It's official. I can't fix bikes.

Date: May 4
Mileage: 29.2
May mileage: 132.7
Temperature: 39

How much time have I wasted on a shifter cable? Enough that I really should have left my bike at the bike shop for three weeks, and given them a few hundred dollars just to keep it away from me for that long. Because if I spend any more time tightening and loosening cables and screws and staring intently at the nubbin pulley wheels on my rusted-out derailleur, I am going to throw my entire bike off my balcony and hope the devil's club grows thick enough to prevent me from ever trying to retrieve it.

I know, I know, I know. I need to learn this stuff. But people like me shouldn't be teaching themselves the procedures. That's like telling a dyslexic person they should teach themselves how to read. I have a genuine mechanical learning disability. Only because someone held my hands and guided me through every excruciating step did I learn to change a tire or put a quick link on a chain. Simple stuff baffles me. I thought the cable replacement would be easier than simple. So I browsed Sheldon Brown's and Park Tool's Web sites for a while until I got sick of trying to decipher Sanskrit. Then I propped up my bike, oiled the cable, and threaded it through the only possible places for it to go. Then I spent hours adjusting the tension and tweaking the derailleur screws just to get the thing to shift smoothly. I came close a couple of times. But then I'd try to execute a hairline tension change, only to end up with the chain skipping all over the place. In the end, I stripped the threading for one of the screws and mangled the cable, and gave up with an adjustment that is about as choppy as it would have been if I had never bothered with it all. I didn't replace the old housing, and maybe that's my problem. But it doesn't matter. I am done. Done. Done. Done.

So my new plan is to wait out this bike shop backlog by ordering a new derailleur online, and then taking the whole setup into the bike shop to have it replaced properly after things slow down. In the meantime, I think I will just slash the cable and accept my bike as a clunky three-speed.

Or put it in the basement. I thought about that. I really like riding my new mountain bike. It rides so comfortable, so smooth, and I've been making a genuine effort to keep up with the cleaning and maintenance to keep it that way. My only problem is the mud-specific tires I bought for it, which put up more rolling resistance than studs on pavement. This time of year and this location require a lot of pavement riding, so I'd be subjecting myself to much frustrating slowness if I use the Karate Monkey for every ride. At the same time, putting slicks on a mountain bike limits my trail riding options; plus, slicks on a mountain bike is just sad. And I'm not going to switch tires back and forth. I am the world's slowest tire changer. Did I mention my mechanical disability?

Too bad Ibex Bikes is sold out of all of their Corridas. Despite Roadie's problems (and they're mostly my fault after years of lax maintenance), I really like this bike. For the price, I think it's a great touring/training/commuting bike. It just needs a little TLC. And an entire set of new components.

The world at large

Date: May 2
Mileage: 19.2
May mileage: 113.5
Temperature: 41

Geoff called me from California today with some great news - he had a tough race at the Miwok 100K, couldn't sleep at all the night before, was battered by the "super hardpacked" trail, faded during the last 20 miles of the race ... and landed third place.

I thought I heard him wrong. "Thirtieth?" No. He said third. As in third place! In a field of 250 ultrarunners, completely stacked with many of the top names in the sport. Basically, Geoff had what he views as a bad race - well, maybe not bad, but not exactly at the top of his game - and still came out ahead of at least a few superstars. Scott Jurek I think came in just behind Geoff. I haven't been able to track down the results online yet, but it's pretty impressive.

Geoff's placement automatically qualifies him for Western States, which I understand to be the elite A race in this game. Unfortunately, the race falls one week after the first day of the Great Divide Race, so Geoff isn't even thinking about registering. He has his heart set on this GDR thing. Meanwhile, I'm trying to think of how I can talk him out of his dream bike tour. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to see him tackle the GDR ... but I think he can do that any year. He has this opportunity now to steamroll into the national ultrarunning scene (and yes, in my biased view, he could steamroll into it.) And he's just letting the opportunity pass by. But, he never listens to me anyway, so ... eh.

Today I had lunch with a woman who tracked me down through my blog. Kate is a Minnesotan, in town for a few weeks as an Americorps volunteer, landed on my blog while she was researching the area and wanted to meet me. I felt really weird about an Internet stranger date, but we had a great lunch. We don't even have that much in common - she's not really all that into hiking and camping, although she's being subjected to it in a rather brutal fashion here in cold and rainy Southeast Alaska. But we talked and laughed and connected for a few hours before I had to be at work. She would be a fun friend if she had any permanent plans for Juneau - which she doesn't. But the experience of that brief connection made me realize that the Internet reaches deeper into my life than I even know.

