Erin in Bend 2

Erin's a blogging fool these days - here's another update from Bend:

Amie and I spent Monday and Tuesday at Paulina Lake, a caldera about an hour from Bend, OR. The temperature at the lake was much cooler than what we’ve been experiencing since the elevation of the lake is about 6400ft. On Monday we did a long run around the lake. We followed a rolling path that circled the lake inches away from the water at most points. Warned of the high elevation, I set a very easy pace and because of the cool air I felt good running. I figured my body was tolerant to the elevation (despite having lived at sea level my entire life). That night we cooked around the camp fire and ate s’mores with friends. As the sun set it got very cold, and shortly after going to bed I realized my 40 degree sleeping bag was not going to cut it (which was an odd change because I never once slept inside my bag in Washington because it was so hot). I zipped myself inside the mummy hood, curled up into the fetal position, and fitfully shivered through the night. Twice I woke up gasping for breath thinking I had smothered myself inside my sleeping bag, only to find that my airway was completely open. I can’t imagine what it feels like to sleep at real elevation…

The next morning we set out to hike Paulina Peak, a “small” mountain only 8000ft high. However the hike consisted of only about 1500 feet of elevation gain over 3 miles, and then a long gradual 7 mile descent.
Still refusing to think the elevation could affect me, I figured this would be an easy distance workout. The group I was hiking with was certainly athletic, but none are on a summer training plan like I am, so if anything I should be the one having to wait up for others, right?

We hit the trail and since it was “buggy”, the guy leading decided to jog. Although it was hardly buggy by my standards (or any Mainer’s standards), I thought it was great that we were jogging and considered it a good training opportunity. However, I quickly started to drop off the back of the group. I assumed I was having trouble keeping up because of my hiking pack loaded with water and food for the day. After a mile we stopped jogging and I caught up with the group as we started to hike. Although now we were all hiking, I found myself once again trailing a good 10-15ft behind the others. My heart rate sky-rocketed, and while everyone else was up ahead seemingly having no problem, I couldn’t catch my breath. I went from thinking this was going to be an easy hike to thinking this would be a great threshold workout, and it was. By the time I reached the top my body felt fatigued like I had been climbing for three hours, not one. At the top was a wonderful view of the caldera and obsidian lava flow, unlike anything I’ve seen before. The seven mile gradual descent was much more manageable, and now I can only hope my red blood cell count increases in preparation for when we climb the “real” mountains later this week.

Erin in Bend

Here's an update from Erin, who's spending a few weeks in Bend:

I spent the last week traveling throughout Washington state working for the Washington Bike Ride. Every day I was responsible for helping to take down camp, load all the supplies (tables, chairs, trashcans, coolers, signs, boxes, drinks, food, etc) into Uhauls, travel to the next destination the bikers were going to, take everything out of the Uhauls, set up camp, keep drinks and snacks supplied for the bikers, help out with any riders’ needs, take out trash, etc. The job certainly kept me on my toes - lifting and moving heavy items in the heat is practically a workout. However, I got a break every afternoon in which I went biking or running. The best day, however, was Wednesday which was a layover day (no moving camp) so I got to ride the bike route, a 52 mile loop through a mountain valley in Oroville, WA. It was unreal to me, so different from Maine! In all the week was a lot of fun, an awesome way to see Washington state, and I got to meet a lot of really cool people.

Now I am in Bend, Oregon, staying with my roommate Amie until next week when we are working the Oregon Bike Ride (same routine). Yesterday we biked to a gorgeous trail, ran for an hour, biked home, and then I topped off the workout with some exergenie-ing (whoot). Today Amie and I biked from Amie’s house to Smith Rock, about 32 miles, and met up with some friends to go rock climbing. The only time I’ve done any climbing was my Sophomore year of high school in gym class. Climbing an actual 100 foot rock is much different than climbing the bleachers in my high school gym. Although challenging, I actually surprised myself with how capable I was. I guess all the lifting of ice bags, coolers, and 24-packs of drinks the previous week (or perhaps all the strength workouts) have toughened me up! Here are pictures of me biking in Grand Coulee Dam, WA, climbing a 5.8 route at Smith Rock, and my friend Jesper climbing a 5.11b route at Smith Rock.

