San Fransisco

I spent the past four days in San Fransisco with good friends. It was quite the reunion. At one point, six of us who once lived together in a house in Salt Lake City gathered from all corners of the West to scarf down sourdough bread and soak in lots of San Fransisco dampness (my friend Paul, who lives there now with his wife, Monika, said "Honestly, it's hardly ever this crappy here. It must be you."

Our friend Jen flew out from Utah just to visit everyone. She and I wanted to do "touristy" things. We convinced the others to ride the ferry to Alcatraz Island.

The audio tour guide told us that 1,500 prisoners were housed there during all of its days as a notorious prison. As a tourist destination, that island must see about that many visitors in a handful of hours. Honestly, after visiting there, I don't see what was so bad about it. It's kind of a cozy little spot. :-)

The fog started to clear on the ride home.

It brought the most sunshine I had seen in days, and for a couple beautiful hours I could see San Fransisco.

Jen and Monika are on a boat; it's as real as it gets. (There guys, I said it.)

Fishermen's Wharf was certainly good for laughs, and much more palatable than the Juneau docks.

The Mission neighborhood also is good for laughs, and has much better food.

In between soaking up city life, there was still a little time to soak in some mist and miles. I'm not a huge fan of biking in cities. If I knew the city well, I'm sure I could find some great routes to ride in San Fransisco, but most of the time in city limits I felt like I was inching through traffic - green light, sprint; red light, stop. I did some hard interval climbs in the hills of Noe Valley. But when I finally had time for a longer ride, I dodged morning rush hour traffic and cable cars down Market Street, coasted beside the shore and crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog was so thick I could barely see the cars on the street next to me, let alone the bridge or any of the famous views. But once I was back in Marin County, I felt more at home.

After looping over the ridge a couple of times, I crossed back over to the city and found some great trails in the Golden Gate park. Later, I became hopelessly lost in the northwestern corner of the city and somehow landed on Haight Street. My San Fransisco experience was nearly complete.

Later on Monday, Monika, Jen and I "climbed" the San Fransisco Twin Peaks, a couple of bald spots on top of a 900-foot hill in the center of the bustling city. Of course there was nothing to see, but with wind gales blowing the misty rain sideways, it almost felt like the top of a real mountain.

Jen and I drove to Salt Lake City today. Geoff flew to New York to visit his family. I've been working on a post about his Miwok race and my future plans. There is much to tell.

Yreka to San Fransisco

We spent Wednesday night in a random town along I-5 called Yreka. No, I can't pronounce it. I did some quick Google Maps research in the budget hotel room and decided to try a ride called "Gunsight Peak." Doubletrack and lots of climbing. And despite the hazy day, good views of Mount Shasta.

It was pretty hot out. And when I say hot, I mean it was 60. I'm going to have a tough time getting used to summer.

I topped out at about 6,300 feet. I'm embarrassed to say that as I sat on the gravel pumping up a flat tire, I could feel it. I'm going to have a tough time getting used to elevation.

We continued south to San Fransisco, where we're staying with friends in the city.

I got out for some gravel trail riding today in the Marin Headlands. 3,800 feet of climbing in 24 miles! And this is one of the more mellow portions of the region.

As you can see, the weather was quite lovely. Low 50s, steady rain and high winds. I've been feeling pretty homesick lately, and riding in these wet coastal areas has helped lesson the sting - both by helping me feel closer to home, and helping me miss home that much less.

Geoff is running the Miwok 100K early tomorrow morning. The only reason he even dragged me on this road trip is to do car-based race support, and our friends are meeting us here in the afternoon. But I hope to get out for more Marin riding if I can.

Ashland

We made what was essentially a three-hour stopover in Ashland, Oregon, so Geoff could run with famous people ... Hal Koerner, Kyle Skaggs' brother, et al ... I guess Ashland is a mecca for ultrarunning. It's not hard to see why. It's dry, warm but not hot, and the trail system is amazing.

My time window for riding was fairly short and of course I started out having no clue where I was going, but I managed to find a Pacific Crest Trail access route. First dirt singletrack of the year! Yeah!

Holy cow, I'm rusty on dirt. At least I was never very good to begin with. I have a feeling I'm going to be dusting myself off a lot this summer.

Add another town to my ever-growing list of "Places I Could Live."

Portland

It was 46 degrees and raining when I left the house this morning. The air smelled like apple blossoms, fresh grass and dirt, but it felt like home. I started somewhere in southeastern Portland. Somewhere ... where, I didn't know. I didn't know that it mattered. I haven't been to Portland since the 90s and I've never had any talent for feeling my way through a city - map, directions or nothing at all. So I figured I'd ride blindly into the late-morning chaos and I'd have to end up somewhere ... where, I didn't know.

I wandered south for a while, picking my way through connecting bike routes and trying to stay cognizant of where I had been. Finding my way back in a strange place is always a big concern for me. It never comes naturally. About an hour passed just wandering the streets of the greater Portland area and figuring I'd never find my way out of strip mall suburbia. That's when I stumbled onto the Columbia Gorge Highway. A lucky find for sure. I was suddenly immersed in a deep canyon with light traffic and spring exploding everywhere.

