...by a boulder at the beloved swimming hole. It was a simple jump-down-from-the-rock move. I misstepped and smacked the rock with my foot then landed funny. I thought I just tweaked it, got geared up, hiked the bike out of the ravine and tried to ride. It became apparent pretty quickly that I had to bail. The pain I expected to disipate got worse. So we headed back to the cars. Rog took off quickly to fulfill bbq obligations, while Maria and I hung at my car administering first aid and self-medicating.
Still holding out hope that it wasn't that bad and knowing that it was, we drove to Arcana to get some plants. When I went to get out of the car, I couldn't walk. My foot would bear no weight. So Maria kindly followed me to my storage unit and dug out my crutches. I headed home to RICE my foot.
...The next day, 5 hours in Fanny Allen Walk-In and a few pictures confirmed what I was pretty sure of. I broke it. The 5th metatarsal (outer bone). It's not displaced. I'll know more Monday when I go to the ortho. For now, it's in a temporary cast, and I haven't even seen my x-rays. (They said they couldn't show them to me because they are digital. WTF?! Shouldn't that make it easier to show patients?)
Mobbs is such a fun place to ride, and I love the swimming hole. It's a shame I may never see it again. You see, I got Mobbed last year, too...sprained my ankle (three months of healing and rehab). I think the place is cursed for me. Truely a shame.
I've been trying not to think about what I can't do (the LT, mtn bike, drive my car). I can read lots and catch up on my movie watching. I can hobble around the garden with my 5-gallon bucket to rest on when I wear out pulling weeds. I can keep training. (My neighbor said she'd help me do pilates.) I can get prepared for the next school year so that I'm not so busy in the winter. I can study topos of where I'll go when I'm healed, tune my bike, get my Rossi split, watch ski nrop, and rehab. I can plan winter trainings and trips. I can throw parties (TBA)!
Peace, from the bright side of broken,
Rachel Rose
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Colorado February 25 - March 2, 2008
Follow this link to ten-minutes of Colorado snowcountry bliss.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezash4zbFHc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezash4zbFHc
Mansfield: Top Secret, March 29, 2008
Saturday I went on an exploration mission with a new friend of the best kind...those you meet in the woods. We leap-frogged up the TD the week before and found out that we both wanted to check out the same area of the mountain. So we did. One of the things I like most about diving into the backcountry is that you never know what will happen or what you encounter. (I encountered a pheasant burrowed in the snow. He popped out with a great ruckus when I rode over him!) There's the high hope of finding sweet, open birch glades intermingled with the possibilitiy that you'll be hiking out. Ah, and how satisfying it is, what a moment of glory, when you find the hidden treasure. This is what we found. I'd like to think no one else knows of these lines. We saw no evidence of any people other than snowshoers. Once we dropped into the ravine...wilderness. I'll be going back for sure!
Lovin' Livin' in VT
Someone asked me once why I chose to live in Vermont. I'm sure I said something along the lines of beauty and community. I love Vermont. It's a special place.
Recently, though, after returning from sunny, powdery Colorado, I've been asking myself that question again. Why, when there's so much ice and mud, do I live in Vermont? My answer keeps coming down to community and the way the mountains here seem to wrap around me, cozy-like.
This Sunday I had an experience that illustrates it all.
I had been at BV all afternoon riding with the kids from school for one of our ski and ride make-up days. 12:00-4:00 as a chaperone and teacher (the mdan kid wouldn't lean downhill and make a toe-side turn!) was the only riding for me. It was packed, too...so full they were parking cars at Timberline and shuttling people to the main mountain.
Being at the mountain is supposed to be rejuvinating and fun. It wasn't either despite the gorgeous weather. The large crowds after a day in the backcountry and sooooo many kids were a shock to my system. The weekends are my time away from kids. (One reason, I love Smuggs is because they keep most of the kids at Morse.)
I was grumpy on my way home, bumping along dirt roads at five o'clock, the sun still shining and me wishing I had something fun to ride. That was when I noticed the tracks coming out of the woods. I slowed, looked up, and stopped. I booted up and grabbed my board. I'd always thoght about side-of-the-road hiking but had never actually done it. Today was the day. It was perfect...just what I needed.
Someone had been there recently with a dog. There were fresh tracks ofthe ski and paw variety. The snow was soft for a few inches before hitting a hard barely-breakable crust.
I was about halfway up the hill when a big black lab come bounding down before a guy casually shooshing down toward me on tele gear.
