One More Speed Star

Heading west again through Kansas

Upon our return from West Virginia, we arrived back in the D.C. area to a city buried in snow.  The roads were still in bad shape on Monday afternoon.  The snow was several feet thick, buses were stuck, and there were plenty of abandoned cars.  We put the Jeep into four wheel drive to make into our neighborhood, pulled in front of our house, grabbed some shovels and started digging a path toward our front door.

Digging out in Maryland

We settled in for a day, and waited for the next blizzard to strike.  Unbelievably, another blizzard was headed straight for the region.  The snow was almost as high as the fence around our yard.  The next storm brought nearly as much snow, and incredibly high winds.  I went outside to shovel every few hours to try and lighten the load once the storm was over.  Kerry and I needed a few groceries so I headed out to see if the store was open.  I could barely see several feet, and there was not a car on the road.  I pulled in front of the grocery store and thought it was closed.  I parked in front, hopped out, and pryed the mechanical door open.  Apparently the store was open.  I was one of two other shoppers in the store. 

My friend Jeff telephone that evening.  He asked if I was still on to drive to Colorado with him.  I have to be honest, in the midst of the second blizzard and after an unbelievable ski weekend, the prospect of twenty-six hours in the car did not seem so great. 

The storm let up, the roads cleared (a little), and we were on our way.  We left on Thursday afternoon around three o'clock, and arrived in Colorado at five thirty the next day.  It was rather insane.  We stopped in Charlottesville to pick up some victory cigars and a bottle of whiskey, and another time for dinner.  The rest of the way, we stopped only for gas.

Haggard at the Colorado Border

We were haggard by the time we arrived in Boulder, but we cleaned up and headed out to grab some food and to meet good ol' Billy Strongarms.  I had not seen Billy since he left a few months before to move to Fort Collins, so it was good to reunite for the weekend.

After dinner and meeting up with Billy we crashed at Jeff's apartment in Broomfield.  We woke up and hit the road.  We stopped in Berthoud Pass to hike up and ski/ride down.  It was an epic way to start the day.  Unbelievably so, for the second time in two weeks, I was getting my chance at another virgin moment.  I had never before been to Colorado in the winter, and to earn my first turns in fresh powder was an awesome experience. 

Billy scouting it out with some local on Berthoud Pass

After our adventure on Berthoud, we headed to Winterpark.  It ended up snowing most of the day.  It was windy, so the bowls at the top were closed, but I caught my first glimpse of Colorado skiing.  I was hooked.  My legs were definitely not in shape and burning by the end of the day, but I couldn't wait until tomorrow.  I was hoping the bowls would open up and I would have a shot at above the treeline skiing. 

That evening we were starving, and went to the local Winterpak Pub for some food.  We pre-gamed with some victory whiskey in the car.  After dinner, we decided to try our hand at Big Buck Hunter, a video game in the bar.  Two hours later we were still playing, and decided that it was our new favorite post skiing endeavor.  We headed over to Ben's condo to crash.  As usual, it was great to see Ben.  The three of us fell asleep watching 'Point Break'.

Billy Armstrong carving fresh tracks, Bethoud Pass

 
The next day, the weather broke.  We headed out to the slopes for another round of insane skiing.  Ben gave us a great tour of the mountain and brought us through some amazing tree runs.  We skied together all day.  I got my wish around lunchtime when the winds quieted down enough to open the lifts to the bowls.  We tore off on some crazy bowl runs down into the trees, over and over again.  We were one of the first groups on the lift and skied until close. 

The road to Winterpark

We said goodbye to Ben, and headed back to Jeff's apartment in Broomfield to catch some sleep.  Billy drove me to the airport in the morning for an early flight home.  We'll all get the chance to reunite again this summer at the River. I cannot wait.

Jeff Chrisler after skiing Berthoud

The Snow Lillies

Snowbound

Kerry's birthday was February 8th. We decided to head out to West Virginia to celebrate in good ol' Appalachian style: blue grass and Whitegrass.

