THE LONGER DAY PROJECT

1999 - THE PAST CONTINUES

2011-01-31T17:09:00.000-08:00

1999

The Curse of Ricardo and

Never underestimate the value of the ski patrol.

(Ski patrol at the top of the Bridger Lift. Bridger Bowl)

1999 was a special year for me.

A while back, I mentioned that I have been forced to believe in "suggestive coincidence" by a really lame past experience.

That lame past experience...

(Ricardo - Undated dumpster photo)

My good pal Ricardo and I were chugging up the Snow Ghost chairlift on the backside of Schweitzer, a northern Idaho ski resort.

It was February 13th, and I had just turned 21 years old. The big TWO-ONE! I was a man.

Finally being 21 was only made better by the fact that I was a part-time student at Montana State University and was working a part-time, nighttime dish washing job. "Why does any of this matter?" you might ask... It matters because I was 21 years old, worked 20 hours a week, went to school 6 hours a week and had 7 days a week to ski. My dream of all dreams had come true. I could ski everyday and still work towards my future. I was a ski bum with direction...

(1999 - Doug, Brian, Keith - Lone Peak Summit.)

(1999 - Ian Klepatar airs into the top of Z-Chute. The Ridge, Bridger Bowl)

So anyway...Back on the Schweitzer chairlift, Ricardo and I were talking "chair-talk," mumbling through our ski jackets about conditions and weather...the standard things two people converse about on a bumpy 15 minute ride up a mountain.

Somehow, the conversation veered into more dicey territory...we started talking about injuries and crashing and other negative, bad ju-ju chair talk. I remember not being especially happy with this...but perhaps only in retrospect.

So Ricardo turns to me and says, "Do you think you could break a knee?"

I didn't know.

We unloaded the chair, met up with the rest of our friends and skied the ridge over to a steep little forest, appropriately called "Siberia."

The five of us skied down the tight trees. The snow was good but a little sticky and wet, as it usually was at Schweitzer.

Halfway down, we lined up above a little roller, which is just a mound of snow that rolls smoothly over. Sometimes, these rollers make great natural jumps. One after the other, my friends shot down and jumped the roller and disappeared into the trees. Ricardo hit it and then stopped to watch me. I went last and that's where it happened....

10 minutes after Ricky asked if I could break a knee, I was lying in the snow... with a broken knee.

Coincidence or evil, black magic curse? Depends on who you ask.

When I landed, my skiis sunk in deep and stopped dead in the cement-like snow. I fell forward but my bindings didn't release and my leg snapped.

I was immediately pissed, not because I was hurt, but because I knew the moment it happened that my ski season was over.

I spent the next 40 minutes waiting for the ski patrol to find us, cursing and throwing my equipment around, trying to stand-up as if nothing was wrong. When the patrol did finally get to us, I spent another 40 minutes tied to a stretcher and dragged behind a snowmobile, engulfed in exhaust fumes, up and around to the main lodge.

Can you break a knee? Yes. Very easily, in fact.

Surgery cost around $15,000 and I was faced with the possibility that I would limp for the rest of my life. This turned my magical 21st year on the planet on it's head. Now, I could ski ZERO days a week, had to quit my job, couldn't go to the bar, and had to stumble around an icy campus on crutches.

Thanks Ricardo...for carrying the blame all these years.

I was broken and couch-ridden, playing hundreds of hours of Cool Boarders 3 (the finest snowboarding game ever made, btw) to pass the time, while my friends came home with ear to ear grins, covered in snow and exuding the kind of glee that comes from an epic pow day on the mountain.

Poor me.

What else happened in 1999?

Stu skied the Headwall.

Coldsmoke played the Filling Station.

Forrest jumped the big gap at Raidersberg.

Doug shot the Keithalope.

My little bro joined the USMC.

A gallon o f gas was 98 cents.

1997 - 1998 - MT - THE PAST DOESN'T SEEM REAL...SOMETIMES

2011-01-03T20:06:00.000-08:00

When I look back on life, it's easy to create a new story of how things really happened. The mountains were bigger, the snow was deeper, the friends were always there, when you needed them most. Every now and then, I feel a longing for those lost, golden years, when everything was perfect and new and exciting, when I was stronger and smarter, and was ready for anything.

Just a few days...

Sometime in the winter of 1997, Doug Lucas, Andrew Sheppard, Matt McCune, Tim Ohlson and I decided to make a not-so-well planned technical climb to the top of an unknown peak, deep in the Crazy Mountains.
I remember this trip as being my first very real, very life threatening, frozen alpine experience. We never made it to the top. Our naive experience was squashed by the sub-zero temperature and the flaky, ice covered rock wall that was supposed to hold our ice axes.

2

On the first day of summer, July 21st 1997, Doug Lucas and I made a trip to Grand Targhee Ski resort. The ski area was long closed, but the snow was still deep above 7000 feet. We hiked the 2 miles to the top of the ridge.

It was the deepest bluebird day with crystal clear views of the Grand Tetons. We skied the backcountry for two days, camping just below the summit.

The skiing was buttery perfection.

3

Sometime during the frosty fall of 1997, Keith (Turfmonger) Mortensen and I hiked to the rim of the Frazier Lake Bowl, just north of Sacajewa peak, in the Bridger Mountains.

In Montana, the late afternoon colors of November are simply fantastic.

On our way back down the mountian, the sun was setting behind Sacajewa peak. To date, this is still one of the most magical displays of natural color I have ever seen.

Thanksgiving 1997. Winter had began early by dumping 15 inches of the famed Montana Cold Smoke on top of an already solid base layer. Bridger Bowl ski resort was not open yet, but that only worked to our youthful advantage. It was cold and snowing heavily at 5am when Ian Klepetar, Ben Ramsbottom, a few others and I started the slow hike from the resort parking lot.

We hiked to the top of the "fingers", a terrain feature near the old south boundary. The snow was waist deep. Ian dug a avalanche pit and I believe we found the avalanche risk to be very high. We made chest deep face shot powder turns for hours.

5

Oh...give me a home...

Where the buffalo roam!

6

In the late 90's, Bozeman, Montana was still a just a cow town without a Home Depot. It didn't have a super Walmart or Starbucks. 19th avenue was still mostly bordered by farmland. 4-Corners was still just a bar and a gas station. That was already a lifetime ago, just before the madness of the boom time.

The summers were slow and endless. With nothing but time, my comrades and I would find simple things to do.

The Green Bridge, up stream from "Brad Pitt" rock, on the Gallatin River.

Working on our game.

401 College - The easy years.

For Spring Break in 1998, 7 dudes loaded 7 mountain bikes into my 1986 dodge ram van and headed for Moab, Utah. 7 days to recreate, rock climb and ride the beautiful slick rock.

Matt McCune, performing what I like to call, the "Impossible."

Doug Lucas on a 5.13-14ish...Along Moab Kane Creek Blvd.

While out riding on our 4th or 5th day, someone came into our campsite, went through every tent and every bag, stealing every last piece of climbing gear. Something like $10,000 worth. They left everything else. They even went into my tent, climbed over my $500 Marmot Dryloft sleeping bag and took the Carabiner that hung my candle lantern from the tent ceiling. Dedication.

There were also chocolate chip cookies involved.

A couple more...

Montana dreamin'

2010 - ID - MOTO BEER MAYHEM - 2nd Annual

2010-10-09T04:47:00.000-07:00

I love the earth and I respect the law.

So what follows may seem like a contradiction or, depending on your tendencies, outright hypocrisy. If I cared, I wouldn't post this.

Glad we got that out of the way.

AND SO IT WENT A LITTLE LIKE THIS...

The 2nd Annual Moto Beer Mayhem

2010 US tour - IDAHO

I've done a few things on this rock, and I've certainly had my share of deep-down-in-the-bucket bad times. And, when I think about those lowest of the low days, I usually end up also pondering the highest of highs... those moments in life that grow in value with every recollection. The good times. The good days. The best of days. That one amazing day. The one incredible minute. That one moment. That blink of an eye, when I was king of the world.

I can say with out a doubt, a large majority of those "blinks" were flashed to memory during some on-the-edge-of-life experience, shared with the closest friend or friends.

Something about clinging right on that edge, knowing you have a companion right there, feeling what you are feeling. It can't be explained any further.

I had another blink a couple weeks ago.

And I was honored to share it with these good people....

- The Moto Mayhem Maniacs -

Zambi was there for support, keeping the deadly Idaho squirrels at bay.

Sean (SOB) and I left Los Angeles for Idaho on a quiet Wednesday night. There is no better day to leave the big city than right in the middle of a work week. It just feels good - slipping by 10 million people who have to work the next day.

We'd hoped to leave sometime around 5:30, but there were the inevitable, last minute motorcycle issues. Sean's XR600 wouldn't run. After some hassles, we just tossed the dead horse on the trailer and said we'd fix it when we get there.

We left at 8pm and drove north, taking interstate 14 until it turns into hwy 395.

About 5 hours later, we passed Mammoth ski resort and sometime around 2am, pulled down a dark road and passed out.

We were up at 7 and making good time.

Through Nevada.

Into rainy Oregon.

Sean was kind enough to drive for a stretch, taking the wheel of the Dodge. Soon he was experiencing the Dodge's unique feel - An uncontrollable floating sensation also associated with mind altering drugs. You want to control the big beast, so you grip tighter and attempt to steer straighter, only to find yourself buzzing the rumble strips or dipping over the double yellows.

The dodge 2500 with a camper and towing a light trailer is not much, but for those first few miles, I swear you feel like you are dragging a mile long freight train on rubber tracks. Let go, Luke...

(The GPS, wrong again.)

Sean dragged the train north on hwy 95 and into Idaho. We rounded the final bend in a canyon and, on our right, we could see the edge of Boise in the distance. But it was off to our left where mother nature was brewing up some serious magic.

What usually follows a remarkable sunset is a remarkable hunger.

Sean and I stopped in Marsing, ID at Caba's Restaurant Lounge, hoping for some tasty burgers.

I immediately felt at home. There was the local drunk at the end of the bar, a burly firefighter, and a raspy barkeep making sure everyone was in line.

The bar kitchen was closed. Bummer.

But the barkeep had a solution and so we ordered a pizza from the bar next door. Why didn't we just go over there?

Sean challenged me to a game of shuffle board, bragging that he was king or queen of something or other.

