Optimism; The beginning of a great year - albeit a slow start

 Welcome Back

Things have been a bit....delayed. The image above was taken on one of my last dirt rides in 2020 - the first week of November actually. A regular spot, this was a very early and cold Sunday morning, looking out over our little valley. This particular place is currently under nearly 100 inches of snow - and its the last week of April! Thus, the delay.....

Current Climate

Weather conditions aside, it has been one helluva year. Changes like I couldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams. I suppose one should truly be careful of which one may wish. Still, I remember three years ago and how uncomfortable everything seemed to be. Since then, I have learned how deadly being comfortable can be. To say my personal vistas have changed, really doesn't begin to draw a picture - but then it's not about me. The world, our world, is a different place. We may choose to lament the changes, or embrace the new opportunities. It's easy to write this, but I really hope I've the strength to do what what is needed. A test is sometimes hard, but sorting through the aftermath is how we choose to grow. We make our own choices as to accept a challenge and grow, or simply get comfortable and let our gifts wrought without the strain of challenge.

A commitment

I've kind of lost track, but I think this may be the 10th year riding for Huntsman. It was kind of a method I needed to find a purpose (a Porpoise) to continue riding. To say I didn't know what I was doing, would be accurate. I remember the night before the race that first year, I was busy putting my stuff together for the next day - almost ready for bed, when I felt "inspired" to write the name of my cousin on my jersey sleeve. She had been fighting the "big-C" (as John Wayne called it), but I hadn't any idea of her condition. She was something like eight years older than I, not to mention I hadn't any interaction with her in maybe thirty years. Still, that inspiration was real!. The next day was a struggle in a few places, but I distinctly remember looking at that name on my sleeve in a couple places, when I needed inspiration. My daughter (doing crew support that year), took a picture of my sleeve at the beginning of the race and at the finish line. She passed it on through social media, in hopes perhaps it would find its way to my cousin. That was a Saturday evening. Monday morning I received word that my dear cousin had lost her fight that very weekend. Nobody looks past those circumstances without inner-reflection - believe me, it sunk in. Since then, many things have happened. Go back and read some of my posts. Too many friends and relatives have lost this same fight. Enough so that I simply can't go on painting those pictures. Rather, I'm as committed as ever - I just need to find my own way.

Longing for the Struggle

The above image is of a road sign in Woodruff, Utah (taken in August a couple years back). That marks the return trip over Monte Cristo, back to Huntsville, having climbed it to get there. There is no doubt there is a ton of snow at this very location, at this moment. It is a grind, typically with a headwind fighting you most of the way back. As sadistic as it may otherwise sound, I miss this struggle. I'm always by myself and often have a rough time getting back to the top. I also think about key places on the LOTOJA racecourse with the some fondness. Knowing that I can prevail if only I choose to accept the suffering, gives me a sense of hope. Right...it sounds stupid, but it is a beast I know from past experience. The heat, the wind.....the downright suffering is worth it in the end. I do long for this struggle. It is of my own choice and making, but it is a cakewalk compared to what others have to deal with. After all, we are "beasts of burden" and are built to struggle. Lets make it a struggle of our own choosing and for the benefit of others - if we can.

SNOW!

That's my buddies bike at the Ant-Flat turn-off - taken just yesterday. That is still nine miles from Little Monte, which is likely under thirty-feet of snow at this very moment. Twelve mile from this point is the Monte Critso Camp Ground - likely under fifteen feet of snow (summer picture below). In short, we won't be going to Woodruff over this road unit July - if we're lucky.

Thanks for checking in. I hope you stick around for the season. We have a lot to discover!

Click here and.......hear. One for times: America!

Ride Hard!

