This one's for Dicky

Godspeed, my friend. Not many folks can lay claim to 14 years (and 3 weeks) as a messenger. Hell, Kevin Bacon only lasted a couple of months.
 

By the way, pants are overrated.

Best-kept "secrets"

When I first started riding, I remember hearing about Tsali, the trail system outside of Bryson City, North Carolina, nestled just this side of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park on the shores of Fontana Lake. "For a hot minute," as they say around here, Tsali (and with a bit of a stretch, Asheville and the Pisgah National Forest) was mentioned in the same breath as Moab, Big Bear/Canaan and Whistler as must-do mountain bike destinations.

But then something happened. Or rather, multiple somethings. This was a bit more than a decade ago, and while places like Moab and Whistler, along with upstarts like Park City and Tahoe, heavily invested in their summertime "active tourism" infrastructure to bolster their struggling economies, Western North Carolina lagged behind. To be fair, as much as I like Tsali, it's fairly limited in its trail geography. And downtown Bryson City is no Moab. But with not so much imagination, the French Broad River basin, including Asheville, Hendersonville, Brevard and even extended to include Tsali and Boone, sure could have done more with itself, rivaling a place like Whistler as a "I-must-go-there-before-I-die" Mecca for mountain biking.

Instead, the area has languished in relative obscurity. It became a "secret" destination. Now, those "in the know," know what's what. Some of the best riders in the country -- and the world -- sing this area's praises. The Pisgah Ranger District is one of the most visited Districts in the U.S. Forest Service system. The DuPont tract was recently named North Carolina's first-ever State Recreation Forest. Heck, I even remember the first time I heard of Pisgah, following along on Ronsta's blog as he posted a photo of himself, chest-deep with his bike held above his head, fording South Mills River in what I now know is Turkeypen.

But locals here are funny. Mountain folk aren't given to easily part with their secret stash of singletrack. City and county governments have been slow to embrace the lifestyle. It's been less than a decade since the factories closed, and it's taken this long for them to realize the economic potential of active tourism -- and even slower to embrace each other for truly regional planning. (In fact, I would argue they're still behind the 8-ball in a lot of ways -- if you're Asheville and Buncombe County, it's too easy to rest on the influx of blue-hair tourism dollars that accompany being the location of the most massive private home in the country.) The riding is not always visitor-friendly, and can be pretty "epic" in the overused form of the word. And long-time locals here, not of the mountain biking variety, can be loathe to hoards of stinky, baggy-clad, sometimes bearded nature-lovers taking up space in "their" towns.

Thankfully, things are changing. While the name Transylvania County may conjure up images of caped, fang-tooth monsters lurking in every wooded cove, it is instead home to literally hundreds of waterfalls and the charming city of Brevard, gateway to the Pisgah National Forest. The powers-that-be saw fit to do an economic impact study a short while back, and what they found was pretty incredible: Active tourism far exceeded their expectations, and was a key driver in their economy. This built on and gave urgency to a number of projects that were already underway, and moved City and County leaders to focus their energies on attracting even more dollars, with advertisements in mountain-bike-focused magazines like BIKE.

In fact, BIKE chose to base their 2012 "Bible of Bike Tests" in and around Brevard. Over the course of two packed-agenda weeks last autumn, a crew of wreckers hit the trails at DuPont, Pisgah and Beech Mountain (Boone), riding this year's whips in back-to-back runs on some of the most fun trails we have. Admittedly, even Ridgeline will get "boring" after the 15th time in a row, so they also headed deep into the Forest for a session on Farlow Gap; which, afterward, one of the testers said to me that night at dinner with a reverent tone, "is really world-class, mate."

That issue has now hit the newstands, and last Friday the County held a "coming out" party of sorts. By all accounts, mountain biking was represented -- but mountain bikers weren't the only ones excited by the exposure. The very next day, this past Saturday, was also the first volunteer day on the Bracken Mountain Trail -- which, when completed, will literally link downtown Brevard with "Big Pisgah" on a ribbon of widetrack that will be anything but a "paved" multi-use path. I was there on the work crew, with its diversity of volunteers (mountain bikers, hikers, others), and am more excited than ever to do a big loop, now that I've seen the views and what an awesome trail layout it's going to be.

