Henry's

(Diary Entry January, 2010)

Henry Block, Tom McCray, Bill Ryder, and I were in Peace Corps in the early 60’s in the outer islands of Micronesia. They were in Truk District, now called Chuuk. I was in the Marshalls. Henry and Tom were island mates (Peace Corps volunteers on the same island). The four of us shared similar experiences of living on very small atolls with very small populations of locals, about 65 individuals in my case, up to 250 in the case of Bill and Henry. Those shared experiences provided a bond for us and have helped keep us together over the years.

Since the late 70’s, some combination of the four of us has gotten together each winter for 2 or more weeks to ski and relax. Henry died from natural causes 2 years ago, so now there are 3 of us. A couple others have joined us for shorter periods in the last few years (Tom’s brother, Rob, and our good friend and ski-mentor, Fred Torrence, who we met in Teton Valley, ID in the 80’s). The point is that we’ve kept in touch with each other over the years, and have gone out of our way to make these winter get-aways happen. They comprise a highly valued anchor for my life and this is one of the times of the year I most look forward to.

This year’s trip began last weekend when Bill arrived from Hawaii, where he spends late fall and early winter. The 2 of us drove from my house in Irvine to the place we’ve stayed in recent years. We have one of two apartments that Ted and Shana Kasper built over their garage to supplement their income. The place is small, but just right for us, with a living room/kitchen, bedroom, and bath. We rent it for a month, and it’s very reasonable. The cost of these excursions is minimal since we do our own cooking, and don’t have to buy expensive lift-tickets to ski at the resort, preferring to ski backcountry where we earn our turns, by ski-hiking to the top under our own power.

Backcountry skiing is like chairlift-serviced skiing, except we ski-hike to the top of our ski destination rather than riding up in a chairlift. It’s not unlike bicycling, where you spend a long time riding up a long ascent, then enjoy a short, often thrilling, ride down from the top. Modern backcountry skiing gear allows the heel to lift up from the ski's surface when climbing (with alpine gear, the heel is fixed to the surface, preventing raising the heel to go uphill), and climbing skins (synthetic fabric that adheres to ski bottoms with fibers that extend backwards along the ski, preventing the ski from slipping when pointing uphill) allow you to climb uphill. But it’s not ski-gear, or the skiing experiences, wonderful though they may be, that I want to talk about. It’s friendship.

What’s the value of a friend? It’s the value of life itself. Without the close contacts of friends and family to share with and confide in, life hardly has any meaning at all. Take today: this morning a friend we’ve known here in the valley, Glenn Vitucci, called in response to an earlier call of Tom to him, asking if we could get together for a visit, or a ski. Glenn returned the call this morning, and we arranged to meet him at one of our favorite backcountry ski locations.

We skied at a place we call Henry’s. It had snowed about 2 feet over the last several days, and the snow was heavy and almost too deep to ski. We did our best, and after several runs, headed back to the trail-head about 4:00 pm. On the way back we stopped at our favorite pub for a basket (of French fries) and a pitcher (of Sweetgrass IPA Beer). We talked about the day, and about the prospects for skiing over in the upcoming days. We also shared news about mutual friends. One of whom was Heny, who isn’t with us any longer. By the way, we call the place we skied today “Henry’s”, because it was one of his favorite places to ski.

Henry never gained the level of fitness of the rest of us, and always carried a considerable amount of weight. I’d guess his weight fluctuated between 180 and 200 pounds. Being large makes gravity sports, like ski-climbing, more difficult. It’s never as easy for a 185 pound person to work against gravity as it is for someone lighter. Fred (damn him!) weighs in at not more than 125 pounds, dripping wet. And he can climb like a mountain goat. None of us can keep up with him if he wants to get to the top of the hill.

Henry’s is the lower portion of a backcountry ski area called Lone Pine, named for the single tree (actually a very small group of trees) toward the top of the open ski slope. By the time Henry got to the lower portion of this area, he had exhausted his strengths, and didn’t want to go any further. He would ski there, even when the conditions weren’t great. Because he always wanted to stop there, we named the spot “Henry’s”.

Henry was a bigger-than-life kind of guy. He went out of his way to make everyone comfortable. He was the eighth of a family of 10 children (Henry, the eighth), mostly males. Growing up in a large family like that, he learned to get his share and have his voice heard, while still protecting his siblings. He started a men’s support group at one point, and kept it active for years. His wife (second wife) was a counselor and Henry soon learned that the informal support structures that women develop are frequently lacking for men. Men grow up competing with each other, and often don’t know how to ask for help and offer it to others. So Henry jumped in the fill the gap.

