Dear Winter...

Winter, winter, winter. Early snows usually melt and are forgotten in days. The snow cannot endure the high altitude sun until after Thanksgiving. This year, winter seems to be here early and doesn't seem to have plans for a vacation. It snowed a few inches yesterday, and snow is in the forecast for three of the next five days. One upside is the early morning light that barely touches the snow-laden treetops.How do you politely tell a guest named Winter that they've shown up too early for the party and you're not ready for them yet? Well, I guess that I am slightly more prepared than last year because I have a snow bike ready to ride.
Believe it or not, 'Life with Dogs' asked me to talk more about my bike! And, 'Life with Bikes' asked me to tell him more about my dogs. What's the world coming to?

My snow bike is a Fatback, made by Speedway Cycles in Anchorage Alaska. It's used by many of the top riders in the Iditarod bike race that follows the same route as the dog sled race. It has 4" wide tires, designed to maximize float in deep snow and give good snow traction. The frame is titanium, and the bike is amazingly light! Yes, compared to my dual suspension bikes, it feels like a feather! It has no suspension except for the huge tires. I run them at about 5 psi in the snow, and they cushion every bump. Other companies make snow bikes with wide tires but no other companies made a petite frame suited to my 5'2" stature.

A funny aside: Until I had my back fusion surgery about three years ago, I was 5'1". The first thing that the surgeon told me when I woke up was that he'd made me an inch taller by separating my vertebrae to their normal configuration. I haven't measured myself again - I don't want to know if my deteriorating back is making me even shorter, yet again!

The Fatback works optimally on well packed deep snow. Under these conditions, a conventional mountain bike sinks into the snow and bogs down. In contrast, the Fatback usually floats over the snow, letting me ride all winter long. My small size also helps keep me on top of the snow.

The funny-looking things on the handlebars are called pogies, and they're insulated mittens that cover the brake calipers, shifters, grips, and my hands. They're key for keeping my hands warm on a 18F morning like today.

Today, I had the duo of Labs join me for a bike ride in the snow. They frolicked rambunctiously. R's high voltage style rubbed off on K. R makes me smile! And, I think that he makes K smile too now that she feels peppy enough to play with him.
I've been working with R on making eye contact with me when he 'checks in'. It's a good behavior to solidify for dealing with distractions. Here, he solidly looks in my eyes.
But, this activity is so boring to our high speed Lab that he dozed within 2 seconds.
Yesterday, I pondered why K often does a tongue flick just before arriving at the end of a recall. Then, as I looked through photos, I realized that R very occasionally does the same thing. My dog training expert friends, starting with Roxanne, pointed out that it could be a 'calming signal' whereby K is trying to emotionally smooth out her ferocious sprint into my 'personal space'. She's calming both me and herself by doing a tongue flick. The flick says that, although she's sprinting fast directly at me, she means no harm. These 'calming signals' were first identified by Turid Rugaas. Here's R doing a tongue flick at the end of a recall on Saturday.
After I left the dogs at home, my Fatback and I headed out for a mostly ridge ride, trying to follow the melting snow. In the photo below, I looked over my shoulder at the ridge that I'd been following. It's the smaller one in the foreground. Behind it, a taller sawtooth ridge marks the abrupt transition from the mountains to the plains. Through a canyon in the right of the photo, you can see the yawning plains that extend to Kansas and beyond.
The coyotes also adopt my strategy of following the ridge after a snow. No human tracks followed my path but it looked like a brigade of coyotes had trotted along it.
After about 40 minutes of exhilarating views of snow billowing in the wind around the towering Divide, it was time to plunge over the north side of the ridge, into a gulch where I saw a lion last winter. This part of the ride scared me because the snow hid slippery logs and rocks just below its smooth surface. I need to get my snow confidence back!
The descent turned out to be fun. If I relax and let the bike do its job, it is amazingly nimble and stable. I followed a route that I only use in the winter and enjoyed seeing trails that I've eschewed since last April. I didn't see any lions today but I did see lots of elk, deer, and coyote tracks. I was the only human silly enough to use these trails since the snow blanketed them. I like the solitude of being the mountain biker who visits remote places all through the winter!

