The only thing that could make it better would be to enjoy the meal with family or friends.

In Soviet Russia, the trail hits you!

There's a light at the end of the tunnel. Just go toward the light.

The tunnel in question is an unlit pedestrian underpass, just east of 128th and Holly, 2 miles along one of my regular running routes. There is a faint glow at the other end, showing me where I need to go. All that can be seen inside the tunnel is the reflection of that dim light on the water - or ice, as the case may be - that has accumulated on the floor of the passage.

So I always just run through, keeping an eye on the frozen sheen before me, expecting that one of these days I'm going to misstep and hit the concrete. Still, I was taken by surprise this cold and foggy morning when I hit the ground. And it wasn't the ice that got me, but a shopping cart.

Seriously.

Someone had left a shopping cart in the middle of the tunnel, hidden in the deep shadows, entirely invisible to eyes drawn to the light at the other end. So I ran right into it, knocked it down, and went over it and onto the concrete with a loud groan.

I picked myself up, righted the cart, and pushed it out of the tunnel as I took inventory of my several new aches and pains. I determined that there was no damage beyond a few minor scrapes and bruises. And I didn't want to blow my third week in a row of 35 running miles, so I continued on to finish up the ten-mile workout I'd been intending.

As I ran, I was tempted to wonder what kind of person would leave a damned shopping cart in the middle of a tunnel. But that line of questioning seemed pointless. I see them overturned in drainage ditches pretty often, presumably left by ne'er-do-wells who stole them from grocery store parking lots in the middle of the night to go careening down our suburban hills. It's very rare to see vagrants in these parts, so I can't imagine that they are being abandoned by the homeless as they upgrade to a new cart without so much wobble in the rear left wheel.

So instead of pursuing the question of who would do such a thing, I started wondering how much abuse my body can take. I'm 34 years old, which is not elderly by any stretch of the imagination, but I don't have much left of the resilience of youth in my frame. Last year's running season was brought to a premature end by knee pain. Recently, my right hip has been expressing complaints resulting from over-tight tendons or under-developed muscles. One of these days my luck will surely run out and I'll suffer a broken something-or-other when I take one of these spills while running or cycling.

But I've seen more bodies permanently broken from disuse than from being pushed too hard. From my viewpoint, it seems one retains physical faculties on a use-it-or-lose-it basis. So can I relent, taking it easier on my aging body in hopes of avoiding deterioration or damage that will manifest some day in the distant future? No, all I can do is keep going, try to use my body better and make it stronger. If I go fast enough, I'm pretty sure I'll be able to outrun old age.

A December Morning Run

4:30 alarm, five degrees.
balaclava, base layer, body heat.
it isn't so bad.

a fresh dusting of snow on the trail.
tracks of rabbits, foxes, coyotes,
none of dogs and their people.

stray scents from waking houses:
breakfasts cooking, laundry drying,
steamy soap from frosted shower windows.

cars idling in driveways, warming up.
exhaust offends heightened senses.
blinding headlights line up and begin their march.

how can I not feel grateful?
I'd rather wake at this hour to go running
than to go to work.

Thanksgiving Leftovers -> Cranberry Strudel

We didn't have that many leftovers from our Thanksgiving feast, so it isn't like I'd been agonizing over what to do with all of that cranberry pear sauce. But Saturday morning, I woke up inspired. In my half-wakeful state, an image of some phyllo dough we've had sitting in the freezer came unbidden to my mind. And with it, a resolution: "Today I will make cranberry strudel."

Ingredients for a cranberry strudel.

I sweetened the cranberry sauce with a little bit of honey (I know, I'm a bad vegan), and one of the strudels got some walnuts added. That one ended up tasting better, but my daughter doesn't like nuts, so I wanted to make one without.

About an hour later

The truth is, the idea was better than the outcome. I've never made a pastry of any kind before, so I'm not being too hard on myself. But there were a few issues (aside from the fact that the strudel split its side open in the oven).

• I'm not sure if butter would have behaved differently than the Earth Balance spread, but that's largely an academic question, since I will not eat butter.
  
  
• There was something missing. My taste buds say that it may be salt. Whatever was lacking, it's more pronounced in the pastry without walnuts.
• The sauce soaked into the phyllo too much, I think. The layers in the lower half of the strudel are indistinguishable - it's just cranberry-soaked dough.

Still, they turned out edible, and it was a good idea and a good experiment. If anyone has any tips for how to do better next time, I'd be happy to hear them.

Argentine Adventure, Part 4: Things to Do and See

I don't know why, but this post has been sitting in draft state for a really long time. I guess I feel like I'm leaving something out, but if I don't post it now, I probably never will.

This is the last post in the Argentine Adventure series, and it's about having fun instead of logistics and places to sleep. Both Buenos Aires and Rosario provided plenty of opportunities to explore and enjoy the culture we were there to experience.

Rosario

As previously mentioned, Rosario is a city which has played a major role in Argentine history. There is a huge monument down by the river commemorating the first raising of the Argentine flag. I passed by it a number of times, but C. and the kids got to give it a better look while I was at work.

Monumento a la Bandera, Rosario

M. and F. near Monumento a la Bandera

M. and F. near Monumento a la Bandera

Rosario also has lots of parks and plazas. The largest is the Parque de la Independencia. Though it was right across the street from where I was working, I only saw it from a distance. Again, my family explored it more thoroughly.

Much of my sight-seeing in Rosario was done while running in the mornings, or while walking to and from the office.

Taken while running down by the river.

We had dinner at a restaurant by the river one night with my coworkers. We discovered that one of these old warehouses was full of ramps and so forth for BMX bicycles. We stopped and watched the guys in there jumping and doing tricks.

My daily walking commute took me down Boulevard Nicasio Oroño.

Buenos Aires

Buenos Aires is a very big city with lots of cultural attractions. Just hanging out in Puerto Madero can prove to be pretty entertaining. On Sunday morning I got up to go for a run and came across an area being set up for a running event. I later discovered that one of the women at the office was there, and it was a charity run benefiting some kind of women's health cause. Later that morning, when we were heading out on the town, the Prefectura Naval were having a ceremony right in front of the hotel which included a parade of their marching band.

Parque Mujeres Argentinas, near our hotel in Buenos Aires had the biggest aloe vera plants I've ever seen.

M. and some really big Aloe plants.

On Sundays there is a huge street market in the San Telmo district. There are all kinds of vendors selling souvenirs, food, clothes, and just about everything else. We saw a few classical guitarists performing, and at one of the booths selling musical instruments, a spontaneous jam session broke out with drums, flutes, and shakers. It was awesome.

At the street market in San Telmo

Along Av. Paseo Colón

The day we left, I was working the first part of the day. While I was at the office, my wife and kids explored La Recoleta Cemetery - very apropos, considering it was Halloween.

La Recoleta Cemetery

La Recoleta Cemetery

Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA), a modern art museum, is celebrating its tenth anniversary this year. We met up there after I got done working. My daughter was especially taken with some of the optical art pieces.

MALBA was our last stop before heading to the airport. I was excited to be going home, but at the same time, I was a little sad that we couldn't stay a bit longer and see more of that wonderful city.