A year of very few words, but a lot to recount

 Wrapping up

This year started with so much optimism. Like the view from Ben Lomond peak above, the vastness obscures the detail. The beginning post for this past year was a tribute to all my "mates". Over the course of this year, we lost a couple. Add to that a few parents and other close associates, it has been a good year to close-out. At LOTOJA, as has become my custom, I wrote the names of a couple key people that lost their own battles with the "big-C". I wrote of one in a particular post this past year, and paid tribute to all that we've otherwise lost. Just recently we lost another friend, but not to the dastardly "C". This one was a bit more ominous. Still, whenever we lose another brother or sister, it makes me stop and take a personal inventory.

Turning Pages

A lot changed this year. So much that I've personally struggled. I have realized that we often struggle with changes, as something we been accustom to for so long, kind of becomes our identity. Add to that our incessant need for validation and.....change can be kind of hard. That all said, we need change to force our own growth, as complacency makes us weak and lazy.  Perhaps thinking things through is a good idea, but still, we need challenges to develop us further. The thing I came to realize in all of this, is I simply don't know who I really am anymore. I mean, I've kind of let other people, other things, other.....stuff become my identity. I have become soft and complacent. When I stand outside of myself and examine that....person I have become, I can only imagine what my 15 year-old self would say. On that note, a few weeks ago I was given a picture from when I was fifteen. It was from a fast-pitch softball tournament, at the end of a long summer that comprised a ton of baseball and fast-pitch softball. All of the participants in the picture are still alive, exception being the coach (hence why I was given the picture in the first place). We were all "piss and vinegar", ready for the world. Life has a funny way of reminding us of some otherwise tender truths. Every once in a while, I do remember who I really am. Maybe I'm not that far from home after all.

Truth & Validation

We set our own course. We sail our own line. How many ways can you state it? We all make mistakes. Sometimes we even learn from our mistakes. If we're really good, we never stop learning. Sometimes we just want a little reassurance of our own course. A recent group text message from some of my brothers, pointed out how all of our parents were younger than any of us now, when we were in high-school. As kids we thought we knew so much more than our parents. Then we figured out we didn't know a fraction of what they did. Having lost both of my parents over the past few years, the emptiness that comes in knowing that we are the ones left to carry the mantel for our youth, is sometimes overwhelming. That said, truth is an absolute. It isn't a matter of perspective, or convenience. It will stand against all elements of wear and deterioration. We on the other hand.....perhaps some of us are wearing out, but for the most part, we're still stringin'em together, even if it is simply one day at a time.

To my brothers and sisters............

So...this one is in the books and tomorrow an entirely new year. Man, I can remember some seriously crazy new years eves, but that doesn't matter. What does matter is that I am truly grateful for those that made the early years tolerable, and the older years.....interesting. You all are great in all of your own ways. Here's to new and bright adventures.........

I started this year with the first track off "Let it be". Lets go out with the final track on that classic vinyl.....

"Get Back" - Thank's Mo...and I hope we pass the audition

"The Porpoise" 2022

Getting late - again

 Only a few weeks to go.......

As can always be expected, life seems to get in the way of proper training. This year has been pretty rough time wise, so adaptation is more critical than ever. The days of simply stacking miles and spending time on a bike are just not around anymore. Instead, rides have to be very specific, with key objectives and metrics. Raising money is another matter, but somehow, they both come together - kind of.....

Morning climbing rides seem to be harder and take longer than before. Both the bike and I are getting a little more worn, but still capable if we choose to continue. Its kind of weird in that things just don't seem quite the same. Every once in a while, something familiar comes along that brings it back. The other day I was driving out on 10th West in Logan, right where we roll out in the early neutral for LOTOJA. Just being there creates the feeling of what will be that morning. With that comes the realization that there is still 200 hard miles ahead of us - but what a feeling. At that moment, there is no other place I'd rather be.