In fact, after the work day, I headed over to the Fish Hatchery to ride the other side of the mountain, and discovered another "secret" gem: Forest Road 475C, which will link the City with the Forest, was one of the most breathtaking rides I've done in a long, long time. At one point, just 15 minutes up from the Hatchery, you hit a bend that offers an incredible view of John Rock on one side and Looking Glass Rock on the other, with the Forest spread out around you, rising to the peak at Pilot Rock above Farlow. Forty or so minutes later, I topped out in an almost Alpine setting, alone for all the world just below Catpen Gap, in a clearing with an old fire pit and a goat-trail connection to the Art Loeb. The ride was double-track, but was double-track a la Pisgah ... which, if you know what I mean, is worth every ounce of sweat you've got.

I'm proud to call this area my home. I'm excited that the Southeast arm of IMBA, known as SORBA, is working hard in the region to push forward a pro-mountain biking agenda with local and national land managers. I'm doing my part on behalf of Cane Creek, SORBA and myself to work with local politicians and business owners to realize the potential of the resources we have at hand. I'm psyched that our little part of the Appalachians is once again being recognized for what it is: One of the best places in the world to ride a mountain bike. We have our challenges ahead of us, to be sure, and opportunities will be hard to come by in some respects. But we also have a new/old group of leaders putting in the work and rebuilding bridges that have been burned, a renewed sense of purpose, and momentum. It's no secret anymore, we've paddled out and grabbed the wave, and now it's time to stand up and start ripping.

It's gonna' be an awesome ride.

Happy birthday Tinkerbell!

Dear Kate:

Today is a special day. Today is one of those days that you want to remember forever. Today is one of those days that fill your heart with so much love, you feel like you're going to burst. Today is one of those days that makes being a parent the single best thing in the whole wide world.

See, today is Tinkerbell's birthday.

Now, I know that in about 10 or 11 years, you'll probably be a little embarrassed by this. I hope that 15 or 20 years after that, though, you'll instead appreciate it, and maybe pass along an experience like this to your children. My Grandpa and my Dad did for me once -- Santa left ashy footprints through the living room on Christmas morning, a single moment that will live with me for the rest of my life.

And today -- TODAY! -- is another one of those moments.

It all started a little more than a week ago, right after we got back from the holidays. You've been on quite the "Peter Pan" kick lately -- I'm not a bit surprised, considering that we started reading you Peter and Wendy before you were even born. Somehow, though, your love of all things Peter and Wendy and John and Michael became a fascination with Tinkerbell's birthday, which you insisted was 10 days away. We were getting you ready for bed, and we pulled out the calendar to make sure we knew exactly when it was, setting the date in our minds. We even checked it a few more times, as 10 days became 8, then one week, then just 5 days away.

In the meantime, your brother started day care with you, you prepared to move up to the next class, and we shared the difficult anniversary of your Nana's passing. I kind of forgot about Tink's birthday, but thankfully, your Mom came to the rescue!

While I tackled plumbing projects and nipped out for a quick hike with Mr. Stephen, you and your Mom pulled out an aging gluten-free cookie dough mix and started baking. Only instead of making cookies according to the recipe (your Mom's "following" of recipes is, of course, legendary in the family), Mom pulled out the big, heart-shaped pan that I think was a wedding gift from your Aunt Kari and turned the delicious batter into a massive cookie cake fit for a Fairy. I was lucky enough to get to taste-test a bit before you baked it, and got to see you with batter all over your face from licking off the mixers.

By the time I got home from my hike, the cake was out of the oven and ready for decoration. And you and Mom went all out! You put on every funny candle we have from various birthday cakes, hearts and chickens and tractors and soccer balls, and Mom even spelled out "Happy Birthday Tink!" in green frosting!

We got ready for your dinner -- yummy leftover pizza -- and made sure you ate your pizza and at least a few green beans. We talked about how Tinkerbell is really small, no bigger than your fist, but sometimes -- like in the play we saw -- she becomes big so we can see her. And then we lit the candles!

We dimmed the lights, and it was time to sing! Brother, who was in the bouncy chair behind you, even joined in!

Even better, since we knew Tinkerbell wouldn't get to eat her cake until we were all fast asleep, we got to eat a little bit ourselves. Your green soul patch was pretty cute, and it was a lot of fun to teach you about how chocolate chip cookies go so well with a little milk ...

