Lessons from RAWROD

When it comes to epic adventures, time tends to dim not only the memory of the pain that would otherwise teach me to avoid future endeavors, but also some of the lessons learned during the day. So, I'm writing them down to help me remember them next time.

• Proper bike preparation definitely includes making sure the fork settings are correct. I hadn't ridden my suspension fork in about six months and I didn't have the settings handy. I realized after a bit that the fork felt a little low both in the compression spring and the damping chamber, so that it felt like something like a low travel pogo stick. I ended up riding about half the day with it locked out.
• Don't forget the camp chair. I always forget it and always regret it.
• Take ear plugs for the night before. I was down before 10, but unable to sleep until much later. I don't do Ambien, etc. What I really needed was The World at War on my iPod - puts me right out every time.
• Take more Carbo Rocket - I took the better part of a bottle, but at the concentrations I use it, that wasn't enough. I needed to put more water and other fluids in the truck as well.
• Dan is my epic riding partner-in-crime. Do whatever it takes to get him there. If he's not going, I shouldn't go unless I am 100% comfortable with the likelihood of spending most of the day alone. And in the wind. And dehydrated. And not having very much fun at all.
• Scott and TM are awesome. I need to feed them something awesome some time soon. Let me know when works for you guys.
• No long runs the week of the ride.
• Take a lens cloth for my glasses.

A few things went right:

• Using only things that didn't need refrigeration was a good call.
• The potato chips were awesome.
• The cupcakes were also awesome.

I'm almost definitely not going to ride next year as I'll be doing IM St. George the following week. Maybe I'll head down and cook instead. We'll see if I can get Ben to come along and help with that.

RAWROD '09

It was an epic day yesterday, even more so than this route normally is. I really hadn't planned on going since Dan was out and I didn't have anyone to ride with. I really had no interest in suffering in the desert alone for an entire day. The riding commitments made that swayed me in to going turned out to be campaign promises. So after getting an early start, I was left for dead on the first climb and spent a lot of time riding alone in the wind. At mile 30, I ran out of water and bonked. After riding alone and dehydrated in a demoralizing 10-15 mph headwind (gusting to 20) for nearly 20 miles, I'd had a gutfull of it and come to grips with packing it in. TM found me limping along and shepherded me back - gathering water, dragging me to the White Crack stop, and making sure I had enough food and water in me at lunch. I was thinking in terms of getting healthy for the truck ride in. TM was more thinking of pedalling. After lunch, we rode together for 10 more miles and I was back to about 80 percent. My legs never did come all the way back from the dehydration. We then had the pleasure of a cold, pounding rain storm. At least it came with a tail wind - for all of about five miles. I joined up with Scotty Pants as the sun came out. With the wind at our faces again. Mile after mile we slogged along in the wind and ground out a finish. I've never been so deep so early and am actually more than a little surprised that I finished. P.S. A little research has turned up different wind speeds. 10-15? That was in the morning, with gusts in the 30's. When the wind picked up in the afternoon, the sustained winds were closer to 30 mph with gusts in the 40's. For several hours.

Peer Pressure

It's that time of year. No, not administrative professionals' day, but RAWROD. Looking back on years past, I figured this year the ride just wasn't in the cards. I told myself that I need to be at the office to be available for work. It's slow and I need the hours. And there's the issue of who to ride with. I'm the special needs uncle in the family - the one who someone needs to keep an eye on at the river during a family reunion while every one else is fishing. And while the fish are biting. I'm that guy. But Sabrosa Jon wouldn't take no for an answer. He offered to leave later and to do all the driving. When that didn't work, he started enlisting help by sending over representatives to help resolve any doubts I might have about the ride. But I have long running doubts. The first year, I was at the same weight and a little less fit. I suffered miserably, mainly because I did it on a cyclocross bike. The second year, I was heavier and not fit, but chose the right bike. Not nearly as bad for most of it, but I ran into the back wall of the pain cave coming out of Horsethief. Last year (the third time) I had more fitness, but was heavier again. Dan had hit the back wall of that cave by lunch, and was deep-hole mining his own personal pain cave until his pick broke, forcing him into the truck at mile 85. Jon persisted and I find myself caving to peer pressure. Even if I find myself exploring a Mariana Trench of pain, the ride down and back is always worth it.