Unfortunately for him, I won, making him jack.

I took the wheel again, and continued on through Boise and up hwy 55 in the dark, along the Payette river for the final 100 miles. This was the destination stretch, not to be confused with the home stretch.

We floated through space and time. I am not sure Sean and I made any meaningful conversation for the hour and a half of curving guardrails, dark voids, and glowing yellow center-lines. It was just too surreal and sketchy to discuss.

We blasted out of the canyon with a huge sigh, and 30 minutes later were greeted by Keith and Garrett.

We'd made it to McCall, Idaho. To the Garrett and Sonya Mapp residence. Keith was kind enough to save me the last swallow of Early Times. A celebratory ritual? It tasted like making out with a drunk...don't think too much on that.

It was now around 1am, leaving us with just 4 hours to catch up.

As is customary for reunions with this motley bunch, Beer was consumed at a rate greater than my ability to elaborate new sentences, and sometime around 5am, I stumbled into the camper.

The next morning, Sean made a valiant effort to fix his ailing xr600.

When a motorcycle doesn't run, there's a short list of culprits. We all agreed - It was obviously the Carburetor.

It wasn't. The spark plug wasn't sparking.

So we wiggled some wires, kicked the tires, drank a beer and decided that the 600 was officially a paper weight for the time-being.

Garrett's wife Sonya showed up with their daughter Lauren and her friend Clara.

They had flashlights and pinwheels for exploring. I tried to understand how pinwheels helped out, but they just looked at me like I was an idiot.

We left for the hills sometime around noon on Friday.

Gas, food and beer.

An hour later, the two trucks, towing 6 motorcycles, wound up the Warren Wagon Rd and disappeared into the Payatte National Forest.

Coffee.

And Whiskey? There was no open bottle-per-say, only a bad idea.

(The identity of the perp has been hidden to protect the innocent.)

We rattled down a dirt road for some miles and landed here.

We set up camp, unloaded the bikes and went for a quick ride into the mountains. A warm up.

It was on this ride that we ran into Brad, on his way to meet us. We told him to just keep going straight down the road, until you see the honda motorcycle leaning against a tree. That's your turn.

Brad is a curious gentleman.

He was a downhill ski racer growing up so I assume that's where he got the need for speed and insanity that is baked into his soul. And I guess that's why he thought riding dirt bikes would be fun. He'd never owned a dirt bike and was joining this bunch as a "first-timer." I was truly scared for him. It's a sport that seems so easy - floating over rocky, rutty, washed out, sandy, root-strewn terrain with little effort...until you make your first stupid mistake and fly over the handlebars at 30mph.

Weighing heavily on this was that the bike Bradley decided to purchase was a 1991 CR250. A two-stroke death machine. Uncontrollable, testy, wild, powerful, old.

Brad showed up with a Carhart jacket and pants, a full-face ski helmet and some work boots. As luck would have it, there was a moto-gear store in the back of the camper.

We got him suited up in proper protection, he hopped on the bike, kicked it over and we spanked the whiny steed as he spun off down the road. My fingers were crossed, heart was racing, and I had this lump in my throat telling me the weekend was about to come to an ambulance chasing end.

After 10 minutes, Brad came back. Smiling. Garrett and Keith told him, "sit up further on the seat. All the way to the front." That was the only advice given and he spun off again. We all fired up the bikes and were off on a ride.

Brad must have sold his soul to the devil, because on that first ride, I was following him as fast as I could go and he just pulled away. I had to slow down to ludicrous speed to avoid death and watched his dust trail disappear. Who is this guy? What did I just witness? Am I that horrible?

During the ride, we found a more suitable campsite. One that would suit our behavior a little better than the first site...far away from the 30 foot motorhome neighbors, who probably wouldn't have liked the rumble of dirtbikes at midnight drowning out their satellite TV.

This new spot was great. It was in the trees with a roundabout for the camper and trailer, gave us plenty of room to spread out and was sheltered from the wind.

So we got to cooking and making fires.

The nice thing about camping with this group is that everyone just does what needs to be done to get everything done. Which is great, because then I don't have to do anything.

Brad set about burning down the forest.

Sometime during this gasoline fueled inferno, his pact with the devil was revealed when the devil himself appeared to collect his soul.

(Brad and the Devil.)

Keith set about cooking up some AMAZING grub.

Brown and toasty french fries and the fattest, juiciest, tastiest burgers on record. Mark my words they were the best! You weren't there!

We ate and drank and told so many inappropriate stories.

It was soon time to recharge the brain. Sean Peace'd out.

...and Zambi kept my bed nice and warm.

Zambi also doesn't snore, which gives her two points up on Sean, who sounds like he's cutting down redwoods with a machine gun. I was tempted to shoot video proof, but thought to myself, "I shouldn't tell anyone. That'd be mean."

The next morning.

Coffee first.

What came next started as a fantastic idea.

Cheese filled bratwurst.

9 eggs.

and...What the hell is that?

We choked it down. Fuel is fuel and we had a long day ahead.

This was my mood 15 minutes after consumption.

The crew dressed for battle. Packing food, water, extra clothes, emergency supplies and the ever necessary spare clutch lever.

Garrett told me months before about this crazy single track trail that leads to a remote lake, where, in the early 50's, a USAF B-23 Dragon Bomber crash landed and slid into the woods and where the wreckage remains.

The bomber wreck was our destination today.

We headed out to the highway, crossed the road and jumped on the Loon Lake trail.

The first 5 miles or so were very fun, very fast double track. A perfect warm-up.

Then Keith took the lead for about 30 seconds and crashed on a muddy corner. He was on the ground in less than a second and back up a second later.

Keith broke his front brake lever completely off. Now, there are some people who can ride without a front brake, and they are in a different league and out of their minds. The front brake is used at least 90% when you're in the dirt. It's everything. Without it, you're just a sliding, skidding, out-of-control mess.

In my tool kit, I had put a clutch lever to my old 1984 XR500. Somehow... magically, irrationally, and after some filing with a multi-tool, the ancient Honda clutch lever actually fit and worked as a Yamaha brake lever. Problem solved...the day continues.

We reached Loon Lake without much more stress. This canyon is remote to say the least.

Heaven.

(Loon Lake. The Bomber lies 100 yards into the trees on the far left side.)

We chose to hike the East Shore route - around the left side of the lake.

About 20 minutes later we came across the wreckage, tucked back in the trees. A twisted heap of aluminum, two engines and one rubber tire in good shape.

It's hard to believe that all 8 crew members survived a belly landing on a lake. It's even harder to believe they then survived a suicide slide 150 feet through the trees which tore both wings clean off. Then they survived for 16 days. In the winter. Eating various rodents.

On the way back to the bikes, Brad and I took a dip in the frigid creek. My only bath for the 3 days. I smelled stagnantly fresh from there on.

After a long day of riding and complete physical exhaustion, the moto maniacs settled back to camp and cracked a cold one. It was time to relax and enjoy and remember on the amazing day....

But Brad wasn't satisfied...he had the bug...his soul was gone...and he HAD to ride again. I said, "no way." Keith said, "no way." Sean said, "no way." Garrett said, "Ok."

After watching them suit up, and against all better judgment in the waning light - I changed my mind. I came here to ride and it's just so fun.

So the three of us, promising to "take it easy," headed for Lookout Mountain.

Well, Garrett led the way and he did not "take it easy." And so, in a hell-bent, feverish rage, we raced to the top of the mountain without stopping. It was the most incredible ride in recent memory. Flying through the forest at maximum speed. 3rd gear....kick into 4th...the three of us, neck and neck, tire to tire, in-sync. Feeling the energy and excitement - man and machine in perfect harmony. This was my blink...I was king of the world.

Garrett would glance over his shoulder, see me right there and put the throttle down. I would glance over, see Brad on my tail and open it up. Yeah...chase me you crazy Devil. Catch me if you can.

We made it to the top in what had to be some sort of Payette National Forest record.

And so, feeling like we'd just done something bad, illegal or against reasonability. We snapped the cliche "bad dudes" photo.

(Brad - CR250 - Bad dude)

(Me - XR400 - Dirt Bag)

We spun the bikes back down to camp. We were laughing and smiling and drenched in adrenaline. Without much thought or consideration and in school-girl like glee, we said, "lets do it again."

So I grabbed the helmet cam and the three of us made a second go.

THE LOOKOUT TOWER RALLY - round 2

(Yes...the ride to the top - in its uncut entirety)

Night came soon after. More food, more beer, more fun.

The next morning, we made coffee and chowed a breakfast of brat and egg sandwiches. They were delectable.

We cleaned up camp, packed up all the gear and went for a ride.

Winding through the woods for several hours, we found ourselves on an unmarked trail that headed downhill into a canyon. The steepest parts were slick with mud and more than once I thought going back up would be a challenge. These types are my favorite trails: Not on the map, tending downward, into the unknown. In other words, these are the types trails that you'd be stupid to ride by yourself.

...And then Garrett crashed hard. Handlebar to the gut, wind knocked out, but okay. And his bike was fine too, but this was the big "sign" to turn around and go back whence we came.

We sat for a moment there, in the beautiful sunshine, lost somewhere between massive mountain walls, sniffing the cool air, pungent with the smell of mud, yet subdued with the scent blowing from the towering pines and through the grass. It was there, while waiting for Garrett to catch his breath, when smart guy Brad decided to throw out that now I was the only one who hadn't crashed.

Thanks, Brad.

Didn't you know? There is nothing more awkward and stupid than riding a motorcycle through the rough woods when you're constantly thinking about crashing. Nothing works. My line choices are bad. I look at rocks I shouldn't be. I notice that huge tree limb ready to skewer. I think about not having disability insurance. I go too slow. The water crossings aren't fun anymore. I tend to panic and grab fistfuls of front brake. I sit too far back. I feel heavy and weak. I start hating this stupid sport...

I don't believe in witches or magic, and I certainly don't believe in voodoo or curses, but I have been forced to believe in "suggestive coincidence" by a really lame past experience. You know those times when everyone is thinking "he might just pitch a no hitter" but no one says anything and then some guy says "he might just pitch a no hitter" and then someone bunts a base hit.

But my scurdy-cat, tenderfoot survival tactics paid off and we all made it back to camp without any mishaps. I wasn't going to give anyone the satisfaction of calling it. No way.

