Singletrack Mining in Southern New Hampshire

Bikepacking highway.

The White Mountains.  Winnipesaukee. The Seacoast. 

Ask any New Englander to talk about must-see destinations in New Hampshire and these three areas invariably come to the top of the list.  Dig a little deeper and you might get mentions of Mount Monadnock, Santa’s Village, or even Manch-Vegas.  You’ll have to wait a while- a long while- before you hear someone tell you that you should definitely go visit Milford.  Or that you can’t miss Mason or Brookline.  And Greenville?  Yeah, that’s not going to be on the list.  But it should be.  It is time to visit the region that put the granite in the Granite State.

FOMBA to Bear Brook Epic (October 2016)

Red carpet treatment.

 I've heard it said that Autumn is the reason New Englanders put up with the long, cold, dark winters.  While there are other reasons to love living in New England, I have to agree that Fall is at the top of the list.

But like most things, it is fleeting, and you need to make the time to breathe-in some of its essence before we descend into the hellish hangover that is November.   And what better way to capture the sights, smells and feels of the season than a leg crushing epic mountain bike ride in the hills of sourthern New Hampshire?

The Other Side of Highland (September 2016)

A hint of Fall on the trail.

It was all starting to look the same.  I muddled along a trail I was hoping would lead me northward and onto my planned route, but discovered yet another dead end as the trail began to loop back in on itself.  Gunshots echoed in the distance and the forest began to darken in the mid afternoon light. Freshly fallen twigs crunched under my tires as I rolled downhill and back to a familiar looking trail junction.  I loosened my elbows to absorb the logs and rocks hidden in the tall grass that had sprouted up under the break in the forest canopy.  As I watched the sharp broken stub of a branch roll under my tire, it occurred to me that my spare tube was sitting miles away in the back of my truck.   My anxiety level, already high, was now thick and suffocating.  I was running out of time.

The Kearsarge Powderline

“Wow.  That’s a great looking deer.”

There was just enough time for that simple thought to enter my brain as the front end of my Mercury Tracer crumpled and the airbag exploded into my face.  The sound of screeching brakes and glass scattering along the highway broke the pristine silence of a cold, clear November night somewhere near Warner, New Hampshire.

A cloud of white obscured my vision and as soon as the car came to rest in the breakdown lane, I jumped out.  I stood there by the side of the road for a second- still dazed and trying to make sense of what just happened.   By the time I figured out the car wasn’t on fire, and the white cloud was actually talcum powder from the airbag, the car was rolling down a steep embankment and unceremoniously mowing down a grove of young pine trees far below.

A passerby stopped when they saw me standing on the side of the road.   I explained that I had hit a deer.

“But where is your car?”   I pointed down at the now camouflaged car hidden in the trees below.

“Where’s the deer?”  That one had me stumped.  I had no idea.  It was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the front of the car, it didn’t get very far.

Eventually a state police officer arrived, and invited me to tell him what happened.

“Soooo…… where’s the car?”  “Aaaaand now,.... where’s the deer?”

The Wildcat Hypotenuse

Taking in a quiet sunset and pondering trigonometric functions.

Geometry, or better yet, a basic understanding of Geometry, can make the difference between ending your day with an ear-to-ear grin and memories of blissful turns, and ending your day walking down Route 16 in your bare stocking feet just the shell of a man.

Hokkaidoborough, New Hampshire

South of Concord and West of Nashua stands a magical mountain that reveals itself only on the deepest of powder days.  It is the mystical land known as Hokkaidoborough, New Hampshire.

The Hampshire 100: It's Really Just an Eating Contest

More than seven hours into my day at the Hampshire 100 something my friend Brad had said to me echoed in my head as I ground my way through a long steep climb.   I was ten minutes past my twenty minute deadline for downing another Gu but the thought of one more oozy ounce of the sickly sweet gel made me want to get off the bike and barf.  Despite extra gulps of Gatorade, I could feel my legs starting to seize.  The last thing in the world I wanted to do was eat something.  And then the meaning of Brad’s seemingly absurd advice became clear: 

“It’s really just an eating contest.”

Trip Report: Christmas on Cardigan 12.25.12

It's been so long since we last toured Cardigan Mountain (see: A Backcountry Mountain with Training Wheels (2008)) that I almost forgot how much I like everything about this tiny little southern NH peak.  It's close to home, quick to hike, short enough to forgive poor planning, and covered in nice, shallow, mostly avy-free snowfields. There are multiple ways down that are easy to scout on the climb, and and if there's no powder to schuss there's still bound to be enough ice to give Yukon Cornelius a 12 inch pick. Most importantly, Cardigan is a place longtime gear-queer turned first-time BC skiers and alpinists can go to cut their teeth, and bring their family along for the ride.

