Dave's Front Door

High fiving, balding and slightly fat white guys.

Are you really going to make me ride out there Matt?, Dave lamented as we stuffed our packs with climbing gear and food for the day.  My ass still hurts from yesterday's ride, he continued to complain as we strapped on our climbing helmets and shouldered our packs.  Oh joy, here we go on a Front Door Adventure! Dave grumbled as we  rolled down the driveway of his house and headed west towards the Snow Creek trial head.

Ignoring Dave's whining, I cheerfully pedaled onward into the perfect spring morning reminding Dave of how fortunate he is to be living within biking distance of some of the best rock climbing in Washington State.  I think I will just pedal standing up for the next couple miles, was all the enthusiasm he could muster in response.  I would have expected nothing less.

My relationship with Dave got off to a bit of a rocky start in Mrs. Baxter's class at the Lutheran Preschool in Snohomish in 1981.  Despite the fact that Dave has grown into fairly well-adjusted and benevolent adult, the truth is he was kind of a mean kid.  I clearly remember the day he denied me access to his "Super Heros Club" because I didn't have the right toy and sent me away to play tea party with the the girls in the corner.  My young self-esteem was crushed.  Dave eventually came around and took pity on me,  gave me a broken Superman doll and elevated my social status enough to be accepted into the inner court of 5 year-old boys who held tight control of the Prince of Peace playroom.
After High School, both Dave and I discovered climbing was a lot simpler and cheaper than women and dedicated our young lives to exploring the mountains of the the Pacific Northwest.  We cut our teeth on classic alpine routes of the North Cascades and managed not to kill ourselves in the process.  In the Spring of 2003, determined to quit sucking so bad at rock climbing,  Dave and I loaded my truck up and headed south to serve our apprenticeship on the granite cracks of Joshua Tree and the multi-pitch classics of Red Rock, Nevada.   That two month road trip culminated with our triumphant return to Washington and an ascent of Outer Space, the super-classic Grade III 5.9 on Snow Creek Wall in Leavenworth.  We had graduated to real climbers.   I took many leader falls that trip and Dave farted a lot; but we cemented a friendship and built a strong trust that lasts to this day.

We chained our bikes at the Snow Creek Trailhead, crossed the raging Icicle Creek and hiked steadily upward through a burnt out forest of Pine and lush green undergrowth.  Spring melt water cascaded down across the trial as we gained elevation and provided cool refills for our water bottles as the trail became snow covered at 2500 feet.  We dropped down and managed a crossing of Snow Creek via fresh log jams and stomped our way through the windfall and brush to the base Orbit, our selected route for the day.

After picking off the ticks that were burrowing into my legs, I quickly racked up and led up the approach pitches to where the wall steepens and the climbing becomes more serious.  The nervous hesitation and rust of winter ebbed as I buried my fingers in warm granite cracks, slotted gear and smeared the rubber soles of my shoes into the sharp edges of crystalline quartzite.  The wind blew hard and communication between belays became impossible, but hundreds of shared pitches over the years has eliminated the need for discourse.  I know that Dave will climb when the rope comes tight and he knows the anchor will be solid when he arrives at the belay.  I dare say we climbed seamlessly up the wall in the cool spring afternoon.

Several years have passed since Dave and I first climbed Snow Creek Wall and many things have change in our lives.  Much to the relief of both of our mothers, we are both happily married men and Dave is the proud father of a one year old boy.  While once a huge priority to me, rock climbing has moved to the periphery of my life as dictated by my choice to live a little closer to home and my self-imposed environmental ethics of recreation.  I still love climbing and the fluid movement and singular focus it brings,  but I am no longer willing to saddle up and drive a hundred miles for a few pitches of stellar hand jams.  I must admit though,  as we sat for a moment in the afternoon sun, alone on the top of Snow Creek Wall overlooking Leavenworth in the valley thousands of feet below I remembered how good it feels to live in the vertical world;  I miss climbing a lot.

I catch plenty of shit from plenty of folks for my Front Door Adventure show, but to tell you the truth I don't really care much.  I decided a while ago that I was going to do things a little differently, a little slower and little more sustainably.  I might never climb in the great ranges of the world, and I hold no delusion that riding a bike to the mountains is going to save the planet.  I do have faith though that a few people will take notice of a guy having a lot of fun making an effort to leave the world a little better than he found it.  Maybe one of those people will discover the richness that leaving the car behind adds to an adventure; that is good enough for me.

