I love neoprene

Date: Jan. 27
Mileage: 18.6
January mileage: 418.4
Temperature upon departure: -4

Today was, well ... it was a bright, sunny day. Mercury hit somewhere around -4, but strong, blasting winds out of the north (for my ride today, a direct side wind both ways) really upped the shock factor. Then, atop hardpacked ice roads, there were the 35 mph descents. Brrrrr. Pretty safe to say, that was the coldest ride yet. At least, the coldest until tomorrow. Geoff and I drove up to Palmer today. And barring any unforeseen events, tomorrow we will ride pieces of the Susitna 100 course. The actual Iditarod trail. It's the reason we drove up here, so it will be hard to talk ourselves out of it. Temperature right now ... -12.

I've learned to love my neoprene gear above all. Face, hands and feet are all protected by a thin layer of that stuff, and it's simply amazing. Today, all I wore on my hands were a pair of neoprene gloves - the very same ones kayakers wear. I brought a pair of mittens with me, but I never needed them. My hands were toasty. I can't say the same about patches of my face that accidentally became exposed while I was adjusting my goggles. Today, I also learned how quickly skin can freeze. I'm definitely going to be more careful tomorrow.

Anyway, we finally arrived in Palmer pretty late tonight, so I should probably cut this post short. We went to the University of Alaska Anchorage Folk Fest. We had to sit through clogging but we saw a friend of ours play in her 14-member old-timey string band. We also saw a great bluegrass band called the South Austin Jug Band. Bunch of Texans visiting Alaska during a January cold snap. But they sure could play. Good times.

Danger cold

Date: Jan. 26
Mileage: 12.5
January mileage: 399.8
Temperature upon departure: 0

Still feeling a little on the sad side. It saps through my energy like a cold blast of Siberian wind, which also happens to be whipping through town. Geoff warned me about dressing thoughtfully for riding in the "danger cold." I can't really complain about temperature, though. It's -30 in Kenai (only an hour north of here). It's -45 in Fairbanks. I'm sure if it were to suddenly jump up to zero up there, little Fairbanks kids would probably go out to recess in T-shirts. Plus, thoughtful dressing has me feeling more comfortable riding outside than I do sitting in my office (where the heater is broken!!). If only my eyelashes would stop freezing together ... in my office.

I rode about a half hour on the trainer before dinner. The effort was so smooth and sweaty and mindless that I was tempted to do another hour or so after dinner rather than ride outside. But then I checked my e-mails, and saw a nice comment from Ricky, quoting something I said yesterday and simply replying, "thanks for that." It prompted me to saddle up.

Sometimes I get caught up in routine, and it's so easy forget why I ride. All those reasons I started out with, when I first crawled onto an 18-speed and rolled down my block - they're still there. For the landscape rolling beside me. For punishing climbs and sweeping views. For cold winds and breathtaking descents. For quickness and slowness. For unpredictability. For the simple wonder of it all.

Life could become so frustrating otherwise.

Time trial(s)

Date: Jan. 25
Mileage: 16.0
January mileage: 387.3
Temperature upon departure: -2

I got some frustrating news at work today. So instead of heading to the gym as I had planned, I drove straight home and planted myself in front of my heater. I spent a healthy chunk of the evening comfort eating and trying to absorb the prospect of a bleaker future in which I spend more time locked in the cement box. At 8:00 the temperature had dropped solidly below zero so I thought - eh - why not head out for a ride.

I rode up to my usual trail, but it's still really soft. I didn't want to devastate the skiers with Kenda canyons through their pristine groomers, so I decided to try timing myself on a series of one-mile stretches - time trials.

I rode along the gravel road that parallels the trail, caked with snow and glazed with glare ice. I tore down the road on tires deflated to 25 psi (I did leave the house thinking I was going to do some snow riding), bouncing over mounds of snow and swerving through unexpected drifts. The night was so clear I could look up and see only the distant stars spattered across glowing galaxies of even more distant stars; I could look ahead and see the whitewashed landscape illuminated with all the distinction of day. Who says there's nothing to see at night?

The first mile I posted 3:40. Didn't seem all that fast, but what do I know about such things? After all, my legs were cranking about as fast as they're gonna through the subzero night (I'm starting to understand why my car spits out so much more exhaust when it gets cold.) Mile 2 was a bit slower - closer to 4 minutes, but I forgot to register the time before I turned around, so I didn't have an exact time. By mile 3, my odometer had frozen enough that I couldn't read the display very well. By mile 4, it was invisible.