The Fisher Clan Brings It

Alika married Brittney on Wednesday. The weather sucked, but the food did not. We brought it. Mahana put me in charge of the food organization and Kehaulani in charge of the decorations and such. And it was on. We did garlic shrimp, spicy and regular; my luau-style chicken, kalua pig, roasted whole sirloins, potato salad, salad, poi, fresh fruit,and haupia. Kuhia ran the pig and the haupia and helped Lani grill the chicken. I ran the shrimp station. It was a memorable day and it was great to see the Fisher clan pulled together to go really big. P.S. I'm paying for it now. Two days of standing in front of the stove did a number on me - my knees and hips were hating it during today's (Saturday's) workout, so I pulled the plug on the ride and did some swimming instead.

Momentum

Before California, I was worried about having a big drop off in motivation after what was supposed to be a training race. The very thing happened the first time I did California. Not so much this time. I'm motivated. I'm even a little bit excited about cranking up the intensity ahead of Boise. I'm also looking forward to some good MTB time in the summer and then hopefully back to it ahead of IMZ (assuming I can get a spot in Boise). I'd done my best to get out of RAWROD, but it looks like Mr. Sabrosa has worn me down and I'll be heading down to get my suffer on to hang out with the crew. Hopefully Racer can at least make the drive this year.

Payback

As many-a-roadie can attest, motorists often underestimate the catch-up speed of road bikes. Especially in town, with the stop signs, and the traffic lights, and what not. With this underestimation, motorists sometimes find themselves in an awkward situation when you catch up to them - you know, after they've just shouted some lame remark or, better yet, tried to scare you by swerving as close to you as possible and/or honking or yelling. Every cyclist has been there. And instead of the usual one finger salute, you finally have a chance to actually call them on their behavior. What to do - do you dump a water bottle in their window, do you smash their window, or do you just look threateningly at them as they try their best to look straight ahead and ignore you? I rarely get it right. One time I did. Jared Hill, Ben Rabner, and I were headed back from a trip up Hobble Creek Canyon. It was spring time, late May if I recall, and during the week. And in the middle of the day. I was in college and school was out - what can I say. Anyway, we were riding downhill near Springville High when a couple of girls drove as close to me as they could. The girl in the front passenger seat shouted, "HEY" at the top of her lungs. The car speed off, the girls giggling with satisfaction. And then they ran into a line of cars at a four-way stop. I saw my chance and gave chase. I quickly realized I had plenty of time to catch them and plenty of time to plan what I'd do. I really wanted to get it right. With my plan thought out, I moved in close to the line of cars and slowed down. As I neared the vehicle, I leaned in until my head was nearly in the front window and screamed, "WHAT!?" The girls shrieked and jumped, which caused the former shouter to spill her drink all over herself. As I rolled on, I could hear the rest of the girls giggling - I assume about how the shouter was now covered in Diet Coke.

California Trip/Race Report

The Highlights, in time-saving, bullet-point format: - We had a lot of fun as a family, especially at Disneyland. - The location of the condo across the street from the beach and 200m from the transition area made the trip much more relaxing. - I got a wicked stomache ache from choosing the safe route and doing pasta the night before the race. To hell with it - next time I'm eating something I actually like. - I hate being in the last wave - waiting over an hour in transition before our wave staged sucked. - I had fun at the race in spite of an outgoing tide, lots of wind, and cramps on the run. - We managed to eat at only local joints for the entire trip.

