Hill day

Date: April 30
Mileage: 75
April mileage: 568
Temperature upon departure: 40

Had a strange moment of de-ja-vu that inadvertently lead to yet another roadie crash.

Ok, Ok, the truth is, I'm just a sadly predictable klutz. But the timing was interesting nonetheless.

Today was a "hill day" - three big climbs with elevation changes between 1,000 and 1,500 feet in 2-5 miles, buffered by plenty of rollers. I spent most of the day listening to new music that I downloaded on my iPod yesterday. As I crested to highest point of the day - elev. 1,500 feet - the music switched over to a song I had heard only once before, a song implanted in such a surreal region of my memory that up until today I thought it was a dream. Turns out it's "DARE" by the Gorillaz.

Before I even registered the music, the memory came flooding back - midnight programming on the one radio station I could pick up on my little AM/FM, droning with Top 40 pop broken by frequent, jarring static. I was pedaling my mountain bike across Flathorn Lake during the Susitna 100. I had lost the trail the moment I hit the maze of snowmobile tracks steaking across the ice, but I was following a distant light that I knew had to be the next checkpoint. Its yellow glow flickered in the deep ink darkness, broken by its own static as drizzling rain slowly turned to snow. I got off my bike to negotiate patches of soft snow when I stepped directly into a shin-deep puddle of overflow. The change in terrain startled me so much that I lost my footing and, in catching myself, shoved my bike onto its side in the slush. I remember just standing there, looking at the fallen bike and listening to radio static. Then, just as I moved to pick the bike up, an eerie voice began to climb out of the hole. It started almost indistinguishable from the white noise, but began to gain almost disconcerting clarity against the darkness and snow ... "Jump with the moon and move it; Jump back and forth. It feels like you would let yourself work it out."

Today, the same surreal notes came on my iPod just as I was rounding a corner to begin my descent back to sea level. I hit a patch of loose gravel, swerved out of control, and ended up laying my bike down after I had slowed to about 8 or 10 mph. I sat up on the pavement and rocked back and forth as I waited for the blind streaks of pain to stop shooting through my left hip. "Wait," I thought ... "I know this song."

" ... It's DARE ..."

I think it's time admit that I have a road bike coordination problem. But, for now, I'm blaming involuntary flashbacks. Or self-fulfilling prophecy. Either way, roadie, again, came out impressively unscathed.

Tomorrow is May 1, which means it's no longer legal for me to ride - or drive - around with studded tires. I have to get my car changed first. Geoff and I spent a half hour excavating my summer tires from a snowbank. It was like looking for buried treasure, digging through six feet of condensed snow, hitting small trees, logs, and finally ... yeah! tires.

I'm going to wait another couple of weeks to change over my mountain bike tires. I'm still holding out for another day of perfect concrete snow.

Oh yeah ... don't forget to vote Buckwheat for President.

We are not unique snowflakes

Date: April 29
Mileage: 16
April mileage: 493
Temperature upon departure: 43

Today I read an amusing editorial in the Anchorage Daily News, addressing the grand delusion of many Alaskans - that we are unique, special, not like other Americans. Set apart by latitude and buffered by a rather large foreign country, I guess it would be difficult not to feel separate-but-equal.

But ever since I moved here, I've been more than a little bugged by the sense of entitlement at large. The state pays people just to live here, and still people whine about a 3 percent sales tax, they whine about paying for education, they whine about pesky federal mandates like wildlife refuge designations, but then beg the federal government for more road money. Alaska seems to have a serious case of youngest child syndrome, which of course bugs me because I come from an oldest child background. I'm the one who had to deal with a 10 p.m. curfew and had to begin working at age 11 to support my teenage lifestyle. So I can't stand to see an entire state act like the family princess, crying about the unfairness of a midnight curfew while Daddy doles out another 20 for a trip to the mall. You get my point, don't you?

So it gives me great joy to see someone tell Alaskans that they are, in fact, not unique and special snowflakes. While there is a small percentage of the population, mostly Native, who still live a subsistence lifestyle in remote villages, most of us are middle-aged, white-collar, suburban working stiffs with 2.3 cars and a lifestyle dominated by climate-controlled buildings. The only difference between us and some guy in Cleveland is that we can go skiing on glaciers in our backyards or drive to the closest body of water and catch a king salmon. But how many of us actually do?

Sure, there's a definite distinct culture in Alaska. The scenery is beyond amazing. The history is certainly on the interesting side. Latitude gives us the whole daylight thing and, economically speaking, we still have youth on our side. But does that give us a mandate to demand respect from the lower 48 while we cry to Daddy because Big Brother wouldn't give us bridge money? I may be an older child, an outsider looking in and looking out again, but I don't think so.