Canines in the forest

Winter has settled into every nook and cranny of life up here in the thin air. Snow first pelted out of the sky yesterday during our evening hike. In a brief break, the moon sliver shined through the dusk light.
Overnight, one coyote visited on and off all night. I wonder if the coyotes have focused on our territory to this extent every winter. We installed our wildlife camera in May so we don't know. In the photo below, the coyote looked ready to leap up into a tree. Unfortunately, our camera needs 30 seconds between photos so I don't know what he did next!
This morning, K and I rolled out into an undeniably winter landscape. Snow and ice pellets streaked out of the sky, covering our tracks soon after we made them.
I've noticed from my rapidfire camera mode that K almost always flicks her tongue up over her nose just before she reaches me on recalls. I don't understand what that means. Perhaps, anticipation of treats makes her salivate and flick her tongue? The classic interpretation of a tongue flick is that it denotes nervousness but I can't imagine that K feels nervous about finishing a recall. Afterall, I give her a ton of treats and a celebration party every time!
After her recall, she sat next to my bike while I examined some tracks.
Snow flakes hung on her fur and ice formed on the whiskers above her eyes.
After I left K at home, I rode only a little bit more. Although the falling snow made the landscape starkly beautiful, the cold had infiltrated my layers, leaving me chilled. As I rolled along a trail that K and I had traveled only a brief time before, tracks from coyotes, a fox, and deer told an interesting story. It appeared as if both the fox and the coyotes had galloped furiously along the trail all on the same route. After a third of a mile or so, the coyotes slowed and veered off. Only the fox tracks remained. In the photo below, the fox galloped from bottom to top in the faint furrow left by my tires. Very soon after this point, he too left the open trail, entering a dense pine forest.
In the midst of all of these furious galloping tracks, some deer tracks meandered. The deer didn't move fast. Rather, they carefully put down each hoof, not throwing snow behind them like the canines had done.

I suspect that the coyotes chased a fox but gave up. The deer happened to wander through at almost the same time but no one chased them. Nearby, I could hear hunters' shots. I'm glad that they can't access our little slice of paradise. I hope that the deer stay put!

I rolled home, put my bike in the basement, and looked out the kitchen window to see a tan form moseying into our clearing. Squirrels dashed up trees and the magpies, who had been foraging below our bird feeders, flew out of reach. In the photo below, the coyote was gazing at the magpie, perched atop the stump, with great interest.
To my surprise, the magpies chased the coyote away. A few of them ganged up, divebombing him until he left the clearing. I guess that a big advantage to foraging at night is that a coyote doesn't get harassed by birds.
We've seen Corvids, including magpies, crows, and ravens, intimidate coyotes in the past. After an elk died near our property, we watched the procession of scavengers pick off every last morsel of muscle. Around that carcass, the birds won showdowns with coyotes more often than not. The birds worked as marauding gangs swooping at the canines. The coyotes would lurk in the trees until the birds departed, and, only then would they eat their fill.
I love watching the life stories of our wildlife unfold. I try to read the signs in the forest and understand the complex interactions underway. Today, I was captivated by the evidence of a canine chase that had occurred just after I'd been on the same trail. I wonder if those animals watched K and me roll past? Or, if they just happened to arrive shortly after we did? I'll never know.

I think that this fascination is part of why I love having dogs in my life. They're domesticated but they speak a different language than we do. I watch the nuances of their behavior, like the tongue flick at the end of K's recalls, and try to understand what they're saying to me. Sometimes I feel certain that I understand but, plenty of times, I'm puzzled. I bet that my dogs would say the same thing about trying to understand me!

Good thoughts for Snapdragon - plus chaotic windy ride

Sweet Snapdragon
Before I start my post, I'd like to ask that you send good thoughts to my friend, Miss Snapdragon, over at my neighbor's ranch, DVR. She's a young mustang filly who captured my heart when I first met her as an itty-bitty very cute foal. She's sick with colic and currently at the hospital. She's sweet, mischievous, and bursting with life. I refuse to believe that she won't prevail over this illness - she's too strong and too sweet. Please send her your good thoughts!

Sunset hike, coyote visitors, and mountain bike ride
Last night, the sun dipped below the western mountains, leaving a streaked palette of oranges.
Shortly after we returned from our sunset hike, a trio of coyotes meandered into our clearing. Our wildlife camera captured 72 photos of coyotes last night. Believe it or not, without the camera, we wouldn't have known that they'd visited!
According to the time stamps on the photos, at least one coyote stayed for most of the night, finally departing as our house sprung to life around 6 AM. He also vanished for an hour at 2 AM after something up high scared him. This photo showed his body language just before he vanished for that hour.I'm starting to think that the coyote who used to lead the 'luring' operation has moved on or died. Over the past couple of years, he'd stand in full sight of my dogs, yipping and making play gestures, and then trying to lead them toward his pack hiding in the forest. This luring operation led to a number of dog injuries and deaths in my neighborhood. Based on these photos, we know that coyotes lurked near our house during our evening hike yesterday but they didn't try to trick our dogs. Whew.

