A Different Winter

Looking back, it seems that I missed posting in December - and if I don't hurry up I'll miss January as well.  Not that it would be a significant missing link in my riveting history, but I do like to take a look back every now and again to see what I've been up to.

But I should take a minute to talk about my progress in getting more fit, since I'm at nearly the one year anniversary of re-setting my goals last February.  In that year I've lost 25 pounds and established a much healthier diet by largely excluding foods containing processed sugar.  I've pushed my exercise program further than before, logging more miles than ever and adding a semi-regular weight program.  And, joy of joys, I managed to avoid gaining weight during the "Fat Holiday Season" between Halloween and Christmas (last year I gained over 10 pounds).  I'd still like to lose a bit more weight, but as long as I keep my calorie count honest and exercise several times a week I think I'll be able to continue with slow progress.

Our extended autumn weather continued well into December, with only the slightest hint of snow and unusually warm temperatures.  And I certainly took advantage of the conditions to get out as much as I could manage, with over 150 bicycling miles in November, and over 250 in December.  Thanks to this strong finish to the year I racked up over 1700 miles in 2015.  Now I've set my sights on trying to get in over 2000 miles in 2016 - and I've got a strong start with nearly 200 miles so far this January.

November gave us some excellent weather for mountain biking, and I managed to get in 12 rides on dirt, covering a bunch of the local trails.  The majority of my riding was at West Branch State Park, but I also got a ride in on the excellent new East Rim Trail at the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, as well as Quail Hollow State Park, Beaver Creek State Park, and North Road Nature Preserve.

West Branch State Park mtb trails in November.

West Branch Reservoir at sunset from the trails.

Lots of night riding during the short days.

Amazing berms and jumps at the new East Rim Trail.

Trail work time at North Road Nature Preserve.

More West Branch trails.

West Branch after the snow.

I spent some time out on the trails at North Road Nature Preserve, doing some much needed maintenance as well as pushing to close our final gap.  There was also a good deal of clean up needed after the electric and gas line right of ways were re-trimmed.  Hopefully we'll be able to get in a bunch more work this off season so we can FINALLY get the last phase of trail finished this year.

New trail armoring at North Road Nature Preserve, trying to close the gap!

Right of way trimming debris.

Of course the majority of the miles I ride are on pavement, mostly on rail trails.  And I managed to get in a LOT of miles in the last couple of months, spread out across several trails.  All these extra miles are great for my legs, and for my cardio as well.  And of course burning that many calories can only help with my fitness goals.

Western Reserve Greenway Trail under heavy leaves.

Little Beaver Creek Greenway in the snow.

Portage Hike and Bike Trail last weekend.

Thanks to the milder temperatures and a massive amount of rain in late December I even managed to get in a nice whitewater kayak trip.  After it rained I loaded up all my gear, and my wife and I headed over to the Allegheny gorge area to check out what was running.   Turned out that EVERYTHING was running, and it was all too high for a mild mannered paddler like me.  But I came back two days later and managed to get in a nice run on Scrubgrass Creek.  This is a beautiful, safe, easily accessed run near Kennerdell, PA that has become one of my favorite easy whitewater runs in the area.

Scrubgrass Creek near the put-in.

One of the other things I've been doing is learning to use a new video production software.  So I've been taking a lot of new footage, as well as using old footage, to make some new videos.  Here's a link to the one for the Scrubgrass Creek trip:

Scrubgrass Creek trip

Let me say that I have no illusions about the "gnarliness" of the whitewater I paddle.  I know it's easy class II, the type of stuff that serious whitewater paddlers wouldn't even cross the road to paddle.  But for me it's become about having a good time without the stress and strain of pushing your limits.  So I'm just fine with Scrubgrass Creek as a destination.

As far as videos go, I've put together a couple of mtb compilation videos - just to practice what I'm learning on the software.  These mtb videos are on a par with the whitewater video above - no serious rider would ever consider this to be great riding, but I'm having fun without having to worry about breaking any more bones!  Anyway, here are the two videos I put together.

Hope you enjoy the videos, as well as the photos.

Right now I'm thinking about tonight's snow ride on the Little Beaver Creek Greenway - it's going to be fun!  Bring on the winter!