We relaxed for a bit, finished up packing, loaded the bikes on the trailer.

And of course...

Before calling it a wrap, we loaded some rounds and shot the ruger .40 at a can that some previous camper had been nice enough to hang by a rope some 50 yards from camp.

No one hit it.

We left camp and drove the hour or so back to McCall.

We'd made it. Back to civilization. Back to reality. Safe. No broken machines. No injuries (the bruised livers don't count).

So we stopped at paradise burgers for the celebratory "eat-like-s**t-meal."

2 pitchers of beer, 2 orders of chicken tenders, onion rings, fries, and giant, greasy, yummy burgers.

And it was sooooo right.

We said our goodbyes to Brad. The guy was a trooper and a blast to hang with. He tested the lines of appropriate conversation, crossed several times and was threatened with severe bodily harm at least twice and I officially endorse that behavior in the woods. Expect him at the 3rd annual MotoBeer...or perhaps racing professionally. The guy has insane, natural abilities to go fast.

Finally back at Garretts, Sean and I packed up the camper for departure.

Zambi chased the rope bone into the field and we relaxed for a couple more hours.

Lauren came out to play.

She sat on the bikes, finally deciding that she liked mine the best because i had a stuffed animal ziptied to the front light.

Soon after that, Sean and I said our goodbyes and were on our way. Sean and I drove until about 3am and crashed here, 10 miles north of the Nevada border.

From there it was a gorgeous trip home.

(HWY 93 South to I15 - NEVADA to CALIFORNIA)

And lastly, always check your mirrors...

2010 - CANVUTCONEIAMNNDMTIDUTNVCA - OH...THAT ADDICTIVE ROAD

2010-07-22T01:36:00.000-07:00

There's something seductive and dreamlike about traveling the open road, with it's endless exits to somewhere.

I think it somehow strikes at the core of our species - to be in motion.

The earth rolling before me, ever changing, turning, but always forward. Day and night, blue skies and rain, wind and clouds, sun and stars. Hours. Days. Weeks. To think. To dream. To heal. To satisfy. To be inspired.

For the 4th of July, I made a two week trek from California to Minnesota to Montana and back to California. I packed up the Dodge, tossed a motorcycle in the back and hit the road with super pooch Charlie.

I spent day one driving like crazy. I left Los Angeles at 3pm and was in the sweltering Mojave desert by 6. It was only 113 degrees...quite cool for the 30th of June. The trouble was, my air-conditioning wasn't cool and Charlie was about to die.

I pulled into the desert town of Baker and, after some nonsense, found a mechanic named Dan Chuy who hooked me up with some R134 refrigerant. The good news was that it worked and the Dodge was blowing cold air again. The bad news was that it means I have a leak.

Dan Chuy is one of those rare finds in the desert. A good soul and a smart guy with a great sense of humor. We chatted for about an hour in the heat, next to his over-sized swamp cooler. He showed me his 13 year old daughter's artwork, which was all along the walls of his shop and in boxes spread out over the tables next to engine parts and mystery liquids. His daughter is incredibly gifted and he is wonderfully supportive. I was inspired.

Originally from Detroit, Dan moved out to the hottest place on earth 20 years ago. He broke life down to me like this:

Mathematically, we have 100 years (or much less) to live. That is roughly 876,000 hours. 1/3 of which we sleep away. Leaving us with 584,000 hours of waking life. Of that, we work 8+ hours a day, which leaves us 292,000 hours of free time. Of that, we spend 2-3 hours a day eating, prepping for work, dawdling, chatting on the phone... add an hour of driving...and we've basically cut that 'free' time in half again. Ok - now we're at 146,000 hours.
Now he says "How old are you?"
To which i reply 32.
"Well, then cut that number by a third." 97,333 hours of free time left for me. He's 60, which leaves him with less than 50,000 hours.
"Does your time have value now?"
Yes.
"Why would you waste your 97,000 hours doing something that doesn't matter?"
"Why would you waste your precious time on people who don't make you smile?"

I smiled and he smiled.

I did the math, and figured I would spend 336 hours on this trip....

Onward.

I drove straight through Vegas, longing to sit at a poker table and waste 12 hours drinking for free, but Charlie looked at me, his white fur blowing in the cold, refrigerated air as if to say..."drive on young lad. Don't waste your time." And so I did.

I made it through Nevada, across the tip of Arizona and into Utah in the dark. And I drove and drove and drove.

Around 3am, I was gaining on a huge thunderstorm and decided to find a place to sleep. The lightning was fierce and the roads were wet and if I'd driven another 30 minutes, I was going to catch the storm and thought better of it.

I found a muddy trail off a lonely highway and curled up in the back seat. Charlie had slept all day so he sat on the arm rest, woofing at the wind as I finally crashed.

At 8am, I woke.

Utah has it all. Well...almost. There's some strange things going on there, but geologically, it has everything. And it is simply a pleasure to drive through.

Around noon, I entered Colorado.

Interstate 70 travels along the Colorado River and is probably the most insane stretch of freeway in the USA. An engineering wonder of the world!

It took 8 hours to get through Colorado and the rest of the day to get across Nebraska, where I stopped just short of Lincoln and slept at a dumpy truck stop.

By Friday morning, I was home. Minneapolis.

For the 4th of July, we had a giant family reunion at my brother's new house.

Family.

It was also a celebration for my grandparents.
60 years of marriage.

Congratulations on an amazing life together.

We ate.

We played football, bagz and ladder toss.

We watched the fireworks.

It sure is nice to come home. It is easy to forget sometimes, but there is nothing more amazing and important than family.

The following Tuesday, I was on the road again. North through Fargo and into North Dakota.

Charlie slept.

And I couldn't believe the beauty. The sun rays breaking through feathery clouds over isolated farm houses and the expanse of green corn stretching to the horizon.

Sometime around 11pm, I reached Medora, ND. And 4 miles west of Medora is a cool little place called Buffalo Gap.

And off the interstate a couple miles is a little B&B called the Buffalo Gap Guest Ranch.
On their website it says, "Warning!
DO NOT USE GOOGLE MAPS for directions to the ranch. You will have a nice drive but you won't get here. "

We got there. Charlie and I spent the night and woke to blue skies and green fields.

It'd been raining for 3 weeks and the owner said this was the nicest day since. Ah, my luck continues. I had breakfast in the bar.

A few hundred miles later I was in my second home. Montana.

You'll know when you enter Montana.

The new green energy initiatives are in full effect. You can see it in the wind farms all over the country. It is really quite amazing. But driving next to a giant windmill blade on the freeway is not safe.

I made it to Absarokee, MT, where I met up with Keith (Turfmeddler).

Charlie was reunited with his best friend Zambi and it was like old times.

(It isn't obvious why Charlie has no shadow...look closely....super pooch flies!)

Keith took me to the Brimer's home, where i was going to sleep and drink for the next few days.

The Brimer's are fantastic people. Ernie and Julie.

Ernie Brimer has been a miner for 20 some years. The day we met, he'd spent the last 11 hours underground - digging, mucking, and blasting dynamite for paladium and platinum. 11 hours a day - 4 days on, 4 days off. He's got arms thick as railroad ties and a grip that crushes the spirit.

And he's got some great stories.

The Brimer's welcomed me with food, beer and a bed and I can't thank them enough. This type of open-armed hospitality for a total stranger is rare and humbling.

Their house sits on a couple acres just on the skirt of town with dogs, chickens, kids, and plenty of big boy toys. It's a fun, hardworking place and it felt good to be surrounded by these people.

Keith guides whitewater rafts for Absaroka River Adventures. If you get the chance to head up North, these guys are the best in the business and have plenty of wild places to get you wet. It's so fun.

When I arrived it was the end of the day and that means beer thirty.

(Owner Matt (center), guide Tim (standing), Keith (off-screen) and friends.)

The following day, I was invited to join Matt and his motley crew of guides on a float down the Clark's Fork of the Yellowstone. The portion of the river we were planning on running had some nasty rock gardens of Class IV rapids. From what I determined through conversation, Class IV means that if you fall out, there is a good chance you will get severely injured or die. Noted.

Keith set me up with a helmet, vest and dry suit and all the other bells and whistles to survive snow melt water temperatures.

We were up and on the road by 9am, making the 2 hour drive around the mountains and into Wyoming.

We headed along the southern edge of the Beartooth Mountains and Keith pointed out the giant Box canyon we'd be heading into.

This should be interesting.

We reached the end point for our float and dropped off one of the trucks.

But the sign says "Launch Point" not "Take-out." What does this mean?

And so we piled into Keith's 1997 Dodge 3500 (just another 12 valve CTD). Matt and Keith jumped in the Cab, while John, Matt's twin sons, Levi and Michael, and I jumped into the raft, which was not quite safely attached to a rickety wooden structure that Keith and Matt built the day before.

A beer eased the butterflies in my stomach.

We were headed up the canyon, into the thick of it...the best direction.

It was stunning. It was bumpy. It was awesome!

Matt and crew would hop out and discuss the best solutions to the hazardous river cruxes.

I stayed back and snapped photos, somewhat oblivious to the dangers. I felt a sense of calm, actually. I mean, if I was going to float down a river with 5 whitewater guides, it didn't matter what I did or said. If they couldn't do it, I wasn't going to add anything.

So relax and enjoy...

I donned a dry suit for the first time. It's an experience. The neck gaiter chokes you for about 20 minutes until your body figures out that it needs to pump the blood to your brain a little harder. I almost passed out and my Adams Apple was sore for a week.

We put in the river about 5 miles upstream from the take out (Launch Point?). Further up the canyon, the river gets absolutely nutty. Apparently, there's a section of the river that flows through "multiple sieves, underground tunnels, and drains" all while cascading 100's of vertical feet. Here's a harrowing description of how crazy the river gets. Sad story about a group of kayakers who battled through it. One died.

Our float was incredible. The river was flowing quite low, which made some of the rapids very interesting. Lots of sharp rocks poking up through white rooster tails of gushing water.

We pulled the boat to shore twice along the way and walked ahead to survey the most important sections. Matt would have his trusty guides tell him how they would run each section. They would point out paths and ideas and ways to negotiate the rocky water. Then he would tell them how we were going to run it, usually followed by, "You probably won't survive a swim through this section." Great.