Once the highway threatened to drop down to I-84, I veered off on an even smaller road ... Larch Mountain Road. The rolling hills along the Sandy River became a steady climb. Lots of logging roads intersected the pavement. I ventured out a couple of doubletrack roads, but they were severely muddy to the point of terminal tire suck. And, anyway, I was more interested in figuring out where this Larch Mountain Road went. I hoped it would be somewhere high.

I went up until the road became impassable at 3,500 feet. Oh yes, I did find snow.

I ended the ride with 84 miles and 4,700 feet of climbing. I guess I haven't really been keeping track of my recent mileage, and may not for a little while. It's been hard to quantify my rides since I left in Juneau because they've been so interspersed with travel and everything else that has been going on. I consider biking my down time, time to reflect and try to make some decisions. I forget that I'm still technically working out, and never really think about it, so I can honestly say that I'm not sure whether I've been feeling physically strong, normal, or weak. But it's been rewarding to travel so many new places on two wheels, especially when fate spits me out somewhere like this.

Prince George to Vancouver

Still lots of driving and a little riding. Hopefully I'll find more time to write soon. I found a little crust biking outside of Quesnel. I have a feeling this will be the last I see of snow for a while.

The hills of central BC. Looks a lot like central Oregon.

Geo's first taste of spring along the Fraser River.

"Road biking" near the Vancouver airport with Jenn, one of my Whitehorse friends who now lives in the big city.

Dike trail with Ben. It was an amazingly nice day in Vancouver. What can I say? Canada loves me. Hopefully the weather will hold as we drop into the States.

Dease Lake to Prince George

A lot is happening right now and there's been no chance to process much of it at all. It feels like someone hit the fast-forward button on my life, and I've felt numb to all the miles behind me and terrified of the miles steamrolling toward me. Meanwhile, I've been working hard to churn out the requisite number of miles each day, both in the car and on the bike. There's not much space to summarize right now ... life in fast forward contains a lot of static ... but the trip, as road trips go, has been eventful ...

Up at 7 a.m. to ride out of Dease Lake. The temperature was low enough to turn fairly deep puddles into solid ice ... probably 25 or 27 degrees. My Camelbak hose froze. I, despite layering up as best I could with the "summer" clothes I have with me, also froze. I haven't been that cold in a long time. Definitely since before the frostbite incident.

The ride was hilly and high, as northern BC rides go. I rode hard and felt little in the way of pain or reward until I realized I couldn't feel much of anything, including my arms or legs. Brrrrr.

We rolled south. I shivered. We talked.

The deep snowpack persisted even as we dropped to latitudes equal with the southernmost tips of Southeast Alaska - just a few miles to the west. We made jokes about driving to Prince Rupert and getting back on a ferry bound for Juneau. It was hard to watch the road-level snow finally fade away. I've been sad about the prospect of leaving the North, even temporarily.

We spent Friday night with friends in Smithers. Had a great dinner, late night sipping tea and not worrying so much about everything, when we got an 11:30 p.m. knock on the door. "River's flooded," said the woman holding three huge flashlights. "It's comin up about a foot a minute. I'd take stock of what you'd take with you and be prepared to get out of here quick."

We hadn't received any official evacuation calls, but as we looked out the window we saw flashing lights stretched across the neighborhood. "They're doing rescues," the woman told us. "There are people over there in trees." We ventured outside to survey the scene. The RCMP had most of the neighborhood streets blocked, but we followed one street until we could see the alarming swell of the river. This photo is taken at the head of a neighbor's driveway, about two blocks and an equal number of feet of elevation from Kelly and Adrian's house.

Sleep was restless and I half feared ... and half hoped ... that I'd wake up to find that my car had headed downstream without me. But the flood had started to recede. I set out on my bike and rode non-blocked streets on the outskirts of the flood plain until I found the source ... a big ice jam that was starting the break apart. Our friends' house was spared. And luckily no one was hurt, but we learned there really were people in trees and property damage looked extensive.

I continued my ride through the morning, seeking higher ground. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful region. Rolling river valleys and shimmering satin peaks.

The drive south continues. Maybe tomorrow we'll hit spring.

Whitehorse to Dease Lake

Juneau to Whitehorse

Oh, Canada.

Roll south

This will be my last night in Juneau for a couple of months.

We board a ferry to Skagway tomorrow morning, and from there it's on to Whitehorse, then down the Cassier Highway to visit friends in Smithers, B.C., and Vancouver, then Seattle, Portland and San Fransisco. Geoff has a race on May 2, but we have just a little over a week to get there. I'm hoping the old Geo makes it.

I really don't have the words for how I feel about leaving Juneau at this time. Life moves faster than I do. Sometimes there's not much more to say. I'm excited but apprehensive, too. I've been having deep doubts about the Great Divide. Like maybe it's not the right place at the right time, this time, but this may be my best and last chance. Even everything after San Fransisco is looking a little hazy. But it will be an adventure. Life's always an adventure. Usually the biggest things happen when you least expect.

I expect to post as much as I can along the way. I'll likely cling to this blog as my window home; it has always been a great place to both dump thoughts at random and organize them into a sense of perspective. So don't worry about radio silence. :-)

Wish me luck.