Having an Adventure

It's no secret that I like to get outside and do things - hiking, camping, biking, kayaking etc.  These are the things that I enjoy - they revitalize me after spending so much time doing the things that MUST be done. Getting out in the sun and trees - or the rain and swamp and mosquitoes - or the snow and wind and dark - lets me forget about all the business and nitpicking of my everyday world.  To me so much of that everyday stuff just falls into a category labeled 'FORGETTABLE MINUTIA' - things that you can just as well forget the moment the task is accomplished.  On the other hand, heading outdoors to have fun falls into the category 'ADVENTURE'.

Maybe it's not adventure the way that you think of it - not the Technicolor, fight for survival, travel to distant climes type.  But to me it's a whole process of knowing what to do, getting things ready, getting yourself there, and having unsupervised, unscripted fun.  And it is always an ADVENTURE.

Most of the time things go pretty smoothly, more or less the way that I had planned.  And that's because I've been there and done that before.  I know what works and what has failed in the past.  I realize that things don't always go smoothly and allow for emergencies and other unplanned events, and I'm not going to pout if I get a boo-boo.  I'm not pushing for maximum adrenaline when I head out.  My goal is usually just to have some fun and get some exercise while in the Great Outdoors.

Over the years I've noticed that the ability to plan and have an ADVENTURE isn't necessarily something that everyone can do.  It takes experience and plenty of mistakes to know how to do things the right way.

For starters it takes knowledge (or research) about where to go to do what you have in mind.  Where is it okay to back country camp?  What trails are going to be good to ride?  What level is that creek going to be? Are there bears (or snakes or sasquatch) in the area?

And you have to be able to figure out what gear and equipment you'll need, and know how to use it.  You need to be able to figure out the logistics of the trip as well.  How far to emergency services?  Is there phone reception just in case?  How will you get from downstream back to upstream?  Is there enough car space (and gear, and food etc) for everyone on the trip?

Most of all you have to be willing and ready to just DO IT.  Lots of folks want to go out and do stuff - they daydream about camping, long bike trips, relaxing canoe rides - but the inertia of familiar and comfortable surroundings is too much, so they end up staying home and holding down the couch.  To bring out one more cliche - you've gotta WANT to do it.

This last weekend there was an interesting forecast - the region was supposed to get between 2 and 4 inches of rain over two days.  That ruled out a mountain bike adventure, because the trails were already wet and muddy, and two more days of rain would only make that worse.  But if there's going to be rain then the creeks may rise...  As the rain began to fall I was online, watching the range and intensity of precipitation.  By 10:00 Saturday I knew that the rain was falling hard on the area that I wanted to travel to - northern Clarion county in Pennsylvania.  I wanted to get a kayak ride on one of my favorite easy whitewater runs, Deer Creek.

I made this map over 10 years ago to help me find what creek is going to run when it rains.

It took me less than an hour to load my car with my kayak, bike, gear and supplies for a day on the water.  Before noon I was on I-80 heading east into a steady rain.  Before too long I was on the other side of the Allegheny River and getting off onto Canoe Ripple Road at exit 53.

I headed a bit further east, stopping along the way to look at Canoe Creek.  It's a smaller watershed than Deer Creek, so it fills up faster and can act as a sort of gauge for other area creeks. When I stopped on the bridge and checked it out the water was high enough to paddle - something of a rarity for a creek this small.  But it's quite a bit more difficult than Deer Creek, so I kept moving to the next watershed.

Canoe Creek, class III at a runnable level.

It only took five minutes to get over Huckleberry Ridge and to the road across the mouth of Deer Creek.  Moment of truth - would there be enough water?

Deer Creek at medium high water at the take out bridge.

If you look at the creek from the take out bridge and can see all the rocks on the stretch just upstream from the bridge, then the level is low.  Today you could barely even tell the rocks were there, so the creek was good to go.  Time to get this adventure moving.

I drove up to the put in and locked up the boat and my gear, then dropped off my bike at the top of the hill halfway through the shuttle, and returned to the take out.  The first part of the shuttle involves a mile plus walk up the 300 foot tall ridge, made even more fun by the steady rain.  At the top I got my bike out of the woods and did the rest of the shuttle - nearly two miles of downhill gravel road through a hemlock forest.  At the creek I got my boat ready and locked up the bike.  Looking at the 'gauge' I realized that the creek had come up 6" while I was doing the shuttle.  That meant it could come up another 6" while I was on the creek.  This was more water than I wanted, and it made me nervous as heck.  But I figured to take the most conservative lines and get through the ride in one piece.

The boat locked up by the creek at the put in.