Once we were done, we cut a little piece to leave for Tink. She's afraid of "big people," of course, and we talked about how she would fly all the way to the house and would be so excited to eat her cake. You insisted -- insisted! -- that we use the Ronald McDonald "Happy Birthday" plate, and your Mom even had to get up from the table to hand wash it. Then we got it all ready, we talked about how Tinkerbell's bed is in her room in Peter's house in Neverland, and it was time for us all to go to sleep.

And then, sometime in the night, Tinkerbell arrived and enjoyed her delicious cake! We were all a little sleepy on this Monday morning, but I was sure not to go into the dining room too early, and saved the big surprise for you. Finally it was time for breakfast, and we turned on the lights and Wow! Tink had been here!

Your face lit up, your eyes sparkled and you smiled a big, beautiful smile. You did that funny thing you do when you get over-excited, where you tense up and kind of shake a little, and talk in this funny deep voice you have in the back of your throat, and you ran from the table to the kitchen and back telling us all that Tinkerbell had been there. Then I drew you in for an even closer look, and we checked out my place mat and the tablecloth, and the few crumbs left on the plate, and what's this? Is this snow all the way from Neverland? No? Why, it's Pixie dust! Tinkerbell left behind a trail of Pixie dust!

And that's the story of Tinkerbell's birthday. We cleaned up the table, ate our breakfast, and you went off to your first day in your new day care class. I think we even marked the day in the calendar so we'd remember it next year. It was a wonderful afternoon and evening leading to a dramatic morning, and your Mom pulled out all the stops to make it happen. And like I said, I know some day this story may be a little embarrassing to you, but I also hope someday you realize that moments like this are special forever, because they are so fleeting, like a trail of powdered-sugar Pixie dust left in the night by a Fairy enjoying her birthday cake.

Love,

DAD

Milestones

Hi Mom --

Wow. It's kind of hard to believe. Tomorrow will be a year. This week has been kind of tough -- Monday was our first day back at work, which coincided with the same date a year ago -- the day I flew back to Chicago. These past few days have been pretty busy with work and other stuff, which has been good; I haven't dwelt too much on what happened last year. Except at night, when it's kind of hard not to.

Daniel started day care yesterday -- I wish you could have seen him. All dressed up in a shirt and a tiny vest that was a gift from Kevin and Jennifer, he looked every bit the little man. He's a happy kid, all smiles and gurgles now. You'd really like him -- he doesn't cry much, only when he's hungry, and spends most of his time smiling, hanging out, or his favorite: snuggling. There's a picture of you holding Kate from the first time you saw her, and I just see you in my mind's eye in the same way with Daniel on your shoulder.

And Kate! Oh my goodness. She is quite the little lady (or "big girl" if you ask her). She was so excited for Daniel to go with her to day care, and next week she starts a new class with her favorite teacher. She definitely has her moments, but she's a great kid, and is so much fun to be around. She smart -- we're going to have our hands full with her. And oh my gosh does she look just like you.

She's fascinated with Peter Pan, and keeps asking me to go to Neverland with her. She's frightened of Captain Hook, but she loves Peter, Wendy, John and Michael, and we listen to the Disney soundtrack every chance we get. It's so cute, when she asks me to hear "Lost Boys jumping on the bed" -- her code for "You Can Fly!" since she saw Wendy, John and Michael jump on the bed in pictures in her book. Or "Awagonza," which is the Indian song. And it was such a relief to me the other day when she announced that "Wendy, John and Michael have a Nana, and I have a Nana too!" I had been sort of afraid she'd somehow associate her Nana with the dog in the story!

We talk about you quite a bit, you know. Sometimes Kate isn't quite sure what to make of it when we talk about Nana in heaven, but other times she asks questions and we have a good conversation about you. For a long while she was really interested in where certain things around the house came from -- who gave us what sort of thing. You came up a lot then -- the easel from last Christmas is a big part of Kate's life, and Kim and I are kind of surprised at some of the other toys that have had staying power. You always did know how to pick 'em.

Kim and I are doing well, and Kim started back at work yesterday. You'd be so proud of her -- she handled a bunch of transition at work this year very well, and isn't it crazy that she's sort of following in your career footsteps? That's one thing that's been quite a void for us both professionally -- we miss being able to pick up the phone and call you when personnel things get difficult. I know I could use the help from time to time.