Cool photo

Date: April 28
Mileage: 26
April mileage: 477
Temperature upon departure: 40

I don't know how kosher it is to post a copyrighted photo on a blog, but since this isn't exactly an enterprise of any sort, I'm just going to go ahead and do it.

A former co-worker of mine, Troy Boman, just sent me a link to a photo of his that won a second-place award from the National Press Photographers Association. It's impressive because Troy works for a small community newspaper that covers a massive sprawl of salt and sand known as Tooele County, Utah - and he was up against big guys like the New York Daily News in this contest. I always thought it was kind of strange that Troy didn't move up to the big guys. He's always had this amazing ability to capture striking moments of clarity in the vast and mundane ... the face of a terrified boy standing amid an indifferent crowd ... the calm acceptance of a once-comfortable man suddenly doused in the mud and blood of his own mistakes. It's very real. I really like this photo.

Today I rode some sprint intervals ... full-out, red-in-the-face, I'd-puke-if-I-went-much-harder intervals. Tough to do, but definitely worthwhile. I rode a 3-mile stretch of bike path with a fierce north wind. I did 1.5 miles of with-the-wind warm-up, 1.5 miles of tailwind sprinting, 1.5 miles of headwind recovery, and 1.5 miles of headwind sprinting - times four. The tailwind sprints were wicked fun. I don't have a computer installed on my road bike yet, but I must have been pushing 35 mph, judging by my sustained place in traffic. The headwind sprints were like nothing I've experienced in a long time. I couldn't even hold back my wheezing gasps during vain attempts to not frighten the oncoming pedestrians. All I could do was chug by, trying to keep the donkey sounds to a minimum and locking my perma-grimace on the pavement. I thought about the virtues of drop handlebars ... may be a good purchase to make. But, for now, I'm thinking about buying a camera.

Snow and light

Date: April 27
Mileage: 22
April mileage: 451
Temperature upon departure: 38

Warm day today. Temps even thought about hitting 50, but didn't quite make it. I seem to be writing an overabundance of extra-bloggy blog posts lately. The past month has been awash the mostly gray, windy, semi-warm, still-won't-melt-the-crust-on-my-driveway permanence that dominates "spring" in Alaska. My muse has been running a bit low, so I complain about the weather and take pictures out my bedroom window.

We now have officially more than 16 hours between sunrise and sunset, makes it hard to get those requisite 8 hours of sleep in. I'm one of those people that can barely dress myself in the morning, but I build energy as the day goes on, so it's also hard for me to go to bed. I had a really tough ride today, basically inexplicable as to why I was struggling so much. Lead legs on the commute. Dizzy up the hill. Spinning low gears on the gravel. It's probably just a matter of needing more rest than I anticipate, but my body just doesn't understand. When there's light on the horizon and snow on the ground, it just feels early, no matter what the clock says.

Training?

Date: April 26
Mileage: 24
April mileage: 429
Temperature upon departure: 35

Today's ride was sponsored by Shasta, who just bought a new bike and is doing some training of her own down in Dairyland. I had about 50 free minutes after work to ride today. It was a seriously short period of time for an outdoor bike workout, but I made up for it by upping my effort. I can't honestly say that I was burning everything I had, but the total mileage - 18 - didn't seem too bad, after factoring in a couple of hill climbs and a light headwind. That's - what - about 21 or 22 mph average? I could definitely improve on that, and I'm thinking that might be a good idea.

I've been trying to visualize some summer training goals that have a little more strategy than my winter training, which mostly revolved around doing a lot of crazy cold rides. So far, most of my ideas revolve around crazy long rides - which are seriously hard to make time for, especially when I have to do the whole job thing and still make time to go see "The World's Fastest Indian," like I did today. Plus, I'm going to have a few kinks in my schedule during the next two months, including two trips to Utah and my parents' visit to Alaska. There are about 18 days in there that I'm just going to lose, and there's nothing I can do about it. Not that I'm complaining. These are things that actually are more important the riding - making sure my family and friends still remember me, seeing my little sis get married, visiting the desert in the spring. Still, somewhere in all of this, I have to find focus.