I was right - the water was higher than I'd ever seen it before.  I set a good pace and skirted the biggest of the waves, always keeping an eye out for trees in the water.  After an hour and a half I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw the take out bridge come into view downstream.  A good run with no incidents, although it wasn't nearly as much fun due to the high water level.  But that's how it goes sometimes - not exactly perfect.  It took a little while to gather my gear and load up, and then it was a drive back west to Ohio.

And that was a good adventure.  Not the best, but good.  Sunday morning Diana and I got up fairly early, and sat around drinking tea.  I told her about the trip, and said that it was likely that the water level would have come down enough to be at the perfect level this morning.

One thing I have to acknowledge is the role that my wife plays in all this.  Diana is almost always willing to let me get out and play, and makes plenty allowances for my adventure prone personality.  So when I wistfully mentioned that the water was likely perfect, she gave me the okay to head back over that way if I wanted to.  Of course I DID want to, but I hadn't actually thought it would be possible.  But you don't have to tell me twice, so I gathered up all my gear, reloaded the car, and headed back east.

This time when I looked at Canoe Creek the water level was down quite a bit.  Despite 3" of rain this tiny watershed was already running out of water.   I hoped this would be a good sign for Deer Creek. When I pulled up to the take out bridge and looked at the rock I was using as a gauge I couldn't believe that it was entirely under water.  That meant it was way too high.  Disappointed, I decided to go up to the put in and take a photo or two for future reference.

That iron plate is my 'gauge' at the put in.  This is a good level.

I use an old iron plate from the old bridge as my gauge at the put in, and was flummoxed to see that it was showing a lower, friendly water level.  After a minute I figured it out - the water at the mouth was really high because the Clarion River was way up with all the rain, and it had backed up the water at the mouth of Deer Creek to show a false high!  In a jiffy I stashed the boat, left the bike, and started my hike up the ridge from the take out.  To make things even better a local stopped while I was walking and offered me a ride to the put in!  One million thanks to friendly locals - they can really add to the experience.

This time the water was right where I wanted it.  I was able to pick the biggest wave in most of the rapids (though there was enough wood in the water to force me into secondary lines several times).  This kind of easy whitewater on a wide waterway like Deer Creek is just a blast - lots of water in your face with very little real risk.  There were several great surf waves along the way, so I had plenty of opportunities to play along the way (I did keep out of the big Double Surf Wave though - no desire to swim!).

This time the run was so much fun that it was a disappointment to see the take out bridge ahead.  The sun was out, the water was right, and this adventure could not have worked out better.  Well, maybe ONE thing could have been better - I could have NOT lost my house/work keys somewhere along the way.  But hey, at least I still have my car key!

Storm clouds blowing over the Allegheny highlands.

Heading home I took a little detour and headed up around the northwest corner of Shenango Reservoir.  Along the way I stopped and looked at a little creek - small enough that its likely that no one has ever paddled it before.  But the topos show it has some gradient and a big enough watershed - and it has a rocky stream bed...

Booth Run.

Hmmm.  Could this be the scene of an upcoming adventure?  Could be!



(PS - I made a GoPro video of the second day's run and edited it together as a kind of guide for other paddlers interested in the run.  It's kind of long, and probably only really interesting to other kayakers, but it does give an idea of what the creek is like.)

Hold Your Breath

Recently my 12 year old son told me that he'd like to get involved in paddling whitewater in a kayak.


His first kayak ride happened when he was about 6 months old.  He rode 'papoose' between my knees in my 15 year old Perception Caspia on a fun little ride down the Clarion River in Pennsylvania.

Over the next couple of years he got used to seeing me in my boats, and going along when Mom and he were my 'shuttle bunnies'.

Getting ready to put my Pirouette in for a run on Slippery Rock Creek.

We would travel around Ohio, Pennsylvania and West Virginia and camp - and there was almost always a kayak on top of the car.  Kenny soon learned that Daddy would try to get in a boat trip any time he could.

Me paddling past Kenny at our campsite on the E. Br. Greenbriar River, WV.

And he got the chance for quite a few more rides while he was still just a toddler.  Many times we would camp in the Allegheny National Forest and take a boat along so we could enjoy a peaceful ride on the Clarion River.

When he got a little bigger I'd take him to a creek along with a small inflatable raft.  I'd put a leash on the boat and wade downstream, letting him float along and enjoy the water.

The growing boater on South Sandy Creek, PA.

He always enjoyed these creek trips, so just before he turned 6 we got him a child sized kayak for Christmas.