Good Day

Saturday was a good day. I had a great race at the AF Icebreaker. Afterwards I won an entry to the Utah Half during the raffle. Pat was admitted to med school at the U. Sushi with my brothers. A good day. It's getting me through the snow today.

Winter

Recently Aaron analogized his relationship with winter as a girl friend. For me, winter is more of an in-law. The kind that does nothing to veil their contempt for you. The kind that mocks all of the things you like. The kind that comes to stay with you for a while. Most of the time, the trips are scheduled, which makes it a little easier to deal with. That way, at least I know she's coming and about when she'll leave, though in Utah that can vary widely. When she does show up, we do our best to deal with each other - by staying away from each other. I stay primarily inside, spending a lot of time in the pool and on the trainer watching movies. And working. That way I pass the time while she does her thing. And when she leaves, I feel reborn. I love spring. These last three weeks have been great, with long rides full of soul cleansing sunshine. And then that bitch showed up unannounced and ruined everything. It took me two hours to get to work because of the iced up roads. And like real in-laws, I can't just throw her out.

Getting Back to Zero

Ever since my first half-ironman race I've been on a steady decline. I hope that last year was the absolute bottom with absolutely dismal days at both the Vikingman and the Utah Half. While I was able to gut out IMZ, it got the better of me. I'm not about to go back to the Vikingman, but I'm heading back to Idaho in June - to Boise this time. Dan almost has me convinced to do the Utah Half again. And if I can get a slot for IMZ at either California or Boise, I'll be heading back to Tempe this fall again. I'm hoping things are better this year and that I can get at least closer to how things went for my first race.

Si Se Puede

I learned to speak Spanish on my mission to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I love languages - so I was excited about the possibility of learning in a native environment. I actually chose to study the language while I was there, going so far as to pick up middle-school level grammar books. I've never denied that I'm a nerd.

Anyway, it turns out spanish is a particularly useful language to know round these parts. There are plenty of latinos around to practice my spanish with. However, while living in Utah a lot of latinos have learned that switching to spanish doesn't necessarily allow you to talk about somebody without them understanding. There are just too many RM's who've learned spanish. I've learned that this isn't the case outside of Utah.

Several years ago I was in Oregon fishing for steelhead. When we showed up at the stream, we were the only ones there. After trying out a couple of areas, I settled on a particular spot based on how the water was flowing, etc. Minutes later, droves up people started showing up all at once. It felt like a quitting time scene you see in a movie where people come pouring out of a factory as a whistle blows. Except they were showing up at the river.

Anyway, it seems that I had stumbled on to the sweet spot as suddently I was at the front of a line of twenty people queued up nearly shoulder to shoulder and apparently casting at the same spot. Strange. Stranger still were the two standing right next to me.

"Fijate en el tipo este (Check out this guy)," the guy next to me said while looking right at me. I turned and looked at him in surprise. There was no way he just said that.

"Si, no tiene ni idea (Yeah, he's clueless)," his friend responded while joining his buddy in looking at me.

"Si le molestamos, tal vez el salga (if we bug him, maybe he'll leave," the first continued. Casting close, tangling me up, drifting their gear into me - these guys were on a mission to get me to leave. And they discussed it all very openly (in spanish) while looking me in the face the whole time. Finally, the first guy hooked up. As the fish flashed close, it was clear that it wasn't a trophy fish.

"Es chiquito (it's a little one)" the first guy said to his friend. I saw my chance. It was the beginning of the year and with Oregon fishermen limited to 20 salmonid total per year, it was a good assumption that he'd be letting it go.

I had already reeled in as soon as he'd hooked up (just good ettiquette). As he reeled the fish in, I pulled out my leatherman as quick as I could. "Queres que lo suelte (Do you want me to let him go)?" I asked.

"What," he stammered, his eyes bulging and mouth agape with confusion. The other guy couldn't even look at me. I repeated myself, using my thickest Porteno (Buenos Aires) accent. "No, he's little but he's nice. I'm going to keep it." He finished. The two gentlemen then quickly made their way the shore, bonked the fish, and left while it was still twitching.