I finally ordered an additional wildlife camera to place out on trails that I know from tracks are used by cats, including mountain lions. I decided, after much thought, to buy one with an infrared flash (produces a faint red glow) rather than the incandescent flash that our current wildlife camera has. The reason is that I don't want to scare the cats away from their habitual trails by using a bright flash, thereby disrupting their hunting patterns and having more impact on our ecosystem than I should. An IR flash recovers very quickly so I'll be able to get frequent (every few seconds) photos at night but they'll be black and white. I'm excited to use the new camera to learn more about where bobcats and mountain lions travel in our area.

This morning, I had two crazy Labs, both with orange vests, accompany me for my initial mountain bike ride. I tried to photograph them but they focused on the scents in the wind blowing from behind them rather than on me.
Then, R decided that it was time for action rather than stationary photos so I took one of the remaining dog, K.
R was bursting with enthusiasm for the entire ride. He doesn't do anything at normal speed. Watching him criss-cross the trail in front of me is like watching a video in fast forward mode. And, he moves with easy grace, leaping logs and winding through obstacles without a thought. R is doubtless at his physical peak, and it's astounding to roam the forest with him.
The most unbelievable part is how R has learned, through lots of training, to harness his energy. Based on tracks in the snow, I know that myriad animals had wandered our forest recently but R responded immediately, and with his trademark enthusiasm, to my recalls. Up until a few months ago, he'd always watch K for the cue to start his sprint to me. If K had chosen to ignore me, I think that R would have decided that I was irrelevant. But now he initiates his recall on his own. What a good dog!

After I dropped the pups off at home with frozen stuffed kongs to amuse them, I rode solo in the rapidly accelerating wind (gusts up to 60 mph according to the Weather Underground). A wall of clouds obscured the Divide promulgating bike-stopping winds that carried ice pellets. Several times, as I rode on an exposed ridge with the wind pushing me forward like a giant hand on my back, I had to brake suddenly and put down a foot to avoid swerving and crashing under the influence of the wind.
Only one mountain shined through the storm front but just barely.
To my surprise, the view to the southeast gave no clue about the turbulence in the air.
Despite the chaotic wind, I fell into that sweet meditative state of mind that I love so much. I pedaled, scanned the forest for animals, and thought about nothing but the next hill or obstacle. Although enduring the wind sometimes saps my energy, it didn't today. I arrived home feeling like I'd taken a long journey through the wildness in our backyard. Perfect.

Clanging contrasts

Yesterday, K's medical tests finally came back clean - completely and utterly normal. No more casts inhabit her urine, suggesting that the antibiotics have annihilated the kidney infection. She leaped through the forest with joy this morning.
When we emerged from the forest, she hopped onto a boulder for a view of the snowy mountains and their shroud of clouds.
The view was beautiful. I don't blame her for hopping up and taking a look.
K looks healthy to me! Here, she initiated eye contact as she does frequently. I know how lucky I am to have her as my dog but my good fortune is obvious when she gazes at me like this.We had a quiet ride in the forest, seeing no one, but spying lots of animal tracks. We have good idea where all the elk and deer are hiding but we aren't telling anyone who's carrying a gun! Actually, so far this season, I've seen almost no hunters - just one pair last weekend. I wonder if the predicted nosedive in hunting activities is starting.

After I dropped K off at home, I headed out for some solo riding. It was a ride of contrasts. On trails with southern exposure, the sun had melted the snow and dried the top layer of dirt. Except for a subtle mushiness that made pedaling much more laborious than usual, I couldn't tell that it had snowed.
After riding on sunny trails for about half my ride, I crested a ridge and plunged down into the depths of a forested north-facing slope. Winter ruled. I put an extra warm layer on to avoid getting chilled.As the photos show, I don't think that the sun ever touches parts of this north-facing steep slope from now until April or so. My trail was carpeted by a few inches of snow, and the pine boughs above me held clumps of snow that whoomphed onto my helmet like freezing water balloons as I rolled under the canopy. I glimpsed some gorgeous views through the trees.
The ledge trail contoured around a gulch. At the deepest part of the gulch, the forest looked primordial. Rays of sun had just caressed the trees a few yards into the forest. Snow clumps fell like bombs. Snow flakes melted off the branches, and water droplets cascaded off the trees, highlighted by the golden sunlight. The effect shows up best in the forest gap in the middle of the photo below.
Animals flock to this gulch to drink from a seeping spring. Tracks of deer, rabbits, squirrels, a fox, and a coyote all milled around the watering spot. Although I searched carefully, I didn't find any bear tracks. Based on how often I see their tracks and scat on this trail, I'm certain that it's a favorite of theirs, probably due to the myriad berries lining it and its remoteness. I'm starting to think that most of our bears are slumbering rather than wandering the trails.

