
An illuminated nasturtium is a sight to behold.
I saw this cymbidium orchid at a retreat back in May. The retreat grounds were filled with all sorts of colorful flowers, especially California-native wildflowers.
Here's a local rock formation that is (amazingly) known of by few people. Called the China Wall, it extends for about 1/3 of a mile across a gap between hillsides. And speaking of hills, they're starting to get really green out here in California. Looks like it might actually be a pretty good spring...
Haven't been on much the last couple of days. I figure it's about time for an update. In my last entry I referred to a punch-throwing/car-throwing yobbo that I encountered on Sunday evening. However, the surprising thing has been the total lack of reaction to this incident from the cycling advocates whom I've contacted (Bicycle Queensland, Bicycle Gold Coast, and anyone who read the thread over at bikeforums). Especially when compared with other "hit and run" incidents which weren't quite as blatantly deliberate (albeit quite suspicious).
Granted, I wasn't hit, however, a less experienced, less cynical and less judgemental cyclist would have been. And while such incidents (fortunately) are relatively rare, this is proof that they still happen. Admittedly, the muted reaction may be partially my own fault. After all, I didn't have a pen and paper with me to record the details of the vehicle (a registration # would have been all I needed), but it does still raise one or two questions about why there is so much more focus on the supposedly "accidental" incidents than the blatantly deliberate ones. Have we just accepted ths sort of behaviour as something that can (and will) never be changed? Are advocates so wrapped up in the "building things" ideal that they pay more attention to the incidents they expect to give more credence to this mantra?
In something more positive, it hasn't stopped me from riding (why would it after Sunday night?). Yesterday morning was particularly pleasant with the low-lying cloud near Hinze Dam. That place seems different everytime I go out there, and it does serve a purpose for quick hills when I need them (and right now, I need them as much as ever!).
I'm still a little undecided about where to go this weekend. "Officially" I'm supposed to be leading the Tweed Mystery Ride to cover for Martin, but I'm not expecting anyone to get in touch now that I've taken over. If they don't, it leaves me with options. I could head for O'Reilly's (I usually do when I've had it with the world). Alternatively, I could say sod it all and jump on a train to the Glasshouse Mountains. I just don't know at this point.
Manu on the local training route in the Ecrin, France
Last week I was in France, to speak at the Ecrin Ice Festival. On one of the days, I had the opportunity to go and climb with some good climbers. Although I was still uncertain about going winter climbing, it would have been crazy to turn it down. So I turned up and heard from my climbing partners that the plan was to do a very overhanging 6 pitch M9 dry tooling route. This was kind of perfect. The bit I was most worried about was walking in for 30 minutes on snow. But that went fine and my arms proceeded to have a fine wake up call to climbing with tools again. The next morning we did a short ice route with a very rapid retreat due to everything melting around us and making scary cracking noises. I was amazed that my foot was not sore the next day as I expected, and nice to add another first on my list of climbing comeback milestones (or perhaps metrestones).
Obviously I felt quite rusty on the tools. It was quite heartening to see that I could still pull hard, but I’d forgotten so much of the subtlety of the movement in tooling, if I ever knew about it in the first place. I climbed the first pitch in ‘pull up contest’ style with not much weight on my feet. But watching Luca in action reminded me of a lot and by the final pitch I had improved a little.
Luca relaxing on another M9 pitch!
Since then I have stepped up the volume of training a little more, with a 5 days on, one off schedule. This was perhaps a little premature as I can feel my ankle a bit after that. However, it hurts in the context of everything else hurting from the work, so it’s not too bad. I’m still feeling fitter with every session and back up to doing 8a routes indoors. That is pretty much as hard as I’ve climbed indoors ever anyway. Quite soon I may well get the chance to try some hard sport routes outdoors too.
Since it’s rest day time now, I’m back to full on writing of my book..
Yet another amazing weekend of riding commenced with a quick-fire 120km on Saturday morning. I'm not sure what I was thinking to do this on a few hours' notice the day before a century, but it just seemed like a cool thing to do. Martin and I set off on a deserted Springbrook road for the climb to Salmon's Saddle, in cool, moist morning air left behind by the previous evening's downpour. That climb is an enjoyable one at anytime, but when there is mist hanging around the horizon, the enjoyment factor picks up a little.
The descent into Numinbah valley from this side is literally a screamer. I clocked 79.9km/h at one stage, and yet there was still time to take in the scenery through the gaps in the forest. There are also some areas to explore when I get my new MTB later in the year. Numinbah Valley greeted us with clouds hovering below mountain tops overlooking lush green pastures. Yet the southern end of this valley is arguably the prettiest climb in Southern Queensland, as the mountains close right in leading up to Numinbah Gap, where for a moment, you can be king of the world, or at least the Tweed Valley.
Descending into the Tweed Valley on days like this is an almost surreal experience. It feels more like coming in to land as we pass through the clouds. Shortly after reaching the valley floor, Martin suggested I should climb it again, for no reason other than chatting up a female cycle-tourist who was riding the other way. Unfortunately, chasing someone up a mountain range to start a conversation is a little less than subtle, and I declined the opportunity, even if she was a nice girl.
The ride through the rural Tweed Valley was relatively uneventful. By this stage the mist was rising quickly, even if the sun wasn't making an appearance. The final act was the long grind over Tomewin to return to the Gold Coast (and earn 1,500 metres of climbing in the process). It took me a while to find my rhythm on that climb, but it mattered not, as we were held up by a council gang clearing a landslide. We saw evidence of a few more in the area too. The first decent wet season in seven years has brought floods, landslides and some of the most spectacular riding I've seen in 13 years in this part of the world. Right now it just seems to be getting better and better. Hopefully I'll never find the pinnacle.