Bus Etiquette

I was listening to the radio as I drove to the bus stop the other day and the DJ's were yapping about how Fi'ty Cent's advice to Joaquin Phoenix was to rap about what he knows. Here's what I know, some thing has to be done about the etiquette of a group of commuter types. Unfortunately, experience has told me that the primary offenders in my group also work for the organizational arm of the dominant religion around here. At the beginning of every bus ride some Righteous Roger is sure to let every woman in the area go to the front of the line and board the bus first. He'll even box out and hold up the line if he thinks he sees a woman coming down the road who might want to board our bus. Seriously. Of course every other person behind him emphatically agrees with him- he speaks for everyone. Manners first, you know. I swear there must have been a memo about it. I don't know what's up with my TPS reports - I guess I didn't get the memo. And apparently the bit about 'ladies first' was all that was in the memo because that's where the manners on the bus end with this crowd. Loud yapping is a favorite. When I'm talking to someone in a public, crowded environment that is generally pretty quiet (like say, on a commuter bus in the morning), I try to actually look at the person I am talking with to be able to more accurately aim the spew that is coming from my cake hole their way. On one occasion, one of my least favorite riders (he looks like an Ernie, so that's what I'll call him) was talking to someone behind him and across the aisle while he tapped away on his laptop. Ernie likes the grenade approach to conversation to ensure full coverage of the area, raising his voice to one decibel short of shouting so that his friend could hear him. You'd think what he was saying was really important to use that technique. It wasn't - I can tell you for sure since I involuntarily heard the whole conversation. At the next stop that same day, a fellow who looked like a Stanley (a serious power-tool) boarded the bus. As the bus rolled on, he made his way to the seat in front of mine. The seats on the express buses recline, much like the seats on airplane. When I want to recline, I depress the lever and slowly recline it. Not this guy, he sat down, grabbed the release switch, and threw his entire weight backwards thus flinging aside anything in my lap that might have been in the way. I wanted to slap him upside the head. Maybe next time I will since manners are checked at the door when you board a commuter bus.

RFM

This is a blatant request for music. As much as a creature of habit as I am, the current training mix on my iPod is killing me. I'm looking for some good, new-to-me training tunes. I'm really up for anything as my current mix includes stuff from Boz Scaggs to Morrissey to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! I'm looking for a good rhythm. So, help a bradda out. Please.

Driving Parents

I need to get a new alarm clock. My old standby has stopped working so that I can no longer set my alarm and raw laziness has kept me from getting a new one. Or is it forgetfulness? I can't remember. Anyway, without the alarm I've missed the bus a couple of times this week and had to drive to Trax in Sandy and in one case all the way to down town. I've noticed an interesting phenomon as I pass the bus stops during the drive. Apparently, the combination of a child in the car and the sight of a bus stop turns parents into idiots. The standard process seems to be to slow down while remaining in the middle to left side of the lane. This makes for some good times on the single lane roads I drive to get to the freeway. Often, the parents then stop suddenly. And then nothing happens for a few seconds. Either they start talking to their kids about the plans for the day or they start looking for the perfect place to pull in and wait. I can at least understand this part, though I absolutely don't approve. The next series of moves are a complete mystery to me. It's like some kind of strange dance. The main step is to erratically swerve between the shoulder and the road. They also throw in some sudden stops for good measure. Apparently, the dance paralyzes their left hand as nary a turn signal is seen during the entire process. When the child is finally out of the car, you can only hope the finale of the whole performance is a u-turn. This is no normal u-turn, and if I weren't so lazy I'd name it. Predictably, the turn signals are still omitted. The excitement comes as the parent fails to even glance back into traffic while simultaneously hammering the accelerator. It really does take talent to pull it off. Try it some time when you're not dropping off your kids - your common sense will keep you from doing all three moves at the same time. I just hope my commuter dance doesn't tangle with their drop-off dance.