We've settled in pretty well here in North Carolina, and it was good to see everyone for Christmas this year. It still bothers me that you weren't able to visit us in our new house -- I know you'd really like it. I guess I just want you to have seen for yourself how much it suits us. Waking up in the morning with the sun breaking over the mountains, or watching the sunset on the ridgeline, or exploring through our backyard forest -- it's really where we want to be, and the kids are going to love it growing up. I wish you could have seen for yourself, Kate's golden hair flying out behind her as she glides through the air on her swing that takes her "higher!" It's one of those moments you capture in your head, forever.

I have a feeling tonight will be difficult -- I remember picking Kim and Kate up from the airport a year ago today, going to get dinner, talking on the phone to Amy for a bit, then as we ate dinner the nurse who came rushing in. Dad and everyone had gone home for a shower and change of clothes, and it was just Kim and me. For all the world, I thought the nurse was coming in for the other family that was there with us in the waiting room; I'm not sure I'll ever get over hearing her say "Strout family. I need the Strout family." in that urgent-but-not-shouting voice that nurses somehow master. It was right about 9 o'clock, and when she told me what was going on, I knew. I just knew. I'm thankful everyone was able to make it back to the hospital quickly and we were together in the following difficult hours, but I also believe it happened that way for a reason, and it was meant to be me there for you, like you had been for me so many times before. I'm thankful for that too.

Well, in case I haven't said it, you know how much we miss you. Your presence is with us always, we know that, but I know I would love just one more chance to see you smile, pick on Dad for something or other, or hear you say, "Well, Miss Kate!" in that way you always did. I've been writing on my blog a fair bit about you, and the stuff I've been going through -- I hope it brings some measure of comfort not only to everyone who knew you, but to other friends who are going through loss themselves. I know you always wanted us to help others, and I hope I'm doing so. Thanks for always providing such a good example of that.

Miss you.

Love,

ME

K is for Cookie!

My brother and I were given to flights of fancy growing up: One time, he calmly explained to my Mom how he got a ride home from school in a police car, with help from a very nice officer, after being chased by guys on horses dressed as cowboys; while I was very late to school one day after spending a bit too much time talking with the animals on the way, a sort-of pint sized Dr. Doolittle. Kim and I have been lucky so far, though, as Kate leans much more to the literal -- we can usually tell when it's a story, as she's ready to run away with Dora and Diego, or when Captain Hook's pirates are about. 

That all changed last night, when -- about 14-1/2 hours into a white-knuckle 16-hour drive, Kate told us about the cookie. 

We had just gotten done with dinner, our only prolonged stop of the trip. Until then, we had hit rest stops and gas stations, quick in-and-outs, and Kate had been nursing a McDonald's cheeseburger from somewhere near Indianapolis. By Knoxville, though, we needed a break - Daniel had been screaming for what seemed like hours, Kim was contorted backwards on her seat trying to soothe him, Kate was getting loopy on only a 1-hour nap, and I had just finished a 2-1/2 hour stretch that included a long section of freezing fog with driving sleet and rain through the Cumberland Mountains.

So we stopped for a meal, grabbing a bite at a halfway-decent BBQ place attached to a gas station. Kate had been so good throughout the drive that I treated her to a bit of soft-serve frozen yogurt -- in pink, her favorite flavor. We took our time, making multiple trips to the potty, refilling the car, feeding Daniel, and just generally relaxing before our last big push home. We had 130 or so miles to go, some of it on very narrow, winding, wet roadway, and I wanted to make it all without stopping.

We pull out of the parking lot and climb back up onto I-75. By now it was pitch black outside, and though the rain had passed, it was still misting and wet. Daniel starts fussing, so Kim turns in her seat to calm him down. She looks at Kate.

"Kate, what is that in your hand?"

"It's a cookie!" she says.

"A cookie? How did you get a cookie?"

"From the store."

I interrupt. "What store? Did you take it from the gas station?" Pause for a second while we try to figure it out. "Is there a wrapper on the cookie? Where did you get it?" Panic rising.

"I got it from the store. The lady gave it to me." 

Panic gives way to fear: Instead of petty larceny, our daughter may have accepted food from a complete stranger, and could eat it at any time. My stomach drops. "Kate, does it have a wrapper on it? Give Mommy the cookie." My mind is racing through all the possibilities.

"No!"

Kim tries to help. "Kate, give Mommy the cookie."

"No!"