I say this because I have been feeling heartbroken about Elden (aka Fat Cyclist) Nelson's recent news about his wife's surprising turn for the worse in her battle with cancer. I've never met Elden or his wife, but he has been very supportive of me in my comparatively trivial cycling challenges, and this news has hit me hard. Like many in Elden's legions of fans, I'm unsure how to react. How do you tell a man you've never met and a woman who doesn't even know you exist that you care about them and are thinking about them? The gesture is simple, but the emotions behind it are harder to qualify. I've never been the strong link in my interpersonal relationships, but I do know real love and support can connect across places as vast and vague as the Internet. So I guess the best thing to do is reach out.

Six hours of May Day

Date: May 1
Mileage: 94.3
May mileage: 94.3
Temperature: 43

Today was an amazing day. The first time I've felt strong on a bike in more than a month.

I've been fighting off a slump since late March. I haven't blathered about it too much on my bike blog, because, frankly, it had me a little bit worried. I wasn't injured or sick. I had just lost all of my edge. Everything that made me feel good and strong at the end of a day rather than trashed had faded. I was worried the edge was gone for good. It all started the day I rode an unintentional but effortless century on March 20. I felt so great that I set out the next day with Geoff and rode a 50-miler on the Pugsley. That was the day I blew up. Limped home from that ride, confused about why I felt so terrible. I didn't feel even close to 100 percent a week later, and about week after that I took a forced break from the bike, several days at least. But each day away, I just felt tired and irritated. When I started biking again, I was as bad as ever. I kept up my mileage because of habit, hope, and because it was a way to spend time with Geoff when he was amping up his own bike training. Luckily I wasn't training for anything because most of those rides I was just striving to survive them, rarely pushing very hard, although I was giving all I had to give.

Why the big slump? I never knew for sure. It definitely wasn't that century, although that may have been the proverbial straw. Geoff thinks it was a belated reaction to the Ultrasport and all of the preparation that led up to it, of which I never gave myself much recovery time, mentally or physically. It seemed unlikely to me that I was experiencing a physical blowup that long after the fact. I thought it was entirely mental. But that didn't explain why I was so grumpy when I took my self-imposed bike break, or why, even on the days I was excited about a ride and determined to push a certain limit, I couldn't coax my body to go anywhere near it.

In the past two weeks I had become more accustomed to the somewhat weakened version of myself. I got more excited about bike commuting and other bike-related goals that weren't necessarily competitive. But I did want to do this 24-hour race at the end of June. I wanted to do it as well as I could. So I planned this eight-week loose training regimen that was to begin Monday. I wheedled my way out of the first two days, and today was to be my first weekly long ride (I like to start at six hours, work my way incrementally to 10 or 11, and then pull back.)

The trails are still slush-covered. It was going to have to be a road ride. But I don't currently have a working road bike (well, I guess I have a three-speed. But none of them are speeds I like.) Anyway, I took the Karate Monkey. I figured it would be slow, but six hours is six hours. I headed north with a light east wind at my side. I noticed that, like yesterday morning, I felt pretty strong out of the gate. I didn't think it would last long. The day wasn't particularly enthralling - mostly overcast and drab. But, surprisingly, it was one of those days in which I felt better and better as I went. I didn't stop much so I didn't take many pictures. I just rode at my comfortable pace, and hit the end of the road before the three-hour mark had passed, took my short snack break (had to hurry because the recently thawed fall mosquitoes were out in full force), and turned around.

It would have totally come in under six hours - I probably could have even done a spur to make it a century - except for the wind turned south and kicked up a harsh 20 mph headwind for the last 10 miles home. I think I ended at about 6:05. About a 15.5 mph overall average, including two short breaks. I know it's not impressive for pavement, but for me, riding the big bike and its fat knobby tires, after a monthlong slump ... I'll take it.

Maybe I'm back? I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Night detour

Date: April 30
Mileage: 44.5
April mileage: 789.6
Temperature: 41

Twilight hadn't yet faded to black when I left work this evening. Long day, and I neglected to make dinner again. My heart was still racing from a carb-bender meal of generic multigrain crackers and Kudos bars. I pulled my headlamp over my helmet and cinched up my big backpack full of office gear, and unlocked my mountain bike from a staircase railing. I had promised myself I would fix my road bike and thus do nothing to convert the mountain bike to a commuter. But as I looked around to illuminate all of my surroundings, I began to realize how much more comforting it was not to have my only source of light fixed on the road.