He loved to sit in his boat, and spent a lot of time pretending to paddle.  But he also got to spend a good amount of time on the water, learning how to balance in a kayak.  He never paddled any real rapids, but he loved to get in the water and paddle around while I was his 'safety crew'.

More fun on the Clarion River.

But he outgrew that kayak pretty quickly, and he seemed okay with that.  We've gone on many canoe trips together, on the Clarion River, and on Ohio's Beaver Creek.  Of course on these trips he's as likely to jump out of the canoe and swim the whole distance as he is to ride in the boat.  But getting to be comfortable in the water is a good thing, and as long as he is enjoying himself then I'm happy.

Then this year he said he wanted to try paddling whitewater.  At the age of 12 he's just about the same size as I am, so he fits in my kayak just fine, as well as the life jackets and spray skirts.  So this spring we've spent some time on Slippery Rock creek at low water - learning the safety aspects of whitewater kayaking.  He's learned how to use a throw rope, and how to repack it.  We spent a good amount of time teaching him to 'wet exit' the kayak - that is how to get out of the boat when it flips over.  And after a couple of tries he gets it - no need to panic, just do what you know has to be done and you'll be fine.  We've even run a couple of easy rapids, with him in the boat and me standing by as safety.

Now he just needs to build up some more arm and upper body strength - and the way to do that is to paddle a bunch more.  We've had some trouble getting water levels that are appropriate for him, but he's done a couple more canoe trips that definitely helped out.

But I admit that I do kind of dread him running more difficult water.  Accidents happen (brother do I know that!) and I don't want them to happen to him.  So we'll go very slow in our progression, and make sure that there are never any corners cut.  Safety first - and second for that matter.  But I have a feeling that soon enough he's going to want to push it a bit and hit some real whitewater.

And I'll be right there, ready to be the 'safety crew'.

The Well Worn Trail

I've been slacking lately - not doing the work I should be doing - on several projects, this blog being one of them. I'm not sure what the reason is behind this lack of motivation, but for the time being I'm blaming it on a gloomy winter that dragged out into a reluctant spring.  And though the weather seems as if it has finally decided that spring is here I'm not quite back into the swing of things yet.  Yard work remains to be done, and my bike is in the shop having a bunch of stuff replaced, repaired, or re-adjusted.  But I'm starting to feel the caveman stirrings of the blood that are indicators of summer activity, so it seems like a good time to dust off the keyboard and update the blog.

We had a nice rain event a couple of weeks ago, one that had me watching the Accuweather precipitation total maps and the USGS real time streamflow gauges.  I managed to get in two nice whitewater kayak trips while the water was up, and had pretty much decided that I was going to write a post about paddling Wolf Creek.  But then this weekend, with my bike in the shop, I decided to go for a short hike on a familiar trail instead.  So that's today's story.

Slippery Rock Creek is NW Pennsylvania's most reliably running whitewater creek.  It's just to the east of New Castle, and about an hour's drive from my house in eastern Ohio.  The best whitewater section of the creek is in McConnells Mill State Park, where you can paddle about five miles of class II-III rapids when the water is up.  This is where I learned to paddle whitewater, and I've made literally hundreds of runs down the gorge.



Me on Slippery Rock Creek in 1999, in my old Pirouette.  Note the bike helmet...

I had thought that my weekend was pretty much scheduled full, but then I unexpectedly got a couple of hours of free time, and needed to find a quick adventure that I could fit in.  There was a light rain falling, but that wasn't a problem.  So I packed up a bit of gear and headed east into Pennsylvania.

This trail runs down the gorge alongside the creek, right alongside the best of the whitewater - "The Mile" as it's known to local paddlers.  I've hiked it dozens of times, from the downstream end back up to the parking area by the ranger station, as a finale for solo kayaking trips on the creek.  But it's been three years since I've been on The Mile, and I've only been down by the creek a few times lately, so it seemed like a good idea to revisit this beautiful spot.

I parked up at the Point parking area, and hiked down the stairs into the gorge.  The highest points on the surrounding ridge are more than 400 feet above the creek, so there can be a bit of up and down if you're hiking in this area.



 

 

Once down by the creek I can see that it's at a nice juicy level, high enough that a paddle down would be a serious blast.  There had been a big rain early in  the week, and I knew that the water would likely be high, but it's still nice to see the rocks covered and hear the muted roar of whitewater echoing from downstream.  The rain and warm weather have been good to the forest too, and its beginning to show signs of spring.  The wildflowers are starting to bloom, and the trees are showing buds.  Everything seems a bit greener and the smell of wet earth fills the air.