"Kate, don't make me stop the car. If I have to stop the car, I will be very upset. Please give Mommy the cookie."

"No!"

At this point, I'm freaking out. I don't like the obstinence, but I'm more scared than anything. Our voices rise. "We are pulling over at the next exit if you don't give us the cookie, and that will make us very angry. Give us the cookie."

"No!"

"OK, that's it. We're pulling over."

The car goes silent. "Don't think we're not mad," Kim says. "Daddy is just looking for a safe place to stop. You are in trouble, and there will be consequences."

It's dark. I move over into the right lane as we approach a remote exit on the outskirts of town. I slide in behind a semi and ease onto the ramp. We cross through the intersection and I pull to the shoulder. I stop, turn off my lights, and practically jump out of the car. I whip open her door, half expecting to find that she had gobbled it up. "Give Mommy the cookie. Now." There was no room for negotiation in my voice.

With a pout on her lip, Kate hands Kim the cookie. We look at it in the dimness of the dome light. We're confused, and it takes a moment to process. One beat. Two. Then, "What the hell?"

It's a bun. Or rather, a part of a bun. From a McDonald's cheesburger. That must have fallen into her car seat. Hours ago.

But to an imaginative 3-year-old Cookie Monster, it's a treat she got from the store.

And the nice lady gave it to her.

In her purple pajamas -- which she lived in for much of the trip -- Kate looked every bit like a cute, blonde Cookie Monster!

Freeze frame

Kim asked me the other day, what image I have in my mind when I think of Mom. And you know, it's funny -- when I try to picture my Mom, I can only picture Kate.

I think there are two reasons: First, my Mom hated to have her picture taken. So although we certainly have plenty of memories captured on film, there is no one, single enduring image for me that says "Mom" -- at least, not from the past few years. And second, as Kate grows up, she is beginning to look just like her.

My Mom's aunt says Kate is this generation's "Montgomery child" -- the one that looks (and acts?!) most like the Montgomery family. And you know, it's uncanny -- photos of my grandfather, my mother, me, Kate: at any given age, but for the quality of the print, they might as well be photos of the same person.

I didn't notice it so much at first. Life had been trucking along for a while, and some of my emotions had calmed down, when I took Kate to see Peter Pan a few weeks back. Afterward, we went out for a treat, and as she swung 'round and 'round on the soda fountain stool, I snapped her photo. And when I got home and looked at it again, I froze. Because there was my Mom, smiling back at me.

We had the fortunate opportunity to celebrate my parents' 40th wedding anniversary with them at Christmas in 2009. In preparing for that special night, we put together a slide show from their lives, set to music, starting with a few childhood photos and moving quickly into their late teens, when they first met. One picture in particular stands out for me: Mom in an orange-ish blouse and 1968 hairdo, her whole face lit up in a smile. It's one of the nicest photos we have of her, and to me, one of the prettiest.

And the photo I took here, in 2011, perfectly matched the one of my Mom, snapped 43 years earlier.

In a bittersweet turn of events, we updated that slideshow for Mom's memorial service. The images and music that were such a source of joy just one year before were instead a poignant reminder of what we were now facing. As the family gathered in Chicago last January, struggling with our loss, we began to go through photos to find a few more of my Mom that could be shared.

And wouldn't you know? The very last photo we have of her, taken one year ago this Christmas Eve, is a photo of her and Kate, together. One Montgomery generation and the next. I know that photo will never mean quite as much to Kate as it does to me, but I also know that it will always be special, and we will talk about it for years to come. And as those years pass, I know too that I am blessed, because my images of my Mom will never fade. 

All I have to do is look at her granddaughter.

Avoiding spontaneous combustion

I'm not really sure which came first; this ...

... or this: A Bicyclists' House Built for Two. If you haven't seen it yet, check out the WSJ article on Sue Butler's new house -- holy cow. I'm not a big fan of modern architecture, but this ... well, it's just stunning. And their bike room! Wow. Be sure to click on the link for the slideshow of photos -- the last one in particular grabbed my imagination, took hold, and wouldn't let go -- at exactly the same time Kim and the kids were getting ready to leave. Inspiration, meet opportunity.

