Saturday, February 25, 2006

Tough to quit

Date: Feb. 24
Mileage: 29.9
February mileage: 401.7
Temperature upon departure: 18

Today Geoff and I went to lunch at our favorite semi-organic greasy spoon, Cosmic Kitchen (there are two types of restaurants in this town - the swank places that welcome Xtratuf-wearing locals with open arms, and the carrot-juice-brewing hippie places that also serve beef and cheese burritos the size of your head.) After months of hugging the horizon, the noontime sun ventured toward midsky, bathing the whole restaurant in white light. We took our plates into the glare of a south-facing window just as a family settled in next to us - only on the other side of the window, where snow-covered picnic tables lined the balcony. There they sat for nearly an hour - sipping coffee, munching on corn chips, soaking in sunlight - with steam pouring from their burgers and breath in the subfreezing air.

That's when I decided it would be a great day for a bike ride. I left work a little later than hoped, but I still thought it would be good to go out for an hour, absorb some vitamin D through that narrow slit in my balaclava, and come back with time to spare before Foreign Film night.

But one aspect of the Susitna 100 that I didn't anticipate letting go was this whole training thing. Giving up the multihour, four-times-a-week bicycle rides I've become so accustomed to almost feels like losing a job. I fear that suddenly I'll find myself sprawled on my coach, pouring through classifieds for used bicycle parts and struck with that hollow feeling that my life is slowly sinking into uselessness ... meaningless ... joblessness. Sure - I could get some other hobby. Find a new passion. Maybe even get a life. Sure - and while I'm at it, I could apply for new jobs. It's not as easy as it sounds.

That said, my one hour ride turned to three, as simple as cranking those pedals and wishing I had decided to bring my Camelbak with me, especially as I was laboring up the 1200-foot-vertical, 3-mile climb the locals call East Hill (I don't typically bring water on short rides, because bottles freeze in about a millisecond and the Camelbak seems like overkill.) The whole time, I had this freeing feeling that I was riding for fun again - spinning down the snow-dusted bike path on the Spit, bouncing through the surprisingly technical ice boulderfield created by snowplows along East End Road. I was riding like I wasn't trying to put in miles, so the miles just came.

Before I knew it, the sun was slipping below the horizon. It was so far west that I could only see streaks of orange light reaching above treeline - a long way from its position in the south that I've become so accustomed to. And I knew what it felt like to be that family eating their lunch on the balcony on a 20-degree day in February. Despite all appearances, it felt good ... a rare and much appreciated afternoon in the sun.
Friday, February 24, 2006

Big dreams

Today I received a prize in the mail - a stainless steel mug that reads "Susitna 100 finisher" on it. Everyone who posted finishing times in the race wins the same. Since I've already plowed through all the Pepsi and Goldfish within chowing range, I thought I'd improvise on Kevin's request and make a self portrait of myself having my evening herbal in my "major award." Sorry, Kevin ... I can't sign it because I don't own any photo editing software. Plus, that's just an identity theft waiting to happen.

I look forward to putting this mug to good use this weekend when I kick back to watch the check-in times on the Iditarod Trail Invitational. This race makes the Susitna 100 look like a few turns down the Bunny Slope. I'd like to try it next year. I really mean that. With a little bike investment, a little more practice and a lot of workouts, it's not totally incomprehensible. By 2007, Geoff will be ready to take on the 350 miles to McGrath on foot anyway, so I sure as Susitna should be able to do it on a bike. Unless the trail conditions are bad ... how long is 350 miles at 2.5 mph?

As for this weekend, I'll be cheering on local rider Adam Bartlett, Alaska Magazine columnist Ned Rozell on skis, and my boy from back home - Eric Johnson of Utah on foot. In the long race, I'm watching out for Kathi Merchant of Chickaloon. She's a woman. She's Alaskan. And she's riding her bike to Nome. I am in awe.

I forgot to link this before, but I answered "20 questions" for Daniel of St. Louis. Daniel was kind. They're mostly softballs. But as for the Iditarod Invitational, which begins Saturday, I encourage all to join me, Tim, Old Bag and everyone else who has committed to kicking back with rich food, a warm hearth, and good vibes for those who are still out there, suffering toward wisps of glory in the endless snow.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Love and support

Date: Feb. 22
Mileage: 17.8
February mileage: 371.8
Temperature upon departure: 25

First "after the storm" ride today. I didn't ride much differently than I would have before Saturday - in fact, I rode a little harder because I was thrilled to see patches of bare pavement on Skyline Drive (although the majority of my ride was still atop packed ice.) I noticed I had a lot of lactic acid buildup in my legs early on - probably because my muscles are still fatigued. But some good, hard gulps of subfreezing air felt good (how I missed that air on Saturday. Really.)

One thing I didn't quite realize the extent of was the mayhem caused by the Susitna 100 Web site's failure to post my finishing time until several hours after I came in. I was back in Palmer, showered, fed and semi-rested before I called my mom - who by that time was semi-frantic. Later, I found out friends of mine in Utah had been watching my progress with some trepidation - enough put in phone calls to any race official whose number they could track down. Geoff's mom was worried. My co-workers were anxious. Even fellow bloggers Tim, Old Bag and Velocipete, who were making good on their promise to kick back with some snacks and a roaring fire and cheer me on, were posting notes of concern. And you know, that feels really good. It's nice to know that, if I was lying out on the tundra with my face in the snow, that there are people out there who would call on the search and rescue party.

When I set out on this journey, I had no idea such a great and extensive support network would rally behind me. Before the race, I received dozens of "good luck" e-mails, some from old acquaintances who I didn't think even knew I was living in Alaska. My boss greeted me upon my return with a huge basket of Pepsi, Goldfish and cereal. People from all over the world dropped in comments. Out on the trail, we may have to battle our inner demons alone, but the knowledge that others care is a powerful ammunition.

Speaking of, I never posted my "Ride all the way to the Susitna 100" fundraising results. With the help of more than 25 kind sponsors, I was able to raise $438, and ride more than 1200 "arctic" miles in the process. After I hit my original goal, the race entry fee, I still saw $213 in support - which means $107 for the Lance Armstrong Foundation, and the other $106 easily covered the cost of transportation and food (I even splurged on the turkey jerky.) Which means I did this entire race on the love and support of family, friends, cyclists and the blogging community at large. I don't even know how to begin to say thank you, but I'm open to suggestions.