When Dave's ass feels better, I am pretty sure he will admit he had a good time rolling from his front door as well.  He has always been a great partner and I am thankful for his friendship.

That's how I roll,

Matt

 The original mountain bike.  The 1997 steel Specialized Rockhopper.  Dave doesn't understand how awesome and classic this bike is. 

Dave loves riding bikes to the crags.  I think he needs a bike with a little shorter wheelbase to maximize discomfort and misery.  Snow Creek Wall is the gray wedge just above the green roof.

The Forest Service was kind enough to install custom bike racks at the Snow Lakes Trailhead. No parking permit required.

The Sleeping Lady.

Snow Creek Wall.  Orbit hugs the left side of the wall and ascends through the roof at 3/4 height.  

No adventure in the Cascades would be complete without a log crossing and a little bushwack.

Dave is smiling because hanging belays are far more comfortable than his bicycle seat.

Davey, sending the crux in fine style.

A little runout and plenty spooky, Dave nears the belay of pitch four.

Dave looking out to the Bavarian Paradise of Leavenworth from atop Snow Creek Wall.

Oreamnos americanus.

Ixodes pacificus.  A.K.A Nasty Little Bastard

I took the Amtrak Empire Builder from Seattle to Leavenworth for $40 round trip (cheaper than driving).  My only complaint is that you can not transport a bike because the Leavenworth "station" lacks the infrastructure for a cargo stop.  Despite, I thoroughly enjoyed the trip over the mountains and Jill was kind enough to let me borrow the Engagement Bike for the week; a sweet multipurpose ride!

Emil Wolverton Svilar at one year old.  I know what young Emil will be getting for his birthday.


Here is where it all began.  Mrs. Baxter's Prince of Peace Preschool, 1981.

Home

Celebrated American author and poet Mary Angelou once said, "I long as every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself."  The idea of 'home' will undoubtedly elicit different reactions from different folks; I certainly have friends whose home life growing up was not a place of refuge or comfort.  I am thankful that when I think of home, and returning to the place of my youth, it is with a smile and fond memories.

I have heard it said that nostalgia is the condition of forgetting all bullshit about the past and remembering only the good times, and I am likely highly guilty of the offense.  However,  I still think that I grew up surrounded by folks who put kids before themselves,  in a time when a strong work ethic and honesty were valued more than money, in a place with a deep sense of history and pride.

The truth is that I am likely reminiscing mostly of the roof I grew up under, but in any case it doesn't detract from the fact that I love going home.  It is true that we tend to eat the same things we always have, and recycle old conversations long since worn out; but being surrounded by my family fills me with an inner ease and feeling of security and acceptance not found many other places in my life.  My brothers and sisters have become mothers and fathers, which I find more amusing each day as their children develop personality traits not so distant from their own. Reaching a point in life where I can look at my parents and remember them as parents to me at my age causes my respect for them to grow tenfold.   Imagining my life with three growing kids under the age of ten, a mortgage, and a young marriage is hard to wrap my head around.  They are amazing people.

These are just some of the thoughts among the many that rolled through my head as I pedaled thirty-five miles north through a warm spring headwind to spend Easter with my Family in Snohomish.  Many proponents of travel by bicycle often speak of the power the bike possesses to create social opportunities, community and understanding between individuals from all walks of life.  I agree wholehearted with the former assessment, but one of the most profound realizations I have had about traveling by human power is the opportunity it offers for reflection and self-contemplation.  Hours spent spinning in the saddle lends itself easily to a wandering mind, and more and more I like the place my head arrives at the end of my journey.  Just as Mary Angelou said, I  seek to be at 'home' wherever I find myself and just feel much closer to that ideal when I arrive at my destination on two wheels.

That's how I roll,

Matt

Grocery stores are open on Easter and grocers have to work on holidays; Jenny was pretty sad to miss the Easter Egg Hunt at Mom and Dad's house.  The Easter Bunny caught wind that she wasn't going to make it and that clever rascel stashed a bunch of plastic eggs stuffed with trinkets from around the house; what a swell guy!

I must say that I am proud of my organized map bin.  I have pretty much dialed in the Interurban Trail between Seattle and Everett, but not so confident that I leave the maps at home.

The last time that I rode the Interurban out of the city, this section from the King/Snohomish County line to 228th St SW was still uncompleted.  It is nice to see the bike infrastructure moving forward.

I majored in anthropology for a semester at WSU and while most people may see cans along the trail as trash, I see material culture that lends insight into the diet and recreational habits of the locals.  