Not Safety Minded

During the summer between my 2L and 3L years in law school I lived and worked in PDX with Bryan while our pregnant wives stayed at home and kept the jobs that provided our insurance. Bryan's wife was due before the summer ended, so he headed out a couple of weeks before I did. On the night before he was to head home, Bryan and I decided to go for a bike ride in Forest Park with Dave - a ride that was a little different than our preferred route. I seem to recall it being the 8A-8B combo, but I'm not sure. The lower portion is pretty steep. The last time I had been on that stretch it was raining. The train had made the mud so slick that I tumbled down most of the lower portion in a series of falls. I have a pretty sensitive toughness-reset switch, so I was tentative heading down that part of the trail as it was. Some of the local BMXicans had built a jump by stacking logs at the beginning of the runout of the steepest section. I use the term 'runout' loosely as it was a very short flat section that ended with a 90 degree turn down another steep pitch with exposure beginning at the turn. All the scenarios that I imagined when I looked rickety construction and the steepness of the approach ended badly. Bryan must have seen something different. Perhaps he saw a fluid jump and flawless landing. Maybe he saw a perfectly executed tripod turn that flowed him into the corner. I don't know. Whatever he saw was enough for him to ignore me when I said jumping off that ramp was stupid. He hiked his bike back up the approach - which was too steep to ride - and headed back down. He picked up what appeared to be the right amount of speed on the approach. His front wheel launched off the ramp at the perfect trajectory. As his front wheel angled skyward off the ramp the top log, that had compressed with the load from his front wheel, rebounded. The rebounding log caught his rear wheel in time to turn his perfect jump into an airborne nose wheelie. Amazingly enough, Bryan landed the nose wheelie and rode it for a while. He was riding it so well, it looked like he could hold it indefinitely. The impending turn, however, forced him to make a decision. Instinctively, he grabbed his brakes, which sent him toward a pile driver. Just before his head hit the ground, he was able to tuck his head and neck enough that he landed on his shoulder and back, which rolled him into a somersault. I followed proper crash etiquette and asked if he was okay. "That wasn't safety minded," he said as he gathered himself to stand up. Seeing that he was apparently okay, I started laughing and we started the usual post-crash analysis. The banter was interrupted when Bryan spit out some blood. I asked him if he had hit his mouth and he said he hadn't. Then he coughed up some frothy, bright red - almost pink - blood. Dave reactively blurted out, "I shot a deer and it bled like that once. Then it died." Yep. Dave actually said that. Banter turned to concern. I left Dave to keep an eye on Bryan and I hurried back to the car. Once Bryan was back in the car, we tried to assess the situation. I wanted to head straight to the emergency room. Bryan flatly refused. Only someone who's tried to talk Bryan out of something to which he's entirely committed would understand the futility of trying to change his mind. He wanted to avoid the emergency room if at all possible and ask some people who might have some answers. As we made some calls, it became clear that there was 9,999/10,000 chance that it was a spontaneous pneumothorax (or something like that) that had collapsed his lung and that his lung would reinflate on its own in short order. The other possibility was that it could be something much more serious and that if it went badly we had 30-45 minutes to get to the hospital. Bryan decided to try his luck (against my strenuous objections) and assured me that if he felt worse, we'd run to the hospital immediately. So, we headed back to the apartment where I spent a stressful night watching Bryan while the "Royal Tenenbaums" played in the background. It turned out he was fine and he left the next day for home (again, over my strenuous objections). As he left he said, I'll try to be more safety minded this time. That story is as good an excuse as any as to why I avoid jumping my mountain bike.