"Hi. Is this your land?" I'm sure he going to tell me it is and to beat it. It's happened to me before in the J-co woods.
"Yup. From here down, at least."
"Oh."
"It's okay. You can hike here."
I proceeded to introduce myself and tell him why I was in his woods.
"Jed," he said. He proceeded to tell me where the best lines were.
By the time I was at the top, he was back up. We chatted a while longer. It was his daughter's third birthday, and he was out making turns while she slept off the cake coma. He welcomed me back anytime before heading home to the east. I took a more northerly line involving a nice, steep rock back to my car. My day was not just salvaged, but enriched.
It's that kind of stuff that makes me love living in Vermont.
Recently, though, after returning from sunny, powdery Colorado, I've been asking myself that question again. Why, when there's so much ice and mud, do I live in Vermont? My answer keeps coming down to community and the way the mountains here seem to wrap around me, cozy-like.
This Sunday I had an experience that illustrates it all.
I had been at BV all afternoon riding with the kids from school for one of our ski and ride make-up days. 12:00-4:00 as a chaperone and teacher (the mdan kid wouldn't lean downhill and make a toe-side turn!) was the only riding for me. It was packed, too...so full they were parking cars at Timberline and shuttling people to the main mountain.
Being at the mountain is supposed to be rejuvinating and fun. It wasn't either despite the gorgeous weather. The large crowds after a day in the backcountry and sooooo many kids were a shock to my system. The weekends are my time away from kids. (One reason, I love Smuggs is because they keep most of the kids at Morse.)
I was grumpy on my way home, bumping along dirt roads at five o'clock, the sun still shining and me wishing I had something fun to ride. That was when I noticed the tracks coming out of the woods. I slowed, looked up, and stopped. I booted up and grabbed my board. I'd always thoght about side-of-the-road hiking but had never actually done it. Today was the day. It was perfect...just what I needed.
Someone had been there recently with a dog. There were fresh tracks ofthe ski and paw variety. The snow was soft for a few inches before hitting a hard barely-breakable crust.
I was about halfway up the hill when a big black lab come bounding down before a guy casually shooshing down toward me on tele gear.
"Hi. Is this your land?" I'm sure he going to tell me it is and to beat it. It's happened to me before in the J-co woods.
"Yup. From here down, at least."
"Oh."
"It's okay. You can hike here."
I proceeded to introduce myself and tell him why I was in his woods.
"Jed," he said. He proceeded to tell me where the best lines were.
By the time I was at the top, he was back up. We chatted a while longer. It was his daughter's third birthday, and he was out making turns while she slept off the cake coma. He welcomed me back anytime before heading home to the east. I took a more northerly line involving a nice, steep rock back to my car. My day was not just salvaged, but enriched.
It's that kind of stuff that makes me love living in Vermont.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Exploring in Smugglers' Notch
Trying out a different tr format...
Sterling 2/16
In solitary silence I ascend
No longer on the mountain, but in it
Immersed, engulfed
In cliffs and drifts
I climb
Next to my line
The prize
My eye is on
The goods
Game on.
Mansfield 2/17
The old man in the mountain
is serious and slightly grim.
The wind howls and blows snow
into a barely there bootpack.
And we climb.
We beat our feet
into the mountain side.
The mountain hammers back
with rocks that rise
under the snowy surface
unforseen and forboding.
Breathe.
Descend!
http://s258.photobucket.com/albums/hh266/VTRachelRose/?action=view¤t=a145b2b1.pbw
If you click on an image, you can see it bigger. The coolest thing was Sunday night when I discovered that I can zoom in and around the photo...so close up and still so clear that I could see my lines from the day before. What a great feature to use for planning future adventures!
Sterling 2/16
In solitary silence I ascend
No longer on the mountain, but in it
Immersed, engulfed
In cliffs and drifts
I climb
Next to my line
The prize
My eye is on
The goods
Game on.
Mansfield 2/17
The old man in the mountain
is serious and slightly grim.
The wind howls and blows snow
into a barely there bootpack.
And we climb.
We beat our feet
into the mountain side.
The mountain hammers back
with rocks that rise
under the snowy surface
unforseen and forboding.
Breathe.
Descend!
http://s258.photobucket.com/albums/hh266/VTRachelRose/?action=view¤t=a145b2b1.pbw
If you click on an image, you can see it bigger. The coolest thing was Sunday night when I discovered that I can zoom in and around the photo...so close up and still so clear that I could see my lines from the day before. What a great feature to use for planning future adventures!