You can spend lots of money on high-end performance bars, gels, and drinks...or you can mix together a few simple ingredients with a little love and save your money for beer.  I choose the later and my cookies are getting better and better!

The youngest and the oldest of the Alford clan.  Pretty good looking couple!

Trail Crew

Highlight of the day for me was hanging out with my nieces and nephews.  I find it really refreshing that chopping a trail through blackberries and stinging nettles was the preferred recreational endeavor of the day.  

Mom did and excellent job of hosting and fueled me up for the ride home.

Left to right:  Whitehorse Mountain, Mnt. Bullen, Three Fingers Mountain, Big Bear Mountain, Liberty Mountain.  All worthy and reasonable FDA projects.

Lessons

A February vacation certainly wouldn't be complete without a little snow.  

Nine years ago I started dating this cute girl who looked really good in cheap t-shirts and worn corduroys, laughed often at my bad jokes and possessed a light heart and ease about her that made me feel at home.  I knew in a short period of time that someday I would make this woman my wife.

70 degree sunny days and cold clear nights with campfires under a sea of stars, was my promise to Jenny the winter of 2004 as we raced my truck loaded with a week's worth of food and a crate of climbing gear south through the pitch dank February night of Washington into the desert of the Southwest.  Dirtbag climbing trips were the lives of my heros in 2004 and I wanted Jenny to fall in love with the lifestyle as well.

I grew up in Washington and I am no stranger to the rain; we get wet, we drink coffee & beer and deal with the nine month haze of moisture we call spring, winter and fall .  I know a good rain storm when I see one,  but nothing quite prepared me for the wettest February that Southern California had seen in nearly 100 years. When it rains hard in the desert, the landscape scars quickly.  Washed-out roads, flash floods, and a lakes where my coveted campsites once stood slowly began to chip away at my picture perfect fantasy of winter rock climbing in the high desert.  

We woke on the damp futon in the back of my truck our third day in Joshua Tree National Park to the sound of silence.  The absence of a continuous rain patter on the canopy that had persisted through the night ignited a renewed optimism within, Finally the storm has passed!,  I thought to myself with visions of stuffing my hands into warm and dry granite cracks.  I rolled over, snuggled close to Jenny and whispered,  It stopped raining Jen, I think it is going to be beautiful today.

Jenny tipped her head back and kissed my cheek,

It's snowing Matt, go back to sleep for a while.

And so went our ill fated mid-winter desert rock climbing escape of 2004.

I learned a couple of really valuable lessons on that trip.  First, it is exceedingly unwise to make promises that have anything to do with the weather;  even Cliff Mass isn't that good.  I also learned that Jenny was a really fun & easy person to be around when things don't go quite as planned.  We didn't any do any climbing that vacation, but we rode a lot of miles, drank plenty of tallboy PBR's and had a heck of a lot of fun getting to know each other.   I think this was also the point when I began to realize how bad it sucks to spend half of a vacation sitting on my ass burning gas all to reach some far off destination of "adventure". This trip was a seed that has led me to understand that adventure is not a destination; adventure is a state of mind. 

Many years have passed since Jen and I took that road trip and a lot has changed in both of our lives.  Despite my growing bald spot and perpetual bad smell, I managed to convince that cute girl in corduroys to be my wife.  Needless to say,  I also don't think driving 1000's of  miles for a few days of bluebird climbing is fun, nor socially or environmentally responsible.  

This February Jen and I loaded our bikes on the train and headed to Oregon for a winter vacation of exploring the southern end of the Amtrak Cascades route.  It rained on us plenty in Portland, and Eugene provided both 70 degree days of sun and sloppy late winter snow showers. But unlike our first February escape, the rain and snow didn't impact plenty of exercise, a fair amount of beer consumption and time spent catching up with old friends.  In fact, crappy weather was more or less part of the plan!

The train through Oregon afforded the luxury of reading time and I dug deeply into Bill McKibben's Eaarth, a wonderfully researched and well-written commentary that evidences how humans have fundamentally changed our planet, how that change will impact life as we know it, and what we collectively can do as a global society to preserve a reasonable quality of life for future generations to enjoy.  Despite the messages that we are constantly being fed by our consumer driven economy, world leaders, and a fossil fuel centric politically lobby, McKibben maintains that we must all start living smaller, and I agree.  China  opens up a new coal fired power plant on a weekly basis, yet we have no moral ground to criticize, as the average American still emits nearly five times the amount of CO2 into the atmosphere as their Chinese counterpart.  Despite our hybrid cars and Eco-tote bags, our insatiable thirst for resources and resultant production of waste (mainly in the form of greenhouse gases) is simply unsustainable.  If we decide that we want a reasonable standard of life for our children, we must all start living a little bit smaller. I am not anti-progress, but it is hard to argue that a little bit of frugality and conservation ever did a society harm.   I digress, as I often do and it is much more comfortable to believe that the economy will grow infinitely, that the polar caps aren't melting, and that the technological fix for all our problems is just around the corner;  no change in behavior required.

