Powder suck

Well, I made good on my promise and went snowboarding today. Actually, I take that back. I went hikeboarding today - meaning I hiked my board up a mountain, and then I hiked it back down.

Nearly two years off a board has washed my memory of the fact that I am really not very good at it. Especially when the condition of the snow is 18" of wet powder atop a base of rocks, squatty spruce bushes, and the spiny, skeletal remains of Devil's Club shoots. It's really too bad, because the day started out so well.

We started at the base of a closed-down Eaglecrest Ski Resort, with temperatures in the low 30s and huge snowflakes falling from a partly cloudy sky. We found a well-packed trail and marched up to the top of the mountain in less than an hour. Staring down at 1,400 feet of vertical, I was giddy - "I could do two more of these today," I thought. And the view from the top was great.

Unfortunately, the drop from the top was sheer and we are but novices coming off a long hiatus. It was not the time to launch into a black diamond run. So we hiked around the face and started at a spot that rollercoastered slowly downward, with several hills that involved a progressive repetition of: inching forward on my back edge; carving a single turn; shooting at an uncomfortable speed down a straight line; digging my board into one of the aforementioned spruce branches; finding my momentary thrill as I shot into the air; before tumbling face-first into two feet of loose snow that had roughly the same density as liquid lead. After the flailing, digging, swearing aftermath finally set me free from my snowman cocoon, I'd hike up the next hill and start anew.

This process basically continued for 1,400 vertical feet - except for when we reached lower elevations, the bushes actually stuck out of the snow, and I was struck through my pants more than once by painful Devil's Club spines. When I finally reached the bottom, it was nearly two hours later, closing in on sunset, and I was exhausted. Geoff fared a little better - but not much. At the base, he immediately threw his board back on the car and spent the few minutes of remaining daylight cross-country skiing.

I think it was a smart move on my part to take up snowbiking last year. All the other gear-assisted winter sports are just not my friends. Oh, I'll keep snowboarding. Just point me to the groomers.

Into the gray

Standing outside my office, 3:30 p.m. yesterday...

Standing outside my office, 2:30 p.m. today ...

9" of new snow means ...

Not going snowboarding Thursday would be a crime.

I voted for Pedro

Date: Nov. 7
Total mileage: 19.7
November mileage: 133.1
Temperature upon departure: 22

Wow. I'm fried.

I'm also too hopped up on Diet Pepsi to quite quit the computer yet, so here I am, still - after 11 straight hours of this - watching these election returns trickle by, and blogging.

Newspaper journalists and politicians are alike in that they live for three things - natural disasters, wars and election day. I too got caught up in the ballot-day frenzy, participating in loud whoops and rounds of applause in front of the TV, gnawing on practically petrified pieces of Domino's pizza, updating CNN.com every five minutes, and scrambling in the final, stressful hours of the morning to lay out all of the late-arriving stories. It was a roller coaster of an evening, and I leave it feeling a little despondent.

I expected this. All of the candidates I would have voted for lost - soundly. My vote - had it existed - wouldn't have even mattered. U.S. House Democrats trounced the incumbent Republicans - soundly. It could signal changes in the direction of the war and the economy and the environment.

Or, it could not.

I set out on my mountain bike before work today, relearning how to negotiate snow-packed roads. People moved dream-like through a nearly deserted downtown, with entire streets full of tourist shops locked away from the icicles. I caught a soft pile of sandy snow with my front wheel and side-swiped a guard rail. I had to laugh at the way simple things can so easily become hard.

I crossed the bridge into the dark shadow of Douglas Island, its towering mountains locking away direct sunlight until spring. As I rolled over the bridge's summit, I noticed a strange figure circling an intersection roundabout - otherwordly at first, but as I got closer, I saw glasses, a frizzy wig, and a wheel - a single wheel - spinning through the crunchy snow. I squinted at his sign and prepared to shoot him my best icy stare as I went by what I was certain read "Vote for Palin."

But when I finally met him face to face around that ice-slicked circle, I saw what he was actually advocating.

"Vote for Pedro."

And I realized what he was actually saying was, "Smile. It's all just a silly game anyway. And, regardless of your feelings about chimichangas, all of your wildest dreams can come true."

And I couldn't help it. I smiled.

Just vote

Tuesday is general election day.

Don't forget to vote.

I won't be, because I am a L.O.S.E.R. After raving about how much I hate all the bureaucracy that goes into registering to vote, I promised myself I'd do it. Then I put it off, and put it off. Then, finally, I went into the DMV. I waited over an hour to apply for my driver's license, and when I asked for a voter registration form, they informed me that I had missed the 30-day cutoff.

Shoot.