Everyone Loves Sandy

It's hard to believe, but 44 years ago, about this time of year, I went with several friends to see "Grease" the movie, at the totally hot "Cinnadome-70" theater. They had the sound system for the soundtrack, which made it.............something to remember. The setting was Americana 1958-59, literally 20 years prior. At that time we'd thought it to have been nearly pre-historic. By today's standards.....maybe last week. Nobody a that time, knew the backstory of how it was made. I don't think anyone could have predicted how iconic it would become. Somehow, it fit right into our individual blocks of personal history. It was fun, and carefree - much of what our lives were at that time. Of course the people that played the key rolls were anything but high school kids. As such, so many of them are now gone, or have changed enough to not recognize them for their individual rolls. But then there was "Sandy", the protagonist, that fit the part so well. As the movie went along, the plot develops to where she develops into the person nobody would have foreseen. In the end, who didn't love the character? Years later, reading how different character rolls were offered to various others, makes you wonder "what if". Regardless, for many kids my age, "Sandy" will always be Olivia Newton John - at least in that character.

Everyone was so young! Nobody could ever imagine what old age, or their death may look like, but as it turns out......  "Sandy" fought may years with the Big-C. Earlier this month it finally took her from us - like so many before. But in August of 1978, you wouldn't image that to have been the pending fate. I mean, it just doesn't happen - right? But there it is - and it does happen. You don't think so? Look around. At this very moment, I know first hand, several people that are fighting the Big-C themselves, or are directly affected by the personal fight of a loved one. People my age, I work with, work around, or simply know. It is everywhere. Not everyone is "Sandy", but perhaps they are to someone else special. Some of them have better prognosis than others, but they all seem to have an optimism that is inspiring. I've lost count over the years, but I remember them all. Classmates, coworkers, friends, neighbors......the list goes on. Somehow, there were all a "Sandy" to someone.

Two weeks, a rest and finally the race (ride)

The next bench-mark will be the Cache Valley Century - 28 August. Always a good ride, but more importantly, a solid bench mark. It has become the place that I get to ride on the back of some good groups and fast riders. There have been years that it has been more difficult due to weather, but always a good indicator of how I stack up. Along with that will be a couple hard climbing and endurance rides. This time of the season, it is very important to avoid injury, or setbacks. Something as simple as a strain can cost me the entire season, and that would be frustrating.

The fundraising has been non-existent to this point, but we have a goal of going over the top in the next 10 days. The overall Huntsman "score" has never recovered from the pandemic, which seems to be the case for a lot of charity rides. Don't let that get in your way, as you know how important it is to fight.

A lot has changed, but much really hasn't. I love to ride, it is just not as easy, or as enjoyable. There are too many things that just aren't the same. We can't go back, but going forward we can still make a difference.

What do you think?

Click here and enjoy this memory; Hopelessly Devoted to You - "Sandy"

Ride HARD!

The Wilderness

The time in between....and now

A ride I've done off and on for several years is the local MS150. It has dwindled in participants over the years for various reasons. Used to be, I'd know a bunch of the people up there, but not any more. Arriving at the designated start time and then having to wait for registration, I started nearly 30 minutes behind most riders. Still, I just hopped on and took off looking for a wheel to hang onto. I rode nearly all day on my own, got one helluva sunburn, but had a pretty good time. It was all so unfamiliar, but at the same time.....I was really where I needed to be on that particular day. The number of people I came across that were riding with some form of MS made me take an inventory of what I have to deal with; nothing compared to that.

About this same time, I saw an obituary of a fellow class mate - a Lass if you will, that I've known since second grade. Truly one of the sweetest people you'd ever meet in your life. I had heard last fall that she was in the fight of her life, dealing with the Big-C. Turns out, she was taken far too soon. Second grade was my first year in a new school, that I was re-assigned to due to boundary changes. Aside from a kid that had moved into my neighborhood, I really didn't know anyone. The teacher was a wretch! I hated that school. Throw in a few things I probably had been dealing with elsewhere and it qualifies as a very bad experience. I recently found that class picture and noticed how many of those kids became good friends over the years. I also noticed another class mate that died a few years ago as as result of the Big-C.

