Christmas Eve

Date: Dec. 24
Mileage: 12.1
December mileage: 658.4
Temperature upon departure: 23

My boss gave me an unexpected day off today. Geoff had to work. I finally put Pugsley back together after getting a new free wheel installed, and managed to mangle the chain during a particularly bad case of chain suck. Now I'm going to have to order a new one. Lately, Pugsley's been sick more often than he's been healthy. But there wasn't much I could do about it on Christmas Eve, so I went for a hike.

I worked hard to reach the Douglas Island Ridge, and decided to walk along the spine for a while and see if I could make it to sunset. Low clouds on Admiralty Island promised the possibility of some spectacular colors, and it seemed like the ideal Christmas Eve situation: Watch the sunset at 3,000 feet, sprint down the mountain in the twilight, and ride home beneath an emerging pattern of stars, all while scanning the sky with that same kind of childlike anticipation that my sister and I used to feel when I snuck into her room and we stayed up late on Santa Watch.

That would have been ideal it if wasn't for the awful wind. It was hard to tell from lower on the mountain how bad it really was up high, because the slopes had been scoured clean by earlier winds and there wasn't much powder blowing around. But when I reached the top, I discovered the surface snow was as hard as concrete, and even still, 50-60 mph gusts would find loose grains of frigid, dry powder to blast right in my face. I wasn't dressed warmly enough for that kind of windchill - with an air temperature of 13, it was probably close to 10 below - but thought I could hang for 45 minutes if I kept moving, knowing I could always retreat back down to the wind-protected basin.

I couldn't hang. I started to feel uncomfortable, and then concerningly cold. I turned my back on sunset and blasted down the steep slope in long, loping strides (a lot like beginner powder skiing without the death wish.) I had to enjoy the subtler reflections of sunset on the eastern peaks, but was happier for getting myself out of the wind.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good ride.

New York Times coverage

I don't have much of my own content to add today, but I wanted to post a link to this great New York Times article about the Iditarod Trail Invitational. There's an embedded video on the Web site that is probably my favorite piece of reporting I have ever found about this race. The video follows race organizers Bill and Kathi Merchant as they conduct a winter training camp for those who plan to attempt the race this March. It captures so well the transition - well, it's more of a startling realization - between the expectations about the Iditarod Trail and the realities of it. The two men at the winter camp, George Azarias and Aidan Harding, start out with the usual "easy explanation" Iditarod banter: "Oh yeah, we're crazy, we don't know why we're here. The guys go out on the trail, eat some nasty yellow glop, push their bikes for a while, and, suddenly, you can see that moment of truth in the face of George - the moment that I think every rookie experiences - the "holy cow, this is real" moment: "People think, OK, this race takes seven days. 350 divided by seven, that's 50 miles a day. On a road bike, easy, you do that in three, four hours, max," George says. His eyes widen. Cut to pushing a bike up a steep snow berm. "It's (voice becomes quieter) ... it's so hard. You need to struggle to survive."

Perfect. Great video reporting from the New York Times. Go watch it!

Day 11 of sun

Date: Dec. 22
Mileage: 27.5
December mileage: 646.3
Temperature upon departure: 14

Eleven days have passed and I'm still in awe of this clear, colorful, holy-cow-you-can-see-forever weather. Today was likely the last day of sun, with a Tuesday forecast calling for seven inches of snow. But it's been a good run, and I'm not complaining. I'm fairly certain this has been the longest stretch of consecutive dry days since I moved to Juneau two and a half years ago.

"Clear weather is such a waste this time of year," Geoff told me. "For every clear day you get, what, six hours of sunlight? And none of it's direct sunlight. I'd rather have three sunny days in the summer then 11 in December."