That doesn't mean I can't do endorsements though, for those Alaska voters who were coherent enough to register in the state they live in.

If I could vote for governor, I'd vote for this guy: Andrew Halcro.
Sure, he doesn't have a prayer of actually winning this race. And it's easy for me as a non-voter to say I'd quote/unquote "throw away" my vote on him. But he's a former Republican state representative who got little liberal old me to root for him, so I can't be the only one. Plus, I have this hang-up about wanting to "throw away" votes on the delusional hope that important leadership positions will be filled by people who are smarter than I am. Tony Knowles might be. But Sarah Palin? Eeeeeeee.

If I could vote for Congressperson, I'd vote for Diane Benson. I've only ever lived in states with embarrassing loyalty to out-of-touch career politicians (please, Orrin Hatch anyone?) But Don Young? 17 terms? Please, please, please stop the madness. But speaking of throwing away votes - Geoff tells me he's going to cast one for Juneauite Bill Ratigan, who is running under a party called "Impeach Now." This irks me to no end.

As far as national races, it's almost hard for me to say what I'm rooting for. I'd like to see the Democrats take control of Congress, but at the same time, that would mean hang-ups and squabbling and vetos and little-to-no action from the Legislative/Executive branch for two whole years. Actually, on second thought, that would be wonderful. Go Dems!

But no matter how you feel about the whole thing, you might as well take five minutes Tuesday to show up the L.O.S.E.R.S. like me, the ones glancing wistfully as we pass bustling polling places, and cast a vote. I'll be the one awake until the wee hours of Wednesday morning waiting to see the results (I have to - it's my job), knowing full well that I had no say in them.

Sad.

Cold on the road

Date: Nov. 5
Total mileage: 29.0
November mileage: 113.4
Temperature upon departure: 21

I took roadie out this morning for a spin across Juneau. It was a great morning for a cross-town ride, with the sun beating down on streets so dry that the salt streaks crackled, and so deserted that I heard little else. People for the most part seemed huddled in their houses, with the exception of a massive gathering of ice skaters on the (barely) frozen Twin Lakes. As they swirled and scuffed the blinding glare of the transparent surface, I realized I could look right through the ice and see lake grass swaying beneath them. Those skaters are truly brave pioneers of the early winter, I thought. And we're all in this together.

I realized that today was the first time - ever - that I have taken out my road bike in below-freezing temperatures. That in itself is a daunting endeavor, because even the smallest streaks of black ice can take those skinny tires down without even flinching. But today was just cold and dry enough to ensure crunchy roads, and I was feeling fast.

I tried a different sort of cold-weather cycling ensemble today because I hate to do laundry like to experiment. Although I own all the good gear, I'm becoming more convinced that you don't actually need to spend money on a bunch of new gear to survive - and even enjoy - winter cycling. Here's what I wore today:

- 1 pair fleece pajama bottoms that I stole borrowed from my sister
- 1 ratty old polyester T-shirt
- 2 fleece jackets, one that was purchased at The Gap and another that was a Grand Canyon souvenir
- 1 pair ski mittens, no liners
- Balaclava, purchased from Nashbar for $5.99
- 2 pairs cotton (gasp) socks
- 1 pair winter hiking boots (full disclosure: these boots are rated to -20, although I think that rating only applies if the wearer is actually walking)

That lack of exterior shells made for really good moisture circulation, and even though I was working fairly hard, I didn't retain much sweat. The double polar-fleece layer provides a decent windblock even at speeds of 20 mph and temperatures in the low 20s. Feet are always the hardest part of the body to keep warm on a bike, but lacking good insulated shoes, wool and/or neoprene socks can provide plenty of warmth. And if that fails, you can get off your bike and walk until your feet warm up.

So here's my challenge to you: If you think you might be interested in cycle commuting during the winter but don't want to drop your entire PFD check on a bunch of new clothing, try experimenting with the stuff you have. Most people who live in a cold climate own cold-weather gear; it's just a matter of figuring out what works best for you.

Sweat a lot? Better layer up. Anticipating a wet snowstorm? Break out that old ski bib that's been in your closet since 1987. Own anything made of wool? Great. Use it. Socks especially. Avoid cotten, but recognize that as long as you're not soaking your shirt through and through with sweat or precipitation, it has the same power to keep you warm as the latest polypropylene blend (Still, avoid it, though, because you can and will sweat. Wet cotten is like wearing an icicle suit.) Look at the labels on the clothes that you no longer wear, the ones that have been abandoned to closet rot. Those nylon dress pants wick moisture away like you wouldn't believe. Polyester makes a great base layer. Maybe your dad has an old leisure suit stashed in the basement that you could substitute for your usual NYU sweats. Over it all - coat, gloves, hat. Everyone owns those things.

