Summer in February

The sun shone so brightly that K couldn't keep her eyes open when we sat on an exposed peak.It feels like May. It reached 50 degrees up here at 8200'. I rode my mountain bike with no balaclava, no neck gaiter, and no chemical handwarmers. My tires rolled over some pure dirt trails. I wished for my Safire during one wickedly steep and rocky climb but, alas, I actually needed the studded tires on my Stumpjumper as I churned through some sunlight-bathed snowy areas. The snowy trail to the right traverses an old burn and has baby aspen trees sprouting all over the hillside. The dead trees stood like gnarled skeletons against the snow and sun while the aspens glowed with hope for the future. What a ride.

Today, I rode over the solid snow up to Hug Hill. I lingered on the top to hug K in the warm sun. The view to the west encompassed snowy mountains and the view to the east was dominated by crowded flat plains.
Fortunately, few people know how amazing it is to live in the mountains. Or, perhaps they don't want to live here, an unimaginable state of mind to me. Sure, driving up 3000' to get home can be nerve-wracking in the snow and ice. All of us mountain people have terrifying memories of sliding backward on black ice as we attempted to drive up the hill or sliding off the road while navigating hairpin turns on the steepest downhills. But, that's a small price to pay to live in nature. To have bobcats, coyotes, elk, and even mountain lions outside the door. To have Abert's squirrels peering in the windows like we people are the exotic animals in the zoo. To have only forest in sight. It's my dream life.As I drive home from the city below, I pass a sign that says 'Pavement Ends', and very shortly later, I see a beautiful panorama like the one above. At that point, I transition from city-mindset to mountain-mindset, a drastic change. In the city, I move faster, trying to efficiently 'get things done' and paying little attention to the concrete world around me. In the mountains, I slow down and notice the details of nature. If I wore a blood pressure cuff all day, I'm sure that the reading would drop precipitously when I crest the hill on my way home and see a panorama like the one above.

Today, I had a sweet and mellow mountain bike ride. I enjoyed K's company and then went out to explore on my own. A warm wind blew strongly out of the west. It made holding my line on the open ridges sketchy as the wind actually blew me sideways periodically. But, I didn't mind in the least. I just love the mountains. I rode through some dense pine forests and was shocked by the number of trees infected with pine beetle. In one stand that I passed, more than half the trees harbor beetles. It scares me to think of the brown wastelands that these hillsides might become in a few years. On the hopeful side, I noticed a Douglas Fir understory - and Pine Beetles don't attack Douglas Firs. Perhaps they'll shoot up very rapidly after the death of the pines.

The photo to the right shows a pitch tube on a Lodgepole Pine infected with beetles. When a beetle bores into the tree, the tree produces resin that pours out around the beetle's tunnel. If this defense works, you might see a dead beetle in the dried resin of the pitch tube. I've never seen that yet.

As I rode along the spine of a ridge, I thought of the cinnamon-colored mother bear and her two cubs who foraged there last summer. I imagined them curled up together sleeping through the winter somewhere nearby. Bears don't go into true hibernation. In true hibernation, the body becomes very cold. In contrast, bears maintain a body temperature only a bit lower than normal during winter denning. Consequently, they awaken easily during the winter and sometimes even leave the den. Although I watched for them, I didn't see any bears today despite the summer-like temperatures.

But, I did see another hibernator venturing out into the summer-like world. When I arrived home, I was shocked to see a Golden Mantled Ground Squirrel eating seeds under our bird feeder. These squirrels are champion hibernators who disappear at the end of September and don't reappear until late April. They sleep for more than half of the year! They literally go into suspended animation, and their bodies consume less than 10% of the calories per day than during summer. As 'true hibernators', they let their body temperature fall until it's only slightly warmer than the air surrounding them, and it usually takes them a long time to fully wake up. I've never before seen a Golden Mantled Ground Squirrel emerge during the winter. The little guy who was up and about today might not have stored enough fat to fuel him for a half year of hibernation. He was stuffing his cheeks with seeds and squirreling them away in his burrow. I kept thinking that he must be a restless sleeper - maybe he needs some Ambien.

After riding, I sat quietly with my three Labradors. All of them seemed content and happy. As the sunlight faded, they started to follow my every movement in anticipation of our sunset hike.

Dog body language

A post yesterday at Champion of my Heart inspired me to take my camera to a dog training class today. I took a lot of photos hoping to capture some key moments of dog communication. I need to spend some time going through them in detail but one sequence caught my attention. I've added my interpretations but I'd be very interested to hear what others think.