Henry was something of an iconoclast. One of my memories of him is one winter, about 1999, when driving through Jackson Hole on one of our excursions. Likely, we were on our way to the Visitor’s Center at Grand Teton National Park. We stopped in Jackson; perhaps to enjoy the wonderful sourdough pancakes at Jedediah’s Restaurant, named for Jedediah Smith, one of the wilderness pioneers of the Jackson Hole area. On the way, a hat made from a badger skin caught Henry’s eye. After admiring his image in the mirror with the hat, he looked at the pricey $175 tag, and returned it to the shelf. But on the way back through town after having completed our excursion, he bought the hat. He said he couldn’t resist getting it, partly because it was so politically incorrect. Here’s a photo of the four of us:  Bill, Tom, Henry wearing his badger hat, and me.

Life and Death, Part II

Driving to Mt. Palomar this morning with my friend Chuck Chen, we talked of the recent deaths.  Chuck also knows David Slaton, who was riding with Don Murphy when he was killed in the hit-and-run described in my last post.  Without knowing exactly what was amiss, I expressed my uneasiness with many of those in attendance, including the family, saying that they knew they would soon be reunited with Don in the next world. 

Now, I'm not one to challenge peoples beliefs if they help them make sense of the world.   You can't argue with what works; "whatever gets you through the night".  But the cavalier and glib reaction of some of those speaking about this death simply did not do justice to the present.  My goodness, this is someone that was cut-down in the prme of his life.  Passing it off as a temporary inconvenience (ok, I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea) seems to me to cheapen life, not honor it.

On a positive not, the riding and company today was terrific. It was Chuck Chen and myself, and two other riders:  Mark Pavelka from San Diego county and Blake Barnett from Aliso Viejo.  We did the South Grade of Mt. Palomar twice. We planned to climb up south grade, then down east, then up east and down south, but on the first climb up south grade there was a strong northerly wind blowing and it was especially windy around the ridges, so we figured it would be so windy on the east grade that we decided to repeat the climb on east grade rather than trying south.  After the second climb up to the top, we rode to the viewpoint at the campground from where you have almost a 360 degree view:  to the east and north, San Gregornio, San Jacinto, even Mt Baldy, and to the west and south and west, Catalina, Coronado Islands, and Mexico. Terrific day.

Above:  Mark and Chuck

Above: Mark, Blake, Chuck, and Dan

Above:  Dan and Mark

Life and Death

Life and Death

What’s to say? I went to 2 memorial services in as many weeks.

Don Murphy - Today was for Don Murphy. I didn’t know Don, but a bunch of people did. There were about 1500 at the service. He left a wife and 2 almost grown daughters. He volunteered at a half-way house, working with recovering men, helping them get their GEDs, and otherwise doing what he could. He gave out 20 dollar bills to some of those at the half-way house to help them setup their first-ever checking accounts.

He was struck in a hit-and-run before dawn on Wednesday of last week while he was out riding his bike with 2 of his best friends. His friends gave him CPR while the car sped away. The driver was later found and has been charged. Unlike the man who killed Armas last June, she wasn’t drunk She was apparently just not paying attention … but how could she just drive away after he bounced off the hood into her windshield, shattering it?  She dragged his bike under her car for a mile and a half before she stopped.  She was later found (bike debris littered her path) and taken in custody.

My friend found a pulse as they continued CPR, but after the EMTs transported him to the Trauma Center there was no brainwave. His family donated his organs which were parceled out yesterday, saving several other lives in the process. But it’s such a waste … such a heart-breaker.

Joanne Penseyres – Joanne lost a very long battle with depression a few weeks ago, at 65 years of age. There was a memorial service for her last Saturday. She was life-partner with Pete Penseyres, legendary ultra-distance cyclist. She crewed for cross-country bike race teams something like 13 times, supporting the cyclists’ dreams. There were so many people that spoke of all the support they received from Joanne. But she didn’t save quite enough support for herself. She was also a very articulate poet. Here’s one she wrote “for all cyclists”:

Come Share Their Dreams

I’ve been there many times,
To care for the men who ride after their dreams,
Seen their foreheads glazed with perspiration,
Their faces taut with concentration,
Even pain.