Parking

I thought I'd write down the unwritten rule of parking because some of the people who visit my neighbors apparently haven't heard it. Here it is: if possible you should park on the street in front of the house that you are visiting. People who visit one set of neighbors in particular don't seem to get it. A single car will park on the street in front of our house even though the street in front of the neighbor's house is empty. Strange. One time an unknown young man lingered in front of our house for so long that I considered calling the cops and instead walked out to talk to him. He could tell I was a little worried, so he rolled down his window to note that he was waiting for someone else to arrive so they could both show up together at the neighbor's house. I'm not saying there aren't circumstance where they shouldn't park on the street in front of my house - if the street in front of the neighbors is full, like when they're having a party - by all means park in front of my house. Now to convince my neighbors of that.

Cabin Fever

Unlike a lot of people who live in Utah, I don't head out into the back country much during the winter. I used to snow shoe a lot, but haven't been in a while since I haven't been able to get excited about the zero degree temperatures at night, which is when I have time to go. As result, I spend most of my winter indoors. For some reason, the three hour training rides on the spin bike were starting to get a little stale. Finally, this Saturday it wasn't snowing and was above 40 degrees. As I headed to the AF Fitness Center I saw a surprising number of people out to take advantage of roads that were merely wet rather than covered with ice and temperatures that were above freezing. You would have thought it was spring time. It was good to see others were suffering from cabin fever as well. In the afternoon I headed out for a road ride. I'd forgotten how good a nice ride outside could be. The sushi endeavor was okay. I hate getting up in front of people. Predictably, it started late, which made the rice a little clumpy. The organizers did a good job of setting up and decorating. I probably could have served Uncle Ben's and it would have been okay. It was also no surprise that we had entirely too much food.

The Blame Game

I've somehow made it on the do-not-call-to-ride list. Either I changed to make it off the list or the list changed and I just didn't make the cut. Unfortunately, I'm not sure which came first, the chicken or the egg. With the lack of riding partners, I've found myself turning more to triathlon. Or was triathlon what got me off the list? These are two of the possibilities. Is it that triathlons drove me away from mountain biking. Could it be that I turned down invitations to go on really good rides and/or that I was intolerable company by turning a fun ride with friends into a training session for a triathlon that left me lagging so far behind that the others simply couldn't put up with it? Or is it that the lack of riding partners drove me away from mountain biking. It could be that I turned to triathlon as my former riding buddies decided, for whatever reasons, to leave me off the call list. I'd understand. In year's past my complete lack of fitness made me a less than ideal riding companion, especially for my riding buddies. But for the last few years, I've been in my best shape ever, making me a more suitable riding buddy. That leads me to think that maybe most of my old time riding buddies have moved on from recreational rides to racer types, thereby embracing Elden's theory that every ride is a race. If every ride is a race, I'll never be a worthy 'riding' companion for the racer types. So, I've looked for something else to pass the time. After all, I don't need other people to train for triathlon - solitary suffering is kind of the point. Regardless of how I got here, there are a couple of things I need to come to terms with. That I'm slow is not one of them, I came to terms with that years ago. Primary is that I need to start looking for riding companions who ride for the same reasons I do.

Impending Doom

It's coming. I like to help out in the ward where I can and so I agreed to help out with a ward activity. The idea was that 4-5 couples would show up at somebody's house and I'd show them how to make some basic sushi rolls. No problem. I have enough equipment to turn out enough rice to turn out 8-10 rolls in one go, which would be enough for people to get a demonstration and try their hand at it. Those 4-5 couples are up to 26+ and it's going to be at the church. With sushi, timing and moisture content are everything. The timing and logistics of making 50+ rolls at a time in a foreign and unstocked environment is more than 4-5 times more complex - it's more like an exponential function. I'm going to crash and burn, but I'm already on the hook. I predict sweating, nervous banter, snapiness (if you've helped with a luau, you've taken more than one pointed instruction), and several instances of profanity. I have a feeling I'll be off the hook from now on.

