Saturday, January 30, 2016

It's All About the Access

HEY!

If you value the ability to flow along unique trails, even ones that you may not get to ride but once a year, or less, don't let this opportunity pass to make your voice heard. 

On Friday I received an email from IMBA about a new threat to trail access in the Inyo, Sequoia and Sierra National Forests. You may have read recently about a new push to designate previously open forest lands as wilderness which, as you are also aware, will put them off-limits to bicycles. It does not need to be this way as there are other designations that the Forest Service could use, designations that would afford protection, yet at the same time leave them open to bicycle travel.

At the time I received the email I didn't have a link to provide you, but thanks to the Mount Wilson Bicycle Association I now do. Click here for more information, and gain access to a sample response letter. As noted by IMBA and MWBA, rather than simply copying and pasting, you are encouraged to spend a little time to draft a unique response, something the USFS will be more likely to pay attention to.

All submissions must be made by Monday (the 1st of February), so don't delay, get on it today.

photo via IMBA

Friday, January 29, 2016

Sawpit and Silver Fish: Machete!

If you don't return to the trailhead, after completing the full out and back, with your legs looking as if a bobcat used them as a scratching post, you have done something wrong. Even after showering and cleaning up, I think there are still thorns and pointy sticks protruding from my shins and calves. Armor would be a good idea, and I am not talking about the mountain bike armor with which you might be familiar. No, I am talking about full on knights of the Round Table armor. Yeah, that should just about do it - the only way to return unscathed.

Run! Mad mountain biker.

Better yet, bring a machete and have at it. All the riders who come after will owe you a great deal of gratitude - not that there will be many people coming after you. In the seven years that have passed since I last rode the Silver Fish Trail I can state with absolute confidence that no more than ten riders have taken the long forgotten route. And that is exceedingly unfortunate, because the Silverfish has so much potential. There are multiple, and spectacular views of Mt. Baldy. Silver Fish Canyon and various of its smaller feeder canyons possess great stands of alder, pine and ancient gnarled oaks. With all that tree cover your ride constantly transitions through sun, dappled light, and absolute shade. Given the right conditions, wildflower shows can be spectacular; today, at this time of year, Ribes (currant) was the only dependable bloomer, but it was putting on quite a show all by itself.

Speaking of transitions - one minute your wheels will crunch over decomposing granite, the next ripple through swaths of oak litter, and in the next they will silently spin over a carpet of yarrow, grass and other low-growing ground covers. 

So why the armor, why the machete? Because the Silver Fish is so rarely, if ever, visited, the trail becomes progressively worse and degraded the further you follow it. It may start out fairly open, but little distance, little time passes before the buckwheat, the chamise, and everything else that grows up there closes in. At first the big 29ers simply bull right through, the fact that you head down into the canyon means they roll over anything that gets in their way. The further down you ride, the more that brush encroaches, until you eventually reach sections of trail that are impassible from the saddle. The only option is to dismount and push on through to the other side, to the next all too brief opening. Trees have crashed down during some unrecorded winter storm. Yuccas proliferate in places, and you thread the needle, hoping for the best, that it all works out.

The silence is startling, thunderous, enveloping. The Silver Fish must be one of the most isolated canyons in the San Gabriels - no massive parking lot, and short stroll will allow the masses easy access. 

As it should be.

If you want to enter the Silver Fish, revel in its majesty, you must work for it. Some places are best left to those willing to make the effort. Otherwise it is all just disneyland.

Here is the catch about that isolation - if you carry an extra dose of fear of wild animals lurking nearby, the Silver Fish may not be the best choice for your next solo ride. The thought that no one would hear my yelling down in in those depths, crossed my mind, as every so often I came across great piles of bear scat. Or at least that was my best guess as to what had left them. A couple more things to consider - even though it is not yet February, the gnats are a bloody menace I almost gave up, stuck out my tongue and had an early, albeit unappetizing lunch. Secondly, there are stinging nettles at the last stream crossing before reaching Stone Cabin Flat (the only stream likely to have water flowing year-round) - be aware of your step. My left leg is still stinging from a leafy slap.

These days the Silver Fish Trail (1N29), as it did seven years ago, ends at Stone Cabin Flat (if the remains of an old cabin are there, I am yet to find them). That is a distance of 7.35 miles from where I began at Monrovia Canyon Park. Not much distance should equate to not much time. But, all that push-a-bike through the brush took me a good five hours. Yes, 14.5 miles in 5 hours (3600 feet of elevation gain). Woof. 