 

 





 

 

The way is open and obvious, but not necessarily easy.  With the steep gorge walls squeezing the creek, the trail sometimes has to climb up quite a ways to find a path downstream.  The boulders that constrict the creek and create the whitewater also litter the banks, so that the trail involves a good deal of scrambling up and over.  It's one of those trails where you have to watch your footing the whole time, lest you catch a toe and tumble down the banks to end up in the water.  Yet despite the hazard it is an overwhelmingly beautiful place.  The hemlocks that line the creek give a dark, majestic presence to the narrow gorge, standing tall over grey lichen-encrusted boulders lining the perpetual movement of the creek.  Silent wildflowers grow among niches where wild bird songs compete with the drip of water down sheer rockfaces.  This is a special place, and I'm lucky to know that it's here.

 



 

 

Midway along the trail you come to McConnells Mill, a restored grist mill powered by the waters of the creek.  Here the water pools up behind a dam, and boaters must get out of the creek and portage around to the rapids below. 

 

 

 

 Looking over the creek from the observation deck I see a Great Blue Heron fishing in the water below the dam.  I've seen several people fishing along the creek already, as well as a pair of kingfishers, but the heron seems to be oblivious to everything else but the water.

 

 

 

As I hike down the trail I scout each rapid - a habit left over from the days when I paddled every weekend.  Some of the rapids seem very familiar, and I can easily remember the line needed to make it through smoothly.  Other rapids seem almost unfamiliar, and I study them trying to remember the approach, the move, and the exit.  Funny how something that once seemed as familiar as my own signature can gain distance over a couple of years.  As I hike along I promise myself that I'll get my boat back on the Slip this summer, when the water is nice and low, and re-establish my connection with the creek.  I've truly enjoyed the last five years of mountain biking, but I find that I'm missing whitewater more and more.

 



 

 

The hike takes an hour and a half to cover just over three miles.  The rain had stopped somewhere along the line, but I'm still soaking wet with sweat as I climb up the stairs back to the car.  Back in the day I used to run this trail from the take-out back to the Mill, carrying a paddle in one hand and wearing a life jacket.  Hell, I even carried my 50 pound boat the whole distance before.  Just goes to show that time goes on, despite our best efforts to ignore it.

 

It's going to be a great summer. I can't wait.

Revealed and Concealed

I'd had a restless night, with sleep just beyond my grasp for too long.  I stumbled around the house, getting ready for work while coaxing my son into preparing for school.  Stepping outside and locking the door I was pleasantly surprised to feel how warm it was, despite it being the first week of December. The sun hadn't yet come up, but there was just enough light to illuminate the neighborhood, filtered through a thick layer of fog.  Streetlights stood out as beacons through the grey distance, and the sound of traffic on the busy street one block away was barely a whisper.  I stopped to enjoy the sight, and listened to the sound of moisture dripping from the bare branches of the oak trees.  I've always loved the fog, and this morning it brought back an experience from 15 years ago.

I'd gotten up early in the morning - before the sunrise on a late summer day - and loaded up my paddling gear.  It was a moist, cool morning as I strapped my kayak to the roof of the car and quietly slipped through the deserted streets, heading for the highway.  Less than an hour later I pulled into the parking area beside the ranger's office at McConnells Mill State Park. 

Me on Slippery Rock Creek in 2002.

 

The sun was just over the horizon, spreading a coppery light across the landscape, but the deep gorge that held the creek looked like a cauldron of shifting mist.  Heavy fog filled the depths of  the narrow canyon, rising to nearly the rim where a lazy breeze dissipated it across the ridge top.  As the sunlight strengthened I put on my sprayskirt and pfd, shouldered my boat, and hiked across the meadow to descend the trail to the water.

There is an easier place to access the creek - an old bridge where you can park beside the road and have your boat down to the water in thirty seconds.  But I'd always preferred the trail behind the ranger's office.  It was only a quarter mile or so, descending among the rock faces and dense forest via several rustic staircases.  Near the bottom, where it wasn't quite as steep, the stairs ended and you had to pick your way down a rocky path to the creek bank.  Though it wasn't exactly an easy trip carrying 50 pounds of boat and gear, I always looked forward to this trip and the feeling of immersing myself in the depths of the gorge.