So I thought it might be a good idea to train for speed. Get my lungs in good shape. For that, I thought about putting in more workouts on the hamster wheel, where I can monitor my heart rate to ensure I actually am working near anaerobic threshold, and I can also gage my progress. But, for the most part, driven training is still very new to me, so I'd love some advice. I have, now, exactly two months. I currently have a good base, but I need to work longer to get back the endurance I had in February, and I need to work harder to build up the strength that summer trail riding demands. It's also important for me to practice, practice, practice, because technical riding is still a weakness of mine. I also need to utilize cross training, because these next two months will include lots of hiking, sea kayaking, running and other miscellaneous outdoor opportunities. So, doc, what do you recommend?

Top 10 reasons for insanity

Date: April 25
Mileage: 41
April mileage: 405
Temperature upon departure: 40

Now that I'm planning on riding the Soggy Bottom 100, I should probably make a full disclosure about another summer race that is pretty close to making it on my "must do" list - the 24 Hours of Kincaid.

I know what you're thinking. Why put myself through that ... again? After all, there is a definite point where a mountain bike event stops being a race and starts to become, well, something else entirely. An exercise in insanity. Insomniac theater for athletes. There are only so many times you can ride around a loop before everything turns loopy.

There are so many reasons why riding the 24 Hours of Kincaid would be a bad idea. So I compiled a list of the relative few that make it a good idea:

1. I've already ridden/walked with/stared at with bitter resentment/and ridden a bike for a 24-hour period, so I know it's not outside the realm of possibility.
2. Not many women enter this race solo. Last year, I think the race only had one or two, so I'd have a great chance of finishing in the top 3.
3. I'm not sure what trails the 11.5-mile course covers, but I have ridden Kincaid Park before. Once. Three years ago. Therefore, I have experience.
4. The race is four days after summer solstice, so "night" riding will be almost nonexistent. There will only be about a two-hour period that I'd even need to use a light.
5. If my bike breaks or I bonk along the trail, the worst penalty I'd endure is a 5.75-mile walk to the starting line, not a painful death by hypothermia.
6. I'm not sure how many laps I could do in 24 hours, but last year's last place finisher did one. I'm fairly certain I could top that.
7. Sugar would finally have a chance to do what he does best: hop roots and negotiate hairpin turns. Now, if only I could catch up.
8. Training for this race will give me an excuse to do fun things like go on midnight trail rides or try to ride my road bike to Anchorage.
9. I've already learned the secret to surviving a 24-hour endurance event: Eat. Eat. And try to ignore the purple bunnies dancing across the trail.
10. I'm pretty sure that crazy races make me a better person.

What more reason do I need?

It's soggy out

Woke up this morning to more snow. I thought it was just as well because I was running behind and wasn't going to bike to work anyway, but the slush got its sweet revenge when it took me 10 minutes to back my car out the driveway. (When you drive a Geo in Alaska, it's all about patience.)

I thought more about yeserday's harassment incident. At the time, I was not really frightened. I just assumed they were bored idiots out for a joyride, who passed me once and thought it would be fun to go back and rile me up. It was enraging, sure, but I never felt in danger to the point where I actually would have pulled a can of bear mace on them (especially considering the high percentage of concealed weapon permits in this area.)However, it did think it strange that they were so old - they looked to be in their late-20s or early-30s, definitely old enough to know about the legal implications of terrorizing an unarmed cyclist. Also, as a strange coincidence, earlier that morning Geoff saw a white minivan with three people rumble down the driveway. He said the driver, a male, waved at him as he tried to turn the van around, apparently indicating that he mistook the driveway for a road. That happened at 11:30. About 40 minutes later, I was buzzed by a white minivan with three or more adults as it passed me 31 miles up the road. Coincidence? Or strange intersection of fate?

On a happier note, I received an e-mail the other day from Carlos, Alaska's own mountain-bike-race extraordinare, inviting me to participate in the Soggy Bottom 100. The Soggy Bottom is a 106-mile mountain bike race up an over the Resurrection Pass trail on July 22. "You have a sponsorship for the ride," he wrote, "so no moola is required." Can you believe it. Me? Sponsorship? A personal invitation to a race? How cool is that? I feel like I'm moving up in the world.

I think the Soggy Bottom is going to be a great ride, and will happen at a point in the summer when I hope to be at my strongest. It bills itself as the longest summer backcountry bicycle ride in Alaska (as opposed to winter, where the Iditarod Invitational has it beat by about 1,000 miles.) But the wheels are turning, plans are materializing, and it's definitely time to get my summer training started. Although, if it keeps snowing like it has, I may not actually get to practice riding on actual trails (the ones made out of rocks and roots and dirt) much before July. At least I have the local yokuls to keep me on my toes.