Since that trip long ago in 2008, climbing Cardigan from the east via the AMC lodge and CCC trail, I've been thinking about a return to explore the western approach. Maybe I've been overlooking it for more exotic tours, or maybe it's just my place of last resort from a bad snow year. Regardless, the things I've seen and done and skied on on the western approach were enough to make me regret these past five years of neglect.

Mangy, Mangy Moose

The crowning moose.

Little known fact. Moosilauke is an ancient Abenaki word for babyheads. Moose-hillock literally means "crowning fetal moose." A horrible image to describe an even more horrible early ski season phenomenon that I've never before encountered. Until this morning, my first ski tour of the season.

I'd been talked into a solo dawn patrol of Moosilauke late last night by Andy, who made a number of excellent points about the importance of getting a 2012 NEBC tour of The Moose on the books as soon as conditions allowed.

That conversation went something like this:

Five Favorites Countdown (#1 Gulf of Slides)

Not a bad view from the tent door.

Was there ever any doubt my favorite tour would be from the Gulf of Slides on Mount Washington, NH?

Five Favorites Countdown (#2 North Tripyramid Slide)

That's not sunrise.

Number two on our list of favorites is to the infamous North Tripyramid Slide near Waterville Valley, NH.


Sometimes you go into the backcountry and don't want to leave.  The slide and surrounding palatial glades were some of the best skiing we've ever seen. Too bad I was wearing the wrong skis.

Read all about it here.

Five Favorites Countdown (#3 North Twin Slide)

When the sun lines up like this over North Twin, the Mayans predicted epic skiing.

Number three on the countdown was actually a culmination of three trips to find and ski the slide and surrounding glades on North Twin in New Hampshire.

Five Favorites Countdown (#4 South Baldface)

If the Baldface shelter looks like this, there's a good chance the ledges are skiable.

Coming in at number 4 on our list of five favorite backcountry excursions is a trip to South Baldface in New Hampshire from a few years ago.

Pre-Season Stoke: Video Tour of the Gulf of Slides

This is where you realize you should have worn sunscreen.

Are you pumped for this backcountry ski season, yet?  If not, let me throw another log on that bonfire of backcountry stoke and see if we can't get you corking those backcountry skis so compulsively you'll be able to see your reflection in the wax.

Highland Mountain Bike Park: The High Dive (July 2012)

Home of the unearned turn.

While I was growing up our local pool had a high dive that towered above the water.  It was a horrifying and exhilarating thing.  Rumors abounded about “this kid” who slipped and fell to the pavement onto his head, or “that kid” who did a can-opener the wrong way and split his gut wide open when he hit the water.  It was probably only fifteen feet high, but back then it felt like a hundred.   It was a rite of passage to make your way up to the board and take your first leap.  It was the kind of place where you tested your meddle and became one of the big kids.

Sometimes I’m reminded of the feeling I got on my first trip up that slippery metal ladder and out onto the thin, shaky board.     

Return to North Twin Slide (March 2012)

I think it’s safe to say that running into a machete wielding stranger deep in the wilderness is probably high on most people's list of nightmare scenarios.  Sometimes, however, it can be the answer to your prayers.

-Trip Report- Evans Notch Road: Black Diamond Driving (February 2012)

I could see a clear line through the bumps.  A quick jaunt left, then a cutback right would be needed to start my run.  Suddenly, however, a large hole appeared out of nowhere.  Without any way to avoid it, I hit it straight on: a jarring thump that made my teeth chatter and my knees buckle.

I was still on my way to the trailhead and facing the toughest line I would see all day.  I was on the infamous Route 113 and my truck's suspension was paying the price.

-Trip Report- Arrow Slide on Mount Hancock, NH: Maps 101 (February 2012)

Sometimes it's tough to define what constitutes a successful backcountry trip.  The easiest and most obvious measure is when you reach your objective and return home to talk about it.  However, when everything doesn't go as planned, things aren't so clear.  In order to push your limits you have to try and fail every now and then.  Does that make those incomplete ventures failures, or part of some greater success?  As long as you return home wiser and more prepared for the next time haven't you gained some measure of success?

Do I sound like someone who failed to achieve his goals this weekend?

Bear Brook State Park: Return of the Flow (Epic Day Part II)

"Now where did I drop that damn camera?"

Have you been missing the flow?  Too many days at Lynn Woods or Harold Parker got you thinking that mountain biking is all about rock gardens and sketchy lines?  I think I have just the place for you.

FOMBA: Trail Judo (Epic Day Part I)

Pine Forest or house of mirrors?

In the age-old martial art of Judo, you constantly push, pull, and maneuver your opponent, keeping them off balance until you wear them down into submission.  Where they expect to zig, you make them zag.  Where they want to zone out and relax, you make them snap-to and work hard.    

If mountain biking trails are the haunts of ancient warrior-teachers, then I know where the zen master of Judo lives. Lucky for us, it's in southern New Hampshire.