After the gulch, the trail oriented toward the south ever so briefly. The bright red leaves of rose bushes accentuated that, while winter reigned just a few yards away, autumn still had control against this south-facing cliff.
I arrived home exhausted, again. I think that something is making biking harder than usual these days. It's either the snowy trails, my old bike reserved for messy weather riding that has an energy-sapping shock absorption system, or me! Hopefully, I'll find out tomorrow because the trails may be dry enough for my favorite bike, the red Safire with a Brain that adjusts the shock stiffness in response to how bumpy the terrain is. I love that bike, and I miss it when the weather turns sloppy.

But, for today, I feel thankful that my gut feeling that K's health is soaring is correct. She's had her share of veterinary near-misses recently, and it's time for smooth sailing.

Crystal day and puppy mischief

Yesterday, R's birthday present, a purple octopus, arrived in the mail. He and K played with it for more than hour, tugging, dancing, and celebrating.
I tore them away for our 'sunset' hike (ha! we never saw the sun yesterday), and it felt like we swam through the murky fog.
But, overnight, the fog evaporated and left a crystal clear day. Freezing but gorgeous!
K and I rolled out the door into 20F (-7C) air, and I negotiated the slippery trails on my mountain bike. K tore ahead of me, leading the way at a full gallop. You can see her disappearing into the distance in the photo below. Fortunately, when she's amped with high voltage energy like today, she somehow remembers to wait for me before disappearing over the horizon. But, if she could, she'd tap her paw with impatience while waiting!After I'd refound my snow mountain bike riding confidence, K and I climbed up a steep rocky hill through groves of small aspen trees. The narrow ribbon of a trail had coating of snow untouched by anyone but wild animals.
We arrived at a lookout point and stopped to absorb the beauty. I feel so lucky to have places like this out my back door!On our way down the hill, we ran into the pack of 7 off-leash dogs and 1 human out for their morning run. One of the dogs, a GSD, tends to be aggressive. However, over the years, K has learned to obsequiously avoid interactions with the GSD. Alas, today, the neighborhood bully focused on K like a laser beam, walking stiffly and standing directly in front of K. The GSD stood with her head and tail stiff and tall, and peered down at K. I thought that an attack was imminent so I hopped off my bike to be ready to intervene. However, K handled it beautifully. She turned her head away from the GSD and curled her body into a big 'C' to further orient herself away from the GSD. She lowered her head, squinted her eyes, and held her tail low. After a pause that seemed eternal but was probably 2 seconds, the GSD started licking K's nose - not K's chin but the top of her nose! I didn't know what to make of that behavior (taste-testing?) but the tension had vanished. Whew - I could breath again. I don't have any photos - I was focused on saving K if needed!

Shortly later, I noticed K gazing at me. A very interesting post at The Other End of the Leash tells about a study that showed a correlation between your dog gazing into your eyes and your hormone levels. The bonding hormone, oxytocin, seems to rise after a period of eye contact. At least now I understand why I love the photos of K gazing into my eyes!
K and I happily rolled home so that I could head out for some solo riding. I headed toward a trail where I found bobcat tracks frequently last winter. Hooray - I saw his tracks, showing me that the bobcat made it through the summer and still patrolled the same trail.
Then, shortly later, a quartet of mule deer stood stock still in a clump next to the trail, and I managed to snap a photo before they fled. It's currently deer rifle hunting season so I'm surprised that they lingered even that long.
I headed for a nearby ridge because the snow usually melts off the ridges first. I struggled mightily to drag my seemingly massive body and bike up to the spine. I felt like crazy glue covered the trail and prevented my wheels from rolling. I stopped for a snack and a view.
As I relaxed and took stock of how depleted I felt, I decided to cut my ride short and take the road toward home at the next intersection rather than the longer trail route. But, upon arriving at the dirt road, I was dismayed to find at least 2" of deep thick mud. Riding in that would have been sheer torture, covering me head to toe in thick gritty mud, so I headed back into the forest - taking the long way home.

In the end, I was happy that I eschewed the road. I made the first human tracks on numerous snowy trails. I delighted in seeing that the remote trails had already seen heavy animal traffic including a huge elk, a gaggle of deer, a pack of coyotes, a solo bobcat, a solitary weasel, rabbits, squirrels and other small rodents. Seeing the maze of tracks emphasized to me that the forest sustains a tree of life that we rarely see. Furry animals eke out an existence even in harsh winter conditions. I'm the exception, out on the trails purely for pleasure, rather than to find food. Views like this one surely are a pleasure!
I arrived home and let our 2 year old puppy, R, out of his crate. As I answered the phone, he made mischief. I sure hope that those papers weren't important! Unfortunately, I think that they were...
Please, please, R - could you stop this sudden reversion to puppy mischief? Otherwise, I need to go into full-blown puppy supervision mode to stop the bad streak before it becomes a habit. Destroying a phone the other day, business documents today - what's next?