Hiking with Geoff

Because Geoff and I are both into the Outdoors and both spend a large chunk of our time involved in outdoor activities, I think most of our friends just assume we spend a lot of time outdoors together. This couldn't be further from reality. There are a handful of good reasons for this: Right at the top, our schedules (I work nights and weekends; he works mornings on weekdays.) Then there's the fact we both value our solo time, usually have different training goals (which means he runs and I can't keep up with him) and also have different ideas about what makes for a fun few hours outdoors (which means I go out and ride my road bike in the rain and he darts up muddy trails and we both believe the other is enduring hell on earth.) So any time Geoff and I go outside together, it's actually a rare event ... a novelty. A date.

Today he actually agreed to go hiking, one of our rarest dates of all. I think even if I had perfect memory, I could still count on one hand the number of times Geoff and I have hiked together in two years in Juneau. Geoff does not hike. Geoff runs. The way he sees it, it could take him two hours to run ten miles up a crazy steep mountain and back, or it could take him five. He'd just rather bust it out in two. For him, the five-hour effort is twice as hard, but that's what he gets when he has to follow his stumbling, slow girlfriend up the mountain. Lucky for me, he's planning to run a marathon tomorrow (his first!), so he didn't mind doing a "low impact" walk up Blackerby Ridge. ("I don't think my heart rate went above 100" he told me as we were crabwalking down the sheer ladder of roots that we had to climb up for a vertical half-mile just to reach the ridge.) I, on the other had, would have redlined at anything faster than 1.5 mph.

(Geoff carried a cold Pepsi and a bag of Sun Chips for his "peak" snack - I have taught him well.)

The ridge was pretty well socked in with clouds and the views were obscured at best, so having Geoff there definitely made all the difference between a fun hike and a fairly disappointing one. We finally discussed at length what went down the last few days of his GDR, including psychoanalysis about whether or not he really "had" to quit. I said yes, his motor stopped firing, he was done. He still thinks there may have been a few tricks the kick start his sputtering engine, and it was great fun to speculate about what might have worked as we slid down the muddy trail. Before I knew it, we were back to the trailhead. It was a solid five hours, but one of my more effortless-seeming workouts in a while. Yes, solo outdoor activities are a wonderful thing. But company is kinda nice, too.

Goodbye July part 2

Date: July 29 and 31
Mileage: 20.1 and 95.4
July mileage: 747
Temperature: 50 and 52

I had a bit of a disappointing bicycle month, so I thought I'd try to bump up the ol' monthly mileage today by riding a quick out-the-road-and-back-and-then-some century. I waited around all morning for some kind of break in the weather, and when that didn't come, I set out at 1:30 p.m. in the rain. I still hoped to be home in time for tentative dinner plans - not that I really believed I could crank out a five-hour century, but I was hopeful for something close - and motivated by the prospect of getting out of the rain as soon as possible.

Things went really well on the way out. I zoned and zoomed and hit Echo Cove with my average still well above 18 mph, feeling strong. That all fell apart, of course, once I turned around. I ate a Power Bar at Echo Cove, but hit a bit of a bonk about 10 miles later (I'm notorious for not eating until I have to, and never enough.) So I reached into my side pocket only to realize that both bags of Shot Bloks had fallen out (um, oops.) Oh well. I've taken my aversion to eating-while-riding far enough, often enough to know that there's no great danger or even all that much discomfort in being hungry on the bike. But it does make me slower. So my hopeful five hours was already pushing toward six, and then I got a flat tire. It took me forever to fix, because my spare tube failed and I spent at least 10 minutes probing the punctured tube for its microscopic leak so I could patch it. It's actually pretty funny how frustrated I become when I am trying to do simple field repairs. It's a part of my psychology I really need to work on, because I let the shadow of that flat tire and all the time I lost fixing it hover over me for the rest of the ride. Luckily, I caught up to a bike commuter near town, and having someone to ride and talk with did help distract me from my wet glower. Riding with him also caused me to skip my spur that would have made the ride an actual century rather than just a fairly uneventful 95 miles, but I was late and had pretty much had it by then anyway. I really need to learn to do that spur at the beginning of the ride.