Condensed breath swirled in my headlamp like fog. Above I could still see outlines of clouds. No stars or moon, but no rain either. My work week was over; my mind was deep fried and badly in need of an oil change. My stomach gurgled and the idea of a protein snack and a late night of zoning out sounded appealing, but for some strange reason, I was in no rush to get home. Without even thinking much about it, I banked left off the bike path and veered onto the Salmon Creek Trail.

My headlamp illuminated wet gravel, but the trail pitches so steep so quickly that for a little while all I could see were swirling red dots. By the time the trail leveled out enough to let me steady my handlebars and catch my breath, it was covered in snow. The night chill had laid a nice crust, and I was able to ride on top without much effort. I continued that way until the foot path narrowed and I could no longer hold my line. When I stopped, the silence was complete.

Craggy silhouettes of spruce trees blocked out the sky and I looked over my shoulder, south. For the first time in all of my busy day, I wondered what Geoff was doing at that moment. I imagined he was somewhere in northern California, curled up in a tent. The same tent we packed in the trunk when we drove the length and width of the Lower 48 in my car. The same tent I hauled across the country on the back of my touring bike. I sold that bike a long time ago, and used the money to buy a bike rack for my car. Now my car just sits, going nowhere. Sometimes it seems like nothing remains.

As I rode back toward town, I thought I saw a shadow dart across the trail. A deer or more likely nothing, it startled me enough to slam on the brakes and jump off the bike. I probed the woods with my headlamp but saw nothing. I could hear Salmon Creek now, gurgling downhill, but I could not see it, either. As I walked toward the woods for a better view of the phantom shadow, my foot broke through the crust and my shoe filled with cold water. I yelped and fell backward. The water moved on effortlessly beneath the snow, the only sound to fill a lonely night. I sat for a minute, and let it soak in.

Sticking with snow

Date: April 28 and 29
Mileage: 14.2 and 13
April mileage: 745.1
Temperature: 47

This week was to be the first week of my re-entry into serious training. I had goals: ride tempo pace, put in longer mileage, sprint for real this time, attack the hills, go to the 24 Hours of Light and race the boys. On Monday, I planned to inaugurate my summer schedule with a tempo hill climb on the Eaglecrest road. But seven miles into the ride, my rear shifter cable snapped. I pulled over the side of the road to remove the dragging cable and assess how much I still wanted to climb a five-mile-long hill in my highest gear on back. As I threaded the broken cable through its housing, I saw it was frayed nearly throughout. I started to wonder if my cables had ever been switched out ... on a bike with somewhere between 10,000 and 12,000 miles on it. I examined the brake cables and front shifter cable, also frayed in spots and nearly separated at the ends, held together in threads by the end cap. As I loosed the cable bolt on the derailleur, I noticed its cogs had been worn nearly smooth. No spikes were left to hold the chain. There are always little problems with my bike that I ignore and ignore. But when I add them all up, Roadie is one sick puppy.

So I took my bike into the only bike shop in town and told them I wanted all new cables and housing and a new rear derailleur and the wheels trued if they could get to it. They told me they were backlogged now at least two and a half weeks, maybe three weeks. Indeed, they had so many bikes stacked up in the shop that an entire wall of merchandise wasn't even accessible. Roadie is supposed to be my commuter, my base miles bike. I didn't want him gone for three weeks. I bought two shifter cables and a new bike lock - the shifter cables on the optimistic chance that I motivate to do my own repairs even when I know the rear derailleur is shot, and the new bike lock so I can feel more secure about riding my brand new mountain bike to work on the better chance that I don't motivate to fix Roadie very soon (threading cables is something I've only done once under the watchful eye of Geoff, and I'm concerned that I don't know how to properly tighten the cables, and also about the fact that I don't own a pair of wire cutters.)

Either way, Monday as a training day was shot. Today I had planned to go to the gym to restart my weight lifting routine, but when I woke up, the sun was beginning to burn through a bank of fog, and the outside thermometer read 33 degrees. That must mean there was a freeze last night, I thought, and the day looked to be clearing but still cool. You can't buy better spring snowbiking weather than that, and it seemed a shame to waste it.