I disagree. The winter is such a beautiful time of year, in my opinion, and the clear sky opens up jaw-dropping views that catch me off guard even after two and a half years. Just today, I headed out North Douglas for a mellow "endurance pace" two-hour ride and a quick jaunt on the Mendenhall Wetlands. I was so focused on trying to hold my line and keep the studded-rubber-side down atop papery ice that I almost rolled right into the Channel. As I looked up from where the water met the frozen shoreline, I was met with the searing white cliffs of the Mendenhall Towers and the light blue glacier below it. I looked left to a sharp view of the Chilkats, and right to the rolling outline of Blackerby Ridge. How many times have I seen these geographical features? And from how many angles? And still, the same reaction hits me: "This place is unreal."

Beyond that, the wetland rides have been really fun, although pretty precarious. There is certainly a limit to what studded tires can handle, and I have been skirting the edge of those limits all week. Still, I love the shimmer and sparkle of glare ice. I'm going to miss it when the snow returns.

Yup, that's my happy face.

Look at that line and tell me that doesn't look fun.

No one said winter sun in Juneau doesn't come at a price. This photo didn't turn out so well, but I was trying to show my handy compass/ emergency whistle/ firestarter / thermometer giving a reading of about 10 degrees. Oh, and that black streak on my fingers isn't frostbite - it's chain grease. :-)

Also, I wanted to post a link to a "Ghost Trails" book review by Sandra in Brisbane, Australia. I nearly forgot to post it, as it was written about a week ago, but it's very flattering. Thanks, Sandra.

"When I put the book down I had this sad feeling I get sometimes when I fall in love with a book character and have to say good-bye after sharing such an intense and intimate time. I was wishing that she had taken up the invitation of Kathi to continue on, all the way to Nome, adding another hundreds of miles to the race and consequently more pages to this amazing story. "

You can read the review here.

I have received a number of insightful e-mails from readers, and wanted to thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts. I wanted to post some quotes, but decided against it because e-mails are generally intended as private communications. I also got in a little trouble earlier this month for posting part of an e-mail on this blog, because the woman who wrote to me had intended to give the book to her sister as a Christmas gift. Whoops. Sorry. :-)

If anyone is interested in some holiday reading, the offer is still out for free PDF copies of the eBook for any blogger who doesn't mind taking the time to write a review. Just e-mail me at jillhomer66@hotmail.com or leave a comment here.

Shoutout from the South Pole

Claire "Down in Antarctica" sent me this photo, and I had to share it because it's so cool. That's the South Pole (the South Pole!) and that's a sign for me (for me!) right next to it. So cool. What a great Christmas present. Thanks, Claire.

Claire told me they are currently enjoying balmy (read: Frigid) summer weather on the South Pole, where she works for a physics project called "Icecube." She offered to traverse the continent on a bicycle with me if I ever decide to do so. Careful, Claire, I might just take you up on that offer.

Solstice

Date: Dec. 21
Mileage: 38.1
December mileage: 618.8
Temperature upon departure: 23

Dec. 21 is a big day in Alaska. And not because it's the first day of winter, which no one gives much thought to, because most Alaskans have been thinking about winter since October. And not because it's a solstice, a designation that no one gives much thought to on June 21 when they're kicking back in lawn chairs, sipping cold drinks and watching the sun set at 11 p.m. No, Dec. 21 is a big day because it's the winter solstice. The day that brings the light.

I rode out to the glacier today, and the area was packed with people. Ice skaters weaved around each other in erratic lines like water skeeters on the surface of a blindingly blue pond. The low sunlight sparkled on the frozen lake. I ventured out onto the glare ice for the first time. I'm terrified of riding glare ice. I've washed out enough with my studded tires to know they're not slip-proof, and I don't have any traction on my shoes to back me up. But I saw enough people out walking on the lake that I let my guard down, picked my bee-line so I wouldn't have to turn or use my brakes, and pedaled toward the blindingly blue towers at the end of the lake - the age-old glacier ice.

