Anybody who knows me well knows that I’m not much of a vacations kind of guy; which means that doing things like scheduling vacation a year in advance (which for some reason, the management of my office wants us to do) is difficult.

So what ends up happening is that vacation time sort of sneaks up on me unawares.

I’ve been scheduled for vacation days the past two Mondays … of course, I didn’t know it, and showed up for work. And, since my company requires us to use our vacation time or lose it, I’m forced to take the time off. And since I have no money, I’m sticking close to home.

This may come as a surprise, but for the most part, I actually like my job; and like going to work everyday … so finding things to keep myself busy when I have time off work can be a challenge. If there was a bit more snow on the ground, I’d be up one of the canyons skiing, but alas, it’s not to be this early in the season this year.

So, for now, I’m spending my time cleaning my apartment and watching a movie. Perhaps I’ll make it out for a bike ride a bit later. And then I’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.

I don’t know if it’s the changing weather (like it is for the Mistress), or if there is something else going on, but I just cannot get my head into the game.

My motivation levels are near-nil, and I find that right now I’m basically just on cruise control. I wake up, I go to work, I come home, I eat too much, watch some TV, and go to bed. On weekends, I may give myself a respite by heading up one of the canyons, but the past couple of weeks, even that hasn’t really helped a whole lot.

I’m looking for inspiration from without, because I’m certainly not finding any from within.

I can’t write, at least not expressively … my pens and journals are just sitting there. I’m not feeling artistically inclined towards my cameras … I’m just carrying them around, but not pulling them out and using them.

My bikes are in the closet, or leaning against the counter in the dining room, tires flattening, chains drying, and even the last couple of days I’ve been skiing have been less than exceptional.

I’m deep in a funk, and I don’t know how to pull myself out right now; and I’m not sure how everyone else can put on such a happy face all the time. I listen to what other people tell me about what’s going on in their lives, much of which is often more difficult than what I’m having to deal with, and yet, they seem like they’re able to just deal with it and move on, while I find myself wallowing in in the muck that is my mind.

Definitely not doing the Big Ring thing these days. I dunno, Train, maybe I should give up the “Flahute” monicker and put away the Ferlinghetti and Kerouac, and start pulling out the Maya Angelou and Sylvia Plath.

Is it cheesy to crib a post for your own blog from comments that you’ve left on someone else’s?

Fastgrrrl wrote today about having a sense of place, and how places leave their mark on people.

My place … I’m still trying to determine exactly where my place is …

It’s the Tennessee River, drifting along in a fishing boat. It’s Chickamauga Lake, learning how to slalom. It’s the dogwood tree in front of my great-grandmother’s house in Chattanooga.

It’s the treehouse my friends and I built with stolen building materials from the houses in our new development above Lotus Lake in Chanhassen, Minnesota.

It’s the cobbled roads and small little cafes and bars of Belgium, albeit not by bicycle, as I wasn’t a cyclist then.

It’s the North Beach bars and jazz clubs of San Francisco. It’s the streets of San Francisco dodging buses and taxis, and the roads of Marin County where I truly came into my own as a cyclist.

And it’s rapidly becoming the Utah mountains and canyons, where my knees scream on each attempt to climb higher, but my heart soars as I descend, whether with boards strapped to my feet, or astride my trusty steel steed.

I have a long way to go before I am defined by any one particular place, but as long as the journey continues, I will take it all in and make it a part of who I am, and who I want to be.

Sometimes, all you need is a change of scenery. After a pretty crappy day yesterday, I almost bailed on going skiing today at all … but I woke up early (thanks to my work-week alarm settings), felt better than I did yesterday, and decided to take a crive up Little Cottonwood Canyon to Alta …

And I had an incredible day.

Not because the snow conditions were great (a lot of areas were skied-out); not because there weren’t a lot of people (I had to wait a good 10-minutes in every single lift-line, except my initial ride up Albion because everyone else was lining up for Sunnyside); and certainly not because I skied better than yesterday (although my legs did feel much better).

It was just a good day; I stuck with the blue runs most of the day, except for one jaunt down Extrovert … and I got a few great photos; or at least I think so.

Devil’s Castle

Mt. Superior

Even the birds dig the food at Alf’s

… I’ve discovered that it’s possible to have an absolutely shitty day up on the slopes.

From the time I turned up the canyon, until I made it to the parking lot at Solitude almost 90 minutes later, I just had a feeling it wasn’t going to be a great day …

I get on Eagle Express for my first lift ride up to Eagle Ridge, and could barely ski back down the Sunshine Bowl and Last Run to Moonbeam Lodge; my legs just felt like overcooked pasta. Still, I tried to make a go of it …

Took the Moonbeam lift to drop Main Street down towards the Sunrise lift, through the Access to up to take Summit Lift up to the top.

Took one run down Honeycomb Canyon; took some photos, mostly pretty shitty … but did get one interesting cloud formation … so I guess the day wasn’t a total loss.

The back up Honeycomb Return, down Sundancer back to the base, the parking lot, and home.

Camera: Nikon D80
Exposure: 0.001 sec (1/1600)
Aperture: f/4.8
Focal Length: 120 mm
ISO Speed: 100
Exposure Bias: 0/6 EV

Summit entrance to Honeycomb Canyon


Honeycomb Canyon


Honeycomb Canyon


Honeycomb Canyon


Dynamite

You know you’re out of shape when your heart rate spikes up to 2 bps below your theoretical max HR based on one methodology and 3-4 bps higher than your max HR based on the 220-age methodology, when riding a relatively flat route.

I’m not seeing to 220+ rates that the Doctor is getting, but I still find the numbers disconcerting.

Hope the earache girl’s canyon ride goes better than mine.