Boom

So they tell me Mt. Augustine's about to blow. It's rated "Code Yellow," for what that's worth (just like the United States has been in a code yellow terrorism alert since, well, since the British were coming.) This photo is actually Mt. Iliamna. It could be Mt. Redoubt. I don't know. What I do know is - I live near a lot of volcanoes. And one of them, they tell me, is about to blow.

I never really thought about volcanoes before I moved to Alaska. An active volcano is something that belongs on a tiny tropical island, somewhere deep and warm and surrounded by chanting natives hoisting a screaming virgin up the face. No one told me that Homer was surrounded by these things - one big geothermal hug.

So I came into work today, wide-eyed and clutching the Anchorage Daily News with a shot of a big, steam-spewing cone on the cover. My co-worker just laughed at me (she has lived in Homer since the beginning of time, or at least since 1986 - the last time it blew its top.)

"It's not so bad," she said. "It just gets really foggy and dark, and everyone stays home for a couple of days."

"You can't even go outside?" I asked.

"Oh, you can go outside. Just try not to breathe too much."

I wonder what it would be like to ride a bicycle in a few inches of fresh volcanic ash. I imagine it would be a lot like riding in powder snow - airy, slow and locked in ethereal silence. It would probably be really enjoyable ... except for the not breathing part.

Unfortunately, I didn't take advantage of the still-available oxygen in the air to ride my bike today. I did manage a good, sweaty 75 minutes on the elliptical trainer at the gym. I feel it was an accomplishment only because I managed to ignore a leering bodybuilder that entire time. But I do have a deficit of cycling mileage that I owe - and this makes me very happy. I want to thank everyone who's helped me out in my miles-for-dollars Susitna 100 bid. I am close to my goal, and with any luck I'll be able to file my application to the race toward the end of this week. In answer to Fritz's comment yesterday, I am good for every mile. Come wind, ice, blizzard, or the most horrifying condition - rain, I'll bike it. I have until Dec. 31, so bring it on!

Night crasher

Date: Dec. 13
Today's mileage: 14.2
December mileage: 177.5
Temperature upon departure: 25

I have a better picture from Sunday, but this is one I actually took today, so there you go. I'm still aiming for journalistic realism. Today's ride was sponsored by Cyclelicious, a great read for everything from unfair cycling legislation to calendar girls who can't ride a bicycle to save their life. Also, Cyclelicious is one of the top-ranked bike blogs online, so I thought I'd make today's affiliate ride a good one.

By the time I dismounted from my swivel chair and left the cement box, the sun had already set. I decided to grab my headlight and head up to the reservoir - try my skills on the snowmobile paths up there. Unfortunately, after the thaw some ATVs and other wheeled vehicles drove up and down the trail, creating deep, frozen ruts that all but trapped me once I dropped into them. I tackled the trail with all of my lung-searing strength going up, remembering that speed and balance often go hand in hand. However, that theory didn't work as well coasting down. With only my tiny yellow headlight to guide me, I weaved in and out of those ruts and tried to keep my unmoving pedals just above the berm. Eventually - although a more appropriate word is probably inevitably - I overcorrected just enough and slammed right into one of those ATV canyon walls. Instead of jumping over it, the wheel lodged in the snow and I stopped dead. Or, rather, the bike stopped dead. I went for an extended ride over the handlebars.

Usually snow is pretty forgiving. However, snow that has soaked up four days worth of rain before freezing again is about as soft as concrete. I knew the moment I hit that I wasn't injured at all. But I lay there for a while anyway, staring at stars as they slipped behind wisps of clouds and thinking only of blunt pain and the repeated word "hard, hard, hard, hard." I got over it soon enough, though. I stood up, brushed off the powder, and worked my way back to the road ... humbled, but determined to keep trying.

Night rider

Date: Dec. 12
Today's mileage: 6
December mileage: 163.3
Temperature upon departure: 19

Monday's my long day at work. Dec. 12 is a rather short day in the year. But that doesn't mean we can't get out for an evening jaunt on the ski trails (shh ... don't tell the Nordic skiers. They don't like us using their trails. But I figure - what they can't see can't hurt them.) Snow conditions were ideal today, but I am still working on developing my trail-riding technique. Navigating deep ruts covered over by soft powder takes a fair amount of concentration any time, but it's definitely tougher in the dark. Of course, I gotta learn it - just like I need to learn to change a tire with mittens on (but I'll save that frustration for another day.)

Today's ride felt pretty technical, especially during climbs. For that, I feel lucky to hail from the desert. Riding in snow is in many ways similar to riding in sand - a lot of swerving and correcting, grinding without earning much distance and using lower RPMs/higher gears to get through the tough stuff. I lowered my tire pressure to 20 PSI. I may try it lower next time. Also, I think I may start looking for a "snow bike." I feel sort of bad putting all of this abuse on my Sugar when most of its amenities aren't even needed, and some (such as full suspension) are actually detrimental. I'm hoping some local resident will put an old Cannondale mountain bike in the classifieds - one of those classic workhorses built in the '80s with no suspension and room to spare for some huge tires. Who knows - it could happen.

