SLC

11/6

My brother was married today in Salt Lake City. I didn’t attend the actual ceremony since we don’t share the same religious views (I wasn’t invited, and neither were my other siblings), but I was there for the day and the reception. I was very happy for them, and the whole day was a roaring succes. I didn’t talk to my brother much, or his new wife, but I did see a host of other folks that I haven’t been in touch with for years. My overall impression was that life was straining many of them. It wasn’t just that they had aged or gained weight, just that the life seemed to be weakening in them. Perhaps this is just the observation of a young man, seeing the adults influential in his early life begin to age. Perhaps I’m way off. But this impression would not go away.

I’ve never been one for formalities, so the actual ceremony and day were rather meaningless in my eyes. This day (and how it went) has almost nothing to do with their success as a couple, or family. It was such a short time, and if anything, the day only had the chance to make things worse, or start things off on the wrong foot. But, as I said, from my view it went off quite well. For me (and Paula) it would have been much more meaningful to visit either a week before or after. Then I might have said more than 20 words to my brother’s wife (who I had not met before), and to my brother. We might have spent some time together, done something fun.

I managed to sneak out a 2.5 hour ride on one of my favorite mountains on the planet. ‘The beacon’, as it is called, sits firmly planted atop Mt. Wire. Down in the foothills, barely inching above the thick blanket of automobile pollution, lies some of the most incredible climb challenges I have ever put tire to dirt on. In a word, brilliant.

After the standard warmup on Heartbreak Hill, I laid in an intercept course with Hero Hill. The recent snow storms (!) meant almost no dust, so traction was in surplus. I think the smog limited my lung capacity, but it almost seemed too easy. I crested the final hill, revealing the valley of rotten air. I still suffered, of course, and that suffering was of quality. But I realized that, at last, Hero Hill was not entirely a challenge anymore. I spent years trying to clean this climb as a teenager, finally breaking through the threshold of strength and ability when I was round about 17. The feat has been accomplished many times since, but it has never been guaranteed–always the ride seems near the edge. This time I never felt the edge, never sensed my approach to it. I had control, I had strength. I could momentarily shift my focus away from the climb, from the line, and from the suffering.

I sat a while. The wind blew with some strength, as it always does up there, and thoughts of my past were unavoidable. This hill, and this climb have meant much to me over the years. It was not just the (seemingly) ultimate physical and mental challenge on the bike. It was a refuge, a place to go for healing and for separation. When I struggled to understand the world around me, when things seemed ‘stupid, pointless and unfair’, I would suffer on my bike. I would ride, with all the strength and mental energy I could muster, up this hill. Once atop, despite the ever present wind, I found silence. No one was there to tell me what to think, what to believe and what to do.

I found myself riding there more and more often. The direct result was an uncanny ability to climb steep and difficult trails. More important results were sanity and the ability to think for myself. Moreover, I knew that the hill was always there. I could see it from anywhere in the valley.

I would not say that my childhood was particularly difficult, when compared with the mean valued childhood. But, I doubt that anyone’s path to ‘sentience’ (a better term than adulthood, since many arrive at adulthood without sentience), is ever easy. Issues were struggled with, traditions and illusions questioned and ultimately dropped, and a search for some sort of truth began.

I miss the climb challenges of Mt Wire, but I do not miss Salt Lake City and my life there. I have moved on, and coming back has only reaffirmed this, once again.

Given the ease with which I cleaned Hero Hill, my thoughts naturally turned to the ‘Living Room.’ This climb is much more difficult, longer, and culiminates in a nice viewpoint with rock slab chairs. But it is far too popular a destination with hikers to be a place of reflective thought. It was also just too damn hard for me.

I finally cracked it in the summer of 2001. It was one of those rare climbs when I rode inside myself. Pedals turned, my heart delivered and I emerged at the Living Room without so much as unclipping a pedal. My brothers, riding behind me, did not believe me at first. We had thought it impossible, and I had to review each section, checking for myself that I had in fact cleaned it.

I cleaned the rock waterfall section with relative ease, and was still feeling strong when I saw snow in the bushes to my right. Soon the trail was a deep, muddy rut. I wouldn’t give up though. Giving up is not how you clean the living room. But the snow started to appear and my wheels spun. Not today. Coming back down I couldn’t understand how I had ridden up through the sticky mud.

Thwarted, I headed next to the $20 switchback climb. On the approach I began to lose hope in the conditions, guessing I’d be turned around again. But, again, giving up is not how you clean these climbs. It got really muddy for a time, but at the switchbacks, for some reason, it was fine. This climb, rather than being one of strength and concetration, is largely luck. This is inaccurate, of course, and only my current take on it. It just seems like it is somewhat random–whether or not I’ll make it through a certain section or not. It seemed a bit easier this time.. either some work had been done, or the wet conditions really helped, because I cleaned it. Cleaning continued up to the saddle above Red Butte canyon. Then, a Tucson style descent, and a very enjoyable cruise through fall air and the streets of Salt Lake City back home.