The Silver Fish, and as much as I appreciate the undisturbed way it is now, could be a real destination, and a prize mountain biking route. It used to go from Monrovia, up and down canyons, across mountains, all the way to San Gabriel Canyon. Now there is no real way to get past Stone Cabin Flat, though it you look closely, you can see it continuing along the mountain sides further away. So close, yet so far away has never been more true. I would love to see a group like CORBA, or the MWBA take an interest in rehabbing the Silver Fish, bringing it back to the spectacular route it could be.

I posted the first half of this route, the climb of Sawpit Canyon, to the velo Course, which you can check at this link

Sawpit Canyon Dam

Still in Sawpit

Yup, Sawpit.

Near the top of Silver Fish, and yes, that cut discernible crossing the slope in the middle distance is the same trail beyond Stone Cabin Flat. Good luck getting through to it though.

dgst - decomposed granite single track

carpet

Almost impassable

Limber enough to limbo?

I don't think the remains of this apiary at Stone Cabin Flat have changed in seven years

My guess - once upon a time Silver Fish was passable to motor vehicles, but over the years (or maybe just one heavy rainfall year), multiple washouts closed it for good. Yay, I would hate to see motors up here.



That's it, end of the trail at Stone Cabin Flat

Seven years ago there were bees at this crossing. None this time. Oh, and this is where the nettles are.

Definitely impassible. Push. Push on through to the other side.

There was a portion of a deer leg at this campfire ring seven years ago.

Not as bright in the photo. This fungus was actually neon orange in natural light.

Little bit rocky.

One of several downed trees.

One last view over my shoulder at the old Bald One.


Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Up the Road: World Cycling League

It was the first I had heard of it. A "big" cycling event to be held here in Los Angeles (Carson), yet news of the approaching competition came all the way from Ireland.


As of this writing there are teams from Mexico, Ireland, and the United States scheduled to compete. As we get closer to the middle of March, I imagine (am hoping) there will be more information. Check the Velo Sports Center web page, or Facebook page, for whatever additional info there may be.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

CLR Effect Annual: Now 35% Off

That's right, 35%, but only until January 28.


Click here to go to Blurb where you can preview, and order, any or all the three Annual editions published to date. When you order just enter QUEST35 at the appropriate place for the discount.

Monday, January 25, 2016

Monday Blues: Ouchie


"There is a reason we wear gloves", I would tell my son. He didn't care, or was unconcerned, and went on riding without them.

"One of these days you may find out the painful way what that reason is", I said. He didn't care, or was unconcerned, and went right on riding without them.

Sometimes (often) when I am taking photos at a race I am focused on the bigger picture and sometimes (often) miss the details until later. What I thought, at the time, was a friendly wave for the camera, turned out to be a graphically cautionary tale about wearing your gloves when you ride.

Heal well.

Sunday, January 24, 2016

2016 SoCal Cross Fever Season Finale: Showdown at Corriganville

The Montrose boys (and gals) were there, along with the Celo Pacific, Velo Alegro, S.W.A.T., and the gang from Pasadena. Ruffians from OCR, H&S, G2, The Team, Centric, Knobbe Martens showed up along with many others riding in from far and wide. They were dust covered, with nervous sweat running in rivulets from their brows, mixing with the dust on arms and legs. If you looked in the right direction, you may even have noticed a little blood. All had converged on the rustic remains of Corriganville for one final, grand shoot-out bringing an end to a season of feverish rivalry. It made that OK Corral incident look like a pop-gun contest between neighborhood kids.

It was appropriate that the SoCal Cross Fever finale should be held at Corriganville. Sure it was an ending, the finish of another season of cyclocross, but melancholia was put out to pasture, long enough for the racers, their many supporters, and a fair number of regular weekend park users could send the season out with a BANG!

The cowhands, the gunslingers, the hard-luck miners from any of a dozen old west Hollywood frontier towns may be consigned to celluloid these days, but their spirit, the rivalries of competing ranches, of the young gun looking for fame in a one-up against the old master, lives on, replaced for this one day by rivals on two wheels. Cowbells were there, ringing out through the rocky draws, reaching up to rocky heights, same as they ever did, but the colors of calico were replaced by colorful kit, the clatter of chains bouncing over exposed bedrock replacing a jangle of spurs.