Normally I shy away from crowds, but I was happy to see all the people on the lake. It warms my heart when people go outside simply to enjoy the winter air and the noon sun hovering at its lowest point of the year. It's four days before Christmas and everyone I passed said, "Happy Solstice." They know the real reason why nearly every major culture in the Northern Hemisphere saves its biggest celebration for this time of year. The coming of the light.

Yeah solstice.

On ice

Date: Dec. 19 and 20
Mileage: 4.0 and 23.4
December mileage: 580.7
Temperature upon departure: 7

I've had actual requests to start listing the departure temperatures in my daily ride stats. I think I stopped posting them back in July, when I got tired of typing boring old 50-something every day. Temperatures get interesting again in the winter, and more meaningful for my future reference, so back they go. It was 7 degrees when I left the house today. Feels brisk! But, then again, it feels less brisk every day. Juneau's been locked in this clear cold snap for so long (nine solid days with hardly a cloud), that when the rain (or even snow) finally does return, it's going to feel strange.

I only cheated a little on my day off on Friday ... with one quick sunset lap around the Mendenhall Lake (so quiet, so cold, so perfectly beautiful. I heard a wolf - likely Romeo - howling in the forest.) I was out in the Valley running a bunch of errands (first and last time Christmas shopping all year. Woo Hoo!) and had my mountain bike on top of my car anyway (how did that get there?) I was dressed more for Christmas shopping than for riding a bicycle on lake ice at 5 degrees. It was one of those rationalization moments (it'll be a quick trip. What's the harm?) And, of course, in about 20 minutes I managed to become so wracked with shivers that I had to slow down just to avoid shimmying my bike clean off its wheels. Funny how quickly you forget those elementary school lessons in winter cycling - you have to dress as warm for 20 minutes as you do for 20 hours.

But there's good news, Juneau readers. Taking the day off gave me time to finally drop into Hearthside Books and get "Ghost Trails" placed on shelves! Woo Hoo! So you can drop in to the Nugget Mall now and buy my book. You should go buy them out quickly so they'll think it's really popular and order a bunch more. I'm also working on sending some books to Speedway Cycles in Anchorage, so Anchorage readers can pick up a copy without paying for shipping. I'll post again when those are available.

Today I went ice biking on the frozen Mendenhall Wetlands. I've owned my 29" Nokian studded tires for about two months now and I can't say I'm real thrilled with them. I knew they would take a beating a wear down quick from the hundreds of pavement miles I ride each month. These have also had the added beating of rides on rocky trails that were coated in light layers of ice, but mostly rocks. Either way, wow, after two months they look nearly as worn as the 26" Kenda tires that I used for three seasons. They're missing about 10-12 studs in each tire, and the ones remaining on the center of the tire are bent, pushed all the way in, or otherwise misshapen. I'm a little disappointed, if only because I should have known better. If I'm going to ride a bike in such a way that a pair of tires is only going to last a single season, I might as well buy the cheapest ones I can find.

The cold snap looks like it might have a least a couple more days left in it. Now, if only I could find the courage to go camping.

Wash the day away

Date: Dec. 18
Mileage: 82.7
December mileage: 553.3

I feel like I just went through the bike version of the Master Cleanse:

* I set my mind to completing something illogical and counterintuitive.
* It pretty much took over my life for a little over a week.
* It tested crucial aspects of my willpower.
* I started to suffer toward the end.
* I walked away with feelings of renewed vigor and control, a better understanding of my own body, and a reluctance to go back to solid food (or, in my case, free time that I don't spend riding my bike.)

And thus ended my eight-hour ride following a 30-hour week, for 38 hours of riding and hiking in eight days, always in temperatures below 25, with plenty of single-digit temps and windchills below zero. That's essentially a peak week for me. I don't plan to do any longer efforts in preparation for the Iditarod. This week just had a perfect storm of ideal conditions for enjoyable riding and race training, and I figured a "peak" week would fit in well to something new I am trying this year: Rather than just build, build, build, I am going to try to ride some hard weeks followed by "recovery" weeks, for an ebb and flow of effort that I hope will make me a healthier person come March 1.

