Susitna dreams

Scenic drive back down the Peninsula today. A blanket of frost gave the trees a skeletal look and new snow oozed down evergreen branches like frosting; the air was as clear as a cold day and the sunrise sent steams of pink light down the whitewashed mountains. A rather rough freeze has transformed the Turnagain Arm into a boulderfield of ice. I looked out at the tortured seascape and instantly thought of Death Valley, a beautiful, rocky desolation born of heat, not ice.

We stopped at a bike shop in Anchorage and bought studded tires for our mountain bikes. And it looks like we'll have snowcover to practice on for a long time now. We returned home to nearly two feet of new powder on everything, as demonstrated by this photo - I call it "Geo Prison." We spent a better part of the clear and cold evening stamping through thigh-deep snow to find the snowshoe trail we've been working on.

Anyway, Geoff and I were so giddy at the prospect of extending the cycling season indefinitely that we picked up a brochure for the Susitna 100 and began planning our training regimen. We thought we were all bad because we even had thoughts of participating in a winter bike race that crosses snow-covered tundra during the deep freeze of subarctic night. But then we discovered the prohibitive entrance fee, regulating the races to those who have, well, a little bit more than blind gumption and gear. But (wink wink) if anyone out there - anyone at all - feels inspired to sponsor us in our efforts as virgin ice bikers tackling a decidedly hardcore bike race in the frozen north, we will proudly display your logo and our gratitude on this blog for as long as it takes. I'm not joking. Really. Why are you laughing?

-1 at noon

Cold day today. Geoff couldn't get his car started this morning because ice had clogged up the ignition. By the time we successful thawed it and rolled away, the outside thermometer read -1, with a bright sun rolling over the southern mountains. It was just after 12 p.m.

We have been doing a lot of cross-country skiing this weekend. Today was a short trip around the groomers near town. I ran behind Geoff and Craig on snowshoes, breathing so hard that my eyelashes froze - hence the self portrait above.

Yesterday we drove up to Hatcher Pass to ski along the "Little Su" River. The trail rose ever so slightly, and we didn't even really notice we were climbing much until we looked back to a lateral view of snow wafting off the mountains. The trip went long, and one guy we were with eventually dropped out. But the ski down was exhilarating, with enough gravity-forced sliding to finally stop Geoff from saying "Hey, Jill, I think you forgot that you're skiing again."

We did run into a couple of friends from Homer on the trail. They invited us to their family's home in Wasilla for what turned into a second Thanksgiving dinner. A house full of strangers welcomed us in like one of their own, and filled us with starch and stories of the local color-variety (many of them hailed from Homer.) The evening had the same sweet sensory overload that really makes Thanksgiving feel complete - sitting on the couch as plates of pie and hot chocolate are shoved in your face from stealth angles, all the while lost in a tangle of multiple conversations illustrating people you don't know and places you've never been. Then, to top off the experience, I even got the "How old are you now, sweetie?" comment from Grandma, albeit somebody else's grandma, but it still made me feel nostalgic.

Just eat it

Oh why, oh why is it so psychologically impossible to turn down that second helping of homemade mac 'n' cheese or politely decline a slice of pumpkin pie the size of a baby's head? Why must we close businesses and cook enough potato dishes to supply a Mormon funeral, only to end up slouched in our chairs in a bloated stupor, staring in sheer wonder at the ruin that replaced the kitchen? I know this holiday is supposed to leave us with warm feelings of familiarity and well-being, but the excess is as much as tradition of this holiday as anything. I'm as wrapped up in it as anyone ... I, too, feel all the more thankful for my existence with a 20-pound turkey in the oven and more pies than people at the table. But the aftermath is absolute, it leaves that final impression, and it always leaves me feeling more overstuffed than overjoyed. I guess I'm just experiencing some post-Thanksgiving remorse, maybe a little hint of tryptophan hangover.

We're up in Palmer right now, the north country, celebrating the holiday with other childless 20-something couples that are thousands of miles from Outside families. It was a lot of fun. We spent the morning cross-country skiing in the veritable winter wonderland that took the city by storm (which, while we were motoring up the Seward Highway last night, was to our sheer dismay.) But the "White Thanksgiving" was a nice touch. So was the diverse group of friends Craig invited ... including, respectively, a Jewish couple, a Muslim, two Mormons and a Buddhist, who unfortunately was caught in the weather and was not able to attend. But a great group. We even whipped out the Texas Hold'em as the turkey cooked and cooked, and continued to cook for more than six hours. I mean, we even had the canned cranberry sauce that I love so much, sliced in gelatinous discs and still bearing the artful mold of the inside of the can. Sigh. I guess I am thankful for this holiday, even if I do feel like a gelatinous blob myself, and even if I do have to be thousands of miles from my family and snowed in - in Palmer. I could use this space to ramble through "things I'm thankful for," but it seems so much less redundant to just say "life."