The Wilderness

I suppose it is well known the concept of "wandering in the wilderness", but perhaps we all have our experiences that we can include in that category. In my case, well.....I'm just lost. I recently read the obituary of a guy I used to deliver newspapers to forty-seven years ago. This guy was a stud. A former college basketball player - larger than life. His name was unique and seemed to fit him well - as to why I remembered him so well - at least that image from 1975. Reading his obit, it described how he had advanced Alzheimer's and was confined to some type of assisted living center. I mean, this guy was a mountain of a man - and to have it end like this? A couple weeks ago, a kid that was a year younger than me also died of advanced Alzheimer's.  All the while, I've been trying to find it in me to resume some sort of training routine - after all, it's all abut me, right? Well it's not about me, or anything about me. It's about making the most of our time, being a positive influence and trying to live without regrets. But still, where am I and how do I find my way to wherever it is I'm going? Ugh.....the wilderness.

A few years ago I was having to travel a lot for my employer. A friend gave me a copy of Chris Carmichaels book on time limited training. It was based on quasi interval training, with specifics about recovery periods and that sort of thing. My methodology has always focused about stacking miles and suffering through long periods of endurance. Not that I have seen considerable returns on the investment, but I have managed to get through. This year.....well it's been a struggle. I've started to do nightly intervals, focusing on heartrate and total calories of work. It may be flawed, but it is what I have to work with. It is boring as hell, as I ride the same hills over and over again. Pushing myself harder each time, trying to achieve 1000 calories of work in 60 minutes. There is no fanfare, no cheering crowds, no finish line - just a lot of hard work. Sure there are minor setbacks, but the effort is easy to quantify and track. Every night I do this, I have solid measurables. Sure I'm in the wilderness, but I have a compass. Not that I really know where I'm going, but I'll die if I stay here.

Ride HARD!

In My LIfe

A Path to Hell, Intentions and What Happens In between

 

A Meaningful Phrase - for what it's worth

John Lennon is credited with the phrase, "Life is what happens when you're busy making plans". It is from one of his solo tracks, much later in his career. To whom the credit goes is really insignificant, as it does bring about a pretty good point; we can get too wrapped up in our plans to really achieve the things we set out for in the beginning. That said, you have to be willing to pay a price for your goals - whatever they may be. At some point, a plan without execution simply is wishful thinking. Execution without a plan is an aimless journey. What are you willing to accept?

What I didn't know we had learned

I'm pretty sure it was the summer of '77 - thought I wanted to earn an amateur radio operators license. I grew-up across the street from a fellow that had been born without any useful eye site - blind from birth. He and his brothers had all been born without the advantage of seeing the world around them - that many of us simply take for granted. During his lifetime he became somewhat an expert in the field of radios and Morse Code. A very significant part of earning a radio operators license in that day, was the need to learn and demonstrate a proficiency in Morse Code. My neighbor had graciously offered to help me develop the skills needed to learn Morse Code and those other things necessary to become an entry level amateur radio operator. Given my age at the time and lack of any sense of discipline, my intentions were far more grand than my willingness to follow through and achieve the goal - a regret to this day. Not that no earning that certificate was the key to my "dreams", but rather an opportunity to develop a life-skill of discipline that would have proven useful, having learned it sooner, rather than later.

This neighbor was quite remarkable. He had a career, a wonderful family, an accomplished musician and many other extraordinary things. He would walk to and from his place of employment some five blocks away, completely without aid. In fact, he would regularly walk around his yard, to church and other places as he had memorized details of so many things. The one thing I learned from him that I didn't otherwise realize for so many years, was learning what was is in the dark - things you know are there, but can't see. That skill has paid huge dividends in my life - far more than what learning Morse Code may have done. The key is to first know, or suspect something is there. After that, you must know with certainty where it is at all times. Contact it, feel it, reconcile its position and potential before moving on. Whether a door in the dark, or people in your life - know those things that are there and beware of the things in the dark (things you can't see).