Video to come...

It was a blast. And in my oblivious mindset and with the expert navigating by Matt on the oars, I never felt in danger, except when we almost went backwards into "that hole will swallow the boat and we'll all be swimming."

Another hour downstream, the guides got restless and starting pushing each other into the water. We all swam for fun and Matt thought it'd be funny to paddle the boat as far away as possible. You can't catch a boat when the driver is determined to get away.

We climbed back in and pulled out at the "Launch" and we cracked the warmest beers on record.

Matt and son's drove us to where the road got stupid and John, Keith and I walked the 3 miles back to the Dodge. I think this walk is what created my heat fever that would haunt me for the next three days.

We walked in the canyon cooker heat for 45 minutes, drinking the hottest bud lights on the planet.

Ahhh...but it was so magnificent!

A memorable day.

The next day, I was determined to go skiing in the Beartooths. It was July 9th and apparently it snowed on the plateau a week before. I had dragged my skis 2500 miles across country in July and I was not going to let them down.

I stopped in Redlodge for lunch before heading up the Beartooth Pass Highway. I felt the fever set in and my throat was sore. Not a good sign, but not worth quitting yet.

(Redlodge, MT)

The Beartooth Pass is another remarkable feat of engineering. This road winds upward from Redlodge to over 11,000 feet.

(The Bear's Tooth)

The pass is usually open only 5 months a year due to the snow and wild weather conditions. The road opens each Memorial Day and is a major tourist draw for people heading to Yellowstone and Cooke City. It is also the best summer relief for skiers in the Northern Hemisphere.

This place helps ease that longing for winter...

When I was going to college in Bozeman, my friends and I would pack up the trucks and camp high up in the Beartooth's. We'd usually try to be there on Memorial Day for the best snow, but in the final years it truly became a zoo.

We had a secret camp spot halfway up the mountain, near the bathrooms, that was never used.
Here's the crew in 1999 -

(Rock Creek 1999)

The skiing is typically consistent. Corn snow, created by the constant melt-freeze-melt-freeze, feels like an inch or two of wet paint. It's actually fantastic skiing. It feels like spreading butter over a giant loaf of bread.

(Above) The Gardner Headwall. If you look closely you can see the ski tracks covering the snow.

(Above) One of my favorite and longest runs. We called it 57 chevy. There is a wreckage of a blue vehicle at the bottom of a 1000 foot cliff. But there's no way to tell what type of vehicle the heap is.
The run starts at the top of the snow field and runs down the chute, ending in a boulder field. The hike out is about 30 minutes.

I sat on the tailgate of my truck, near the Headwall for about 2 hours. Charlie ran around in heaven.
I had bet that I wasn't the only one stupid enough to be up here to ski in July. But no one came and I was either too scared or too smart to go alone. I put my ski boots and gear out like a garage sale, hoping someone would drive by and say, "look, there's an idiot with the same idea we have." But I was the only idiot.

Charlie was starting to look like 11,000 feet wasn't doing him right and I definitely had a fever by this point. So I tucked my tail and imagined I'd ski another day.

It was a great drive regardless.

That night, Keith and I drank, and by morning I was done. I hopped in the Dodge and spent Saturday and Sunday on a 1400 mile, fever-bent race to Los Angeles. I was sick, dehydrated, sunburned and feeling the pressure of work calling me home. Reality bites.

Driving with a fever is for the birds.

2010 - IDNVCA - Last years, open roads, good people and amazing clouds

2010-07-19T21:32:00.000-07:00

I love exploring and we all know that life is about the journey.

So what could be better than a trip through the wild west.

But, let me start from the beginning.

I have an obsession with "last year" machines.

Usually, my interest starts with a simple introduction, like someone saying something to the tune of, "that was the last year they made ______!" From there I learn more, read a bunch, make some calls, and get a hold of one.

For instance, I grabbed a stock 1986 CJ7 Jeep with the I6 Engine, 4x4 and the manual T5 transmission. This machine was special because it was the last year AMC owned Jeep and the last year they made the fantastic CJ model. I reasoned that these facts made it the best CJ and that made it worth owning.

Sounds crazy, but makes total sense to me.

More recently, I was introduced to another "last year" machine. The somewhat famous 5.9 liter, 12 valve Cummins Turbo Diesel engine. This beast of an engine was put into full-size Dodge pickups starting in 1989 and continued through the first half of 1998, when they switched to the more modern 24 valve, and did away with the mechanical injection system.
Arguably, the 12 valve engine is one of the best Diesel Engines ever put in a production vehicle. It is commonly known as the "million mile" engine and a simple search will reveal plenty of examples of 12 valve CTDs with 300,000, 600,000, 900,000+ miles on them. Not only is the engine incredibly reliable, it can also tow impressive loads all the while maintaining reasonable mpg (almost double the gasoline version).

Sometimes, this "last year" property will give a machine collector status, which makes it rare and can substantially increase the value. As I found out, in the case of the 12 valve Cummins, the rarity multiplies because the truck is so reliable that owners hang on to them forever.

I searched for months for a 1997 Dodge Ram 2500 SLT, 4x4, Long bed, Extended Cab, 5 speed manual with low miles. I was very specific and very patient. I even test drove 4 different 12 valve trucks without finding the right one.

Last month, I found the perfect 12 valve and it was all the way up in Emmett, Idaho. A rancher was selling his "baby" after 14 years of well-maintained, garaged ownership and I had to have it. With 112,900 miles, this truck was "like new."

Again, this all sounds crazy, but seemed very reasonable at the time.

So, I flew to Idaho, arranged a meeting at the Boise airport, took the truck for a spin and made the purchase. It was a no-brainer. The truck was simply perfect.

1997 Dodge 2500 CTD

Now back to the journey...

The best part about this whole crazy purchase, was that I had over 1000 miles of the most magnificent country to cruise back home to Los Angeles.

The evening I bought the truck, I headed to McCall, ID, where good friends Sonya and Garrett live with their daughter Lauren.

This took me 100 miles north of Boise, up highway 55, along the Payette River.

The Payette river was near record levels and was absolutely raging.

McCall is a beautiful little town with a large lake and plenty of fun, outdoor opportunities. It quickly landed near the top of my list of "Move here to get away from the insanity."

Garrett and Sonya live on 5 acres outside of town and it is beautiful.

I spent the night here and in the morning had coffee and made princess puzzles with Lauren.

I made it back to Boise that morning, had Big-O put some new BFG tires on the Dodge and was on my merry way.

I love Idaho. The clouds here seem fluffier and the stretches of roads allowed time to watch the shapes change from monkey to snail.

I spent the day cruising through southern Idaho, crossed into Nevada and made it 40 miles south of Battle Mountain. It was just around midnight when I almost hit a large antelope and decided it was time for bed. The stupid animal ran directly at the headlights and missed me by 6 inches the moment I came to a skidding stop. Wakey wakey!

I pulled off the main highway and drove into the dark, dusty hills without any plan. 4 wheel drive saved me in a sand wash and pushed me across two streams. 4 miles later, I found the first flat spot and tried to sleep. Surprisingly, there is no good place to sleep in that big Dodge and 50 mph gusts kept me out of the bed.

The next morning, I woke to see where I'd landed.

All the necessary proof that Nevada is amazing too.

I took a morning jog, washed my face and was back on the road by 8am.

The Dodge still had the factory Tape Deck and I had managed to find a few tapes at a pawn shop in Boise. My meager collection was lacking, but just enough to get me by.

In all, I listened to the Dire Straits cassette for about 15 hours.

Two hours later, I made it to highway 50. The so called Loneliest Road in America.

And in reality, it is really out there, but not so lonely.

A short up-hill climb from the 305/50 intersection is the old western mining town of Austin and the first thing you'll see is the castle tower on the hill.

Austin is a great little town with some great history.

I stopped into this Serbian International Cafe for some breakfast.

And let me tell you, coffee served with a warm smile is the only way to start the day.

I like to stick with basic meals on the road. Bacon, eggs and hash-browns seem to keep all my systems happy and quiet.

There was a bar in the next room so I stopped in to see what was going on.

It was June 12th - USA vs ENGLAND World Cup madness was on and noon was just around the corner, so i figured a shot a whiskey would get the barkeep talking.

And she was very nice.

In Austin, there's a little something for everyone.
I never asked the owner about the sawzall, but I can only assume it was for my protection. The impressive bar back came from England via train and stagecoach in the late 1800's.

There was a good guy watching the game at the end of the bar. He was riding his bicycle back and forth across the US.

He was on day 7 of five months.

He shared some great home-made shrimp salsa that I can still taste.

I'll remember his name someday.

The Austin locals were more than friendly and welcoming.

After wandering around town and through a handful of antique shops, I was back on the road.

The Dodge has a 35 gallon tank, and I was averaging 21 mpg. That's just over 700 miles per tank. And in Nevada, that's just enough to get you from gas station A to gas station B.

Just hope that gas station B doesn't look like this burned out truck stop 30 miles west of Tonopah, NV.

This place gave me the creeps, but was worth poking around.

I continued on down highway 6 to the 773.

Now this is a lonely place.

Another 100 miles or so south, I crossed into California and onto highway 168.

It must be said that highway 168 is one of the most amazing roads that I have ever had the pleasure of driving. The pavement winds up for 20+ miles and then drops down into an isolated valley that just took my breath away.

The asphalt shot straight across the valley and twisted back up over the mountains on the other side.

When i crested the top, the canyon broke to reveal the magnificent Eastern Sierra Mountains, just south of Mount Whitney.

AWESOME!

I parked on a ridge and was witness to a gorgeous Sierra sunset. 30 minutes that I will never forget.

And yes, California is absolutely stunning.

If you find yourself on highway 168, take a deep breath, throw on some good music and enjoy the best that mother nature has to offer.

After the sun dropped behind the peaks, I put the camera away and pushed on to Los Angeles without stopping, arriving in my driveway around 11pm.

It was a great 3 day adventure.

The truck performed as expected. Reliable, smooth and loud as hell.

Oh yes, one more thing...

Clowns are scary.

But clown motels are like the worst nightmare I can imagine.

2010 - CA - MOTOFUN

2010-05-26T20:52:00.000-07:00

Sean(SOB) and I have been exploring the woods on the weekends, doing 140+ miles of roads and dirt on Saturdays, looking for nothing in particular. It's all about the journey, and very little about the destination.