Knowing a little about K will help. She's been a nervous dog for most of her life. Until last summer, she wouldn't play much during free time in dog class. Rather, she'd hover near me and look nervous. Then, we discovered that she had very low levels of thyroid hormone and began supplementing it. Her behavior changed remarkably. She now interacts with other dogs and people during free time in training class although she still checks in with me much more often than most dogs do.

In the photo series below, I'm focused on three dogs who are loose in a dog park during free time at the start of training class. It involves: K, the chocolate lab; a Bernese Mountain Dog whom we don't know (he wasn't part of the class); and a black poodle who is less than a year old.

In the first photo, the three of them have been in this orientation for about 5 seconds (I have a series of rapid-fire photos taken at a rate of several per second). Notice that the Bernese is facing away, and K is sniffing his hindquarters.

Three seconds later, the Bernese has spun around to face K, and his tail is very high. K has also re-oriented herself so her body is sideways relative to the Bernese. I think that she's making herself seem nonthreatening by not facing her body toward the Bernese, keeping her wagging tail low, and 'curling' her body shape. Note that K's ears are back, suggesting to me that she's nervous.
One measly second later, K has her head and tail low. Now, even her head is oriented away from the Bernese. K is starting to lift her left front paw (possibly a calming signal to try to cool off a scary situation or it could be the first step of her coming flight). The Bernese is sniffing her privates - his posture almost looks like a play bow but I think that it's not. It's simply a result of the Bernese's sniffing. K has also lifted her right rear leg which makes the Bernese's sniffing easier - I think that it looks like a very submissive gesture by K.
One more second later, K has begun to gallop away while shaking off at the same time (note the funny ear position). I think that her 'shake off' is related to the stressful situation. The Bernese's tail is still high, and he's taken the first step in chasing K. His posture looks assertive. In the following seconds, he took a couple of steps following K and then stopped.What do you think about this interaction? I'd be very interested to hear if other people see different dynamics at work.


I was happy that this 'scary' interaction didn't affect K at all for the rest of class. She acted confident during the training exercises and during the play breaks. Below, we're working on 'stay' and 'leave it' at the same time. She's not allowed to eat the treats that are on her forelimbs or take the ball unless I offer them to her, which I did periodically over a 5 minute period. She looks happy and relaxed to me. She's panting because of the very warm sun.

The dramatic effects of low thyroid levels on behavior don't seem to be well known. I'm so glad that we have a vet who stays up-to-date on the literature and recognized K's low thyroid symptoms even though they weren't classic. They involved a spate of infections, a 'sad' looking face, and lack of confidence. Once we adjusted her supplements correctly, she became a much happier dog!

Dawn light

The world was veiled in darkness as I pedaled onto the trails. Dawn in the forest is the animals' time but they let me pass through peacefully. A few mule deer, silhouetted against the purple sky, watched me as I rolled past. The sun began to rise behind bare aspen trees. As I rode through the forest, over ridges, and through gulches, the sky slowly morphed from black to eggshell blue. The photos below show the same mountain from different places on my ride at 6:57, 7:02, 7:28, and 8:13 AM.

























I also love the contrasts of shadows and sunlight that are unique to early mornings. Below, when I entered 'Lion's Gulch', it looked like I was plunging into a dark and spooky tunnel. The trail itself was almost invisible but the red rock at the top of the south-facing wall glowed from the rising sun. After winding my way up the gulch, the sun warmed my back, and I cast a long shadow.


















I coasted home in full sunlight and took the two younger pups for a short ride up S's trail. The sunlight filtered through the dense Lodgepole Pine Forest. The dogs ran like the wind.

Cadi's spirit

I climbed out of bed in the magic moments when the world just before the sun rises. As I brewed the coffee, I glanced out the window and a coyote looked back at me. He was within 20 yards of the house. His fur looked thick and luxurious - plenty of loft to keep him warm on snowy and windy winter nights. He kept glancing at the nearby woods, and I wondered if his mate lurked there. The photo isn't clear because of the slow shutter needed in the darkness but you can see that this is a strong and healthy coyote.