It was after 7:30 by the time I got home, but Geoff didn't care because he had stayed late at the gym anyway. We ended up meeting up and having dinner with a friend who had a long layover between Anchorage and Seattle, so it all worked out. Our friend peppered us with stories about all the fun stuff he did in Anchorage because it was warm and beautiful today. "It was pretty clear until we were about 10 minutes from here," he said, "and then we just flew into this dark cloud."

Yup. What can you say? It really doesn't end, and as complainy as I've been, I guess I'm OK with that. Only three more months until snow!

Goodbye July

Date: July 2008
Days of rain: 30
Total rainfall: 8.2"
Wettest day: July 18, 1.88"
Only dry day: July 2, 0.0"
Days the high temperature was over 60: 7
Days the high temperature was over 60 since July 5: 2
Days the high temperature was below 50: 2
Mean temperature for the month: 52.6
Forecast for the first four days of August:
... Priceless.

Sometimes, all you need is elevation

The call from my co-worker came at 10:09 a.m. "Do you think you'd have time for four extra pages today?" he asked.

"Wait, what?" I replied, still a little groggy from waking up late and lingering way too long over breakfast and blogs.

"If I told you Ted Stevens was indicted today, and we were going to create a whole big package to cover it, would you be able to do a few extra pages?"

"Wait, really?" I said, again, feeling a little stupid that in all of my blogging, I had missed that little news item. "Wow, so that finally went down. Yeah, I can do it. Do I have time to go for a hike?"

"I encourage it," my co-worker said. "It's finally nice out today."

I looked out the window. The mountains were obscured by a large bank of fog. Little drops still rippled through the massive puddles on the porch. "Um, OK," I said. "I'll see you at 2." I got dressed, laced up my shoes and darted out the door. I forgot my watch, so I had to pace myself by snapping photos and glancing at the time stamp on the screen.

Time: 10:30 a.m.
On the iPod: "Supermassive Black Hole," Muse
Thoughts: What is that bright light up there? Could that possibly be the sun, breaking through the clouds? It seems impossible, but ...

Time: 10:37 a.m.
On the iPod: "No Peace, Los Angeles," Mike Doughty
Thoughts: I can't believe they actually indicted Sen. Stevens. It seemed inevitable, but at the same time ... wow. The guy is beloved. He has an airport named after him. I wonder if they'll change the name of the Anchorage airport if he ends up in a federal prison? Uncle Ted "Jailbird" Stevens International.

Time: 10:43 a.m.
On the iPod: "Blame it on the Tetons," Modest Mouse
Thoughts: I feel so much better than I did yesterday. I was just going to go to the gym for an hour, try to wait out my funk, but I'm glad I decided to go out. I think those clouds to the south really are thinning. Maybe if I can climb high enough, the fog will clear.

Time: 11:09 a.m.
On the iPod: "I'm Not An Addict," K's Choice
Thoughts: Hmm, when did I download this song? It reminds me of 1997 ... that perfect spring morning with the windows of Liz's car rolled down and my arm stretched out in the warm air. I think we were commuting to a drawing competition at that west-side high school. Taylorsville? Strange that's all it took back then to create a memorable day - warm air, a little sunshine, the freedom of legally ditching school on a weekday to draw all day and flirt with west-side boys. I remember I won a T-shirt in the contest, but I think everyone did.

Time: 11:28 a.m.
On the iPod: "Girl Sailor," The Shins
Thoughts: This looks so much friendlier than it did a week ago. Where is all of the snow?

Time: 11:31 a.m.
On the iPod: "Sleeping Lessons," The Shins
Thoughts: Oh ... great.

Time: 11:47 a.m.
On the iPod: "Happy," The Wrens
Thoughts: I must have this song stashed in every one of my mixes by now. It still takes me back to the Kuskokwim River, walking my bike through an endless sugar bowl. When I first heard it that dark morning, with the sound of crickets chirping through the soft introduction, I just assumed the crickets were real. It never occurred to me back then that it was 30 below, and there were no crickets. I wonder how long it took me to figure that out? And wait, how much time do I have? Oh no ... it's 11:47? I should have turned around 15 minutes ago. Oh well, I can just skip lunch. 100 more feet ... then I'll go back.

Time: 12:02 p.m.
On the iPod: "Hate," Fiction Plane
Thoughts: What are you doing? It's after noon! Turn around now! Ted Stevens indicted ... could be the biggest news day for Juneau all year ... lots to do ... not the day to be late for work ... people will be angry ... but look at all that blue sky ... and the peak is right there.