Our own path

I can't think that any of us setout to be failures. However, it is clear we all don't exactly end up where we'd set out for. Our paths led us here by virtually every decision we made in our lives. Rather we like it or not, we emulate the very thing we eventually will become - kind of "fake it 'till you make it" type thing. But somehow, we are often surprised when we stop to take an inventory of our situation, only to be disappointed at our surroundings. It's been said we are a product of our five closest friends, or something like that anyway. It has something to do with surrounding yourself with greatness, or an environment that is conducive to our goals and ideals. The day comes for all of us when we take that inventory and reconcile our position in life. You see, hell is not necessarily a place, or destination, as much as it is a realization of our self imposed circumstances. For some it is a constant hell, while for others.....they chose to emulate that what they wish to become, without losing hope. If you turn your head toward something, eventually you will arrive at that something. Be careful to that which you turn your head....

Careful - You will own it someday...

As much talent as we may have blessed with, all too often we won't develop a mere fraction of our potential. I believe it was the legendary coach, John Thompson that said, "potential is for the next guy". In other words, don't leave it as simply potential, make it real. Accepting anything less than what you had set out for is simply a compromise. Often it is rationalized by self-pity. The day will come when you will cash that check of all of your life's experiences up to that very moment. Every single moment of every single day, you are making an investment into yourself. Time is non-refundable, irrevocable, but yet often squandered. Never sell out. Be true to your heart, but know first what is in your heart. The price may seem steep now, but the payoff is immense. Whatever it is.....you'll own it someday. Be glad for the investment.

Click here for "Beware of Darkness"

Ride HARD!

Things that bind us together

A Dedication to my Mates:

The in-between year

In my life I can clearly remember with vivid details the events that shaped my being. The school year 1979 - 1980 was a year I consider.....nearly a loss, but also transitional. It was our Junior year at the mighty BL. The previous year was almost surreal. Still, it is with only fondness that I recall the events of our sophomore season. Going into that middle season was met with much uncertainty. It was clear our innocents was wearing away, but we wore the mantle of pride with some degree of honor and consent. It felt as though we all had shoes far too large for many of us to fill, but fill them we'd try. So many things happened that year, it is hard to believe it happened at all. Before we knew it, that season had passed and we, the fledgling class of '81, were out front - but no so fast....

Our football season during that "in between year" was filled with high expectations, but produced less than could have been imagined. I played a lot of football that year. Spending a week at a national camp during the summer, I got to play with some of the best in my age group. I spent the summer running stairs and practicing deep kicks nearly every night. By the time summer conditioning had started, I had already worn-out a pair of cleats. By our second game of the season I had worn the rubberized coating nearly completely off of my facemask. Playing a ton of JV and some Varsity, I was hitting a lot. But the first hard facet of reality set in after missing an extra point in an overtime that cost us the game. You see, I'd never really practiced field goals, or extra points - I didn't know anything about it. Coaching...right - none to be found here. I was called into service after the kid that really wasn't a kicker, and was thrown into a "no win" situation and got injured. I had no idea what I was doing, but the situation was "hot". It didn't go well....  After the longest bus ride of my life that night, I headed straight home and crashed on my bed - HARD. With the FM dial still playing quietly in my bedroom the next morning, the very first thing I heard was the score of the previous evenings game. Cypress 19, Ben Lomond 18. Kill me now! The rest of the season didn't get much better over all. I personally seemed to get past that night, but we just struggled. And then there was the blow up at half time. It was the rivalry game at home. The head coach went after one of the team captains for allegedly missing a key block. The captain in response was having nothing of it and laid into the coach. Suddenly we were a team again, but this time we had our work cut out for us. Having won our only game of the season, in the weeks previous contest against a very weak team, we had nowhere to go but up. In classical fashion, we won and retained the "Horse", but that would be the end of any daylight for that year. From there, days were filled with obligations and formalities. There were a few highlights, but for the most part, that year was a bonified write-off.

