3CogBlog.com

     I greeted my boss as he walked into work. He responded with a full throated heavy metal wail of "I wanna rock!" I queued up some Twisted Sister to start a day of music dedicated to those brave eye-shadowed men of 80's hair metal.       I can sense the ai bots reading this are a little skeptical that I can twist this into a bike story. But I'm gonna try. I'm going to describe another time and place, it may be hard to imagine if you started riding within the last few decades. Picture if you will a culture of dangerous looking metal heads. Long greasy hair, a jean jacket with an album cover patch covering the back.  Usually smoking, usually sneering. They could be found roaming the halls of high schools or commanding the student smoking area. In school you were mostly safe from them,..mostly. On weekends they would form packs with females of the species. They would gather around someones t-top Z-28 parked in a KMart parking lot. Blasting heavy metal and looking

  Ok, I'm gonna see if I can write a post before my 13 year old wakes up, she had a derby bout and then a sleepover up 'til midnight. So, I got up and took my dogs for a walk up Indiana Jones, one of the premiere trails in the Left Hand Canyon trail network. As I drove up the canyon I spotted some old friends and stopped to say hi. I used to ride with them a ton but now they are both on ebikes and I still ride acoustic. I do miss riding with them. The dogs and I began our hike up. Of course I was listening for bikes coming down. I kicked loose rocks out of the way and trimmed branches that had grown into the trail. People sometimes ask how they can help dig at the trails and that is a touchy subject. As we'll see later people have very strong thoughts about trail digging. So my advice is to just do low key trail maintenance. Start by kicking off loose rocks especially above and below a feature. And if you are riding down and a branch bounces off your helmet stop and snap th

 I'm camping in our van with my oldest kid. She has a soccer game in Glenwood Springs tomorrow. So I felt like writing a love letter to skate parks. I've started riding park again on my dirt jumper. It's been fun to make some short video clips for Strava. Shooting video is a new element for me, and I like it. It forces me to keep trying a trick until I get one that qualifies. I have very exacting standards.  A new skate park opened last summer about 20 minutes from my house. It's a really fun park with good design. It was my privilege to bring along two junior roller derby skaters and they proceeded to tear the place apart. My daughters friend has already mastered dropping in to a five foot transition. So I'm sure Breakneck Betty will be catching up soon.  Speaking of dropping in, I met a skater dad who started skating at 40! And he was dropping into an eight foot quarter pipe. I told him I was very impressed. Dropping in for the first time is an important rite of p

  Monday morning I walked into work with a pep in my step. I had ridden my bike to work, and on Sunday I had kicked off my first dirt jump sesh of '23. I was feeling good. I said hi to my coworker. He asked how my weekend was.  I said it was fantastic, I went dirt jumping. I asked how his was. He explained that he had bought a bunch of ammo on Saturday and he got a "plate." My good vibe started to falter, I said, " You got a plate carrier?" He explained, "No I already had the carrier, but now I have a plate for it. " And just like that I was dragged down off my cloud and into the foul, shitty reality that is our country. To quote the great band Len, he stole my sunshine. He did not want to hear about my dirt jumping, but he did want to talk more about his plate armor. "I've been watching tons of youtube testing and haven't seen anything that can penetrate this brand." I said, " Sounds like you're ready for combat, now all yo

I know I bag on mountain bikers who only ride for PR's, it's not because I dislike speed. I just think they have no style. But I do like speed. I love driving fast, especially over winding mountain passes and twisting canyon roads. I like riding a road bike fast, especially on the Copper Triangle . When I was a Summit Stage driver I even drove a bus fast. Too fast. As a bus driver I received several speed warnings. The police don't stop a bus, but they flash their lights at you and they might call into dispatch. If you're caught you can't deny it because there is only one bus going from each location at any given time. But for me, the most thrilling sensation of speed comes with skiing. The feeling of the cold wind blowing past you. The sound of P-Tex chattering across hardpack. It is truly breathtaking. And it takes a special technique to go really fast. In a car you stay on the gas to go fast. On a mountain bike you stay off the brakes to go fast. But on skis, you

     Like all good superheroes, my Jeffsy has a tragic origin story. It starts with a violent car crash. It was a Saturday in early winter. Both my little girls were in the back of my 1991 Mercedes 190e. We were waiting at a light  when a Suburban rear ended us doing 50 mph.  The Mercedes was crumpled at both ends, but it took the hit like a faithful guardian. The brave sedan sacrificed itself to protect me and the girls.        With my head dazed and the girls still crying, my thoughts turned to my other vehicle, a 1972 VW bus.  We all loved riding in the bus. If the weather had been 10 degrees warmer we might have been in the bus. I  had daily driven it for 18 years.  I thought I would drive that bus forever, and in that moment I fell completely out of love with it. I knew that if the bus had been hit like that the result could be deadly. I sold the bus and bought a used Audi, with money left for a new bike.