I was interested to see what the SoCal Cross Crew could do to turn this rocky gem of a park into a worthy cyclocross venue. I have seen mountain bike races run here and, quite frankly, was expecting to see a greater percentage of wider-tire bikes. Considering the rough and tumble landscape of the little canyon it was a pleasant surprise to see this was not the case - most racers kept to the spirit of the event and rode their cross bikes. I suppose it says something about Dorothy's expertise that she could create a course clearly identifiable as a cyclocross one. Incidentally, and somewhat related, did you know they ran international-caliber motocross and bmx races here during the 1970s? True. I talked with a photographer who shot those things back in the day.

Anyway, melancholy set in afterward, with the realization that the next cross race will not come around for another eight months - the last four months have been quite entertaining.

Anyway, I have put one hundred seven photos from the day into the Flickr album. Check them there and, as usual, if you don't see what or who you were looking for, let me know and I will see what I can find among the other six hundred or so that did not make the album.

After: Grrrr, fierce in the heat of competition

Before: La de da. Sightseeing, Isabel? I gave her just a little flack,
something about looking too relaxed - after that, look out, it was all go.


Saturday, January 23, 2016

The Quiet Hills


It was ten o'clock in the morning yet because of the low hanging clouds the sunrise that began four hours earlier was still lighting up the southern and eastern horizons. Looking that way the bulk of Santiago Peak floated in a golden band. Turning 'round the more familiar peaks appeared, as they usually do, solidly grounded, not quite silhouetted against the white sky. I never tire of climbing each hill along this loop and pausing to take in whichever view of the mountains unfolds. It is one of the advantages of the solo ride; pauses can be whenever, wherever, and for however long I want. There is no rush to catch the group before they rumble down the trail, around the bend, out of sight.

It was a quiet morning, even at ten o'clock. Most of the people I shared trails with were afoot; few chains but my own, few shifting gears. Geese and ducks on the lake, the shore, were undisturbed by running dogs, raised voices. Typically we speak of silence falling, like a curtain, but I believe this morning it may have risen from the ground. I saw it obscuring lower Santiago Peak rising to meet the clouds in the sky, a narrow golden band of captured light between them. Surely that is where the sound was as well, contained, however briefly between silence rising, quiet falling.




Friday, January 22, 2016

Never Enough: Conversations at Lunch


For years and years, I had just the one bike. I raced, trained, and rode to work with it. Periodically the one might be replaced - replaced being the optimal word - it was always just The One. It wasn't until I started mountain biking that I considered, having, needing, or even wanting, any more than one. 

Yesterday afternoon I went to lunch with Rockin' Johnny, a coworker who, as the nickname suggests, is indeed a former musician (Farmer Tan). [I am hesitant to use the word former as, I suspect, the phrase "once a…, always a…" applies equally to musicians as it does to cyclists, or Mafioso.] Anyway, John recently bought a new (used) vintage bike and, this past Friday, commuted to work on it for the first time. A solid-built bike, if a little heavy, a little slow. He was / is very stoked about the whole thing and admitted that he already envisions getting something faster. When, soon afterward, the topic of mountain bikes entered the conversation his response was predictably, "oh, and one of those too."

I saw immediately where he was heading. It is a path that took me a decade to discover, yet the same path that he is contemplating after just a few months.

I suggested that he be wary, that the path he was on the verge of treading was a tricky one, full of pitfalls, and that once chosen rarely afforded an opportunity to change course. I could have saved my breath. As a guitarist, he had followed the N+1 years ago and was already well aware of the paths' twists and turns, of its co-tempations - pleasure and danger. 

The warning given, my civic duty done, the fantasy of being able to willfully ignore the N+1 path was, like the greasy napkin that had just wiped my mouth, crumpled up and cast aside. Are we ever satisfied? Is 'N' ever enough by itself? Excluding the group of collectors for whom each new bike is like a trophy, it is more likely that most of us reach a point of saturation where we must first divulge before we can indulge. Like the economy, and for a multitude of possible reasons, there is a limit to growth. This is a modified form of the equation recognizing balance, I am just not sure what it looks like in mathematical form.