On the end of mile 5, I passed a guy walking his dog. So I just continued down the road because I didn't want him to pass him again. After all, the random passerby might just assume I was bicycle commuting - an assumption that gives me the desirable quality of strength through necessity. However, if I buzzed past him two or three more times, he would start to realize that I was out there on purpose - tearing through the -2 degree night, not even going anywhere, just doing circles. And, well, that definitely qualifies me for the "crazy" label. "I don't care if you think I'm a loser. I just want you to think I'm sane."

Earthquake

Date: Jan. 23
Mileage: 20.2
January mileage: 371.3
Temperature upon departure: 1

I know, I know, I'm overdoing the frozen face self portraits. But I just love the frosty eyelash look. I really think it could be the next innovation in eye makeup technology - a bold and stunning statement that says, "look at me! I move freely in the subzero wastelands. I'm sassy!"

Geoff and I were playing Scrabble after Telluride MountainFilm fest part 2 when our first real Alaskan earthquake hit. It generated a terribly predictable rumble beneath our seats, followed by the shifting and falling of a few household items. It measured only 4.1 on the scale, but it was the second earthquake I've "felt" in my life. The first also was in Alaska, out on the North Slope. I was sprawled on the soft tundra in my sleeping bag when I long, lolling rumble nudged me awake. I think that was a 4.8 quake - a pleasant experience, really, as long as you're out in the open where nothing can fall on you.

MountainFilm 2 also was a rumbling good time. The best film tonight was a anthropological mockumentary about the "Lost Civilization" of Mountain Village, Colo. Geoff and I visited this upscale planned community once, on a bicycle tour that took us through the San Juan Mountains. We rode the free tram from Telluride to 9,500 feet, and arrived at a mass of elaborate log castles, stone masonry and Swiss chalets that would put Park City to shame. It was about 8 p.m. on a September evening, and we saw absolutely no one the entire hour we walked around up there. Not a soul.

So, when the film was about to start, Geoff said, "You remember Mountain Village?"

"Yeah," I said, "I remember it was deserted."

The lights dimmed, and the ensuing film shed a lot of light on that confusing experience three years ago. It turns out Mountain Village was very recently inhabited by an entire civilization of second-home-owning, upper-class yuppies. Then, all of the sudden, they vanished. The archaeologists in the film concluded that their demise was quickened by a number of factors, including wilderness conditions unsuitable to their Land's End sweaters, their tendancy to drive ledge-rolling Hummers and their alienation of the Telluride ski bums whose labors kept them alive. Now the souless ghosts of their civilazation hover over the slopes - a reminder of the perils of living an unsustainable lifestyle. Who knew?

Blue Monday

I read this article that said today, statistically, is the most depressing day of the year. This assessment comes from some psychologist in Britain. Really, though, it doesn't take much of a genius to place the frowny face stamp on a random Monday in January. Who's going to disagree? It's 0 degrees outside. I had to spend the whole day staring at a computer screen. And my gatorade froze solid in my car while I was running at the gym. Still, declaring a day "most depressing" when you're only 23 days into a new year does cast a rather optimistic glow over the rest of 2006, doesn't it?

Geoff and I went to see the Telluride MountainFilm festival tonight. I always enjoy these film fests (I used to catch Banff every year), but they've especially become better as they've spread themselves further from the adrenaline-pumped, Limp Bizkit-blasting outdoor porn that used to fill the playlists (sure, every year, you have to endure one long film about crazy kayak stunts. But the rest of the films usually make up for it.) Telluride offers a lot of cultural films that really aren't as intellectual as they'd like to be, but are still entertaining. However, my favorite by far was the short story of a philosophical highway flagger who keeps a diary of his musings as stands alone along a remote and rural road. He writes poems, too:

I am Flagger, You Flagee
You must slow down when you see me
Your speed determined by my hand
Your will is now at my command
The limit's 20, not 23
I am Flagger, You Flagee

I am Flagger, You Flagee
I'm begging now on bended knee
Please, won't someone notice me
I am Flagger, You Flagee

His cry for recognition reminded me of the plight of the blogger:

I am Blogger, You Blogee
You must read while you upload me
Your attention determined by my haste
Your coffee break has now been a complete waste
The url's .com, not .php
I am Blogger, You Blogee

The last stanza, of course, needs little editing:

I am Blogger, You Blogee
I'm begging now on bended knee
Please, won't someone notice me
I am Blogger, You Blogee

On a related note, T. Stormcrowe had Gizzogle translate my blog into Snoop Speak yesterday. It definitely adds a spot of urban personality to my usual bland bike reports. So I, of course, have to post a link. But I also have to put in the obligatory disclaimer: It's a little less, um, PG-rated than my blog. Funny still. Here's the report from Drug Deala, Alaska Fer shnizzle.

Skeek

I meant to take a full rest day today, but eight inches of fresh powder was just too much to resist. So I went cross-country skiing.