I can recall the music I listened to during that year, the friends I ran with and the struggles I encountered. Somewhere just after the New Year holiday, I bought The Beatles - "Let it be" vinyl. I listened to that thing over and over, trying to pick all the guitar parts out and understand how they did it. I was an absolute Beatles fan, from way back. My older sisters had turned me on to Sgt. Peppers when I was in the sixth-grade. I had started concert band at ten years old and was captivated by the arrangements of several Peppers tracks. McCartney was a god to me. I had read so much about all of them by the time I purchased "Let it be" on vinyl. As the year wore on, I of course moved along with the flow, doing what came with the seasons of the year. By Summer I was changing my routine to focus on extra-points, field-goals and running my guts out. I took a few days to make a trip with a youth group to Calf-Creek Canyon, of the Escalante drainage. When I returned home that Saturday night, my life had changed in ways not to be understood for many years later.

By now, the innocents was nearly completely gone and we were on our way.....to somewhere. 

Trials and Shaping

When football "two-a-days" started, I was literally uncertain of where I'd be going in life. I had total confidence, but nearly zero self-esteem. It wasn't but only a few days before our season opener that I challenged a kid for a position and won the job. I guess I had waited all that time to simply be "given" my position. So determined was I in winning that spot, that kid challenged me directly after having beat him to win the position, that I accepted the challenge and beat him again. The coaches tried to stop it as this could have been a mess. However I said "lets settle this thing here and now" which we did. I earned my spot and I owned it for the remainder of the season. We started off well, but lost our rivalry at the end of the season, as well as our chance of playing into the State playoffs. From there the cold winter seemed to set in - with no snow and only smog. Seemed only fitting for the time.

There are things that happen when nearly every person can recall where they were, what they were doing, or how they came to know of an event. That school year had several of those events; the hostages were freed from Iranian captivity, Ronald Regan was shot, the "Miracle on Ice", the Pope was shot and of course....the untimely death and senseless murder of a Beatle.  December 8th, 1980 - the evening John Lennon was shot and killed outside the Dakota in Manhattan. I had just finished arranging a Christmas gift for a girl I had been "dating", as well as purchased a Vinyl copy of The Edgar Winter Group's "They only come out at night" vinyl. A friend was just dropping me off at home. It was dark, cold and smoggy. I remember the details of that gold-braid rope bracelet as if I still had it in my hand. Everything is so vivid to this day. I heard on the radio as I was getting out of my friends truck that John Lennon had been killed. Everything about that night was solidified in my mind forever. I don't recall everything that happened over the next few weeks, other than the usual tasteless tabloid fodder and crap, but I knew the world was changing - and I in the middle of it all.

Getting Back

There are few people my age who would likely know as much Beatle trivia as I - for any number of reasons. Last week I finished watching Peter Jackson's remake of the Michael Lindsay-Hogg documentary, "Get Back". I know the entire backstory. I know all about the fracturing and struggles. The whole Alan Klein thing, Billy Preston and of course the legendary "roof top concert" (fifty-three years ago to this very day). The 1970 documentary painted a picture of nothing but tension between the lads. The events that followed were widely publicized in the media and tabloids, but all fed a specific narrative. It seemed to be so true, in fact nothing but true for so many years - until last week. I've been told by people who know me, they can tell I love playing my guitar just by how I change when I pick it up. I can see it in others, because I can see it in myself first. And then there is just absolute chemistry. Watching early on when the lads were being "pimped" by their own label, it was clear that the loss of Brian Epstein was more than anyone else could have predicted - and now they were facing the world on their own. After several days of deteriorating conditions, they relocated to more accommodating surroundings at the newly formed studio arrangement. With this, George Harrison invited Billy Preston to sit in with them and play their newly acquired Fender Electric piano. Billy was simply there to do the "Lulu" show, not as a session player. If there was any chemistry, this would be the precipitate. In all of this, you can clearly see the undeniable bond between Lennon and McCartney. It hit so hard, it was almost difficult to watch - knowing how it all would end only a few months later. But the "end", we were all told was a lie; packaged by media and attorneys to meet their needs. The truth is, that bond wouldn't die until a bullet did the deed more than ten years later. Having that fresh in my mind, I sat down and listened to the entire "Let it be" album all over again. Somehow in those noise cancelling headphones, it was the spring of 1980 again. Lennon was still alive, as were most of my own dreams and aspirations. That trip to Escalante hadn't yet happened, nor did I know the pain of any betrayal, or distrust. For just under an hour I got to go back. And "get back" I did. What I would give to have that year to do over the right way.