This morning it was a mystical experience.  The fog obscured the edge of the woods, and thickened as I descended slick stairs.  The sound of the whitewater below, usually a roar by the halfway point, was a distant hiss.  The hemlocks and ferns slowly dripped fog borne moisture to the moss below, and occasionally a songbird would call, it's voice padded by the fog.  At the bottom of the stairs I carefully picked my way across the rocks, slowing to clear the crowding trees with the boat.  By the time I got down to the gravel and mud at theedge of the water the fog was so dense that I could barely see 10 feet.  The bright sunlight I'd experienced at meadow above was a soft sterling glow, giving a strange cast to the dark green and brown of the forest.

I slipped into the boat and stretched the skirt over the cockpit rim.  The water level was low enough that there was little risk, especially since I'd paddled this creek dozens of times over the past year.  By now I knew the path of the narrow whitewater creek very well, and felt confident in making a solo trip at low water levels.  I picked up my paddle and slid down the bank into the current, guiding the boat to the center of the creek.  Ahead of me I could hear the muted sound of a rapid, growing louder and sharper as I approached.  Yet the scene ahead was still a wall of fog, enclosed by the dark rocks of the banks to my left and right.  I knew I had to be to the right to enter the first rapid, and I eased the boat closer to that shore as the current picked up.  I strained my eyes, peering into the gloom - and now I could see the outline of the white foam on the dark water through the mist.  Another paddle stroke and I was at the lip of the ledge and then past, the fog slowly rolling in the breeze above the rapid.  I cut the boat into an eddy, looking upstream, but the waves were already lost in the fog.

I peeled out back into the main current, and guided the kayak downstream.  Once again the sound of whitewater slowly gained volume and focus - and then was revealed at the last moment of the approach.  This place that was so familiar to me seemed like somewhere new - yet it was only my familiarity that could allow me to press forward with barely any visual cues.  As the boat dove through the mist and turbulent waves the cool water splashed into my face, bringing the morning into sharp reality.  Each rapid was an experience, both the same and different than ever before, and I lingered at the eddies, reluctant to approach the end of the run.

Even longer ago - me in the Pirouette on Slippery Rock Creek in 2001.

Finally I made my way through the last rapid.  I knew the bridge for the takeout was ahead, though it was still concealed in the fog.  Floating on the current, I didn't paddle until it came into view, and then eased towards the shore where I gave one last strong stroke to push the boat onto the sandy shore. 

I left the boat hidden in the woods near the creek, and began the walk back upstream towards the car along the streamside trail.  At the halfway point the fog was beginning to thin noticeably.  And as I finished the climb out of the gorge the brilliant sunshine once again warmed me, with clear blue skies above. By the time I reached the car I was sweating.  Looking down into the gorge there was only the slightest wisp of mist to be seen, twisting and swirling as it slowly disappeared.

Paddling and Pedaling

There was a time, not long ago, when I considered myself a kayaker, not a mountain biker.  Before Labor Day weekend 2008 I spent most of my free time paddling the whitewater creeks of western Pennsylvania.  Back then my bike was only occasionally used, mostly for running shuttle on solo kayaking runs.  My passion was for being on the water, and I couldn't imagine that changing.  In my paddling days I had a streak of over 10 years where I was on the water at least once a month - winter or summer.  And don't think that meant I got in 12 trips a year either.  My paddling journal shows that I got in between 70 and 90 days on the water each year during that period. But after that first mountain bike ride I knew there was a huge appeal for me to get into the sport.   And now I try to ride my bike five days a week, with at least two of them being singletrack days.

With fall coming the weather has gotten wetter and cooler, leaving our trails in less than perfect condition while at the same time letting the creeks get their first significant water for quite a while.  So when the weekend rolled around and it looked bad for riding, but good for paddling, I went through my boating gear, loaded the boat onto the car and headed over to a run that I hadn't done in at least two years.  Slippery Rock Creek is a beautiful little gorge near New Castle, Pennsylvania that I have probably paddled at least 150 times.  The lower section is an easy run that I felt comfortable in running solo at a low level, and I had a great afternoon on the water (see a short GoPro vid here).  I even returned the next day and paddled it again with my brother (another whitewater paddler turned mountain biker). 


I had been thinking about writing a post about the whitewater experience, but decided to try to compare and contrast whitewater kayaking with mountain biking.  I'm still not sure how a guy like me got so involved in riding mtb, so maybe this will provide me with some insight.