So I dragged Pugsley up the Dan Moller Trail. The sun was already burning hot by the time I reached the trailhead, and the snow was starting to mush up in spots. But in the shade it was hard and fast, and so crinkled with the deep waves of snowmobile moguls that I felt like I was on a mash-potato-smeared roller coaster. The sun spots were greasy enough that I had to stand and drag my right foot on the ground like a ski/brake just to keep the front wheel from swerving all over the place. The muscle burn was real, and I remember thinking I didn't have to go to the gym to get a focused workout for my quads. I was bucked off the bike a couple of times but always giggling about it. The snow becomes less ideal every day, and still I have a hard time giving it up. It's my comfort zone, my release. It's hard to worry about repairs and tools and goals when you are just trying to hold a straight line down a slippery trail.

But, Wednesday, Wednesday I'll get on track with my training. What did I have on the schedule? More Pugsley?

Rocky start

Date: April 27
Mileage: 31.5
April mileage: 717.9
Temperature: 45

The rain was coming in sideways when I felt my rear rim dragging on pavement. I pulled over to the side of the road to assess where I was; I had been squinting into the dim yellow circle cast by my headlight for so long that I wasn’t even sure. I shifted my trunk bag to reach my repair gear when it dawned on me that the headlight was in fact my only source of light. There was no way to illuminate the wheel so I could change the flat. I clip clopped in my cleats down the road, grumbling about how I really should have switched out my pedals when I had the chance. I walked nearly a half mile before I reached the nearest street light. Slimy brake dust goo and grit dripped down my fingers as I removed the rim. The rest of the flat change went quickly, but as I stood up to leave, I realized that the jeans I was wearing, covered by my very best pair of rain pants, had already soaked through. The denim chafed and scraped my thighs as I started pedaling. Stupidly, I had left them on because I thought they would keep me warmer than my wet tights. I stopped to adjust my pants. It was 11:15 p.m. My socks were soaked. My gloves were soaked. The headwind was so strong I had barely cracked 10 mph since I left work. "Could this commute be going much worse?" I thought. That's when I noticed my red blinkie was missing from my trunk bag.

Today was day five of my summer as an everyday bicycle commuter. Today was also day five of my summer as a single person. I can’t say either is going very well, but at least I can still attribute the glitches to growing pains. Packing for the commute has been an experiment in disarray. I've been using a rear pannier, a trunk bag and a Camelbak just to carry all the crap I have with me, and still every day I forget something crucial ... my bike lock, a salad I had planned to eat for dinner, dry socks, the key card I need to get into the building. When the weather is similar to what it has been these past two days - steady rain with sustained 20-25 mph winds - I've learned I need two pairs of gloves, two pairs of underwear, two pairs of socks, rain coat and pants, my regular bike clothes, and my work clothes. If I don't carry two pairs of regular bike clothes, I either have to put wet clothes on when I leave, or wear my work clothes home, as I did yesterday. My office is set up "newsroom" style (i.e. a cubicle without the cubicle) Company decorum dictates that I can't hang up wet clothes everywhere, so everything but my coat and pants gets stuffed in a drawer, where it stays wet.

As I suspected, the wetness has been tough. I still get out in the morning for workouts. Today I did a quick-but-strenuous block of intervals over 19 miles, came home soaked, took a shower, and then had to head back out in the weather to go to work.

And I have to admit that I leave work thinking, "Hmm. I could be in a warm car right now. I could be home in 10 minutes." I leave work at 11 and all I'm interested in is being at home. I do not want to be riding my bike in the rain.

I also miss my dinner breaks. I used to take an hour every day to go home and eat dinner with Geoff. Now that he's gone, there's no reason for me to go home for dinner. So instead I take about 20 minutes and eat a salad in the company break room. Spending my entire shift at the office sure makes the workday seem longer. But I'm not about to go back out in the weather.

That said, I'm going to stick with the bike commuting. I'm hoping routine kicks in to make it less stressful, and experience kicks in to make it more enjoyable. I figure bike commuting is like endurance racing ... suffering is what makes the experience worthwhile.

Video blog: Beach cruising

Date: April 26
Mileage: 24.2
April mileage: 686.4
Temperature: 49

Yes, I know these videos are pretty silly. But I have fun with them. Isn't that what matters?

Today's song is "My Rights Versus Yours," by the New Pornographers.