I hear of people who go the opposite way, who rather than seeking a distinct and different bike for each distinct and different type of riding, instead quest for the one bike that does it all. Sometimes you read reviews of purported "all-around" bikes; almost always those reviews end with the admission - "as close as you will find to a bike that does it all." Close but no cigar, as the say goes, is not good enough. And so N+1.

As little as two months ago, if you had asked me, I would have said I was done with N+1, that I could ride out my days satisfied with what I have. But then, I would certainly like that hand-built, custom-fit bike designed specific to my requirements and tastes. Oh and that lighter-than-air mountain bike I tested a couple months past is still on my mind. That striving for something just a little better than what I currently have (or believe I have) keeps me following N+1. In its modified form, that is.

A Friday query, if you so choose: Once you began cycling as an adult, how much time passed before you turned onto the N+1 path? Did anyone turn onto it as a kid? Just what does the modified form of N+1 look like?

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Cycling Claremont: Inside Out


"Inside Out" by Emelia von Saltza, Marie Fleming, John Kalapos, and Libby Reyff

"This mural attempts to honor the intersection of the Prison Industrial Complex and Environmental Injustice… this piece aims to challenge the present, conventional environmentalist framework on campus - instead, embracing one that views the natural environment and the social environment as one ecosystem in need of justice."



"On a compositional note, the black and white color palette serves as a stark contrast against Pitzer's colorful campus and neighboring murals. The simplicity aims to criticize the current 'black and white' framework of traditional Environmental justice that neglects to see beyond the surface. The two-dimensional rendering of this black and white image implies the need to further examine missing and substantial nuances in the current static discourse of environmentalism. We intentionally reference Pitzer using the school's traditional orange color, as well as the signature tree, calling on students to question and reinterpret their complacent role in matters of Environmental justice."

There are four additional paragraphs of descriptive text, but um, yeah, I'm not going to spend the time typing them out here. But, hey, you can check the mural and information yourself by riding on over to Pitzer College when you have some free time - look for it in the Holden Garden.

Monday, January 18, 2016

Up the Road: NAHBS

 At a mere month and a half away NAHBS has appeared just up the road. If you didn't know, NAHBS stands for North American Handmade Bicycle Show, and this year, the show will be held in Sacramento, making it especially accessible. I've got to tell you it has me quite excited. As you are aware, I have been a media-credentialed attendee at Interbike for a few years now and while I, without question, look forward to all that latest and greatest extravaganza has to offer, my favorite bike show (to date) was the small(ish) San Diego Custom Bike Show way back in 2011, when I was writing as the Claremont Cyclist. That show had many of the premier custom and handmade bicycle makers in the country, some of whom will be at this years' NAHBS. That show opened my eyes to an entire side of the bicycle industry that I had little first-hand knowledge of, or experience with.

In its immediate aftermath, Interbike, generates a lot of posts here, as it does on most media. The rest of the year I like to favor the custom and hand-built side of the bicycle manufacturing industry. Kualis, and Sabrosa are among the hand-built bicycles that have been featured here recently, along with the University of Iowa Handbuilt Bicycle Program; I hope to have an interview with Sabrosa's Jon Hanson soon.

The more time passes, the more I find myself drawn to hand-built bikes (much of that may have to do with how much fun I have these days on the Ibis) - I believe there is something to say for the custom fit and the performance advantages that brings that cannot be replicated in a mass produced factory bike.

Anyway, if the custom side of things is of particular interest, or mere curiosity, check out NAHBS in Sacramento. I think you will find it interesting, and maybe eye-opening.


Sunday, January 17, 2016

2016 Monument Cross: Legging it out Around Legg Lake

Psssst. Hey buddy. Hey, you. Yes you. Wanna know a secret? Wanna up your chances of placing in a local cyclocross race? Listen up. You don't need to train more, you don't need to practice those dismounts and quick mounts. You don't need to learn to bunny hop those barriers. Heck no, none of that. You just need to be patient. Wait until January. That's the trick you see and, while it may not be so secret, there sure don't seem to be many folks taking advantage of the knowledge. 


I have mentioned before how the local cyclocross scene often mimics the lakeside waterfowl that fly in and out with the seasons. Many racers have, likewise, flown off for other things by now. The fields are smaller, the atmosphere more subdued. The gaps between races / racers passing by are greater, and you fill it by watching the geese fight amongst themselves, leaves falling from the trees, or the futility of fishermen reeling in yet another empty line.

