Lara-Karena Kellogg (Bitenieks)

Lara-Karena Kellogg (formerly Lara-Karena Bitenieks) died Monday evening while climbing Mt. Wake in the Alaska Range. Some of you may have known Lara from her years as a climbing ranger and member of our Mt. Rainier search and rescue team. But when it came to friends and social networks, Lara was indeed a power-broker in Seattle. Her loss is greatly affecting many people. Her friends are coming together to sort through the sadness and remember her life.

The NPS released Lara's name after her husband, Chad Kellogg, was notified in China where he was climbing (he is now returning to Seattle). There is a lot more to say about Lara. She was a very close friend and influential force in the way the Mount Rainier climbing program runs today. Lara possessed an amazing amount of style, confidence, independence, and strength.

The Fairbanks Daily Newsminer spoke with her climbing partner Jed Brown for details of the accident, Jed has a detailed narrative about the climb and accident on his website. They were climbing the N.E. Ridge of Mt. Wake. The green dot indicates the high point and the red dot is where the accident occurred. This route has some history. In 1994, two Alaskan climbers fell at nearly the same location during a rappelling accident. We will post a lot more on Lara in the days to come.

Jed Brown provided this picture of Lara from their climb. The Mt. Wake photo was taken by Eamonn Walsh and provided to us by Mark Westman.

In the woods

Blue-eyed grass, Sisyrinchium sp.


Ragwort (Butterweed), (Packera sp., aka Senecio).


Carolina Larkspur, Delphinium carolinianum.


Coral Honeysuckle, Lonicera sempervirens.


Oxeye Daisy, Leucanthemum vulgare.


Pink Phlox, Phlox carolina.


Cynthia, Krigia biflora.


Fragrant Sumac, Rhus aromatica.


Wild Petunia, Ruellia strepens.

Why does Susan's Coral honeysuckle bloom so much earlier than mine? (By a good two months).

Component Porn... Film Noir Style

When we talk about "bike porn," all too often the attention is on the obvious stuff: the frames, the lugs, the cranksets, the handlebars. But what about the more subtle components? I know what you're thinking: I must be into some fancy, handmade, outlandish stuff. But I am really a girl of simple tastes at heart. Take, for instance, the little brass bell. Round, shiny and boisterous, I cannot get enough of these perfect little creations. All the world reflects in their polished surface, and they have seen everything your bicycle has seen. Sometimes I will be rolling along, and I catch a glimpse of the sky and trees reflected in my bicycle bell. How delightful to see my surroundings in miniature form, right on my handlebars.

And then there is my excessive affection for the classic Sturmey Archer 3-speed trigger shifter. God, I mean look at it! Something about the shape, the font, and the overall design just says "stare at me, touch me, use me!" That little notch on the trigger so eager forme to shift gears. No other shifter has inspired such emotion within me. Am I being weird?



Although if you want weird, I will admit that I also have a thing for indicator chains. That's right: those little bits of chain stretching from the hub. Oh how I yearn for glimpses of their jewel-like elegance - unobstructed by the horrendous plastic enclosures in which they are often housed today. Please, manufacturers: Free the indicator chains!



And I must not forget my longing for classic brake levers. I have tried to cope with standard modern ones, but how can I forsake the curves of theseVO classics? The gentle tapering and the ball at the tip... A cold sleek modern lever cannot hope to offer the same tactile experience.



With all of these things now installed on the same bicycle, the overall effect is overwhelming. And it makes me realise that I am more taken with the looks of simple 3-speed components than with anything more complicated. Having a visible indicator chain on a hub is more important to me than the kind of derailleur I use, and my preference for the trigger shifter is by far more passionate than my admiration of bar-ends on roadbikes. Give me a classically outfitted 3-speed, and I will swoon with delight. What is your component porn of choice?