The Boomerang Effect

Here's a guest post from Chris Sanville, currently the most responsible rising sophomore on the men's team.

This afternoon it came time for me to go on a bike ride. As I prepared, putting my various energy bars, Hammer Gel bottles, and water packs in order, I cast a wary eye out my kitchen window. The skies looked dark and foreboding. They were covered by clouds colored that navy shade of blue, with heavy, smoke-grey puffs around the edges and lower down in the atmosphere. However, it had already deluged once on me earlier in the day, during my VO2max workout, so applying the same faulty logic that I do with cops (that is, once you see one it is statistically less likely that you'll see another, so speed away), I hopped on my bike and pedaled with confidence toward the long farm roads just past the edge of suburbia.

For the first part of the ride my confidence was well-placed. However, once I reached that point (you know, the you're-far-enough-out-that-it-would-be-stupid-to-turn-around-just-because-of-the-weather point), it started to rain on me hard, painfully hard. Yet, seeing as I had already crossed the aforementioned point, I figured that it would be stupid to turn around just because of the weather, and that eventually it would lighten up.

Half an hour later, my figuring turned out to be right: the weather did lighten up, but not before it became a lot worse. At one point the only way I could tell the difference between the downpour soaking me and being splashed by dump trucks travelling at absurd, not very safe in these conditions speed, was the direction that the water came from. By the time I reached the point in my loop where I begin to head back toward the cities, the rain had lessened to a steady drizzle, and I was actually enjoying the ride, thinking that the storm would have moved on by the time I came back.

Well, I thought wrong. The magic of riding for two hours and ending up at the same spot and the mystery that is Minnesota weather joined forces to drench me on the way back as well. I call this the Boomerang Effect, named for the same emotional highs and lows one feels while throwing a boomerang. Things seem to be great as the boomerang speeds away from you, but then you realize how much trouble you're in as it comes hurtling back, because it is a weapon, and you really can't catch.

The route that I was considering took me through some pretty flat, untreed farmland, which seemed like a good idea until a huge crackle of lightning ripped the sky open directly above my head and reminded me that I was sitting on a pretty good conductor, not to mention already being soaked. I explained all this to a fellow rider and weather refugee while making obscene noises trying the last of my Hammer Gel out of its container, noises that sounded like what I imagine an anteater must make while dealing with a particularly troublesome colony, or perhaps the noise the toilet makes in my family's second floor bathroom right before I sprint for the plunger. We had both camped out in the shelter provided by the restrooms found at the end of the Gateway Trail, an 18.3 mile length of paved bike trail, stretching from the heart of St. Paul to the beginnings of farmland (St. Paul is not a big city). He, as only bikers can, did not bat an eyelash at my attempted consumption of energy and instead commented that the tires on my bike were rubber, suggesting that this would be enough to insulate me from any lightning strike.

The storm showing no sign of ceasing and the other guy starting to smell, I decided to head back on the much more sheltered Gateway. He wished me luck, saying he hoped not to find my charred corpse in a ditch somewhere along the trail. Empathizing heavily, I agreed, and set out once more into the rain.

The ride back was amazing. The rain on the smooth, newly resurfaced blacktop, combined with the light from the storm shaded sun, turned the trail into a ribbon of crystal clear mirror winding its way through the Minnesota woods and swamps. It gave the ethereal feeling of biking on the sky. Toward the end of the ride, it warmed up and, though still raining, the trail started steaming, further contributing toward the feeling of otherworldliness.