There was one major twist in our plans, the second biggest blizzard to hit the region this season. Kerry had to go to school in the morning, but I was lucky enough to have the entire day off. Landon closed in anticipation of all the snow. I spent the morning throwing our gear together, snowboards, skis, gloves, snowshoes, and dog food. This was Mogul's first big road trip, and we were not sure what to expect. We decided to take Kerry's Jeep so he could chill in the back while we drove. We are essentially convinced that Mogul is the God of Snow. We picked him up during the first snowstorm of the season, decided to name him Mogul, and it has since been the snowiest winter on record.

We were hoping to beat the blizzard and leave by noon, but we were three and a half hours behind schedule. Everyone in D.C. loses their mind when snow is on the way, ransacking grocery stores and getting in accidents even before the snow starts. So, Kerry was stuck in traffic for two hours trying to get home. Oh, the joys of the city. Finally she got home, we threw Mogul in the back of the Jeep and we were off, just as the snow was starting to stick to the street. Eight and a half short hours later we made it to West Virginia.

The trip is usually a little under four hours, but by the time we reached I-68, the road was completely covered in snow. We barely made it out of Cumberland, sliding on a forty five degree angle for a mile to make it uphill. When we reached the top we were pulled over. The officer thought we did not have the Jeep in four wheel drive. We did, but apparently it was not working so well. We ended up putting the Jeep in four low and drove about twenty to thirty miles an hour to make it there.

When we were close to Wisp, the backloads had at least six inches or more on them. There was no one else on the road. We stopped to get gas. No other cars at the station, but there were four snowmobiles. Not your typical scene in Western, Maryland.

Not your typical scence in western Maryland

We had been in the car for around six hours at this point and were absolutely starving. We pulled into the Black Bear to grab some food. It sits across the lake the fuels Wisp's snowmaking. Not necessary these days. We couldn't even see the slopes less than a quarter mile away in the midst of the blizzard.

After dinner and a beer we headed back out into the storm. We only had forty five miles to drive, but it took us two more hours. We had to stop every twenty minutes or so to get out and clean the wiper blades and knock the ice off the windshield. I took a few minutes to stop and stand in the middle of the road every now and then to appreciate the storm. Everything just seems a little bit better when it's snowing.

Alas, we made it to Thomas. Never before has Thomas felt so out in the middle of nowhere. It was magnificent. There were several feet of snow pile high alongside Main Street. We pulled up in front of the Purple Fiddle, and it felt like we were home. We walked in to live music and a packed house. We were exhausted so we grabbed our key to the guest house and headed inside to hit the rack.

When we woke up it was still snowing. I took Mogul for a wicked awesome snowshoe down the street. He was buried with every pounce, but loved every minute of it. Kerry woke up and we grabbed some breakfast and the Flying Pigs Cafe. Mogul was invited in since there were no other customers. It was a quiet weekend in the Valley. Everyone cancelled their plans because of the storm. Mogul ran into the kitchen of the Flying Pigs and decided to dine on the sausage that didn't make it into our breakfast. We paid for this later when he threw up in the car while we were at Whitegrass.

Getting pulled out of a ditch

After breakfast we headed off to Whitegrass. On the way we picked up some new snowpants. My old ones kept wetting out on me, and I didn't feel like having a wet ass all day. We were almost there. Not quite though. I took it a little too wide leaving the parking lot, thought I was on the road, but realized quickly it was a snowbank because the car was on its side. Kerry and I were laughing in the car and had to climb out through my door. Luckily, a tow truck was driving by. They promised to come back and pull us. They held true to their word, and finally we were on our way to some sweet pow pow.

After all these years, I was still a Whitegrass virgin. Well, virgins no more! Our first time at Whitegrass will never be forgotten. We skied all day long and summited Bald Mountain in the afternoon. It was perfectly peaceful and the ride down was hilarious. We half sledded sitting on the backs of our skis, and half crashed in head high drifts of powder. We made it to the bottom in one piece and grabbed some after ski beverages at Whitegrass before heading back to Thomas to eat dinner at Syrianis. After Syrianis we headed to the Fiddle to catch the Black Lillies, our favorite new band.