Riding a motorcycle on these roads is simply amazing.

It's like good ole fashioned exploring. Like wandering the deserts on a horse in the wild wild west. Except there's 35 of them, tied to the twist of a wrist. Charging. Screaming. Stampeding uphill at 70mph and banking into corners, making mud pies the whole way.

But really, words cannot do justice to the experience. My best comparison would be something like this:

1.) Riding in a car is like watching TV. You look out through a square piece of glass and can imagine the touch of wind, the smell of the flowers, the sounds of the engine, and the shifting world around you, all while listening to some tunes or having a chat....it's entertaining, but it's easy to become distracted or bored or carsick.

2.) Riding on a motorcycle feels like floating through a liquid. You are able to experience the medium of air. Air is not nothing. It's not empty. You feel it throughout your body. On your face, up your nose, in your ears, on your hands, down your boots. All of your senses are on overdrive. You are completely connected to 360 degrees of rapidly changing visuals and roaring audio, feeling the texture of the road and the pull of gravity, all controlled by a cleverly constructed machine that pushes you forward at ridiculous speeds with minimal effort.

And, on a motorcycle, you tend to stop more. "Smell the roses," as they say. You can just pull over, hop off and wander into the sticks. Nothing to lock up. Nothing to secure. Nothing to worry about. Freedom. It's no joke.

On a bike, you can cover some serious miles and explore every last nook and cranny. You are able to find the little spots that you'd never have found in a car because you were too busy changing the channel, chatting on the phone, or too focused on "getting there."

So we explore, scanning the horizon for interesting land features, looking for overgrown and rusty old road signs, marking the forgotten roads and trails. Searching the hillsides for the telltale signs of gold mines. Finding a way to that secret meadow, one valley over. Always looking for the hidden gems.

The Halfway House Cafe. A back roads gem.

Last weekend, we also came across the Little Rock Dam. A water reservoir hidden on the backside of the mountains, just 20 "crow" miles from my house, but 40 miles on the curvy mountain passes.

There's a bar and grill there, owned by a great guy named Rick Cooper. A former figure 8 track stock car racer in the 60's. He's got good some stories.

He cooked us up some burgers, served us a cold beer and showed us how NOT to put a crossbow back together.

Good times.

My life feels like it's on overdrive most of the time. Too fast, too busy and not enough time to get it all done.

But when I'm on the road, floating through space, life slows down and I have time to think and relax and enjoy.

Oh yeah,
I forgot to mention the wildlife...

This is a young Western Rattlesnake, common in Southern California. About 3-4 feet long.
The young ones apparently have a more potent venom and it is said they give it all out at once. I didn't stick my hand out for a test.

2010 - CA - PHOTO BOMB of the week

2010-05-26T20:48:00.000-07:00

PHOTO BOMB OF THE WEEK - brought to you by Keith.

Lame.

2010 - CA - THE ANF Post Station Fire

2010-05-24T23:52:00.000-07:00

SEPTEMBER 1st, 2009.

Last fall, the mountains behind my house burned in one of the largest forest fires in California history. Over 160,000 acres of beautiful mountainous forest gone.

The roads were closed for months and the forest still remains closed to recreational use.

Shortly after the roads opened, I took a ride up the Angeles Crest Highway (Hwy 2).

It was a total loss.

With such complete destruction, it was hard to imagine the forest could ever return.

But life returns in full force!

The Angeles National Forest 9 months later.

Forest fires open the forest floor to discovery.

I've come across old campsites, range balls, beer bottles, tires, even an old car.

And Sean found these great 3D glasses that I promptly stole from him.

I bet these are OLD! Okay, maybe 2009.

2010 - CA - CRICKET

2010-05-24T23:48:00.001-07:00

Meet Cricket.

Charlie's new bestest comradee.

We put them in a box together to create that special bond that only a box can create.

Don't let this face fool you, this little critter is a terror.

The next Cricket post might include pictures of where she hides her poo.

2010 - CA - STUPID GAME and a BIRTHDAY

2010-05-24T23:22:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday Keith.

I hope you like crap.

It was just before midnight on May 7th...

...and to celebrate TURFDRUDDLER's 32nd year on this old rock, I poured a little of everything into wine glass 1 (left) and a horrible tequila into wine glasses 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6.

Cheers to a bad idea.

We also played the "give anything a stupid name game."

It works like this -

You might remember the best white elephant gift ever.

Well, you take that great little book called Creative Cursing,

put the book on your forehead and flip the cards one at a time...

You can get clues to the word you flipped by surveying the reaction of the people around you.

Then flip the 2nd card...

and BINGO...you have a new name that you can dish out.

There's really no limit to the fun.

Some names are embarrassing.

Most are nonsense.

Some aren't appropriate anywhere.

And some go in the back pocket for real world use.

2010 - CA - KERN RIVER - BLACK GULCH - Weekend 2

2010-04-22T02:44:00.000-07:00

I guess at some point, we all have to face up to the fact that we have to work. And because of this fact, we need to make the best of the free time we have. (This means everyone except for Keith, of course, who seems perpetually free.)

So, to that effect, I am a weekend warrior.

It only took one trip to remind me that I do not get outside enough anymore and last weekend was such a blast that some close comrades and I headed back up to do it all again.

So, for two weekends in a row now, our destination has been the Kern River playground.

The party players...

ZAMBI (Photo by Brianna)

CHARLEY "Chuckle-burgers"

SEAN (SOB)

KEITH (TURFNUTTER)

NATALIE & BRIANNA (Wudjers)
Brianna showed up around noon on Saturday.

YOURS TRULY (Dirtbag)

This time around, we left at a reasonable hour and took 5 motorcycles instead of just 2.

What follows closely approximates what happened during KERN RIVER weekend #2 -

178 North to Lake Isabella.

A simple sign reminds us that this canyon road is no joke. 246 dead since 1968.

Last time, we drove this canyon stretch at night. That was harrowing, but during the day, it's worse, because you can see what horrendous fate awaits your coffee-induced twitches. Don't change the station on this road.

With all it's wild corners and precipitous edges, this road is simply stunning.

We were passed by a crazy old man who honked and flipped us the bird, probably because Keith put 35psi of diesel exhaust in his stupid little car. Actually, it was because we didn't pull over and were moving up-hill just shy of 20mph. What's the hurry buddy?

Keith rolled the APOSTLE onto the Black Gulch fire road. We were searching for a campsite we spotted last weekend, away from the crowded campgrounds. This area promised to be sweet if we could find it. It was hidden and on the river, down in the canyon.

Coming to a fork with a steep downhill right, Keith and I set out on foot to investigate.

We found a winner.

So Charlie drove the Dodge down the hill.

At the bottom, we found Heaven.... and it was all ours.

Soon, we scattered our toys and set up camp. If I had to stay anywhere forever, this would be near the top of the list.

The dogs let loose and found some cows across the river.

This activity kept them entertained for hours.

Sean showed up about two hours later and we settled in.

The beers went into the river for cooling and Nat set about building a tee-pee inside a log cabin.

We ate well the first night. Big Sur fries and brown-sugar coated almonds baked in Aunt Jemima's butter-lite syrup.

Since we had the canyon to ourselves, we felt it would be appropriate to fire up the hundy and spin around in the dirt.

Sean, making some donuts.

The next morning started with coffee, of course.

Stretching followed....

and finally...

...Calisthenics.

Due to the above average rainfall this spring, the California hillsides are covered in a blanket of wildflowers. Yellow, pink, purple, white, red, and glorious green.

After taking in all the beauty, it was time for some Motosthenics.

Brianna got a quick "do-or-die" lesson on the hundy and was soon rippin' around.

She even dumped the bike and bent the shifter which put her in a time-out.

Nat knows my feelings about ATGATT.

She follows the MOTGMOTT philosophy - Helmet, boots and a knit sweater.

Keith and I took the street legal 4hundy and 6hundy on an exploratory moto-mission, hoping to find a path to the other side if the river. Keith brought his newly fixed YZ450 that he was dying to ride, but without a plate and because of the isolated placement of our site, he was limited to riding around the campground...that is, unless we could get his 450 across the river. That never happened.

We took the 178 south about 2 miles to a forest service ohv access just of the highway. That's where the fun began.

We made it back to camp and the relaxing began.

This is California at it's best!

Saturday night, Sean slow cooked some special chicken in the fire.

Here's a peek at some of the nonsense in motion.

Sunday came too quick and we were off.

Another great weekend on the Kern.

2010 - CA - KERN RIVER - HOBO - Weekend 1

2010-04-22T02:27:00.000-07:00

April 9th, 2010.

Keith, Sean (SOB) and I made plans to explore the Kern River Canyon, a 3 hour drive north east of Los Angeles in the Sequoia National Forest. Keith was to meet his friend Moose for some river kayaking, while Sean and I loaded the bikes for some moto-adventure.

Sean (SOB)

Keith (Turfdraagster)

Leaving LA around 10pm, we set out for a little R&R, camping, and, as per usual, plenty of nonsense.

Entering a new canyon at night is always interesting and slightly unnerving. The Kern Canyon is treacherous to say the least. Keith was a white knuckle mess the whole way, doing his best to avoid smashing the camper on the overhanging rocks.

Keith's monster 1997 Dodge 3500 Cummins Turbo Diesel (12valve) roared into the sleepy campground around 1am. Needless to say, the little happy-hippy campers were not impressed. But I sure was. That Dodge is amazing!

We found campsite 21. Keith tried his best to park the 50 feet of truck and trailer in the compact spot. The trailer hung out into the road and we deemed it sufficient. We were "those guys."

We immediately found the beer and laughed into the weee hours.

In the morning, we woke to magnificence! River-side campsite!

Keith brewed up some stiff coffee and washed it down with a tasty PBR.

After milling around for a couple hours, Keith and friends climbed into their Kayaks and pushed off downriver.

Sean and I unloaded the XR's and chased after the boaters to take some pix.

20 miles up river, Sean and I rode into Kernville, a clean, little mountain town filled with whitewater rafters and big dudes on Harley's.

We stopped at a diner for a hearty breakfast.

I hopped across the road to the local bicycle shop for some advice, directions and small talk. The shop owner was a great guy, sold me a map and pointed us toward Old State Road, which we took into the hills.