As I turned down my street, the rain slowed down, and the instant that my tire crossed onto my driveway, it stopped completely and the sun came out, an interesting side effect of the Boomerang Effect that I have observed before. Damp, and beginning to chill, I went inside, changed out of my clothes, which had achieved the consistency and saturation of drowned rat, and popped into the shower, but not before putting the kettle on for some warm Jasmine tea. Now, as I sit here with the tea pleasantly warming me from the inside out, I'm reminded of something my Dad said when one of his friends asked him, "Why in God's name do you like backpacking so much?" He replied, "Because it feels so good when you're done."

Just Another Day at the Office

Here's word from Spencer, who's working on a trail crew in New Hampshire:

Hey all, just checking in from what might be the best summer job ever. This summer I'm working trail crew in the Northern Presidential Mountain Range in New Hampshire for the Randolph Mountain Club. The rest of the crew and I live right at the base of Mt. Madison and Mt. Adams. An average day of work could include moving giant rocks, chopping down trees, fending off moose and bears, and always lots of dirt and destruction.


We spent the majority of the first few weeks hiking all of the 100+ miles of trail with axes, clearing any trees that had fallen in the trail. One of the highlights was coming across a 15x20 foot boulder that had created a half-mile path of utter destruction down the side of Mt. Jefferson. Its path ended after it bounced 50-60 feet across a gully and obliterated a tree two feet in diameter.

Most of the summer is spent making rock staircases and water bars. As a general rule of thumb, if you can move a rock by yourself without too much effort, it is not big enough. One of the cooler projects I've worked on was a retaining wall, in which we lowered 300-500-pound rocks with a high-strength pulley down an embankment to rebuild an eroded trail. From time to time, a rock will get away from you and go crashing down the mountain, destroying everything in its path. There is quite a sense of accomplishment in working with rocks. At times rocks can be obstinate and infinitely annoying, but good rockwork will last for 50-70 years.

So far the summer training has been going great - a bit unconventional at times, but always lots of fun. The Randolph area is one of the most densely trailed areas in the country, which makes for some amazing trail running. I've been able to do some great uphill interval sessions and have seen all sorts of wildlife: moose, bear, beaver, falcons, foxes, and more. All right out my back door - I haven't needed to drive to go to work out once so far this year. One of the challenges I have had to deal with is figuring out how much trail work to count as training. Some days we will spend most of the time hiking, stopping only to move downed trees. Then there is packboarding, a mildly hellish device made of wood and canvas, which somewhat resembles a backpack used to carry tools, firewood, and anything to big or heavy to fit into a backpack. A full set of tools alone can weight 40-60 pounds - then strap on a full overnight pack with all the gear one would need for a week of camping. At times, trail work and training can be pretty exhausting. The solution I have found is just to eat a lot - pasta by the pound and always second or third lunches and dinners.

Recently I did a one-day traverse of all the eight AMC huts along the Appalachian Trail. I got to see a lot of new and beautiful terrain as well as eat some of the hut crew's amazing food: pumpkin walnut pancakes, pasta bakes, bread, and hundreds of cookies, all homemade. This may be because the hut kids have nothing else to do but sit around and cook, but either way it was delicious. The traverse was probably one of the hardest things I have ever done in my entire life. Imagine an average workout, then multiply it by a factor of 10 or 15. Don't worry, Nathan, my average heart rate was 143. I went far beyond what I thought I was ever physically capable of and redefined my understanding of the words "tired" and "endurance." All in all, it was a good but very long day.

Elissa's Studio

Elissa has an art fellowship this summer - she's painting and taking photos all around Brunswick and the Maine coast. She's started a blog to document her work - check it out.

Courtney Senior Profile

Another student profile of a skier featured on the Bowdoin homepage - this time it's Courtney.

Grace in Kenya

Grace is having a much more interesting summer than you are. She's in Kenya for the next several weeks - check out her stories at her blog. She's off to France for the fall, so sadly we won't be seeing much of her until January.