Entrance to Whitegrass

Kerry heading off on Three Mile

Deep tracks in fresh powder

Staring off toward the slopes at Canann

The Summit of Bald Knob

Fresh and Quiet

The Valley

The Purple Fiddle

Kerry cruisin' through the trees

Crashed out in the deep stuff

In the midst of it all

Sunday morning we were at it again. We downhilled all day at Timberline. We skied in some of the best conditions I've ever seen in the region. The woods were wide open. That night, we left the Fiddle and headed to Canaan Valley Resort so we could watch the Super Bowl.

The drive to get there on Friday night was an adventure in itself, but combined with our first time at Whitegrass, the Black Lillies concert, and insane day at Timberline, it turned into a weekend that we'll remember for a lifetime. Canaan Valley never seems to fail on delivering unforgettable times.

Downtime

Three day weekends are incredible.  Kerry and I took Mogul to a consultation for dog training.  He slept patiently at our feet while we mused over the various options for training him into a well behaved adult. The verdict is out, but it seems like it might be fun. 

Afterward we headed to our own consultation with Father John, the priest who will marry us in August.  We discussed how we want to go about 'preparing' for marriage and walked out the door with a pile of paperwork, and a book on married life.  On Saturday evening we went to Kerry's Aunt's house to visit with the Cassidy side of the family.

Sunday was a dreary rainy day.  We woke up late and spent the day watching football.  We finally left the house for thirty minutes to pick up a pizza in Rockville.  We were both happy the Vikings beat the Cowboys.

This morning we woke up and decided to head out to Sugarloaf for a hike.  Sugarloaf is in northern Montgomery County.  Mogul happily played in the leaves as we wound our way to the top of the mountain.  We spent a while at the top, mostly engaged in conversation with a ten year old boy wearing a helmet who knew the exact elevation of most major mountaineering summits in the world.  An entertaining young man to say the least.

 

Paint Creek

There are many tales I have yet to tell, but for whatever reason one of the first that comes to mind is a day on the river last spring.  I took one my students, Ben, out to West Virginia to follow up on the work that Shannon and I started the year before.  It was an incredibly gorgeous day, warm weather following a big rain storm the night before, right in the heart of spring. 

The two of us were winding our way toward Kayford Mountain when we took a wrong turn off the interstate leading into Charleston.  We ended up beside a swollen Paint Creek.  I spotted a nice looking waterfall from a bend in the road, and immediately stepped on the brakes.  We untied the boat, I threw on some gear, and tossed Ben the camera. 

And Now...

Staring into nowhere, North Dakota

A lot can happen in one year. In just twelve short months a man's life can dramatically transform itself not just once, but a seemingly endless number of times through a number of epic stories and adventures. It's not until relatively recently, perhaps now, that I am finally taking the time to begin to reflect on all of it. There are a few devoted friends who occasionally hop on Homegrown to check out the latest, and for quite a while there has been little more than a few meager posts that do a rather terrible job at depicting some of the experiences I've had in the past year of my life. In a little more than a year's time I did the following:

Unearthed the vagaries of mountain top removal coal mining in West Virginia, spending weeks sleeping in an abandoned cabin, and nearly dying going ninety in a Suzuki Sidekick with a guy named 'Crazy Charles'. (May 2008/2009)

Drag Line on Kayford Mountain, West Virginia

Traveled to Colorado for two weeks kayaking (June 2008)

Avalanche, Oh be Joyful Creek, Crested Butte

Traveled in Peru for a little more than a month, living in a small rural valley name Chilca for three weeks with 11 students building a guinea pig barn out of mud bricks. At one point I spoke to myself on fairly frequent intervals while driving through the Atacama Desert overlooking the Pacific Ocean to break the silence of no radio. (August, 2008)

Somewhere in the Altiplano, Peru

Traveled to Ecuador with my amigo Billy Blanco, otherwise known as Captain Strong Arms (he attempted to start his own blog called Strong Arms, but do to competing readership from the Perpetual Flow, he was unable to keep his ratings up and discontinued his writings) We evaded falling to our deaths while climbing out of the Oyacachi River on a mudslide, and crashing dirt bikes in the shadow of a fiery volcano. (December 2008)