Ice Fishing

Some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Several years ago I joined B on an ice fishing expedition. He had initially planned to go do some ice fishing with his Young Men and his co-leader Lee. I had no interest in a Young Men's activity, so I declined his invitation. The morning of the event, he called to say that none of the young men had shown up. He and Lee for were already all set to go and figured I'd be interested. I didn't have much else going on, so I met them at the mouth of Provo Canyon. I jumped in Lee's big ol' truck, where I was joined in the back seat by Zach. I greeted Zach and received a two-pronged response. The verbal component was something most akin to a Chewbacca groan. The ohter component was an overpowering fecal smell. Not like he'd passed gas, but more like Zach had filled his pants some time before and nobody had bothered to change him yet. I mentioned I changed the name of the innocent - Zach was not really his name, but is rather a reference to how his breath smelled 'xactly like his a*$. When we stopped in Heber to get snacks for the day, I excused myself from changing him - "Not it to change Lee's special younger brother's depends," I whispered to B. It was then that B pointed out that Zach was neither Lee's younger brother nor did he have specially needs - at least not technically. Although he did point out that he wouldn't disbelieve that Zach could have had a brown out. As we piled out of the truck at Strawberry my lungs burned as I gasped as much of the -5 degree air as possible - anything to get the stench out of my nose. I got a short reprieve as Lee took Zach on his snowmobile as we headed to the fishin' hole. Once there, Lee and B set up their ice fishing tent, complete with a heater, seats, and a fish finder while Zach and I sat on the snow mobiles. Unfortunately, I'm not Han Solo and can't understand wookie. Fortunately, like Chewie, Zach understood English. As the saying goes, revenge is a dish best served cold. Since my eyes and nose were pretty much frozen shut, I figured it'd be a good idea to get a little payback. We hadn't had so much as a nibble the entire day. I had deciphered some of the gestures and grunts as questions from Zach as to why we weren't catching any fish. I told him about the magical fish finder Lee had and how it showed how many fish were around as well as how deep they were. I also told him that I didn't really understand how it worked, but that he should definitely ask them about how it works. I also mentioned they might have snacks. And maybe something about warmth. For nearly half an hour, the comfy enclosure that was keeping my companions warm served as a steaming pouch for the aromatic goodness Zach had to offer. To get Zach's head out of the tent, Lee suggested that Zach take the snow mobile out for a spin. Zach got the feel for speed quickly. Unfortunately, his skill didn't follow. Soon after he started riding he took a huge jump and pancaked the landing. Instead of falling off, he held on to the handlebars for dear life. His death grip on the handlebars had him maxing out the gas. After digging a 50 yard trench with his legs, the snow mobile sucked him into the tread, pulling his hands from the handlebars. His plaque-caked grin belied his shreaded overalls and ice-encrusted whiskers. Apparently, he'd never had more fun. Lee and B on the other hand had already had a gut-full of ice fishing by then, so we loaded up and headed for the truck. All the excitement had stirred up Zach's odor enough to what I had thought were impossible levels. Seriously, it was overwhelming. Lee couldn't take it and cranked up the fan as high as possible. Nothing. Lee rolled the windows down, but even though it had warmed all the way up to 10 degrees, the highway speeds still made the truck a blast chiller. In desperation, Lee ripped open five or six Tree-Deodorizers and started jamming them into the vents. Lee tried in desperation to wolf down his sandwich while the trees masked the odor. He was still working on his first several bites when he started sputtering the sandwich out into the wrapper. "You've got to be kidding me!" he screamed in disgust as he threw his sandwich out the window. After a while, the smell settled in the back (with me). Lee opened a bag of chinese crackers and offered us all some. Zach was happy to get involved. Lee asked whether Zach would like more and then promptly offered him the entire bag. I was confused. Lee was starving and he was giving away a nearly full bag of tasty crackers. Sensing my confusion, Lee glanced at me in the rear view mirror and then fake licked his fingers. Apparently, Zach had been licking his fingers after each handful. Lucky for me, that wiped out any appetite I might have had. As fun as that was, I haven't been ice fishing since.