I have been called a cynic, but cynics don't strive to live the change they think possible in the world and spend lots of time writing about it.  The truth is I do believe change is required, and it starts with personal behavior.  I still have dreams of exploring the far corners of the world in my life and a plan to make it happen, but I have to approach this world in a manner that might leave a little for those who follow behind me.  Until the day comes when I lock my Front Door and set off to explore the world beyond my horizons, you will find me keeping things pretty close to home.  

Thats How I Roll,

Matt

    

Jenny has had unfortunate experiences with trains in the past, but as long as we have plenty of snacks she is pretty happy to get a few hours of uninterrupted reading in!

Rain rides and smiles in the Bridge City.

Portland Oregon is light years ahead of Seattle when it comes to bike infrastructure.  When cyclists are recognized as a legitimate part of traffic with designated lanes and traffic signals, drivers take notice and  treat users as such.

Both Jen and I are suckers for a hearty breakfast and seldom does a trip to Portland not involve a visit to the Tin Shed.  

While not quite wet enough to swim across the road, these geese felt quite at home crossing busy intersections in SE Portland

Jen scored us a tour and some beers at the the HUB in Portland.  These folks have a solid business with employee welfare, community, and the environment (aka sustainability) at the heart of their practice.

Hop Boil.

Dinner with Jesse and Ashley was definitely a highlight in Portland.  The fact that we were almost an hour late made them feel more comfortable.  

Jenny likes coffee on rainy days.

Jenny has gone to heaven.  We circled the open food market in Portland seventeen times before Jen decided on Indian Veggie Wraps and a Mango Lassi. 

My older sister got the braces.

The Amtrak station in Portland, OR.   The Amtrak Cascades runs twice daily between Vancouver, BC and Eugene, OR and is an excellent tool for the cycle tourist looking to cover big chunks of ground in a short period of time.

Without even having to promise, I delivered on the Sunshine in Eugene.  Tank tops in February!

Defazio Bike Bridge, Eugene OR.

Oakshire Brewing in Eugene, Or.  A relatively small operation making exceptional beer for the NW market.  Keep an eye out for their product.

Matt Van Wyk of Oakshire explains the operation.

Eugene is my type of town, and the Morning Glory Cafe is my type of joint.  Eugene also embraces the value of the bicycle as a mode of transportation, recreational pursuit, and economic stimulus tool.

Breakfast is by far my favorite meal to eat out, and Morning Glory in Eugene speaks my language!

Double crank recumbant cycle.  Awesome!

Kent Peterson over at Kent's Bike Blog posted an early release of Grant Peterson's book Just Ride a few weeks ago and I really agree with what Grant has to say about cycling as a means to fitness.  Cycling is wonderful for cardiorespiratory endurance, but does very little for muscular strength or overall body composition.  Pull-ups, push-up, and sit-ups are still solid exercises that can be performed almost anywhere.

Eugene is cool: exhibit A.

Eugene is cool:  exhibit B.

Eugene is cool:  exhibit C, The Center for Appropriate Transportation.

Ninkasi Brewing Company in Eugene is the epitome of the highly successful Oregon Craft Brew industry.  Great beer and a huge local contributor to the Eugene economy.

So many flavors, so little time.

Caleb gave us a full tour of the 100,000 barrel Ninkasi facility, but was especially proud of his German made bottling machine.

My fathers son.

Front Door Turns

The best Saturday job I have ever had!  A bus ride and a lift ticket in exchange for a couple hours of skiing with kids who are way better than me!

Mornings in November come hard to this Pacific NW bike commuter.  The days seem to lose sunlight at an exponential rate and the long wet drab of the Washington Winter sets in with a definity that washes from memory the warm autumn days of September.  I must admit that getting on my bike and pedaling in the rain for an hour to and from work daily on the same route really doesn't feel like much of an adventure most of the time.  As much as I remind myself that it is all training for bigger objectives, Spring and the promise of sunny two wheeled adventures seems to far off to imagine and I  slowly regress into my Spartan routine of rain rides, kettlebell swings, pull-ups and beer consumption. Truly Living the Dream.