Street Scene, Quito

Toured Ushuaia, Argentina in Patagonia for a week before hopping on a boat with a bunch of crazy wide eyed folks from all around the globe, and tooled on down to Antarctica with Robert Swan and 2041. I learned what it felt like to dance in blue underwear and ski gloves after vomiting in fifty foot seas. (March 2009)

Flew to Mallorca for a wedding atop a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean, and became violently ill eating mariscos (shellfish) on a pizza in a small town, vomited and diarrheaed my way into a local urgencia where the doctor took a large gauge needle and shoved it in my ass check to keep me from dying (May 2009)

Mallorca

Jetted down to Belize with twelve students. Swam into a cave filled with skeletons of Mayan princesses, paddled a dug-out canoe, sank to the bottom of fifteen foot deep pot-hole in a river, and was foiled by the ganja ninjas of Dangriga.

Big Rock Falls, Belize

Bought a tiny house in suburban Maryland (never in a million years imagined I would do this, but I must admit it has worked out quite nicely) (June, 2009)

The new spot under renovation

Attempted to restore the grease car to good health, but failed miserably after making the bad choice to once again have someone else look at the car because I could not find the time to do it myself. The 'repairs' did not pan out, and I found myself setting sail across the country for a month and a half in a Jeep, kayak on top, and bikes on the back. At one point I filmed a terrorist completing his morning training exercises near the South Platte River in Nebraska. (June and July 2009)

Great Sand Dunes, Colorado

Spent three weeks in the Thousand Island Region of New York at an old river house, decided it was in my best interest that I buy an antique diamond engagement ring at a local antique show, take the girl I want to marry out in a tiny old Boston Whaler under a full sky of stars in a shallow bay, shined a flashlight in the water, pretended I saw something in the water, dove overboard, emerged soaking wet, and asked her to marry me. She promptly replied, 'no way', but somehow we are getting married anyway. (August 2009)

The River

Return to Maryland and start the 2009/2010 school year.

I have spent the past several months:

Remodeling my house with Kerry, crashing my kayak on Great Falls and swimming out of the most dangerous drop 'Grace Under Pressure', contemplating returning to graduate school (application is due March 1st), walking out of the Big Sandy because it was ten degrees and I could not put my spray skirt back on after hopping out at Wonder Falls, loving one of the greatest additions to my life, my dog 'Mogul' (yes, named after ski bumps), fearing my grandmother's nearing death, obsessing about how to make my life more sustainable because I had a larger carbon footprint in the past year than most people on the planet do in an entire lifetime, and finally but not least, generally reflecting on my own sanity.

Mogul in his usual sleeping form

Phew! That is quite a lot for a little more than a year's time. I started 'Homegrown' long ago. It was originally entitled, 'Kayak Harder' after a little joke between me and a buddy of mine when we decided to run the half marathon shuttle for the Upper Youghiogheny River before we boated. I was mildly hypothermic before we put on the river, and had to spend thirty minutes bringing my blood back to normal temperature in the passenger seat of some generous soul's mini-van.

I started writing for the simple reason that I like to write. This has always been reflections on my life and its various diversions. Somewhere along the way, I felt I needed to have a cause, a greater message, something that I was trying to say, something that I felt deeply that I was trying to show other people. I wrote a mission statement.

Rereading the 'mission' of Homegrown Locals is warming, but alas in the end, it is simply just me. The idea of Homegrown has always been notional. My attempt at making sense of a world that offers very little. It is me, the people I love and care about so deeply, and the cleansing, nurturing power of the great outdoors, rivers, rocks, trees, caves, snow, and sky. It about trying my hardest to live my life with a little soul, and an undying sense of adventure, whether it's class V, or a walk with my dog.

So, for all my well intended words of inspiration and environmental awareness, Homegrown is much more. Sometimes maybe it's enough just to be me. My thoughts. My truth. I am going to keep giving it my best shot.

And now...

It’s time to catch up on some story telling.

Enjoy, and keep it Homegrown.