My timing this weekend has been absolutely impeccable. I managed more than eight hours of biking yesterday just before the big storm hit, and found a 90-minute window between blowing blizzard and more blowing blizzard to skim the smooth ski trails. (Look at that fresh track, groomed only for me. Our local Nordic ski club really stays on top of things.) That didn't change the fact that it was 5 degrees out, but for the most part, it was ideal.

Sometimes I think it's strange, given the area I grew up in, the friends I keep and the lifestyle I've adopted, that I never became more of a ski geek (or, in the lingo of the knuckle draggers I rode with in high school, a "skeek.")I just took up the sticks this year, and I dropped the hobby pretty quickly when my ice biking efforts amped up. My downhill experience is almost nonexistent. Sometimes I wonder why I don't care more about skiing.

When I started snowboarding, I think there was a general consensus among the lot that skiers were snobs who thought everyone else was too late for the party (the theory was vocalized by a very popular bumper sticker at my high school. The sticker read "Alta Sucks," a reference to a Utah ski resort that refuses entry to snowboarders. Incidently, Alta was also the name of my high school.)Maybe there was some disdain developed early. But now I'm over the hill, and all my friends ski, so there's all kinds of questions about why I don't switch ... or at least try both.

The truth is, I'm an adequate snowboarder, but I'm a flailing mess when I combine skis with any kind of downward slope. It's funny because today, on my skinny cross-country skis, I did fine - even on the steep stuff. I probably forgot that I wasn't pedaling (After all, I've circled the same trail many times on my bike.) So maybe I'm not a bad skier. Maybe I just have a little too much of that "skeek" attitude ingrained.

Five miles went by pretty fast, and I made it home with a growing blizzard riding my tail. Now there's a good 14-16 inches outside, still coming down hard. Don't think Geo will be able to clear Shelton Drive (my street, rarely plowed). I wonder how the biking will be.

Long ride

Date: Jan. 21
Mileage: ~50
January mileage: 351.1
Temperature upon departure: 19
Total riding time: 8 hours, 33 minutes
Total full-tilt falls: 2

I have a little of that serene, drugged-out drowsiness going on right now ... long ride, big dinner, warm house, storm raging outside.

Today I set out just before sunrise with the intention of putting in an 8 to 10-hour ride that would mimic my attack of the Susitna 100. To do that, I had to ride on a lot of soft, rutted trails that are just punchy and slow and there's no way around it (winter riders call this stuff "mashed potatoes" ... in my case, very lumpy mashed potatoes). I rode the ice roads, open snow (about 5 inches of powder)and Caribou Lake itself. I also did a fair amont of pushing. Any food I ate, I ate while pushing. I kept my full stops to an absolute minimum, to keep my core temperature higher, and also because it's the way I deal with the muscle strain of long rides ... just keep moving, moving, moving, and there's less time for hurt.

My odometer crapped out right at the beginning of the ride, so I have no idea how far I actually went. But taking into account trail conditions, pushing hard and fast when I could on the ice roads, and overall time walking with the bike, I think guestimating my average speed at 6 mph is more than fair. Since my stopping time was almost nonexsistent, with 8.5 hours of riding, 50 miles is probably pretty close.

That's half my race distance-wise, and probably about a third of the effort required if conditions are similar or a little worse than what they were today. So I feel pretty good about the day, because I feel pretty good right now.

For all of the calculated logistics involved, today's ride was actually very enjoyable. The distance allowed me to ride out to some of the far reaches of the established snowmachine trails in the area ... windswept, frostbitten swaths of land peppered with mongrel hemlock trees and scrub brush. The snowmachiners I met out there regarded me with varied expressions ranging from subtle amusement to outright indignation. After all, a little mountain bike rolling across the open tundra is an affront to common sense. I don't deny it. My funniest encounter came as I was bombing down a steep and narrow trail. Two snowmachines stopped on the pond below to wait for me to pass. As they waited and watched, I felt compelled to let off the brakes and tear over the trail's mogels like a drunken downhill racer. It's amazing I didn't plant myself, as I did (and did quite well) a couple of times today. As I finally rolled to the safety of the pond and passed by with a hapless wave of my mitten, a little girl sitting in front of her older brother on one of the snowmachines screamed "I told you! I knew it was a girl!"

Several snowmachiners felt compelled to stop and warn me about the storm of the century headed my way. Though a light, misty snow fell most of the day (with about a 30-minute window of sunlight), the weather couldn't have been much better. I did end my ride about an hour early because the snow started to come down hard, and I was a little concerned about my Geo making the 45-minute drive home. Still ... 50 miles ain't bad. I guess I don't know that it was 50 miles. But, as Geoff said to me yesterday, "Eight hours on a bike is eight hours on a bike."