After some exploring and about 10 miles of dirt and fun, we ran into two fine gents riding shiny KTM thumpers.

Paul (left) and Frank.

Frank's been riding in the area for 35 years and well, maybe it was my good looks, but he decided to show us his favorite super secret insane single-track. Yes PLEASE!

I can't tell you where it is, but I can tell you that it was super secret, insane and incredibly fun.

We charged through Manzanita groves, green meadows and up some steep, rutty hills into tall, lush forests.
Sean crashed twice. Those ruts were sandy, deep, off-camber and littered with roots. My hands and arms were burning. It was all I could do to just hang on.

We came across several trail-blocking trees felled in a southern Sierra storm. Most of these obstacles were easily negotiated, but one particular giant required us to go over.

Hopefully we'll meet up with Frank and Paul again. This trail required that everyone help everyone and they were more than willing to guide us through. Great guys.

We made it near the top, where deep snow drifts stopped us and we had to turn around.
Going down was just as good as going up.

Sean and I split from F&P and we rode the 20 miles back to Hobo.

Dinner was a treat.

Two brats covered in stir fried peppers, onions, and garlic.

Sunday morning, we packed up and headed home.

We'll be going back here for a long long time.

A nasty dust storm outside Bakersfield.

2010 - MT - BOZEMAN MONTANA TRIP

2010-04-22T01:53:00.001-07:00

Took a little trip this last February. A little R&R in Bozeman.
Did some skiing at BB and hung out with a few old friends. Good times as always.
Someday, I'll get around to posting the skiing videos.

I also wandered around town for fun. Bozeman is a great town.

And, in an effort to spark the memories of a few...

More to come...

2010 - CA - Mammoth New Years Bash

2010-01-20T18:10:00.000-08:00

New Years Party at Mammoth Mountain, California.

Ahhhhh.....winter......

There is nothing quite like the drive up the eastern sierras. It is absolutely unbelievably undeniably indescribably awesome and beautiful.

We left LA at 5 am on new years eve and drove 4.5 hours north to Mammoth Lakes. We headed straight to the resort and got in a half day of skiing on the mountain. No pix of skiing unfortunately, but i will post some fun helmet camera video later.

Brianna J. wrangled us a cabin in the Snowcreek condo development that housed our motley crew comfortably. It was a New Years/Bri Bday party. Thanks Bri!!!!

The view from the deck on NYE.

It was a merry bunch of close friends.

To summarize the weekend I'd say -
20 bottles of Champagne - 13 people - 6 different illnesses - 4 days of fun in the snow.

Drink from 6 - 12.

Midnight - 2010 - the NEW DECADE. See ya 2009 and the last 10 years! WOOHOO!

(I must say, in my opinion, this was the worst NYE New York show I've ever seen.)
Just look at the excitement.

Make-out at 12:01.

Take some pix on the deck at 12:30.

Take pix inside at 12:35.

Laugh and have fun at 12:45.

Play games at 1am.

2am refuel with Jetfuel.

pass out at 2:30.

It actually didn't happen just like that, but I thought it'd be more interesting as a time-line.

Some of the party players...I'll add more later.

Erika is camera shy...why? I don't know

Beards are mandatory in the mountains. Doug would never let us down.

The ever presentable Kearney-meister.

Oh yeah...In case you were wondering....

All the world IS a beer cooler.

2009 - CA - White Elephant

2009-12-29T15:47:00.001-08:00

This is what happens when the grand ole "WHITE ELEPHANT" gift exchanges goes horribly wrong...

I guess kids need to learn things sooner or later and somehow.

2009 - CA - Sean's XR250R

2009-12-17T16:32:00.000-08:00

Editors note: Clearly, dirt bikes are the theme of the month.

First things first.

Sean O'brien is a good guy. We call him SOB, but it's just not true.

Last week, Sean bought this 1997 XR250.

(no chain? It's a long story.)

The guy he bought it from hadn't done anything for something like 7 years. It's a honda...what is there to do?

So we tore it up last night and tried to see what kind of lemon Sean brought home.

We cleaned up some crust and looked things over.
The wheels didn't spin well because the drive train was caked solid with glue-like mud.

The crusty chain needed to go.

Of course, we put in a new Spark plug.

That took the two of us about 4 hours. Must be a record of some sort.

Overall, with some more tweaking, I think this 250 will be a great little ride.

2009 - CA - MAKE IT STOP!!!

2009-12-15T12:45:00.000-08:00

I know...

Charlie knows...

This guy knows...

Everybody knows that changing a carburetor is just plain fun.

I started upgrading the xr400 a couple nights ago.

First off, I swapped the stock Honda PIA carb for a pumper carb made by mikuni. It came pre-jetted from xrsonly.com for 3500ft.

Changing the carb on these bikes is a rather involved process. It took approximately 8 beers.

It probably should have taken 20 minutes...

In the end. I installed the Mikuni, flipped the gas, kicked twice and the old beast fired right up. Whew!

Oh...and one more thing.

You might have noticed there are now 4 in the garage.
Sean OB picked up a nice 97 XR250 last night.

Who wants to join my biker club? We ride this Sunday...
Maybe I'll shoot some vids.

2009 - CA - Additional Arrows for the Motorized Quiver

2009-12-08T18:55:00.000-08:00

It's been said that "You can never have too much of a good thing." I agree. And when it comes to dirt bikes, I currently triple agree.

08 XR100, 97 XR400, 08 TE610.

I picked up this 1997 XR 400 R the other day...

Because it was registered before 2003, it's technically grandfathered in as a street legal bike in CA. A big plus - as just crossing a paved road on a dirt-only bike can get you cited.

What sold me was the condition of this 13 year old engine.

Pristine! It prrrrs. Very snappy throttle response. Runs smooth through all gears, sounds great.

The 97 Honda XR400 and the 08 Husqvarna TE610.

Now if i could just figure out how to ride them at the same time.

Nat's learning how to ride on this 08 XR100. It's THE best bike to learn how to ride on and is also just plain ole fun to mess around on.

This is Rowher Flats. This magical place just opened on November 7th after 2 years of closure due to a forest fire. This place is great! Lots of fun trails and large areas to putz around and explore.

Here's Sean and Charlie, holding down the fort. Good times.

2009 - Halloween 09

2009-11-11T21:51:00.000-08:00

The Creepmore 2nd Annual Hellgate opening was a success.

Great times again. Thanks for playing everyone.

The night was full of friendly chatting, reggae music, black-lit atmospherics, heaps of food and a drinking game for the foolish.

It goes without saying that "Team Men" was the powerhouse team to beat.

Obviously, the art of slamming a cheap beer and flipping the cup onto it's top is gender biased.

What wasn't so obvious is why Doug would proceed to smash chairs after slamming and flipping the final Men's cup.

The party players in costumed anonymity -

Taking best costume -

Obviously...they're "2 buck chuck."

The night begins innocently for most. But there is always one that goes too far.

Coffee-mate kills.

2009 - MN - TripleF

2009-10-04T22:03:00.000-07:00

It's always nice to return home in Autumn. It is the best time to visit Minnesota.

Severs Corn Maze in Shakopee, MN.

This years theme was PIRATE ADVENTURE!

2009 - CA - Rats are cute

2009-10-04T21:46:00.000-07:00

Wild kingdom.

Ever since the fires turned the nearby forest into a desert, I've been finding more spiders, seeing more coyotes, and smelling more rats. I guess the animals know when to leave the forest.

Charlie takes full advantage of this.

2009 - CA - Station Fire - Post Apocalypse

2009-09-06T22:26:00.000-07:00

DAY 11 - The Station fire is now the largest fire in Los Angeles County History.

The fire still burns out of control. But most of it has been contained deep in the San Gabriel Mountains, a steep and mostly inaccessible range spanning the Angeles National Forest.

Directly above my house, the danger is gone. Everything that could burn, burned. But because of the work of the crazy firefighters, a fortuitous lack of wind and improving weather, thousands of homes were saved.

To date:
155,000+ acres burned.
89 homes damaged or destroyed.
3 commercial properties destroyed.
104 outbuildings destroyed.
2 communications sites destroyed.

Last Wednesday, the morning following "the end of days," these firefighters gathered a couple blocks up from the house. They coordinated, planned and prepped for about two hours at the base of the hills.

(A fire fighter tells a local resident he can't go back to his house.)

Helicopter water drops bombarded the flames which were dangerously close to homes.

Sikorsky S-64 Skycrane

The synchropter Kaman K-MAX

.

Yesterday, I took a moto ride up to the mouth of the mountains to see what I could.

The CHiPs had the road closed to anyone except residents and the cop said he had no idea when it would re-open.

From what I could tell, the San Gabriel Mountains were destroyed. It looked like the moon.

(Looking North up Big Tujunga Canyon)

My preferred DEV - Disaster Escape Vehicle.

On my way to work on Thursday, I spotted this nonsense...

What are two guys dressed up like cops doing near a fire evacuation zone at 8am?

2009 - CA - Station Fire

2009-09-01T02:20:00.000-07:00

August 32nd

It's now Tuesday...morning...early...like 3:45am early. Ash is falling like snow outside and the sky is glowing a nice orange. I can't sleep.

A peak out the blinds in my living room reveals...

Now in it's fifth day, the so called "Station Fire" in the Angeles National Forest (ANF) is raging completely out of control. Over 100,000 acres have already been torched. The official ANF site says fire danger is "very high." I'd say the danger is more like "ridiculously insane!"

And it's not even fire season yet! BWAAHAHAHAHHA!!!

It's been a real hectic couple of days, to say the least. With 100 foot flames and 20,000 foot clouds of smoke above my little town, it's hard to motivate and go to work, when you just want to sit on the back porch with a garden hose, drink a cold one and wait....

(Wes at his home in La Crescenta.)

But the wheels of commerce keep on rolling and I must do what I must to make a buck... to pay for a house that is made of wood...and in the shadow of 655,000 acres of tinderbox forest that has not burned in 50+ years.

The first day the "Station Fire" sprang to life, it seemed like no big deal. I didn't even take a picture. It was small and seemed like it would be contained quickly. It appeared to be a typical little fire with a simple name that made me think it was burning near a fire station. Aren't those the easiest to put out? The guys are right there.

But on day two, things had changed...

This is what I saw as I drove down HWY 2, into the city.