Friday, February 1, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
Camel's Hump Recon Mission 1/5/07
Having enjoyed my fair share of powder days for December and January, I headed to the backcountry with Maria. Neither one of us had ever checked out the goods on Camel’s Hump, and Ben’s pictures along with stories from friends made it sound like an enticing destination. So we decided to head out and see what was up for ourselves.
I was all about getting out early and finding the last of the great powder before the thaw. However, I was also aware that we were going on recon mission to learn the lines and that there was no guarantee we’d find the best shots. The day, in fact, ended up being a backcountry comedy of errors, which I am sure was spurred on by the outpouring of skiing folly confessions on the SKIVT-L discussion forum. It was like one of my dreams/nightmares come true.
The previous night I had gone up to BV to pick up Maria’s gear from the Ski Patrol shack. (Conveniently, I had to pick up my gear at the bottom of the hill.) As I approached Ski Patrol the door opened revealing a couple of crusty old BV patrollers ;). They looked at me funny when I told them what I wanted, but went inside to grab Maria’s gear after I described it in detail…blue K2s, flowers, tele setup…and I was off down the hill toward home.
The next morning by 7:30 we’re all geared up and ready to go. I popped my trunk to take out the boards and Maria’s face fell. “Those aren’t my skis,” she said. TIHS! Luckily Maria lives really close to the trailhead so we headed to her house to call BV. Maria talked to the owner of the skis who gave her the thumbs up to ski ‘em. Relieved and already late on our start time, we slipped into a mode where time is no longer of the essence. The kitchen, coffee, and conversation
were comfortable.
We didn’t dawdle too long, though, and were hiking by 9:00. I had heard of a nice line north of the cliffs off the Alpine Trail. Around noon we ducked in there to explore. There weren’t any track going in and the trail was not obvious. The low branches of the trees were heavy with snow and hung over the trail. With my board on my back, I kept ducking and trying not to get hung up in the trees and not to get too much snow down my back. (I couldn’t remember why I like to hike in my raincoat so I didn’t bring it…I remembered.) After about .3 grueling miles, the trail disappeared into the overhanging boughs. We couldn't see any blazes, and the only option was to hike down some to check it out. At this point, we were both running low on energy and didn’t relish the possibly of having to hike back up if the trail was not to be found. We also knew that we had at least another .3 miles to go. So we turned around and hiked back out to the Monroe Trail. Once there we proceeded up to the hut clearing, but stopped just shy of it due to strong winds and low energy.
I got a few powdery turns at the top, but as for the next 1.5 miles…well, let’s suffice it to say that there’s gotta be a way down that’s more fun than a narrow worm hole where you can’t see what’s around the next bend and you know there’s open water somewhere…in more than one spot, really…and you’re glad you wore a helmet because it’s taking a beating from the branches hanging into the trail…a fun factor of 3, an adventure factor of 7…east coast survival skiing…
We were glad to get down to the cliffs and followed a skin track made by a friend earlier in the day below the cliffs. That was a mistake. In going so far in, we missed a bunch of sweet looking lines. We saw them after we descended a short ways and traversed back towards the trail, ending up under the line we had come for. I thought about hiking back up to get ‘em. Alas, I was too tired to rally, and it was getting late.
We continued, I in my snowshoes, and Maria basically cross-country skiing. I was getting really frustrated by this point. All I wanted to do was put my board on and go downhill! Was it too much to ask of a mountain? Finally, we found some pitch and powder. It’s amazing how few perfect turns it takes to make a long, hard day worthwhile. I appreciated the lleh out of those turns…felt every second of each glide and float, soaked it in, reveled in the soft fluffiness and the ease of movement.
And then came the schwackiest run-out known to humankind. Man, it lasted forever…and then there was the trail again. We were out. 4:00, light fading, legs toast, and smiling.
I’ll do it again. (I’ll try just about anything twice.) I did my research and information gathering, marked a few waypoints, inspected terrain, saw where other people’s track were coming from, and got a pretty good idea of how to do it better next time.
Special Bonus Features and Humbling Experiences of the Day
*Running into old friends in the middle of the woods.
*Making new friends in the middle of the woods.
*Two shirtless guys hauling ssa up the trail in snowshoes toting boards on their backs.
*Maria doing the splits in an attempt to cross a creek on the high line.
*Rachel landing upside down, on her back, in a creek after attempting to shoot a high, tight line between two rather large areas of open water that you couldn’t see until you were right on them. She emerged miraculously dry.
*Maria being a typical tele skier and justifying all the traversing by saying, “It’s all still skiing.” Meanwhile, Rachel pines for pitch.