Having a usable basement is a novelty to me. For most of our marriage, Kim and I have shared downwards of 850 square feet on one level, dining room doubling as bike room and all that. Before that, I grew up with my Dad's workshop in our garage, and though he had a fantastic table saw setup and a set of shelves that reached to the sky (that made excellent pirate ship rigging to fuel a young boy's fantasies), working out there from November to March was excruciating, as your knees ached from the concrete and your fingers froze from the breeze that blew under the back door.

Since finding a basement with a house on top last autumn, we've been steadily moving in and finding the optimal arrangement; it didn't take long for me to set aside a bit of a self-contained area for bikes, bench and stand -- not to mention wheel storage -- but it's taken longer to set up the rest of the space. It's quite perfect, maintaining a steady 67 degrees or so with very little moisture, but there was a bunch of stuff left over from the previous owner that's taken us a while to find new homes for. In the meantime, I grabbed some fixtures from work that I was able to install to hang our bikes against the wall -- not my favorite arrangement, what with all the hydraulics we've got going on, and -- to be blunt -- my laziness at needing to lift anything above my head.

At any rate, Kim's dad helped us quite a bit when he was here a few weeks back, and got some left-over cabinetry installed that has created an instant "craft space" for Kim. Of course, with her out of town, it also made for a perfect wood-working bench!

I still don't have a good saw, so that was step one the day Kim left. I borrowed a power saw from my boss, but I also picked up a hand-saw and a small miter box from Harbor Freight, before heading to Lowe's to pick out my materials. As much as I understand bicycles, I have no clue when it comes to wood -- I wandered the aisles seeking inspiration, with only a vague idea in the back of my head of what this would look like. As any good homeowner knows, this is a bit like wandering a grocery store when you're hungry: Even with the best intentions, you're bound to end up spending more than you planned, and leaving with a cart full of supplies that could equip a small army.

I did sort-of have a budget -- Kim had left me a bit of cash. This money was supposed to last me the full 2 weeks until I saw her again ... it was a generous allowance, but it was intended to cover expenses, a hair cut, and maybe one night out to dinner. Instead, in a move I perfected in my teens, I hit the register and the amount I had in my hand nearly exactly matched the amount that showed up on the screen ... With 12 days until I saw her again.

Undeterred, I got the supplies home and started making preparations. Again, there was no planning here -- I had a vague idea of what I wanted, and had downloaded some plans from the interwebs, but except for the last time I watched This Old House, I hadn't even thought about woodworking since I was about 14. But I started cutting, sanding and staining, staying up well into the night to get the first few steps complete.

Thankfully, my dad had taught me well when it came to staining; for cutting, notsomuch. Or rather, blame the student -- I just don't have the patience I should, and rather than try to set up the power saw better, I found myself chopping away with a hacksaw. When I woke up the next morning, I could barely move my right arm ...

... and then, in a turn that came to define this project, I made it more complex. As I drove to Pisgah that Saturday morning, I suddenly had a vision of what could be done with it -- and because I had no clue what that meant, I decided then and there to go for it. Little did I know ... 

I spent that first weekend working and riding, conveniently ignoring the household projects I was supposed to be doing, and not working out in the yard like I meant to. But I was possessed, obsessed -- I would conquer this project, and be done with it before Christmas!

I got the first frame done, and simultaneously moved the second frame forward. I was learning as I went, which was a good thing -- the first frame took me four days; the second took me two hours. It was getting more simple but more complex by the hour, and I posted regular updates to Facebook while still staying cryptic about the final outcome. I was also getting pretty sleep-deprived and high on Minwax fumes -- those first few days I didn't sleep more than 6 hours a night as the project consumed me.

But then, in a classic Chris move, by Tuesday my adrenaline had worn off and my focus was waning. I had to get this thing done -- the basement was an absolute mess -- but I also had other things on my mind. Chief among them was riding: We caught a break in the weather, and all of a sudden had blue skies and a run of 60-degree days -- the week before Christmas!

I got out on a couple of lunch rides, and Wednesday night hit Bent Creek with Greg and Thursday headed to the Sycamore ride for Bennett's Gap. Nothing was getting done in the basement, but I was getting inspired -- Carlos built a new rack in the back of the shop that gave me a new idea ... and of course, it also made things more complex ...

Anyway, as we headed up 477 that night, Dan and I cruising along with Chad not far behind, I heard a loud "POP!" that I thought was a rock hitting my bottom bracket. Thankfully Dan was a bit more astute and asked about my spokes -- sure enough, I had broken one mid-shaft, and ripped open my thumb getting it to bend around another nearby. There was no rub, though, so down the singletrack it was!