And, this is what i saw when i came home! DAY 3.

Wes, a comrade down the road from me, sent his wife and kids up to NorCal to get out of the smoke (only to find themselves evacuated from another fire, 8 hours away). Mandatory Evacuation Orders had begun just above Wes, and he had decided to hold down his fort, so i thought I'd join him for moral support.

Only a couple blocks up the hill from me, I drove passed the evacuation lines. Police cordoned every street heading toward the fire, taking names and info of any one going out, making sure no one goes back in, and more importantly, that no looters or lookie-lu's make it through to the empty neighborhoods above.

Soon after arrival, Michael showed up to gaze. So we circled some chairs, grabbed a couple cold Coors lights and watched the show.

There is really nothing funny or fun about any of this...

Day 4 - The fire doubled in size. 20+ structures burned. Two fire fighters died in a tragic accident near Mt. Gleason. Their truck rolled 700 feet off a fire-road.

DAY 5 - Estimates are saying they will have this fire contained by the 15th of September. Ouch.

LINK - MAP OF THE FIRE - LINK

I came home from work last night and had to make a stop at the Albertson's parking lot to stare in awe. A small crowd had gathered to chat and socialize about the impending doom. The flames spanned the entire mountain. Everything was glowing. Flames were raging. And it was coming down the mountian. WoW!

I was relieved and happy to see about 50 firefighters eating a healthy meal before heading back into the thick of it.

I thanked a couple of the burly, dirty FF's for their hard work. They looked at me and my camera and grunted, as if to say, "Hey panzy, do something useful. Can't you see the world is burning?"

Tax dollars in ACTION!

I love you "Governor's office of emergency services!"

From my front yard...

California dreaming.

2009 - CA - THE GREAT BLACK WIDOW HUNT

2009-08-25T01:47:00.000-07:00

Every so often, I find myself staring down a giant, female Black Widow spider.

For the most part, I don't mind bugs, insects, critters, spiders, etc.
I can say, however, that I am not a fan of the Potato Bug mini-aliens, mosquitors or ants.

(Potato bug)

As for Black Widows, my feelings are locked and unchangable...they gotta GO! I will admit they are fascinating to observe, and in my experience, BW's are reclusive and skittish and not aggressive. Statistically, the BW bites are very rarely fatal to human adults. Although painful, the bite usually heals...usually, you don't lose a limb or digit.

(Pic pulled from the Net - suspected BW bite - day 6)

Black Widows have a bad reputation because they've been seen killing their little, harmless, brown, male, counterpart after courtship...oh yeah, and they inject a toxic venom that attacks the nervous system and is one of the most potent venoms secreted by a living creature. Woohoo!

I hadn't seen a Black Widow around the house for a few months, until last night. I pulled into the driveway after a late movie and there she was, hanging fully spread out in the middle of a messy web. She was a big-old-beast and had threaded a couple of lines from the bumper of my perma-parked jeep to the ground. I could see her in the headlights from 20 feet away.
I learned a while back that where there is one BW, there are many BWs...and so the hunt is immediately on. The Black Widow Hunter in me comes alive!

BWH - JOIN my BLACK WIDOW HUNTER CLUB - It's EASY! Simply head on down to your local tattoo parlor and have them scratch this ugly BWH mark on your inner right forearm, take a pic and send me $100 bucks. and then BAM! YOU'RE IN! Happy hunting!

Anyway...
I went to the garage, put on a headlamp, grabbed my gloves and a shovel, and went straight for the Jeep. I found three new, smaller BW's immediately. BAM BAM BAM! I had already named the big one in front of the jeep Isabella and decided to capture her in a 5-gallon bucket for further study.

(ISABELLA IN A BUCKET)
This hunting/killing/squishing process may sound cruel, premeditated and unnecessary to the dedicated critter lover out there, but, If you own a small dog (like Charlie) and you like him alive (like I do), you need to hunt the females down. Charlie is a curious, furry little moron and he likes to bat bugs around, put them in his mouth, spit them out, pounce on them, lick them...you get the idea.

(Charlie is not afraid of Black Widows and that is not an evolutionary advantage!)

A Black Widow bite does have the potential to kill or severely cripple a small dog (or child!)

With Isabella in her bucket, I continued hunting around the house.

99.8% of the time, at night, the female will be hanging in the middle of her web, less than a foot from the ground. The good news with that fact is that you will rarely walk face first into one, the bad news, in California, we like to walk around in shorts and barefoot.

(The following BW pics were taken post-squish!)

Found one here.

BW's love the garage and they love stuff on the ground, crates, cardboard boxes, wood piles, holes, bricks - generally, heaps of stuff..on the ground. The BW web looks very chaotic, there is no pattern, just loose, thin fibers.

Found one!

One here.

One here next to the cornhole boards...

When the hunt was done, I gathered the little toxic, squished spider carcasses, boiled them in vinegar and drank the mixture from an old boot. Not really, but I thought about the power that might have given me!

The HUNT was a success!! 7 BW's squished.

But, I will need to have another hunt soon. Tonight, I saw a new, gigantic BW in the garage that scurried away before I was able to gather my tools and wits to go into her dark corner.

She was as fat as i have ever seen, so I need to find her before she lays a billion eggs.

Remember to get your tattoo and send me $$$$!

THE GREAT ISABELLA (pre-squish)

2009 - UT - Duck Creek Trip - Motobeer Vacation - UPDATE

2009-08-04T17:13:00.001-07:00

UPDATE - UPDATE

Lesson #452
Always carry a tow-strap.

I took my Husqvarna TE610 into the local shop after the electrical shut down in Utah. (Full story here)

Turns out the Varta battery went bad after only 1450 miles. The side of the battery case was caved in....probably a sign something was wrong.

The joys of electronic fuel injection have been revealed! The bike does not run without a battery and I can not realistically carry a spare.

The only real fix would be to get a carbureted motorcycle.

POVLA - 02 - White Tiger gonna get me.

2009-07-26T23:23:00.000-07:00

Life Lesson #451:

When you put your hand on a 250 lb. white tiger's face and try to push it away as it jumps on you, you can not apply enough force to move the kitty away.

The tiger will just keep moving in the direction it was moving.

White Tiger gonna get me. from LONGERDAY on Vimeo.

2009 - UT - Duck Creek Trip - Motobeer Vacation

2009-07-15T01:22:00.001-07:00

Finally, a plan that happened! Not just talk. No way! This is talk followed by real action.

UTAH...

I've made some great friends over the years, and my comrades Keith, Garrett and Joe are some of the greatest.

The four of us hatched a plan to head to southern Utah for 3 short days of motorized chaos. We chose Utah because it was in the "middle" of all of us. Joe drove from Nebraska to Colorado where he met Keith, who came from New Mexico, and together they drove 12 hours to Utah. Garrett came from central Idaho and drove 13 hours. I started in southern California and drove 7 hours. Pretty even, I'd say, considering that I had to drive through the Mojave desert.

I left Los Angeles on Thursday at 7am. It took 4 hours to get to Las Vegas.

I made a pit-stop at the Husky dealer to pick up a 14 tooth countershaft sprocket because I knew I'd be needing more low end control to follow Garrett and Keith in the technical spots.

Another 2 hours northeast of Vegas I hit Cedar City, where hwy 14 takes you up into the mountains, toward Brianhead ski area and our destination, Duck Creek ohv.

I was the first to arrive at the Duck Creek campground (8700 ft elev.) about 40 miles east of Cedar City. This place was really spectacular. There were trails everywhere.

Keith and Joe showed up around 4pm. We shared a beer and some laughs.

The one and only Turfdraagster

Joe - Diesel Mechanic & Great Wall Erector.

Garrett didn't show up until 3 am Friday morning. More beer, more laughs.

BTW, Garre tt lives the good life.

The dirt was our food and the beer our water.

Well, not actually. We did eat breakfast and drink coffee.

From camp, Duck Creek Village was a short 2 mile drive or a fun 4 mile 4x4 trail.

Fun Fun Fun.

The trails were long and straight with some fun curvy sections, but for the most part, the riding was moderate, relaxing and fun.

We'd come back to camp to tinker and refresh.
There is always something to be fixed, tightened or improved on these moto trips.

Keith fixes a slow leak.

The culprit was obvious...

Garrett stitched the giant crack in his tail fender with a nail, some stove gas and bailing wire.

This worked like a champ and the bailing wire came in handy when we needed to hot-wire the Husky.

The new neighbors were kind enough to let us know what we could expect from them.

It was great to see old friends, catch up and spin some dirt in each others eyes. The trip was a total success.

Well, except for my trusty Husqvarna.

This is how my bike started.

I was plagued by problems. The new lynx headlight fairing broke off on my first ride of the trip. The base bolt sheared off at the triple-clamp and the fairing began flapping like a leaf in the wind.
No problem there, just remove the entire contraption.
It was the unexplained electrical issues that stopped me dead, 15 miles out on beautiful trail #7, my last ride of the trip. Getting out was a real challenge. Keith had to tow me most of the way with a 6ft tie-down and on a motorcycle, that's no simple task. I lost the bike once and jumped off just in time to watch Keith drag the husky like a roped calf. We made it to hwy 89 right as it got dark and soon became stranded on a lonely turnout. After some deer crossing the road jokes, a few inappropriate stories and a funny mishap that re-broke my kickstand, a sheriff spotted me wrapped up in my silver space blanket and stopped to check in. We ditched the bikes in the bushes and the copper took us back to camp.

Earlier, Garrett and Joe had left us to go get the truck with the intent of driving it down the 4x4 trail and picking up my dead bike. But with Keith's towing abilities, we were able to get out of the forest. So Garrett and Joe searched the woods for two hours, finally seeing our tracks to the road and heading back to camp.

Garrett and Joe pulled up 10 minutes after the sheriff dropped us off, and when we saw them coming, I asked the cop to cuff us for their arrival and he said, "should I have you at gun point?" We laughed and decided that would've been a little much. After the fact, I think we should have done it anyway.

If you look carefully you can see the weld that fixed the last crack.

By the time the trip was over, the te610 didn't run and looked like some bad custom job.

Oh well...Sh*t happens.

2009 - NV - Wild Kingdom

2009-07-15T01:08:00.000-07:00

I forgot to post about my last Las Vegas adventure.