*Less than a mile from the car Rachel’s camel back busts a leak, and a liter of water flows into her pack.
I was all about getting out early and finding the last of the great powder before the thaw. However, I was also aware that we were going on recon mission to learn the lines and that there was no guarantee we’d find the best shots. The day, in fact, ended up being a backcountry comedy of errors, which I am sure was spurred on by the outpouring of skiing folly confessions on the SKIVT-L discussion forum. It was like one of my dreams/nightmares come true.
The previous night I had gone up to BV to pick up Maria’s gear from the Ski Patrol shack. (Conveniently, I had to pick up my gear at the bottom of the hill.) As I approached Ski Patrol the door opened revealing a couple of crusty old BV patrollers ;). They looked at me funny when I told them what I wanted, but went inside to grab Maria’s gear after I described it in detail…blue K2s, flowers, tele setup…and I was off down the hill toward home.
The next morning by 7:30 we’re all geared up and ready to go. I popped my trunk to take out the boards and Maria’s face fell. “Those aren’t my skis,” she said. TIHS! Luckily Maria lives really close to the trailhead so we headed to her house to call BV. Maria talked to the owner of the skis who gave her the thumbs up to ski ‘em. Relieved and already late on our start time, we slipped into a mode where time is no longer of the essence. The kitchen, coffee, and conversation
were comfortable.
We didn’t dawdle too long, though, and were hiking by 9:00. I had heard of a nice line north of the cliffs off the Alpine Trail. Around noon we ducked in there to explore. There weren’t any track going in and the trail was not obvious. The low branches of the trees were heavy with snow and hung over the trail. With my board on my back, I kept ducking and trying not to get hung up in the trees and not to get too much snow down my back. (I couldn’t remember why I like to hike in my raincoat so I didn’t bring it…I remembered.) After about .3 grueling miles, the trail disappeared into the overhanging boughs. We couldn't see any blazes, and the only option was to hike down some to check it out. At this point, we were both running low on energy and didn’t relish the possibly of having to hike back up if the trail was not to be found. We also knew that we had at least another .3 miles to go. So we turned around and hiked back out to the Monroe Trail. Once there we proceeded up to the hut clearing, but stopped just shy of it due to strong winds and low energy.
I got a few powdery turns at the top, but as for the next 1.5 miles…well, let’s suffice it to say that there’s gotta be a way down that’s more fun than a narrow worm hole where you can’t see what’s around the next bend and you know there’s open water somewhere…in more than one spot, really…and you’re glad you wore a helmet because it’s taking a beating from the branches hanging into the trail…a fun factor of 3, an adventure factor of 7…east coast survival skiing…
We were glad to get down to the cliffs and followed a skin track made by a friend earlier in the day below the cliffs. That was a mistake. In going so far in, we missed a bunch of sweet looking lines. We saw them after we descended a short ways and traversed back towards the trail, ending up under the line we had come for. I thought about hiking back up to get ‘em. Alas, I was too tired to rally, and it was getting late.
We continued, I in my snowshoes, and Maria basically cross-country skiing. I was getting really frustrated by this point. All I wanted to do was put my board on and go downhill! Was it too much to ask of a mountain? Finally, we found some pitch and powder. It’s amazing how few perfect turns it takes to make a long, hard day worthwhile. I appreciated the lleh out of those turns…felt every second of each glide and float, soaked it in, reveled in the soft fluffiness and the ease of movement.
And then came the schwackiest run-out known to humankind. Man, it lasted forever…and then there was the trail again. We were out. 4:00, light fading, legs toast, and smiling.
I’ll do it again. (I’ll try just about anything twice.) I did my research and information gathering, marked a few waypoints, inspected terrain, saw where other people’s track were coming from, and got a pretty good idea of how to do it better next time.
Special Bonus Features and Humbling Experiences of the Day
*Running into old friends in the middle of the woods.
*Making new friends in the middle of the woods.
*Two shirtless guys hauling ssa up the trail in snowshoes toting boards on their backs.
*Maria doing the splits in an attempt to cross a creek on the high line.
*Rachel landing upside down, on her back, in a creek after attempting to shoot a high, tight line between two rather large areas of open water that you couldn’t see until you were right on them. She emerged miraculously dry.
*Maria being a typical tele skier and justifying all the traversing by saying, “It’s all still skiing.” Meanwhile, Rachel pines for pitch.
*Less than a mile from the car Rachel’s camel back busts a leak, and a liter of water flows into her pack.
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