I won't let you sink....

I have brothers and sisters from the time of my youth. Some are more so than others, but they are all still my brothers and sisters. We generally best remember those things of a positive nature. Some we choose to forget, as it carries too much pain. Over time we also forget some promises we made to each other, both verbally as well as implicitly. Some promises were meant to be kept, others just shallow mumblings of nonsense. But as we examine our past, we understand more of our future - as it is clearly written before us. We have all been so changed and challenged by our own life's events. For many, we'll never recognize who we've become. For others, we get subtle reminders of who we really are under the façade of our own making. Fortunate are the few that can actually remind each other, we are far more than the sum of all the events of our lives. Much simpler in fact, in that we may be who we truly are - and not what we have otherwise become.

"Jump. I won't let you sink."

Those words weren't just words...... I had no idea this opener would haunt me 40 years later.

Click here for "Two of Us"

Ride HARD!

Changing the Purpose of the Porpoise

Going Back to the Roots

Ben Lomond

Ben Lomond is a mountain in beautiful northern Utah. At the far north end of the Wasatch front, it distinguishes itself from the rest of the range by jotting out from east to west, where as the predominant direction of Wasatch runs nearly dead south to north. As such, the broad shoulders of the mountain are clearly identifiable when entering the Salt Lake Valley from the south, driving over "The Point of The Mountain" - nearly 80 miles away.

The mountain was named by early Sottish immigrant settlers of the area, as it reminded them of a mountain in their homeland that bares the same name. The settlers (Montgomerys), eventually settled in the upper Ogden valley, where as there is a dark black mountain that sits directly north/east of Ben Lomond, that is akin to the island called "The Black Island", which resides in Loc Lomond, beneath the Scottish mountain itself. As such, this dark, rocky and steep mountain is named appropriately "The Black Mountain". A dead give away as to someone that is not "from around here" as they will always call it "Blacks Mountain" (flat landers anyway).

My entire life has been either living on one side or the other of Ben Lomond. For the majority of my life I have lived where I can view the abject beauty of it's prominent eastern features year round. For as many times as I've been to the top, the influence doesn't reside on the rocky slopes alone.  There is a lot more to this story...............

Why We Are Scots

The story of what was to become Ben Lomond High School is a bit.....sorted.

At the early 1950's, Ogden was clearly divided by the Ogden River and the wide valley in which it runs. Ogden High School (the "million dollar school" with the "two-bit student body") had established itself in the current location by nearly 20 years at this point. Never mind the fact that Ogden High itself originated many years before the "new school" had been built, at the old Central Junior High School location. That school had pedigree that included the likes of Moses - or so I'm told. The area north of the river was verboten and considered by many as not truly part of Ogden proper. When a new high school was proposed to be built across from the State School for the Blind, as well as the State Tuberculosis Sanitarium, it was to be called North East Ogden High School. The school colors were to be red and black, as opposed to the OHS orange and black. The moniker was to be the Spikes, again as opposed to the OHS Tigers. How noble, right? I mean tigers are black and orange, where as other animals at the zoo may display variations of red and black (baboons - you figure it out). How could this go wrong?

With the deep seeded animosity between the two geographic locations, there was already a critical distain toward the proposed new high school name. With the gymnasium still under construction at the start of the new school year, an assembly was held with the entire study body in one of the shop areas (either the Auto Shop, or Carpenter Shop) at the new school. At this assembly the root of our inherent pride was clearly manifest. Not only was the general student body not having anything to do with "Ogden High School", they didn't care for the color scheme, or the proposed moniker. I mean, what the hell is a fighting spike anyway? 