Geoff commented today that he no longer feels the urge to whittle away the winter months while we wait for the backpacking, camping, canoeing, 11:30 p.m. sunset bike-ride summer days that we moved here for. For a few months, he has been mulling whether or not to apply for one of those winter fishing boat jobs - the kind that steal months from you at a time but send you home with fat pockets. However, today he said he didn't think he could face the grind, knowing now all of the fun recreation he'd be missing back home. It's one thing to say that in the summer - but the winter? I think we've arrived.

Elevation

Date: Dec. 11
Today's mileage: 25.1
December mileage: 157.3
Top speed: 28 mph
Slowest speed: 2.5 mph (didn't know it was possible to ride that slow until today.)
Temperature upon departure: 31

Great ride today, sponsored by my good friend in Salt Lake City, Chris. Chris spent three months living out of a van with me, Geoff and our friend, Jen, towing four mountain bikes across the length of Alaska. We traveled from Prudhoe Bay to Juneau, and pretty much everywhere inbetween. We all developed an Alaska lust that none of us has been able to kick. I'm happy to see Chris is still with us in spirit, nudging us along as we navigate these northern climes.

A freezing rain hit overnight that iced all the roads. I headed out for what I intended to be a short ride. As I headed upward, the ice slicks turned to snow cover, and I began to think about riding to the highest elevation in town - the top of Ohlson Mountain, 1,513 feet. I thought the ride would give me great practice for conditions I am likely to encounter on the Iditarod - snow that had softened, been driven on with snowmobiles, and frozen over in strange shapes. Also, I was feeling some lingering rebelliousness stemming from an e-mail I received this morning (my first angry e-mail! I'm so proud.)

The writer took me to task for my statement yesterday that McNeil Canyon Elementary, at 1,350 feet, is the highest school in Alaska. While I can't vouch for that claim, which is listed on the school's official Web site, I did have some objections to his final statement: "I've been to Homer. It's as flat as a baby's bottom there. You people have no concept of high."

First of all, the simile is all messed up. Baby's bottoms aren't flat. They're round. A more proper simile would have been "the Platte River Valley," or, if he was holding out for a cliche, "a pancake."

Secondly, I'm sure the "Homer" he's been to is in fact the Homer Spit, a thin strip of sand where Homer funnels most of its tourists. I have nothing against the Spit - I rather enjoy it there (see yesterday's picture.) But municipal Homer ranges in elevation from sea level (the Spit) to 1,500 feet (Ohlson Mountain). I wouldn't exactly call that flat.

Thirdly, while I don't in any way claim to be a world-class mountaineer, I have been to the top of Mount Whitney, 14,496 feet. I think I have a pretty good grasp on high.

I'm guessing the anonymous writer probably lives in Anchorage or some other area in Alaska that sits in the bottom of a basin surrounded by huge mountains. Indeed, Alaska has the highest mountain in North America, multiple mountain ranges that stretch across the state and volcanoes that reach more than 10,000 feet from base to tip. However, the sheer extremes of climate created when high elevation is combined with northern latitudes make it impossible for most people to live more than a couple thousand feet above sea level. Alaskans are lowlanders in a mountainous state - I think that's one fact many residents never really wrap their heads around.

That said, I had a really fun ride to the top of Ohlson Mountain. Maneuvering over thick chunks of ice had the technical feel of riding the rocky trails of the northern Uintas. Coasting down those iced-over gravel roads gave me more confidence in my studs. Then, about five miles from home, I literally watched winter return to town as a thick fog enveloped the Bay. (The photos posted here have a time elapse of about three minutes). Within two minutes of the last photo, an icy rain began pelting down. By the time Geoff came to rescue me (I had been gone nearly three hours after telling him I was going out for a 45-minute ride), it was snowing hard. Now there's about two inches accumulation. Yes, winter is back.

Refrost

Date: Dec. 10
Today's mileage: 33
December mileage: 132.2
Temperature upon departure: 32

"I haven't been that terrified on a road bike since we left Missouri." What thaws must freeze, such is the code of Alaska. Geoff and I headed out East End Road today, giddy to cycle 17 miles of rolling hills on the newly exposed pavement. Mostly ignoring the closer-to-freezing temperature on the bank clock in town, we parked the car at the Homestead Restaurant and began the long climb toward the ridge. We pedaled upward, about 3.5 miles and 1,000 vertical feet, until the ice on the road was so thick that our back wheels started spinning out. Geoff stopped just shy of McNeil Canyon Elementary (which is, incidentally, the highest-elevation school in Alaska) and posed a very good question that I hadn't thought much about at 8 mph - "what's this going to be like coming down?"