To the public they’re crazy men, gone insane Over riding a bicycle,
But I know them better; I’ve been there.
They’re riding their dreams.

If you doubt me, come see them.
Look past the pain, the sweat, watch their eyes.
You’ll see the dreams coming true.
Come share their dreams,
And you may catch a dream or two.

Rod Armas – About 25 years ago Rod Armas bicycled the Grand Tour Double Century put on by the Los Angeles Wheelmen. This past June he wanted to introduce his 14 year old son the this great adventure, so he dusted off the helmet he used on that earlier occasion and started out with his son. I saw them in mid afternoon. I was sagging the ride, and they were the last riders on the course. We gave them some water and drove ahead to the lunch stop, where they arrived a bit later.

They were in good spirits, but the lunch stop was almost closed. We scraped up something for them to eat. I noticed that they didn’t have anyplace to keep their route slips, and I taped a metal binder to the handlebars on each of their bikes and put a fresh route slip in them. I didn’t see them any more that day, but Jim Watrous took the attached photo of them after they left that rest stop. I had to drive someone who had DNF’d to the end, and drove home after that, not seeing them again. You probably know the rest. They were hit by a drunk driver along PCH not far from the finish of the ride. Rod was killed; his son Chris had many broken bones, but survived.

What’s to say? Life is so precious and fragile. Don’t miss any opportunities to tell those close to you how much you love them, and how much they mean to you. No, don’t miss those opportunities ….

Bike Stories - Tony Almost Calls Home

In the fall of 2007 I rode the Joshua Tree Double Century with one other rider, Tony Martinez, a terrific cyclist and home-builder from Cherry Valley, east of Redlands. The finish of the JT Double is very challenging because it ends with a 50 mile return at a 2%-3% gradient into a very stiff headwind. Both times I've done it, it’s also been very cool as the sun was setting in the desert. Anyhow, Tony and I had plenty of opportunity to visit as we rode the 13-14 hours it took us to finish this double. At the time, we both thought this was the first time we talked to each other.

I next saw Tony on the 2008 Mulholland Double Century, the next spring. I had experienced some challenges early on durng this double and lost time to some of the other riders. At about mile 160, the route turned up Decker Canyon, a 2500’ climb, the first half of which is steep, averaging 10% or so. Part way up, I passed Tony who was climbing a bit more slowly than I. As I approached him, I slowed and we visited for awhile, exchannging observations about the day’s ride. I then continued up Decker on my own. After a time I came upon a recumbent trike rider climbing very slowly. I was surprised to see that it was Peter Pop.

Peter is a terrific rider who had to back-off from his competitive riding when he developed some very bad back problems. He didn’t ride at all for several years, and then was only able to ride a trike. I slowed to visit with him and we talked for some time. I learned that he had come out on this climb to see if he saw any of his old double century riding buddies. He told me of a recent visit with a friend of ours, Hugh Murphy, who used to be the promoter for a large series of Southern California double centuries. Hugh had moved to Lone Pine (he now lives in Cartago) after selling the DC series to Planet Ultra. In any case, Peter and I visited for quite awhile as we climbed at Peter’s pace. Part-way through this visit, Tony rode past us, giving a greeting as he passed. Eventually, I rode on ahead, leaving Peter to his own climbing speed. When I later caught up with Tony toward the top of the climb, he called out to me, and told me this story.

Tony Tells His Story … he says: I just remembered when I first saw you … It was on last year’s Mulholland DC. I was at the bottom of the climb heading up Decker Canyon. I had stopped along the side of the road, leaning against a call box, about ready to call my girlfriend to pick me up. You rode past, looked at me, and shouted out: “What are you waiting there by that phone for? Are you going to call your mother to come pick you up?” When I saw you continue up the road I thought to myself: if that old guy can get up this climb, I can certainly do it. And I got back on my bike and finished the double.

After he told me this story, I recalled the incident from the prior year … and I had to laugh. My comment wasn’t intended to be malicious, just to tease him a bit to challenge him to continue … and it worked. Also, the curious thing is that neither he nor I recalled this initial contact with each other until a full year had passed, even though we rode the entire Joshua Tree Double together in the intervening period! Tony’s done many doubles since then, and finishes them without fail, and with good humor. Thanks, Tony, for this wonderful memory.