K obviously smelled the coyote the instant that we headed out the door but I kept her under control. Because the wind was calmer than yesterday, K and I took the window of opportunity to climb toward the open peaks and ridges. None of our trails appear on maps or have official names so we use our own names. K and I climbed up a densely wooded trail that we call 'S's Trail' (in honor of our yellow lab) all the way to 'Hug Hill'. K and I haven't biked to this peak since late November due to snow. Although the wind was calmer than usual, K's ears flapped in the breeze as we reveled in the view.












Having climbed up to the highest point in the area, we enjoyed a well-earned free ride down to the connector trail that we investigated yesterday. My deceased lab, Cadi, adored galloping like a goofy puppy on the soft pine needles that carpet much of this connector trail. Consequently, we call this trail 'Cadi's Trail', and it makes me happy to hear other locals using the same name.

Cadi herniated a disc in her back, had major surgery to fix it, but never regained her ability to walk due to hind limb weakness and uncoordination. As a last resort, we ordered a wheelchair that supported her hind end. The wheelchair came with a full page of instructions about how to convince a dog to walk while strapped into it. Cadi didn't need *any* encouragement. Before I'd even fully strapped her into the wheelchair, she'd taken off trotting through our forest. The wheelchair gave her an extra year of happy hiking and playing. I still get a lump in my throat remembering her joy when she first trotted into the forest in her all-terrain wheelchair.



Cadi's spirit lives on in K. K galloped like a goofy puppy on Cadi's trail today.




After I dropped off K today, I pedaled toward a wild exposed ridge that I love. On my way, I saw evidence of violence that shocked me. Bullets had riddled a beautiful old Engleman Spruce. Shell casings littered the ground. I despair when I see violent acts against nature like this one. How could my fellow humans do such a thing?

Near the ridge, I spotted two mountain lion scats, both fairly fresh, close to where I found a huge lion scat the other day. Finding three scats in close proximity within days likely means that the lion cached a carcass nearby and is hanging around until he devours it. As I rode, I continually scanned the rocky and sometimes treed area for the lion. I felt nervous anticipation because I wanted to see him but then again I didn't. The elusive lion stayed hidden.

I feel like I'm on top of the world when I'm on the exposed ridge. But, the views of the 13-14,000' snowy peaks remind me that I'll climb even higher come summer. I'll never stop remembering how lucky I am to to live in these magical mountains. On my 'ordinary' mountain bike rides, I see scenery that literally makes me stop my bike and stare.

I wear a golden heart in memory of my dog, Cadi, and I often hold it tight while contemplating the mountains that she loved as much as I do.

Sunset hike with the pack

A peaceful evening hike with furry friends is the best way to end the day.When we arrived home, the three labradors eagerly anticipated dinner! What a happy pack.

Shelter from the storm

Foreboding. Intertia. We all feel those sensations sometimes, often together. I'd tossed and turned all night due to pain. The real problem wasn't the pain itself but rather the worry of what it might mean. I've learned that pain isn't terrible if I remember that it's simply a sensation like any other. Pain grows to unbearable proportions when we let our minds run wild. By morning, my medicine had eased the pain to manageable levels. However, I still felt a sense of foreboding, a feeling that my life had careened out of my control. So, I let my form of inertia - the inertia of following my routine of a morning mountain bike ride with my dog K - guide me.

Unlike most mornings, I didn't immediately feel light-hearted and happy when K galloped ahead of me onto the trails. To battle the foreboding feeling, I stopped and took a few light-hearted photos of me and K, and then of K doing her 'job' of picking up things that I drop. In this case, I'd dropped my chemical handwarmer (which is non-toxic), and she eagerly picked it up for me. Somehow she picks things up so delicately that she doesn't even slobber on them.















We strayed from our recent routine and tried to traverse one of our 'connector' trails that would open up other trail networks to us. I almost flew over my handlebars when I broke through the first wind-packed snow drift. We alternately walked and rode, enjoying being on a favorite trail even if the riding was less than ideal. We stopped to check out a tree where a black bear regularly scratched his back last summer, and his fur still clung to the tree's bark.


Despite still being weighed down by a foreboding feeling, I headed out for a bit more riding on my own. The wind howled, gusting up to 65 mph according to the weather service. I stayed off the ridges and hid in the gulches. But, there's no hiding from our winds that seemed to rocket down the tunnel-like gulches. Finally, when I settled into a long climb directly into the wind, I started to feel light and easy rather than worried.