There are a several things that the two activities have in common.  The most obvious is the setting, since both are outdoor sports that take mostly take place in 'wilderness' surroundings.  I've always loved being in the woods, and have been attracted to camping, backpacking and other outdoors pursuits since I was a little kid.  A day in the woods is rarely a waste of time.

Both entail a certain amount of risk.  Recently two very well known kayakers have died while making whitewater runs - Jeff West in Alaska and Alan Panebaker in New Hampshire.  I've been involved in the sport for long enough that I've seen too many young men give their lives striving to master the rapids.  As I age I find this to be more and more disturbing, yet it's a decision that each person has to be allowed to make on their own.  No one expects to die when they get in their boat at the top of a run, though they always know there is that chance.  We always expect our skill and judgement to be adequate to the challenge.  I had a very close call early in my paddling history that I was VERY lucky to escape alive.  I credit that with giving me a greater sense of caution, one that might have kept me from making a deadly mistake somewhere on the river.

The risks associated with mountain biking are different.  There are much less chances of death, but that is balanced with the greater risk of injury.  Most pro or expert riders have tales of broken bones and other injuries that have come with their years spent on a bike.  I've broken both bones in my left leg, and then the next year severely torn the cartilage in my left knee (and don't forget the fractured skull riding on the street in front of my house).  I'll be feeling that knee injury every step for the rest of my life.  Still, my wife is glad to see me riding mountain bikes rather than paddling so much.  She knows the risks as well, and would rather have a gimpy husband than a dead one.

Each sport requires a special set of skills, developed with experience and time.  The balance of the rider and the craft for each is a special, non-intuitive relationship that is a result of trial and error.  But there is a strange correlation between the boat and bike, and how the rider has to be one with them in order to advance.  When I was on the water last month I was amazed at the similarities in control that I was experiencing.

Both sports have aspects that allow the dedicated to get involved beyond the actual ride.  I've been a streamkeeper for American Whitewater for over 15 years, providing information for other paddlers (like the lower Slip write-up linked to above) on creeks that I'm familiar with, and also taking efforts to keep the streams hazard free by cutting out downed trees.  Being a person who's always been fascinated with maps I also got involved in a 7 year long effort to map the whitewater streams and watersheds of the eastern United States.  In mountain biking I continued my mapping by making maps of local trail systems, and I'm attempting a much larger map of the bicycling opportunities in Allegheny National Forest.  But my biggest contribution to mountain biking has come through trail building, which has now become a large part of the pastime for me.  I am also now one of the founders (and secretary) of a new mountain bike club for eastern Ohio, Rust Belt Revival Trail Coalition, where my opportunities for trail building will only grow.

Both activities are dependant on the weather and those who are more aware of these conditions are rewarded with greater opportunities to get out there.  Both require reliance on gear that must be kept in good working order to minimize risk.  Both can be done solo or with a group. Both have a heavy reliance on safety gear and risk assessment.  And participants in each love to photograph or video their exploits for enjoyment in future days.  Both have a 'season' but can be largely pursued year long by the more obsessed.  And both can provide a huge adrenaline boost when you're in the groove and everything is happening right.

The main difference that I can see is the exertion and fitness level required.  I used to think that I was getting a good workout when I spent an afternoon paddling, and it did strengthen my upper body quite a bit.  But the overall fitness required by mountain biking is a step above that needed in whitewater.  A mountain biker also needs to have strong upper body and core, but obviously requires heavily developed leg muscles as well.  The endurance aspect is what really separates the two.  Cardio and respiratory strength is really the basis for mountain biking, probably as much as leg strength.  As a person with respiratory problems I never would have thought that something like mountain biking would have appealed to me, but as I've worked my way into the sport I've found that my breathing has gotten much better (although it will never be on par with the average rider).  My doctors have been impressed with my respiratory strength and recovery time - in other words while my lungs still don't work that great, the breathing muscles are strong and when I get out of breath I recover very quickly.

I think that the central appeal for me, for both whitewater and mountain biking, is the challenge and the counterbalancing necessity to realize your own limits.  Being on a rapid, there is no question who is in charge of the situation (and it's not the guy in the boat) and the challenge lies in the ability to pick a line, use your skills and guide your craft safely through.  When on a trail there is no active opposition - unless you count gravity - but the task is remarkably similar.  You must pick a line through the rocks, use your skills and ride your bike safely through.  And, being of relatively sound mind, I've chosen the wiser course many, many times by portaging around a sketchy rapid or walking the bike past a risky rock feature.  Every thing in its own time, even if that time is never.