Today's third race in the Cross Fever Series, dubbed Monument Cross, flew into a new venue - Whittier Narrows Park. The ribbons of race tape wrapped around the shores of sprawling Legg Lake, a little too close at times. The proximity frequently encouraged ducks to waddle over and plop down for their afternoon nap, oblivious to the approaching stampede of wheels. Like a similar cross course, a few miles further down river in Long Beach, this one had plenty of expanses of gopher-infested turf to rattle the brain. Mostly, though, it seemed a bit smoother and harder-packed. The Sunday park-goers were curious but, unlike the fowl, managed to keep off the course.

Perhaps what I need to do is stop with the comparisons - these end of season races are not the same as the big races of October or November, and maybe it is unfair to judge them with those other races in mind. If the numbers were fewer there was, never-the-less, no lack of will to compete. The urge test legs, fitness and ability, to challenge and be challenged, runs just as strong in January as it did in September, the beginning of the cyclocross season.

There is one more opportunity before the curtain drops for another eight months - cyclocross at Corriganville, Sunday the 24th.


At only forty-six photos, the Flickr album for Monument Cross is a small one. To be honest the big draw for me today was simply riding for a third consecutive day, it seems like forever since I last had three in a row. Anyway, the to and from the venue ride meant I just didn't have as much time to spend there. See you all at Corriganville next week. 

Saturday, January 16, 2016

A Good Day to Ride

Yeah, I believe she liked demo'ing that full suspension Liv Lust.


We're just moving in different directions. While I find myself more committed than ever to riding a hard tail, she found more confidence in that extra kush. Different strokes for different folks. Thanks to Liv, Corey and Coates for the Liv Demo. Good to have Sam join us, but bummed that his better half, Rachel, has collarbone problems, it you know what I mean. Heal up.

Friday, January 15, 2016

Grey

If not for the emerging green of certain hillsides, or the bright red faces of some unidentified fowl, the morning would have more accurately been defined as drab, dreary. Low hanging clouds draped from the sky, hiding most everything beyond those very same, and immediate, green hillsides. Everything was the same grey color - the water, the bare branches and trunks of California Black Walnut, the mud. Not that there weren't variations in the grey tone, everything between nearly white, and that distinctive nearly black the walnuts get in winter weather. I couldn't be sure if it was dripping from the sky, or seeping up from the ground.

When, later, I was put on the spot, very nearly reprimanded by another rider who discovered the Mrs' bike was not shifting quite right, I wondered if moods had become grey as well. It was the first I had heard of the problem and my response that she would not need the big ring today was less than satisfactory. Women. Always looking out for each other.



And when I put it on the work stand later, IT SHIFTED FINE FOR ME. Hmmph!

Ride in Peace: Owen Mulholland

Tom Hardy photo (why yes, that is Greg Lemond over his shoulder)

One who lived it and was especially positioned to write about it.
Owen Mulholland, one of the master scribes of the lore and history of our sport.
Ride in Peace.

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

For Everyone, From Greenhorn to Booshway

Back in the day I was all into the historical reenactment thing - the era of the mountain man to be specific. For all the years of research into the lore and craft, I never really got much beyond the level of "greenhorn."


my "other" kit. can you spot the watermelons?

This was not due from lack of knowledge. It was not due to lack of effort, passion, or enthusiasm. I suppose, my failure to rise to the role of booshway was, more than anything, due to a lack of opportunity. Rendezvous, and other gatherings were not all that common and were, as likely as not, to be held in far-flung corners of the Western states. During days at the university I stumbled upon one in the Ojai backcountry. Additionally, if you didn't, or couldn't make your own accoutrements and possibles, it's not like you could make an instant online purchase (no internet); nor were there mountain man and fur trade reenactment shops located every few miles across town. When I finished up at the U and moved back to The Valley I was fortunate to have a supply shop nearby - the Buffalo Robe - the next closest one? I don't know, Arizona? Utah? Colorado? Bakersfield? Lets just say, not very close. There was plenty of adventure, if you consider chasing a bear that had just broken into your cache down a mountainside to be adventure. Sure, adventure.