Cycling and Self-Portraiture

I have long been interested in the connection between cycling and amateur self-portraiture. Anyone familiar with the world of bicyclists' image galleries is also familiar with the ubiquitous "panda shots," storefront reflections, snapshots of one's bike shadow. Taken quickly with tiny low-quality cameras, these provide spontaneous glimpses into how we move through the world, what we encounter along the way, and how we relate to our bicycles while doing so. Over the years it has become a distinct genre.




But why do it? Looking in from the outside, it is easy to interpret it as a contemporary obsession with documentation, a marking of territory, or in the case of "panda shots" (pictures of yourself taken while cycling) as a showing off of skill. And of course to some extent it is all that. But what makes it bike-specific? I have never encountered another group outside of the art world that is as prone to self-portraiture as cyclists. Joking around with bikeyface, we tried to start a trend for "walk pandas," but somehow pedestrian self-portraiture does not hold the same appeal.






Last year I wrote aboutbicycle blogs and exhibitionism - describing a culture among the blogs of beginner female cyclists where women communicate and encourage each other by showing pictures of themselves doing everyday bike-related activities. Outside of the intended audience (for example, when observed by experienced male cyclists), this is sometimes misinterpreted as exhibitionism. But for the intended audience it is in fact a "teaching by doing" sort of tool that can be more effective than any advocacy.




Still the trend for self-portraiture among cyclists is not limited to this alone. It is more widespread than that and encompasses a more diverse demographic. From racers to retrogrouches to randonneurs to pedaling fashionistas, cyclists just seem compelled to snap pictures of themselves on or next to their bikes.







It is possible that moving around by bicycle, particularly when we are new to it in adulthood, heightens our sense of self-awareness and it is this that inspires the self-portraiture. In a sense, the cyclist keeps a visual diary. And a true diary, be it written or visual, is more than just about what happens in one's environment; typically the diarist also focuses on themselves.




How well this works as an explanation, I don't know. But as a psychologist and a painter I am fascinated by the tradition of self-portraiture I've seen emerge as more and more cyclists share their images with the world. If you take pictures of yourself on or with your bike, why do you do it?

More from Washington DC

Ride Fast or Ride Far?

When I first started trying to increase the milage of my rides, I was advised to keep my average speed down on longer distances. "You can ride fast, or you can ride far," I was told. This advice seemed perfectly logical. The faster you ride, the sooner you'll get tired, right?



But my own experience stubbornly contradicted this piece of wisdom. I grew suspicious when, over the past two years, intentionally keeping my speed down only seemed to make me miserableon longer rides. So this summer I experimented. On some long rides I rode at whatever speed felt natural in the moment (whee!). On others I intentionally kept my speed in check. I felt better after the rides where I maintained a higher speed.



At first this discovery confused me. And then all at once, it made sense. The "fast or far" dichotomy fails to account for one crucial factor: time spent on the bike. Let's say you are doing a 100 mile ride. At an average rolling speed of 14mph, you will spend 7.14 hours on the bike. At an average rolling speed of 12mph, you will spend 8.33 hours on the bike. That's more than an hour of extra bike time! An entire extra hour of pedaling, of leaning forward, of gripping the handlebars, of chafing against the saddle. These things can wear you out just as much as the pedaling effort itself.



My point here is not that one should attempt a century ride with the zeal of a racer, but that it helps to look at a situation from multiple angles and to factor in your own strengths and weaknesses. As it turns out, I can ride faster than I've been giving myself credit. And as my body struggles to cope with longer times in the saddle, riding faster is getting me further. YMMV.

The Ambassador Theater and How It Rocked DC

Around 1927, my mother thinks she remembers walking with her Dad from Mozart Place to the Ambassador Theater on 18Th and Columbia Road to see something new-"a talkie" featuring Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer. Now flash forward forty years, and what Mom doesn't remember is that in 1967, the shuttered theater became the home to something new again-possibly the most amazing place ever to see a rock show in the history of this small town. I, unfortunately, was only about eight at the time, but over the weekend, yet another forty years forward, I went to a reunion of those who made it happen. Jeff Krulik our local film maker (and hero) helped bring these guys together from all over the country for this event.