Perhaps there may have been a proposal to name the new school "Beckers Academy", but nobody can really vouch for that story (as in the old Beckers Brewery). Rather, it was clearly decided by the student body to name the school after the most prominent feature on the Wasatch front; Ben Lomond High School. The moniker (or mascot) would be the Scot and Lass, with the colors being Tartan Plaid. And there you have it, the rebellious spirit that many yet to come would not only be born, but fully embrace and exemplify. It was only the beginning of what was yet to come.

As I was growing up in the "forbidden land of the under class north east Ogden", Ben Lomond, or BL as it was regularly known, had considerable community pride. There was a rock feature directly at the top of Douglas Street (350 south), that was assembled atop the foothills, making a large and clearly discernable BL, painted white, as to be seen across all of Weber County. Sure there was a "W" around the south side of the same foothills (for Weber/Shopko Highschool), but no O for Ogden, T for Tiger, or anything else to identify the "School of Gilded Alumni". BL symbols meant pride, but not because of any specific notable event, or person (no, Robert Burns is not an alum), but rather from the inherit spirit of identity and rebellion. It was truly a pride in the community and school itself. In 1968, Ogden City completed the through roadway from 9th and Harrison, through river valley and orchards, up the newly built dugway, to 20th and Harrison. Not that this immediately promoted free flowing charity between the two distinctly different sides of Ogden, rather it solidified the differences in earnest. Within 20 years the flow between the two sides would completely dilute, if not dissolve nearly every identifiable feature that led to the original decision of the high school name.

All kidding aside, the pride that was BL in the 1960's and 70's has gone the way of the public payphone and 19 cent Dee burgers. Perhaps loosing the Dee burger was a good thing, but pride of the north side was a monument of character that is sorely needed in today's world.

Loosing an Identity and Selling-Out, a dime at a time....

As I have aged, I have come to realize that I'm truly not the person I have become. This is what has happened to the Pride of the Scots; given away little by little until it is only a slogan. The rock BL was moved to the place of the former "W" in or around 1975-76. One could argue that this coincided with the disintegration of what was the foundation of pride. Certainly not the cause, but a landmark date in time all the same. Few if any truly remember the community pride that was BL. The representation of the school was paramount in my youth. By the time I graduated, many of the staples had already been removed, or remade. I guess it had to be done, as the rebellious streak had turn almost criminal in some respects. I often wonder what my 12-14 year old self would think of the person I've become. At the same time, I wonder what those students some 70 years ago would think of the pride that is at best, a window dressing. Have I sold out, or have I just survived? If this is maturity, I want to be a kid again. Maybe I need to assess what is important and why. Perhaps a Scot can find his way home yet.....

Making the Journey

In my life I have been over the top of that big rock countless times. It is my home. It is were I can find my solace. The bike picture way above was from many years back; a solo ride in the late Autumn, on the old 26" directly on the peak itself. Nobody can ever take that away. To that end, nobody will ever know the deep down inside where I may go when trekking to that spot. For that short period, I see the person I truly am and it haunts me - that I can be something so far from where I truly am. On most weekends, the North Ogden Trail Head going to the peak is a virtual freeway. Apparently everyone has caught on. The image below is from 1919, when the North Ogden Divide was a rocky sheep trail. There are the faces of now long departed scouts that made that trek before it was a Saturday morning activity. They are all gone, but I'll bet the memory of that day lived with them forever. Be capable of all your potential, but don't sell out. Perhaps today is your chance for inventory. Perhaps if you make that trek, you too will be haunted by what you find inside. Perhaps you'll find the true you applauding all that you have become. One can only be so lucky....

Be prepared to fight! Be true. Be who your 12 -14 year old self would admire.

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Ride HARD!