Today's Ride

Patty and I finally pedaled up Birch Creek.  Like all the other local trails I've warned you about, don't go up Birch Creek either.  It's no good.

Found It

One of the many (at least four or five) readers of this blog requested this photo.  I found it finally.  It's quite artistic, taken from the top of the Dirty Head Road between Weston and Clarkston, looking back into Utah.  I have to get back up there soon, but it's been so hot and dry that I may have to wait for fall.

Father's Day 2012

Only in the Rockies can you sled down a mountain in shorts and t-shirts on Father's Day.

Saddle Time

I've been on the bike as of late.  Yesterday I climbed the forest service roads from Right Hand Fork to Mt. Logan.  Wednesday I did a road ride to Newton.  Tuesday I did the fast group road ride to Hardware Ranch.  Sunday I rode Portage Canyon.  Saturday I rode Green Canyon with Cody Man and on Friday I did the same ride with Paul.  I plan on doing a light spin today.  That would make seven out of eight days on the bike.  Wow.  When Patty and Lupine return from California my priorities will change.  Or, I could just keep going and get back into racing shape.  Sherwood Hills is on June 30th.  Yep.  I'm already signed up.

Washakie

I did a little recon ride on Sunday over in the Malad Valley.  I rode through Washakie, Portage, and up Portage Canyon.  Strange, strange, strange.  Washakie is a tiny little ghost town/Shoshoni Indian Reservation/old Mormon-Indian Farm.  Follow the link to read the history (go to the end to find out what happened).  In short, Brigham Young tried to get the Shoshoni to become farmers as early as 1854.  Washakie was founded in 1881.  I'm here to tell you, it was a piss-poor choice for the location of a farming community.  Like most reservations, it was in the middle of nowhere, had little good land, and little water.  In Portage I had to ask a 17 year-old girl pushing her baby in a stroller, "Where am I?"  "Portage," she said, but she never looked at me and did not stop walking.  Yeah, I know.  I'm really scary looking.

Only In Logan

After work on Wednesday, Cody Man and I sat in the back yard and had a beer.  Or two.  Yes, it was two.  At 8 PM it was time to get some food for dinner.  Patty had been asking about dinner for over an hour.  I sprinted to the Panda Express for three orders of string bean chicken.

My deposit for the day was still deep in my front left pocket, cash from the sale of a wheel-set to Hyrum C.  At the register I dug deep into the same pocket for some loose change.  When I got home the cash deposit was gone.  Yesterday I called Mr. Panda.  "High, I know this is going to sound strange, but did anyone find a large wad of cash on your floor last night?"  As strange as it sounds, yes they did.  A four year old boy picked it up and gave it to his mother who gave it to the woman running the register, Ms. Maria Angeles, who gave it to her manager.  Tonight I got my money back.  Only in Logan.  At the Panda Express tonight there was a young couple.  They looked like teenagers, but they had six children all under the age of seven.

Only in Logan, where everyone is trained to turn in large wads of cash dropped by long haired beer buzzed liberals who complain about the Mormons.  Well, I'm not going to complain for a long time.  Yes, Greg W., I keep the money in my front left pocket, mostly, not in the Klean Kanteen next to the four year-old vodka under the sink.

And now for a ride report:  last weekend I rode from home to Bear Lake via Preston and Ovid, ID, on Wednesday I finally rode the new single-track in Providence Canyon (it's no good, don't go there) where there was more than an inch of fresh snow on the upper bridge, and today I did Green Canyon with Paul V. in my jeans on the Pake C'Mute with no helmet, one brake, and one gear.  I may never ride a mountain bike again.