That wheel is kind of a hybrid; it's a NOS Cane Creek hub laced to a standard rim, with adapters in the spoke holes. It's been troublesome since it was built, as we had to fake the spoke lengths and it didn't come out quite right. So instead of spending Friday closing out sales for the year, I spent the day tearing down and completely rebuilding my equipment ...

Just what I needed -- manual projects at home, manual projects at work. What's worse, this weekend was slated to be the end of my season -- I've stretched it since February, and need a solid break. So here I was, Friday at lunch time, rebuilding a wheel for what might be my last two rides of the year before an extended break during which I will clean, fix and maintain bike stuff in a more leisurely fashion ...

After work, I realized I needed just a couple more pieces of wood and a whole lot more screws, seeing as how the project had taken on a life of its own. But remember that allowance that was already spent? Yeah -- imagine me, in a steady rain, with my ass sticking out of the open passenger-side door of my car, scrounging around in the center console trying to count out several dollars' worth of quarters, dimes and nickels so that I could buy more lumber. It was pathetic, but I was determined ...

The rain we got Friday broke the string of warmth and turned Saturday morning into a frozen mess. I might have ridden, but my mojo had come back -- I realized I had just a few more hours left in the basement, and the project would be complete! So instead of heading for Pisgah, I headed down the stairs.

First, I cut. Everything. Then, I sanded. And I sustained my first injury of the project.

Thankfully, it was just a flesh wound, no blood, no harm. Then, I cleaned up a bit -- this was the pile of sawdust that I didn't inhale.

Then, I stained, and left the wood to dry.  

After that, I headed to REI to help Stephen wrap gifts on behalf of Trips for Kids-WNC. Thank goodness his lovely wife is good a wrapping -- as bad as I am at woodworking, I'm even worse when it comes to gifts!

As we hung out near the front door, Stephen -- who is experienced with wood -- scared the hell out of me. "You know, you can cause combustion when you sand, right?" Wait, what?! I knew the stain was toxic, and had taken steps to ensure adequate ventilation, but still -- I was staining and sanding in the same general area, which though there is a window nearby, is also close to several electrical outlets. A friend of mine just experienced a house fire that destroyed her ex-husband's home, and I was already paranoid from hearing about it -- holy crap! That's the last thing I need is to burn everything down!

However, he assured me it would be alright, and that I "should" be fine. I was still a little nervous as I drove back that night ...

... I got home, and it was on -- final assembly! Behold, The Bike Rack! 

All told, it's 11 ft. long, in two equal sections, and can hold upward of 10 bikes. It turned out pretty well, and as I put on the finishing touches and finalized the installation at 10:30 Saturday night, I thought to myself, "Self, if you had a beer right now, you'd drink it." Only, I'm allergic to beer, and I don't drink, so instead I made myself pineapple fish tacos and a big mess of refried beans. You only live once, right?

The next morning was even colder, and I totally wussed out -- yes, I had rebuilt that wheel in order to ride Pisgah on the weekend, but I also had neglected all the household stuff I was supposed to do while Kim and the kids were away. Sunday was my last weekend day before the holidays, so it was my last chance to make amends!

I started out in the yard, and knocked out our 150 cubic feet of a leaf pile that had been sitting there for weeks, completely neglected. Our yard has lots of hiding spots, and those leaves will make decent mulch for some of the out-of-sight areas ...

See? You don't even notice them! Ha ha -- this area was already cleared, but I had to take a photo of the beautiful greenery we have here in the mountains, even this late into December. It was a perfect 50-degree day, and after clearing the leaves, I grabbed my Monster Rake and headed for the back forest -- there was trail to be built! I raked for 3 hours, defining the right-of-way and making it more fun for the kids to start playing in there while I go back and IMBA-fy the tread. And the self-discovery continued: I'm a much better trail builder than woodworker, and with a palette like our back yard to work with, that trail is killer! I've said it before, but it's worth repeating: If our kids do decide to ride or run trail, they're going to be a force to be reckoned with!

But that's a post for another day. After another afternoon of moral support while Stephen and Rhonda wrapped, an evening of pathetic bromance cinema and finally getting the dishes cleaned up, I'm ready to see my family again -- the project is done!