In 1967 Tony Finestra, Court Rodgers and Joel Mednick were three young guys selling fire extinguishers of all things when they heard about the Summer of Love out in San Francisco. Out they went, and back they came to D.C. with ideas to make it happen here- the musical side of things anyway. They rented the Ambassador and booked The Grateful Dead. The Dead's equipment arrived, but unfortunately the city pulled their permit at the last minute and fought the project every step of the way. But our boys fought back and finally opened on July 28, 1967 with local band Natty Bumpo and headliner The Peanut Butter Conspiracy.

The Ambassador was an enormous space. All 1500 seats had been removed. The Psychedelic Power and Light Company took over the balcony and used multiple projectors and black lights to fill the room and cover the walls with colors and images that was a stand alone show of its own. Tickets were $1.50 on week nights, $2.50 on weekends. The mezzanine level boasted a head shop selling lava lamps, posters and well, you know, hippie stuff. What a scene it must have been. Not only was it a concert hall, but they tried to make a community center as well. Neighborhood kids were invited for special matinees- one involved a jazz band and a light show. It was also used as a staging area for the march on the Pentagon. Norman Mailer was there.

Jimi Hendrix needed work that summer. He'd been touring with The Monkees, but his style didn't quite fit that double bill. He ended up booked at The Ambassador for 5 nights that August-and Pete Townsend came to see him. (I'm not making this stuff up- ask Nils Lofgren.) This all happened here.

Canned Heat, Moby Grape, John Lee Hooker, Vanilla Fudge, The Fugs, The Paul Butterfield Blues Band and more all appeared at The Ambassador. Our own Joe Dolan of The Beatnik Flies mopped the floors there. His cousin, Patty made this hoe-down poster.


The sad thing is it couldn't last. It was partly a matter of bad publicity and partly the atmosphere of the times. (Even I remember how threatened people were by the hippie thing.) At the reunion, stories were told about police who gave parking tickets to legally parked theater goers. They also waited outside to arrest kids who had violated the D.C. curfew and scared them back to the suburbs. Plus it was a huge project to take on. The experiment ended about six months later. Sadder still the theater was torn down not too long after, and a vapid non descript plaza took it's place. Just last month a Jimi Hendrix tribute show came through town and played at Constitution Hall. Perhaps a better place to have it would have been there on that soul less plaza. It needs some life again.

The next time you are in Adam's Morgan, you might want to walk by there-and remember Jimi plus all the others that once played and worked there in that now gone place.
Remember the ghosts that once were dreams.



P.S. Speaking of ghosts: The Ambassador once stood on the site of The Knickerbocker Theater, but in 1922 the roof collapsed under the weight of snow. Ninety eight people were killed.


More From Nils Lofgren:
"The room was humming, not only with the expectation of seeing the Jimi Hendrix Experience, but that Pete Townshend was in the audience, and it was just an extraordinary pivotal night for me. Hendrix came out and said he was going to dedicate the first song to Pete Townshend and he was going to do a rendition of 'Sgt. Pepper.' Now being naive, and being a huge Beatles lover, a lot of us thought 'well, you're only a three piece band, how can you play 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band,' there's all these other guitars and strings.' We just didn't have a clue of what Hendrix was really about. He counted off the song and I remember he kind of disappeared, he just did one of those things where he fell to the floor, sitting on the floor rocking with the guitar between his legs kind of doing a 'Purple Haze/ Sgt. Peppers' riff, then he sort of bounces back up and does an insane version of 'Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.' And when he dropped to the floor everyone just jumped up to try to see him, and from that moment on everyone was standing and mesmerized by obviously the greatest rock and roll guitar player that ever lived... There were just a lot of inspired moments like that at the Ambassador; it was this dark, beautiful, haunted, inspired room that you could go to and get lost in the light show and friends and the camradarie and the excitement of being in the audience discovering all this great new music; it was this real pivotal place in Washington, DC for all of the music scene, young and old."