Time: 12:12 p.m.
iPod: Off
Thoughts: Dear Mount Jumbo,
Thanks, I feel much better now.
Sincerely, Jill.

SAD-light summer

Date: July 28
Mileage: 38.2
July mileage: 631.5
Temperature: 48

I felt just over the blah side of awful on my morning ride today - couldn't turn my legs over very fast; couldn't climb; couldn't zone away the general malaise after several miles of warm-up. Every time I have a bad ride like that, I look for reasons why. Overtraining? Hardly. I'm not even training right now. Too much time on the bike? My bike time is barely half what it was in May, and likely would be less if I had more opportunities to go hiking. So, I concluded, the struggle must be psychological.

It's sinking in, this summer. My friend confided that he had resorted to cooking himself all of his most desperate winter comfort foods. Several people have told me they dug their full-spectrum SAD lights out of storage and switched them on. Then today, I was walking by a cubicle when I was hit with a blinding flash of white. "What is that bright light?" I wondered, and squinted toward it. "Oh, it's a SAD light. How sad." The jokes about pot roasts and SAD lights in July were pretty funny, until they weren't jokes.

I know I have no mandate to complain about the weather. No one in Alaska moves here for the weather, and I distinctly signed up for Southeast Alaska knowing full well what I was getting myself into. But my status as a former desert baby and northern country expat means I have no background to draw on when the coping gets tough. We are products of our environment, and it's been a long time since my last vitamin D fix. So I joked about how ready I am for summer to be over already so snow can rescue us from some of this rain, and it was pretty funny, until it wasn't a joke.

During the dark winter, I always believed that getting outside every day would help me push through seasonal malaise. Until now, it always did. But that's not so much the case this summer. I actually feel worse when I'm outside, and start to feel a bit better as the work day drags on, when my eyes are fixed on a computer screen and my back to the window. Maybe the fact that it is summer makes coping harder. Deep down I know that September and October are coming, and there will be no respite or relief. Geoff has been hinting that he's not coming back to Juneau after the Wasatch 100 in September. His plans for extracting himself from this place made for pretty funny jokes, until they weren't jokes.

But just because I'm a little blue right now doesn't mean I'm ready to follow him out. I still love this area, in the same way I'll still love my cat even when she's old and smelly and can't always make it to the litter box. I always knew we'd come to a tipping point. But why did it have to be July?

New road

Date: July 27
Mileage: 35.4
July mileage: 593.3
Temperature: 50

As this soggy month trickles to a close (and we all just want it to be over already), I have been dredging the dregs of motivation for reasons to go out for a ride. No longer can I drag myself out there with half-hearted musings about how fresh everything smells in the rain, or scoldings about all of the chocolate chips I have eaten this month, or ambitions to train for races in which I may or may not even be able to afford to show up at the starting line. No, I don't want to ride today. Simple and plain.

But Geoff and I started talking about possible new routes yesterday and he asked me if I had seen the new road the city is building to the top of Eaglecrest Ski Area. They've been at it all summer, they're probably halfway up the mountain by now, and I had never even bothered to check it out. I envisioned a gentle access road switchbacking all the way up to the ridge, where I could chug to the top, grab a narrow deer trail through the pristine wilderness, and ride down to the other side of the island, where Christian Bale would be waiting in his yacht to whisk me away to places where the sun comes out in July. It was a beautiful dream, and I was suddenly excited to set out Sunday morning on an exploration ride.

But Sunday morning did not make it easy, with a hard wind out of the south, pissing rain and the temperature just a click or two above 50. I just put my head down and squinted at the white line on the road for 15 miles. But as I rounded the final curve to the ski area, I looked up just long enough to see a dark brown scar carved into the slope. There really was a new road there, and I half hoped it would end in a half mile so I could go home and take a hot shower already, and half hoped it would take me to the west side of Douglas Island, my imaginary yacht, and the warmer climes I deserved.