Effort: Every time I stopped to eat (and yes, I do stop to eat. After all this time, I still haven't mastered the skill of ripping open wrappers and gnawing on frozen energy bars while wearing mittens and piloting a bicycle on ice), I checked my thermometer. So I know temperatures ranged between zero degrees (the icebox around Herbert River) and 15 degrees (roasting in the sun on the Mendenhall Lake ice.) The air was breezy, but I only felt a few really strong gusts of wind. Even without the "extreme" aspect of the cold that I admit I was somewhat hoping for, it's still hard for me to spend eight hours outside in those temperatures. It's hard when I'm riding. It's hard when I'm walking. It's hard when I'm standing still. Every second of the day feels like hard work, pumping out massive quantities of body heat and trying to maintain a sense of normalcy when one part of my body is roasting and another stings with cold in the frigid air. I woke up feeling pretty weak and still went out and tried to maintain my normal pace riding on roads, a few miles of hardpacked but bumpy trail and about 12 miles of loops around the (perfect and so much fun) lake ice. As always, parts of the ride were exhilarating (the lake ice). But I also hit a fair share of low points. Some were really low points, where I was angry at myself for riding out the road because I couldn't catch a bus out there. But I never got on a bus. I rode home, and toward the end, I felt happy again, awake and alive, even strong, for having tried it.

Eating: So, as expected, I never had an appetite, all day long. I wish I could change that part of my physiology. But I didn't do too bad with the force-feeding. I was able to stuff down three Power Bars and four "100-calorie" granola bars, for an average of 150 calories per hour. For me, that's a perfectly sustainable amount for an eight-hour ride, although it's not really sustainable for the long term, when I'm out riding hard in the cold and there's no big dinner waiting for me at the end of the day. I'd like to be able to put down twice that, about 300 calories, ideally, and am going to continue to work on it. Starting to use my pogies so I can stuff baggies of Goldfish crackers in my handlebars and eat them while I'm riding will, I think, help.

Clothing: I'm pretty happy with my "base" system. I wore a standard pair of bike shorts, two pairs of socks with a vapor barrier between them, winter boots, a thick pair of polyester leggings (to deal with the "cold butt" issue), a skin-tight polypro shirt, a vapor barrier vest, a fleece jacket, soft shell pants and coat, mittens and either just a headband or a balaclava. My insulation was on the "a lot" side for the conditions I ended up riding in. I did a lot of sweating in the sun, but I was glad to have it all on when I went through breezy, shaded areas. I find sweat pretty much balances itself out in the end, and is almost impossible to avoid anyway, so I like to lean on the side of overdressing.

I never had problems with "too cold" body parts. I did notice a problem area with the coat. The vapor barrier vest funnels nearly all of my body moisture through the arms. Back when I used a Gortex coat, I used to get ice rings around the bottom of my fleece jackets, and quite a bit of frost coating my arms. But the Gortex coat has pit zips, which I think helped funnel away a lot of the moisture. This new soft-shell coat expels moisture better than the Gortex, but it doesn't have pit zips, so I ended up with a lot of frost built up on the coat beneath my arms. I'm not sure if that's really even a problem, but I may stay in the market for a better fitted soft shell with pit zips.

Sleeping: I couldn't sleep last night. This is always a problem for me during hard, long efforts - rides that I can't recover from quickly enough - and I try to fall asleep while my heart is still beating at an abnormally high rate. I know now if I want to get any normal sleep during the race, I am going to have to experiment with sleeping meds. I've avoided drugs because frankly, I'm afraid of them. But I think I won't have a choice but to lean on sleeping aids, so I'd love to hear recommendations.

Right now I'm trying to take a day off. I admit it feels strange. Another beautiful, cold, bluebird day, and here I am at the computer. I'm tempted to drag my bike out to the Mendenhall Lake for one more gorgeous lap, because I feel pleasently tired, in control, and strong, like I could ride forever.