Fitness vs. Fatness

Much like the majority of the U.S. population, I have to keep a constant eye on my weight.  I'm not too bad off, but I can easily start adding pounds when I let my habits get away from me.  I stand a whopping 5'-7" tall, and weigh about 180 pounds.  The BMI calculations say that I'd have to drop to 159 pounds to pass out of the "overweight" category and into the normal weight group.  Hmmm.  That is hard to picture, since I haven't been at that weight for over 20 years. 



At West Branch earlier in the month

 Two years ago I was up to just a hair short of 200 pounds, but slowly dropped a bit.  Then this fall I got a bit more serious and lost about 15 pounds.  Then I had an accident and fractured my skull, and all my exercise habits were put on hold.  Since December I've struggled a bit to get back on track, but I'm doing better this week.

I use MapMyRide to help me out.  It has a great nutrition section that lets you keep track of your daily calorie input.  You can also log your workouts, from bike rides to gardening, to get an idea of what kind of calories you're burning.  And of course you can map your rides to keep track of mileage while tracking them with your workouts.  For a free service I think they do a heck of a job and can be a real help to someone trying to control their weight.

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I think there are several things that worked for me in the fall, and I'm getting back into the habits that showed results.  One of the main things is to try to get in some sort of workout almost every day.  When you have more frequent exercise apparently your basal metabolic rate gets higher, so that you burn more calories every day, not counting your workouts.  For me that usually means one or two mountain bike rides a week (during the season when you can actually ride), rides around town, and stationary bike rides in the basement on other days, along with the occasional kayak or canoe trip or trail building day.  Let me say that I, like everybody else, hate riding the stationary bike.  But it really helps build up those leg muscles and also gets in an extra burst of calorie burning for the day.

West Branch, with the trail loop start on the left, and the end on the right.

One more thing - I think mountain biking has it all over road riding when it comes to workout effectiveness.  The road bike thing seems to build those quads, as dealing with the road surface is a minor part of the ride compared to the actual moving forward as fast as possible part.  When you're on a mountain bike and riding singletrack it's a way more dynamic situation - the rider is constantly changing position, lifting out of the seat for bumps, standing to pedal, pushing down the bars to preload and then pulling back to lift the front wheel.  On the day after a big singletrack ride my shoulders are usually the sorest part, not my legs.  So you get more muscles involved and can push out a lot of calories on the way.

Loaded up and ready for adventure, with the kayak on top and mountain bike inside.

I tried to take advantage of my half day Friday today - as hard as I could I tried...  But sometimes you just can't make things happen.  At noon I headed home and loaded up the bike, kayak and a ton of gear and headed east into Pennsylvania.  There had been a bunch of snowmelt and then rain, and all the creek gauges were going nuts.  I hoped to head over to Scrubgrass Creek, near Kennerdell on the Allegheny River, and get in a nice quick run or two on the creek.  But when I got there it looked a little bit too high for me to run solo.

Scrubgrass Creek

Honestly, I likely could have paddled it with absolutely no problems, but after the last couple of years and the troubles I've had with injuries it's become second nature to take the safer choice when there's any doubt at all.  Too bad, I was really looking forward to some whitewater.  And I know that if Scrubgrass is too high then it's likely that the other area creeks in the same difficulty range are going to be too high as well.  With darkness approaching too fast I decided to cut my losses and try to get in a bike ride at Moraine instead.  I knew the area had gotten an inch of rain in the last 24, so I just headed to the paved bike trail instead of the singletrack.

Moraine State Park bike trail

For the most part paved bike trails are rail trails, so they're mostly flat to keep the trains from wasting energy climbing up and down hills.  But the Moraine trail was created just for bikes, so it at least has some nice rolling hills.  It wasn't exactly the greatest weather, with gusty winds and blowing snow (freezing rain?  micro sleet?) sandblasting my eyeballs.  Still it's always great to get out and ride, so I was fairly satisfied with the day.

 On the way back home from Moraine I got a call from the wife.  Seems like Kenny is going to stay overnight at one of his friends house.  I'd planned on him and I going out to West Branch tomorrow morning to pitch in with CAMBA on their first trail work day of the season.  But with a free morning I feel that I may be forced to try another recreational outing, chasing either high water or rocky trails.  It'll mean an early morning departure, but I can live with that!