Nothing really happened. We just laid around a Luxor cabana, and played with lions and tigers.

2009 - CA - El Segundo - 4th of July

2009-07-08T23:59:00.001-07:00

The Evite read -
"4th of July Party and Drunken Parade!"

- and so it went, something like this...

The Place

Zack Stoller
- Patriotic Party Producer -

After some celebration and tasty hydration, the parade began with a drum-roll.

Some shakers and a dozen kazoos.
Don't forget the flags and homeland cheer!

And when night fell...
fireworks.

Finale!

After the fireworks, the party moved to "The Tavern on Main."

The next morning,
Charlie was hungover when he woke up in a hammock.

2009 - CA - ANF moto ride - Advrider

2009-06-15T17:42:00.000-07:00

A fun day in the Angeles National Forest and San Gabriel mountains.
A day full of mist and dirt and broken bike parts
The meeting place was the 7-11 off of Osborne in Sunland, CA. 8:30am.
I got there around 9.

When i arrived, there was only one adventurer.

I made it two. Both of us are on the '08 Husqvarna TE610.

Xymotic just bought that bike two days before with 126 miles on it. Basically new. By the end of the day he had more than doubled it.

Around 9:15, Espiritu showed up on his shiny KTM 950 adventure.

No more waiting and we were off.

We got nice and wet plowing through a thick mist and rain on the way up Little Tujunga Canyon. "Little T" is a great little 15 mile stretch of the twistiest curves on the planet. Very fun, but a little nerve racking when wet.

At the very top of the canyon (near where Nat and I spotted the CONDOR) is a turn off called Santa Clara Divide (SCD) and it is an old, cracked paved road that turns to dirt and runs for about 30 miles across the San Gabriel Mountains.

Off of the main SCD road there are a couple of old Nike Missle sites. All that is left is the concrete slabs that cover them up. Interesting history on those missile sites.

That's me in the mist.
For the first 5 miles of SCD, the visibility was 10 - 50 yards. Horrible.

Here's the best example of what it was like to ride through it.

The clouds/fog cleared up about 15 miles later.
Then the fun began and we could open it up a little!

Espiritu crashed his shiny 950 in a sandy turn. He was the first to go down, thankfully, at slow speed.

He almost put it down again just for the pic.

Espiritu and Xymotic on the dirt.

Then it was Xymotic turn to crash on the 4N24 hillclimb. 2nd gear, throttle all the way open? Don't think so. Here he is giving the advrider salute.

After handling Xymotic's 300lb TE back into an upright, downward facing postion, i found my sleepy little baby here.

.....Kickstand snapped while unattended....

Notice the nice little crack. Bad news but not a show stopper.

Here is my new $13,000, orange kickstand which included this sharp looking kickstand attendant.

We continued up into the mountains again and over the only water crossing of the day.
We debated which line was best through the water to avoid the underwater rocks. I had always taken center, but Xymotic had always thought right...

Right line though the water...

Center line. Looks like Xymotic is just floating on water...

Espiritu's came out of the right line swinging to the side. He hit something...so...Center Line it is!

This is the view about three or four miles up from the water crossing.
This road is called 4N24.

Xymotic in action.

Back into the clouds at the top of the mountins. We road another 15 miles, over pacifico truck trail and on to a little mountain-top restaurant called newcombs for burgers and a pitcher.

Then it was 30 miles home on the beautiful 2 - the Angeles Crest Highway.
Great ride!

Sony HXR-MC1 camera setups

2009-05-27T13:29:00.000-07:00

As promised (to a few of you out there) -

CAMERA MOUNTS and SETUPS for the HXR-MC1 POV CAMERA.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH A VIDEO OF SOME MY MOUNTS IN ACTION - vimeo

My little disclaimer to you litigiously inclined finger pointers:
Mounting any camera on any motorcycle or any mountain bike or any moving vehicle could cause extreme bodily harm or even death. In fact, placing any foriegn object anywhere on any moving object could create a potential for disaster, injury, problems, malfunctions, warranty voiding, depression, anxiety, blindness, shortness of breath, dry mouth, bleeding from the ears, nausea, etc. (In-other-words, having fun and trying new things adds risk to both equipment and the rider.)
I am not recommending or promoting any of these ideas, mounts or setups. These aren't even good ideas and the mounts are pretty sloppy. Do not try this at home kids, you might and probably will break something expensive!!

That being said...

Here is what I started with.

I started with as much as possible, so i was able to make as many configurations as possible. This stuff isn't cheap. Next time I will search harder for used hardware. If you have any questions about any particular item, just put it in the comments and I'll answer what i can. Most of the hardware above was purchased at Filmtools in Burbank. Great store - great owner!

You might notice that I have put a quick release on every setup. The last thing I want to do when riding and shooting solo is change camera plates every time I want to move the camera.

ABOVE - MOST IMPORTANT! The quick release and plate and a small ball head.

From there, I was able to start building.

ABOVE - THE BEAST - A very sturdy and versatile handle-bar mount. BOMBPROOF!

ABOVE - THE QUICKIE - This is my favorite mount for the MC1. Put it anywhere! The smaller ball-head makes this less sturdy than THE BEAST, but this thing is SOLID!

ABOVE - THE SLIK - This is a great handlebar mount for the Record Unit. Got this SLIK CLAMP HEAD 32 at Adorama!

The next step is to attach the steel arms and get crazy.

I attached Cardellini Clamps at the corners of the luggage rack and elsewhere.

Then I used Grip heads and connected them with 5/8 and 3/8 steel and aluminum rods to form a triangle. Weight is the key to making this setup work. Next time I will use only steel rods. I love the shot this position provides, but I have not reduced the vibration enough to make it a very useful setup. I'll keep trying.

ABOVE - This mount is rock solid!

ABOVE - This setup creates a very cool shot angle, but is probably the most dangerous to ride with. It affects steering, vision, and can act like a hook in the trees! The vibration on this setup is better than the rear setup, but could be improved.

Here is a similar mount for my mountain bike.ABOVE - This is the only Mountain bike setup I shot. It is very similar to the Moto mount, except that it only uses two arms. Vibration is minimal at low speeds but this setup can NOT handle big shocks! I used only short aluminum rods. Very dangerous for both camera and rider.

ALSO AS PROMISED.

I sent my camera to Todd Moen in Oregon. He's a partner in a great little flyfishing e-zine called CATCH MAGAZINE. Check it out! Todd built this sweet little underwater housing for the HXR-MC1. This worked great for him and I will post some of his underwater results later.

I DO NOT RECOMMEND THIS AT ALL! But...

This sure is a great way to get your MC1 underwater for under 50 bucks! ACE HARDWARE has everything you need.

What was used...

3 inch PVC pipe (fits the century optics fish-eye lens), a rubber glove, zip ties, a piece of glass and some water-sports super glue!

Down and dirty cheap!

Questions, comments, concerns, additions, help, ideas, and general thought puking is welcome.

POV LA - 01

2009-04-16T23:38:00.000-07:00

First camera tests with the new Sony HXR-MC1 POV camera.

MUSIC BY SOMATIC MEDIA - www.somaticmedia.com

2009 - Home Sweet Home

2009-04-05T23:28:00.000-07:00

2009 - Charlie Bear Highway

2009-04-05T23:16:00.000-07:00

This dog is always down for a ride up the canyon.

Above photos by - Sean O'brien.

S.O.B - Circa 2009

2009 - Do you love your job?

2009-04-05T23:14:00.000-07:00

"Thanks for shopping at VONS.
32 years.
I still love my job.
Do You?"

2009 - STUPID MOP

2009-04-05T23:08:00.001-07:00

The mop can't believe it either...

2009 - When Friends Drink

2009-04-05T23:06:00.000-07:00

2008 - ALASKA video

2009-03-25T13:03:00.000-07:00

2008 - CREEMORE - Summer BBQ

2009-03-25T12:00:00.001-07:00

Skiing Mt Waterman - first POV camera test

2009-03-25T11:54:00.000-07:00

CALIFORNIA CONDOR #374

2009-03-22T23:37:00.001-07:00

EDIT: Regarding this encounter, I received an email from the fish and wildlife service. This condor is actually #374 not #74. The agent informed me that in fact "374 is a juvenile male born 4/29/2005 in the LA Zoo and released at our refuge at Bitter Creek NWR in Kern County in October of 2007."

Nat, Charlie and I have a thing for wild, rare birds of prey (see previous encounter), but this one takes the cake!

I suspect any large bird would take one look at our marshmellowy four-legged companion and imagine him slightly toasted with two bits of Hershey on a graham cracker. Mmmmm! S'more Charlie please!

California Condors are a rare bird indeed. These giants are deemed "Critically Endangered,"
and according to the California Condor Conservation, there only 332 CA condors left in the WORLD! With only half of them in the wild.

We happened upon #374 in the mountains just above Sylmar (All of the CA condors are tagged). He soared over us while we were parked and eating a little lunch and so we hopped in the truck and followed. Around a corner, he was just sitting in the road.

It didn't take much to spook him and off he went.

California Condors have the largest wingspan of any bird in North America at around 9.5 feet! (Trumped only by the Andean Condor of S. America)
This is a two lane road. This animal looked like a prehistoric pterodactyl.

California Condor (Gymnogyps californianus)

Check out their story!
California Condor Conservation
Wiki CA Condor

This might be the same bird... CLICK

---- This also might be the only time EVER in history that showing THIS is appropriate ----

I helped a tweaker today. Who did you help?

2009-03-22T23:27:00.000-07:00

The best part about living in Los Angeles is that you never get those mushy feelings of peace and tranquility.

Perhaps the old, empty atache this thief took will make for a great loot bag!

2009-02-23T02:02:00.000-08:00

Bridger Bowl, Montana

2009-02-23T01:22:00.000-08:00

China Bowl
North Backcountry
Bridger Bowl, Montana

2009-02-22T23:52:00.000-08:00

Another day, another trip, another fantastic Montana adventure.

"Take me home, to the place I belong."The daily commute.

Back at the office...

5:00 pm = closing time = PBR time

Gi stops in for some liquid relief and relates a disturbing tale of romance gone awry.

The ski shop personnel take it to the next level. (Level IV)

Beyond Bradley Meadows
Bridger Mountains, Montana

Travis Kirkpatrick spreads copious butter over fresh, loafy pillows.