And then there is bicycling. Just about anyone can do it. It, and all the things you need to do it, are easily accessible, and readily available. Within a ten mile radius of home I count eleven bike shops. At least. There are group rides everyday of the week, every day of the year. Not that you need any of that - a chain and two dependable wheels and you are on your way. Every time you roll out the door the prospect of adventure is a possibility. Heck you might even chase a bear down the mountainside after you startle him from eating berries beside the trail. That is some adventure there too. 

*If you suspect that the theme of today's post may have something to do with my seeing The Revenant over the weekend, you would be correct and, unless you ask in person, I won't reveal where they took liberties in the age-old mountain man tradition of story embellishment. 

Monday, January 11, 2016

Monday Blues: Landing


... something about any you can walk away from being good ...

nose down, tail up, but he rode away. It is good.

Saturday, January 9, 2016

2016 KMC Chain Winter Series, Race Weekend #1


First, lets express wishes to the racer, who had to be airlifted off the mountain, for a speedy and full recovery.



well, that is one way to slow down the competit a teammate

Rocks fall hard on this mountain, the evidence is all around. Great slabs of granite, some with sharp angular edges, others with softly rounded faces, are everywhere. Some might take exception to the use of that word - softly - for there is certainly nothing soft about these rocks. It is one of those ironic twists of the lexicon that "soft" and "rock" should ever be used together.

Riders also fall hard on this mountain, and it is no surprise that the first, the rocks, are often the cause of the second, the falling rider. What is surprising is that falling, or crashing really, does not happen more often. The DH guys, in particular, are constantly on the edge, riding that fine line separating control from chaos. You hear it in their exclamations as they rumble past, you hear it in the solid "thwack" of a missed line, you hear it in the smooth bite of tread and a perfect passing. Study, read, watch and learn, these are all methods of preparation, but when the wheels begin their spin, and speed picks up it is not so easy to distinguish between the realm of control, the other of chaos. As likely as not each run down the mountain sees a racer waver across the line, one moment in complete control, the next slipping into chaos. Once that happens, recovery may be equal parts luck and skill. Only once, on Saturday morning, did I see a racer run out of both luck and skill. A "thud" delivered with something less than grace, spectators rush over with the usual question, pick up the riders' bike, proffer a hand to help him up. The response "I saw that happening" - we always see our mistakes as they happen. Too late. No harm done, though, and there will be another run to correct the problem.

Before this years' Winter Series is complete I hope to make it out on a Sunday for the actual DH race, this weekend, though, Saturday's practice runs would have to do - and the XC race earlier in the morning. Of course. 

Congratulations to the days' XC winners: 
Rotem Ishay, Pro Men
Nikki Peterson, Pro Women
Eric Bierman, Veteran Pro
Turner Conway, Expert Men U18
Rafael De La Rosa, Expert Men 19-29
Curtis Keene, Expert Men 30-39
Ken Smith, Expert Men 40-49
Mark Milam, Expert Men 50-59
Jonathan Livesay, Expert Men 60+
Micah Mason, Open Women
Blake Wray, Sport Men U18
Blake Mastrangelo, Sport Men 19-29
Tim Gonsalves, Sport Men 30-39
Michael Nasco, Sport Men 40-49
Todd Hunsaker, Sport Men 50-59
Rich Fersch, Sport Men 60+
Alexa Lopez, Sport Women U34
Isabelle Thompson, Sport Women 35+
Luke Phillips, Beginner Men 9-10
Raulito Gutierrez, Beginner Men 11-12
Jake Hubbard, Beginner Men 13-15
Vance Chavez, Beginner Men 16-18
Sullivon Van Way, Beginner Men 19-29
Corey Mouton, Beginner Men 30-39
Jason Suarez, Beginner Men 40-49
Darron Manky, Beginner Men 50-59
Shelby Kawell, Beginner Women U18
Dixie Owens, Beginner Women U34
Zak Kroepel, Over 200 Club

Of the, more than, nine hundred photos from the day, one hundred twelve made it into the Flickr album. You can check them by clicking the link. If you don't see what, or who, you are looking for in the album just let me know and I will search the rest. If you see a photo you like, feel free to download it (credit where credit due, of course). You can also contact me via email and I will gladly send a full size jpeg file of the image. As usual, I don't charge for photos, but do appreciate it when someone purchases a copy of the annual. By the way, you will notice I switched from shooting in color, to B/W - once the sky became that flat, dull grey, it equally affected the lighting down below, thus the switch. Until next time, good riding.


He recovered from that

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