And I meant what I said to him once we returned to the safety of sea level after white-knuckling the brakes down that ice sheet. Geoff opted for faster - less likely to fall. I opted for slower - less likely to hurt as bad should a likely fall happen. We both came down unscathed - but, man. I felt as cold as ice at the bottom, and not because I wasn't dressed for the weather. The last time I was so scared on a skinny tire, I was trying to outrace freeway-speed traffic on a narrow, shoulderless stretch of U.S. 50 in rural Missouri. All of Missouri is a crap shoot if you're on a loaded touring bike, but at least the roads don't ice over often down there.

We took advantage of our surging adrenaline to ride another 26 miles around town and out the spit. It was a good day and I'm happy for this short window of road bike freedom, but I think I'm going back to the studs.

Well, tonight I get to go to a Contra Dance. (I'm a small-town journalist. Don't ask.) I just learned that a Web site called the Outdoor Bloggers Network has nominated Up in Alaska as one of a couple dozen up for "Best Outdoor Blog of 2005." I don't know that it's really a fair nomination, seeing as this blog has only been in existence since November. But, for what it's worth (and I'm not quite sure what it's worth) you could surf on over and cast your vote, if you want. The site is weighted pretty heavily toward the hunting and fishing sector, so your vote might be my best chance. The site is located at http://www.heartlandoutdoorsman.com/blog/

Roadie gets the December treatment

Date: Dec. 9
Today's mileage: 32
December mileage: 99.2
Total riding time: 2 hours, 4 minutes
Top speed: Judging by the truck that faded behind me on East Hill, at least 45 mph
Temperature upon departure: 40

Today was all about color, sugar and speed. I love it. While the good folks down in Austin, Texas, are digging out of an ice storm, I'm pacing trucks on my road bike - in Alaska, in December. Sometimes, life turns upside down and smiles at you.

No one at the office wanted to work today. The publisher announced yesterday that we were having a pot luck and *no one* was allowed to bring anything but desserts. Even the girl who brought in Fuji apples the size of small pumpkins was frowned upon. So we stuffed our faces with cookies, brownies, pistachio pie - then, bloated and reeling from sugar shock, we pulled down all the Christmas decorations and started throwing tinsel everywhere. At about 1:30 p.m. I looked outside and could see a hint of sun showing through the rain clouds. And I knew - just knew - a rare window had opened.

I arrived home at 2 p.m., unhooked my road bike from the trainer I thought it would sit upon for at least three more months, walked it along the precarious ice sheet that my driveway has become, and went for a ride - a fast ride. After a month on the mountain bike slogging through the snow, I was coasting along pavement and sucking in warm breeze like it was suddenly spring. Everywhere colors emerged that have spent so long buried in hoarfrost - deep greens and yellows reflecting off what was left of the snow, blue and orange in the sky. The headwind out of the west was fierce but I rode as hard as I could, and felt like I was flying.

Geoff joined me for what turned out to be the last half of my ride - down the Spit and around Kachemak Drive, for 17 miles. By the time we returned, just after 4 p.m., the sun was long gone. The clearing sky signaled the cold will return. Alas, it's December, and there's nothing that will stop it. But - for a small window within winter's icy grip, I had a 32-mile road ride on a 40-degree afternoon and almost believed it was spring. Now Geoff and I are headed to Foreign Film Friday at the college, but I wanted to say thank you so much to Holly and Kris, who sponsored today's and Monday's ride and stoked my further excitement for the Susitna 100. It won't be anything like today, but with any luck, it'll feel even better to come home from.

Dancing

I was going to write a post about the beauty of 2o-degree weather when this damp, gray, slurping muck is the alternative, but Tim beat me to it. Still, I watch the winter melt temporarily around me and I remember that life creates beauty where it will - snowbanks dressed in mud; the late-morning sunrise slipping through a blur of precipitation; flattened blades of grass that haven't seen light since mid-October.

I tried out O.V.'s recommended one-hour ride on the trainer today. Pretty effective. Back when I was more of a gym rat than a snow bunny, I used to attend spin class religiously on Tuesday nights. Plowing through those intervals today reminded me of my favorite spin instructor, Nick, who was constantly prompting us to turn our dials to "thick mud" setting. "You're out on the trail!" he'd yell. "You're riding in thick mud and it's raining! Let's see you ride in the rain!" And we'd all grind into the pedals, but of course, we weren't kidding anyone. We were all riding in a climate-controlled gym, listening to empty-calorie techno music and staring at a neonn-splashed mural of a mountain landscape. How could we be anything but disconnected, thinking about our day at work and mulling whether to have salad or salmon for dinner. I'm happy to keep riding outside, even if that means mud and rain and the unavoidable chill of 35 degrees and soggy.