Over my years living in this wind-swept mountain community, I've learned to ride into the wind with acceptance and patience. Years ago, I'd get angry at the winds as I pedaled at full effort to maintain a crawling speed. When I heard a gust coming, I'd rev up my speed to try to rocket through it. Once the gust subsided, I'd hope that the wind had died for the day. I'd end up exhausted from the physical and mental roller coaster. Now, I know it's going to be a slow slog, and I settle into a patient sustainable effort.

As I rode into the wind today, I realized that I'd lost that patient accepting attitude about my pain in recent months. I'm still good at maintaining an even keel when I'm feeling the worst of the pain but, at other times, I climb onto the roller coaster. If I'm feeling good, I dream that the pain is gone forever. If I feel warning twinges of pain, I worry about what it means for the coming hours, days, and years. Those twinges grow to mammoth proportions when my mind lets them.

I first learned how to develop a patient accepting attitude about pain, and life itself, from vipassana meditation. In recent months, I've let the meditation habit slip away because I hoped that I didn't 'need' it anymore. Today, I realized that it's critical for climbing off of this crazy roller coaster. It provides shelter from the storm.

For the dog guardians who are reading this, one other thing that I've noticed about meditation is that my nervous dog, K, seems calmer during our training sessions if I've recently meditated. I think that my peacefulness soothes her worries.

On the snowy connector trail today, K and I lingered at a favorite lookout point that we haven't visited in months.

Dogs, mountain views, and cat signs

Blue sunny skies with tumultuous cloud formations greeted me and K at the start of our mountain bike ride. Within the first few pedal strokes, signs of nocturnal prowlers caught my eye. The three dogs had alerted me to a bobcat den-like area during yesterday evening's hike (below left). It had an overhanging rock that provided protection from westerly winds but also had southern sun exposure. The ground was scratched and there was a nearby bobcat scat but the dogs trampled the area before I snapped a photo. However, this morning, K and I found some more, non-trampled scat, close to the site. My chemical handwarmer provides scale - it's 3.5" long by 2" wide.













Then, a very short distance away, we found several large lion-like tracks that caught my attention due to their large size, their lack of claw marks, and the fact that they were almost as wide as they were long (see left photo below - the side of the handwarmer that is showing is 3.5" long). I wasn't absolutely certain that these tracks were from a lion rather than a massive dog but I was pretty sure.

I must have been a cat-magnet today because I saw yet another cat sign near the end of my ride. On a well-traveled route, I skidded to a halt when I spotted a huge fur-filled scat. According to the books, lion scat usually totals close to 9" long, although it's often in segments. This one definitely met those criteria (note the handwarmer as scale). Moreover, the scat also met the lion trait of being more than an inch in diameter. The light-color of the fur in the scat suggested to me that the prey was an elk. Most of an elk's fur, except the dark neck fur, is light tan, much lighter than a mule deer's fur. Based on the fur, I had the amusing thought that this was from a well-behaved lion who ate elk rather than female mountain bikers!











For the rest of today's ride, I took it easy to recover from the last two days, both of which unintentionally turned into long and hard rides. The day was a relatively calm with warm sunlight, and K galloped in a relaxed gait beside me. However, at one point, K abruptly stopped and vigilantly watched for the terror-inducing herding dog whom we heard in the distance. My method of 'taking charge' by assertively stepping between K and the charging dog seems to work. It calms K and deters the charging dog. But, K still worries when we hear him barking wildly in the distance.

After I dropped off K at home, I explored a ridge that I haven't ridden in weeks because snow drifts deterred me last time. The recent winds had scoured the ridge so I was able to ride nearly the entire spine. Indeed, in the left photo below, one of the only snowy sections that I couldn't ride looms in the foreground while the Divide flanks it in the background. I had trouble keeping my eyes on the trail because they were riveted on glorious views of the cloud-veiled Divide.













When I spotted the side trail that descends from the ridge, I remembered my hilarious attempts to find that particular trail for the first time. Because most trails in our area have no names and aren't on maps, it's tough to give directions to a trail. My friend described it as "branching off the main trail where there's an oddly shaped tree on the left". You can imagine how many trees look 'oddly shaped' when you're seeking the single tree that marks a faint trail. Today, I examined the 'oddly shaped' Ponderosa Pine, and a view up at the canopy revealed that dwarf mistletoe (which I learned about yesterday) probably deformed it.















What more could I ask for in a mountain bike ride? I had the companionship of a dog whom I love, I spotted signs of the wildest animals that roam our forests, and I gazed at glorious views!