The road was steep and rough and a beast to climb, which in itself was a nice diversion. I redlined up the final pitch and found an abrupt dead end about two miles beyond the pavement, so I set down my bike and waded through calf-deep mud around a couple of construction vehicles to see what lay beyond. There wasn't much - a swamp, a few distressed spruce trees, and the profile of the ridge still hundreds of feet above the half-finished road. But there was promise ... the promise that someday soon I will be able to ride my bike all the way up these mountains; the promise of greatly expanded access to winter trails across the expanse of the Douglas Island Ridge; the promise of more miles.

I feel really excited about the possibilities of the new road, especially once the snow flies and covers up the mud and swamps with sweet, packable powder. It's not much to keep me going through this soggy summer, but I'll take it.

Tram run

Date: July 26
Mileage: 21.4
July mileage: 557.9
Temperature: 52

On Saturday, just as it did the night before my second-ever running race on June 7, the weather forecast called for high 40s and rain. So I stacked up my wool socks and my water-resistant jacket and a bunch of other stuff I thought I would need to slog through four or so miles in the cold mush. And today, just as it did the morning of my second-ever running race, sunlight streamed through a fluid opening in the clouds. Sunlight! Real sunlight! The first I have seen, in any capacity, since July 1. Three weeks. Three and a half? I stood by the window, struck still in a sort of appreciative awe only deprivation can generate, never mind I had this running race, my third-ever, to be at in less than an hour. I choked down two bowls of cereal, never quite taking my eyes off the window. I cast aside my wool and water-resistant layers and adorned myself in free-flowing synthetics. I packed up my bike bag and darted out the door.

Into the sunlight with the iPod pumping Sublime, I was encompassed in a manic rush I could hardly contain. I laid into the pedals, 23 mph, 24 mph, heart racing, head spinning, legs so light I half-believed I could launch off the pavement, into the air, right there. Never mind I was commuting to a running race, hardly the time for a bike sprint, but the sunlight had this hold on me, and I rushed toward it as though it were already fading away from me, which it was. Thick clouds were already creeping in from the south. I didn't look that way. I looked north, to the future. North to the Mount Roberts trailhead.

Unfortunately, by the time I reached the race start at the Mount Roberts Tramway, my sprint had caught up to my breakfast, and I felt really queasy. I pinned on my number and stood on the sidewalk staring straight ahead, which is what I do when I'm trying to combat motion sickness. Geoff caught up to me and we lined up with the other competitors. The clock struck 9 a.m., and then some more time went by, and then some little kids finished the one-mile dash, and then we were off.

(At the start of the race, staring up in wonder at the sky. That patch of blue is what people in Juneau call a "sucker hole," because if you believe it means the weather's clearing up, you're a sucker.)

Weaving through traffic, I settled in behind two guys that I thought were setting a good pace for me. But as we curved up Franklin and merged with Sixth Street, their pace didn't slow with the rapidly rising gradient, and for some reason I stayed with them even as my stomach lurched and head spun. By the time I reached the the Basin Road bridge, my shadow was already fading beneath the gray pall in the sky, and I was a sputtering flame. Did I really burn up all my matches before I even reached the trailhead? I didn't want to think about it. But I let those guys pull away as I began the determined hike (yes, hike) up the steep, muddy, rain-soaked trail.

Once I was walking, I started to feel better again, and actually started passing people (I learned later that many competitors walk most of the Tram Run, unless they're Superfreaks like Geoff.) Through the thick tree cover I could see the clouds closing in. I removed my sunglasses, bid another silent goodbye to the swift summer, and marched, onward and upward.

By the time I climbed above treeline and touched the cross, I was finally starting to feel normal. My endurance muscles were kicking in; my head was settling into auto-zone; I saw more elevation and I wanted to march, march, march ever higher. But, in the nature of all of my short races, this one was over just when I was starting to feel warmed up. I greeted Geoff, who won the race in an unfathomable (to me at least) 32:54. My time was 49:36, which was actually good enough for fourth place out of 13 women. The winning woman had a time of 44:12. I have no idea how long this race is. My guess is four miles. Climbs about 2,000 feet.

I was digging through the race results page to figure out what my and Geoff's times were, and discovered that I did a lot better than I thought in the June 7 Spring Tide Scramble - seventh place out of 32 females. I think I could really get into this whole trail running thing. Well, except for the training part. I like racing. I don't like running. So as long as I have bicycles, I don't really envision myself heading out for a training run. But maybe I will enter another race this summer. Next weekend is the half marathon. Should I do it? I will if it makes the sun come out.