Wet again, I wheel my bike inside school and settle in to my morning routine.  One hot cup of bad coffee cut with a healthy dollop of heavy cream, a quick change into dry cloths and I plop down in front of the box to check my email.  Thirty-five not-so-surgical deletes in as many seconds reduced my inbox to a single point of interest:  Lake Forest Park Ski Bus.

Matt, I am putting together a Ski School opportunity in Lake Forest Park this year, would you mind putting a plug in your PE Newsletter?  I am chartering a bus up the the Summit at Snoqualmie for six weekends this winter and would appreciate your support,  inquired Brock, an involved parent at my school with a passion for skiing.

Selfishly, but honestly I responded;   Only if I can go too!  
And so started my career as a Ski Bus Chaperone.

You see skiing has always been one of those things that it has been difficult to wrap my head around.
The contradictions abound:  Load up the SUV and pump a few hundred pounds of CO2 into the atmosphere driving to the Pass all the while bitching about the warm winter and shitty snowpack, yet failing to make the connection.  For better or worse, humans habits are impacting our climate.  Why we as a global society refuse to address this issue in a real and rational way perplexes me beyond words.   But  like it or not, climate change is upon us and recreational pursuits like skiing are going to look much different 50 years from now than they do today.

Like climbing, skiing can be a very fossil fuel heavy pursuit and it is certainly hard for a guy who professes the virtues of small living and less consumption to justify a couple hours of driving for a couple hours recreation.  But also like climbing, skiing is a hell of a lot of fun and I can't fault anyone for wanting a little more that in their life.  When I started my Front Door Adventures project I never imagined that skiing would be a pursuit that I could pull off without a car.  The Ski Bus however, provided a unique opportunity; bike ten miles to Lake Forest Park, catch the bus to The Summit at Snoqualmie, ski all day, ride the bus back to the city and bike home.

Last weekend was my final trip up to the pass on the ski bus for the year.  A perfect day of spring-like conditions stamped a smile on my face that wouldn't subside even as I pedaled my bike and loaded trailer up Perkins Hill and rain began to fall.  It's funny how a day of pure joy makes my legs burn a little less on the ride home than a typical day at work.
I crested the hill into Shoreline and turned against a strong southwest wind that would blow in my face for the next seven miles back home.  I tucked my head, geared down and thought about the cold beer in the fridge at home.

I already miss my Ski Bus Saturdays and I am trying to figure out a way to get a few more days of guilt free skiing in without getting behind the wheel of a car.  It likely isn't going to happen very often.
As much as I like riding my bike and human powered adventures, sometimes I really wish I didn't give a shit about the environmental ethics of recreation;  things would likely be easier that way and I would undoubtedly develop into a much better skier a lot quicker.

But at the end of the day,  I do give a shit.  I give a shit about a lot of things.  I give a shit about the water I drink, the air I breath and the food I eat.  I give a shit about how I spend my time and the health of the city that I live in and the planet I occupy.  I give a shit about our rate of consumption and the resultant foreign policy that keeps our country involved in never ending world conflict.  I give a shit that our economic model values infinite growth over sustainability, and on a planet with finite resources,  that is by definition unsustainable.  Mostly I give a shit about the environmental and social legacy that my nieces, nephews and students will inherit from my generation.  I hope that they will be able to enjoy a day of skiing in the Cascades when they are my age.
I hold no delusions that living my life on a bike will have any significant impact on the future of our planet, but I refuse to throw in the towel and give up hope that we can save us from ourselves.  At the very least, at the end of the day I will know I did my best to be the change that I wanted to see in the world.

I'll manage to get a few good days skiing along the way in as well.

That's how I roll,

Matt

My life is filled with generous people.  Sean Nordquist set me up with skis, poles, bindings, boots and skins when I told him that I wanted to learn how ski! Thank you Sean!

Art is alive and thriving in the Pacific NW winter!

The B.O.B Trailer has opened the FDA possibilities wide open.

Traveling in style.

I quickly discovered that Hyak at the East Summit of Snoqualmie is the place to ski on the weekends.  A fun ski over from Central, short lines, and a sunny back side!

2 Mountain Dogs Ski Consultants/Alpine West Ski School  participants from Lake Forest Park.

The end of January Sobriety.  The Jolly Roger Christmas Ale was superb this year!