There's a lot of positive things to be said about having a $700 Gortex coat and N.E.O.S., but it's my unpopular opinion that as long as you own winter clothing, you can be a winter cyclist.

Just be creative.

Blog appreciation day

Date: Nov. 3
Total mileage: 41.2
November mileage: 84.4
Temperature upon departure: 25

So "Up in Alaska" turns one today.

This is actually post No. 271. I know what you're thinking. Two hundred and seventy one posts? Deee-yam, that girl needs to get a job. I just want to go on the record and say that I have a job. A very productive, blog-free job. Promise. Blogging is what I do when ... well ... when I should be watching TV. Blogging is what I'm doing when Geoff walks up to me holding some dismantled bike part and I hiss "shhh ... you're making me miss today's Fat Cyclist."

It's funny, because when I launched this thing, I had no intention of penning a daily biking blog. I just thought my friends and family were starting to get sick of all of the attachment-clogged mass e-mails I started sending when I moved to Alaska. I didn't actually think anybody besides my mom and my friend Monika in Ann Arbor would ever browse the thing. But the greatest thing about an open blog is the way it pulls you into this virtual community of like-minded people from all over the world. Friends and family, for the most part, reacted to my blog with deafening yawns. But who knew there would be so many strangers in the world who would participate in my rambling "bike-hike-rain-snow-reminisce-about-random-moments-in-the-past-ad-nauseum" conversation?

So I just wanted to use my one-year-anniversary post to say thanks to everyone who stops by, especially to those who say hi once in a while, to those who supported me in my foray into mountain bike racing and who offered encouraging words and suggestions. Who knew I'd still be at it one year - and 271 posts - later? Good thing I'm not one of those people who watches "Lost."

As for today - clear weather continues to hold on in Juneau, to the amazement of nearly everyone. I rode my bike out to the Herbert Glacier trail to meet some friends this morning. Who knew it was 30 miles away? By the time I reached the trailhead, I was already dripping with sweat and the rest of the ride (10 slow miles on a trail covered with 1-2 inches of snow) was mostly just a battle to stay warm. We reached the Herbert Glacier, with a fierce wind blasting off the snowfield and hitting our watery eyes like thousands of tiny needles. I'd put the windchill in that spot at about -10. That'll wake you up, quick. We went with our friend Geoff (not my Geoff, another Geoff I know. It was me and two Geoffs with a "G.") He's one of those people who's great to ride with - doesn't care in the slightest about making good time or covering good distance, but everything is glorious and breathtaking, and he'll remind you of it at every turn. He stops to inspect icicles. I like that in a riding companion.

Here's hoping the weather stays clear and cold, and that this blog survives to see Nov. 3, 2007.

Terra Firma

Date: Nov. 1 and 2
Total mileage: 45.2
November mileage: 45.2
Temperature upon departure: 30

Oh man. I love winter mountainbiking.

Seriously. I wouldn't have guessed it a year ago, when the idea was just starting to drift into my realm of understanding. There's a lot of winter cycling enthusiasts here in Alaska, but I used to think it was just a form of survival rather than an actual hobby. After all, we have a lot of winter here. And not everyone wants to spend six months stuck to skis.

But there's a lot of ways that biking in the winter is - well - better.

Don't get me wrong. Summer is always amazing. It's beautiful, challenging ... and boggy. Especially here in the southeast, but the Kenai Peninsula isn't exactly Moab. The singletrack trails are often a maze of wet roots, puddles and tire-swallowing mudholes. There's gravel river beds, but there's also long stretches of moss that are best compared to cycling across a field of wet pillows. Like I said - it's beautiful. It can be colorful too - especially if you're someone like me, prone to bruising.

But then comes the freeze-up. Geoff and I planned to ride the single track trails in the Mendenhall area today. Almost as an afterthought, he talked me into installing my studded tires first, and the transformation was amazing. Suddenly, I was gripping to the web of wheel-throwing roots with all the ease of a skilled ice climber. We flew over frost-dusted gravel and clenched our teeth across lightly frozen puddles, with the stomach-squeezing crackling inturrupting our prayers to 'just let the ice hold me this one time through.' It always did. And it was a great ride. No wet feet. No mud caked to the drivetrain. No slipping out on wet wooden planks. If you ask me, ice can be a cyclist's best friend. But studded tires are what make or break such a relationship.

We stayed out a little later than planned - and three hours into the ride, we watched the 4 p.m. sunset engulf the Mendenhall Glacier in soft pink light. In deepening shades of red, the twilight set in. We pulled frost-covered masks over our faces and hunched into the tear-inducing race against the dark. Weaving through the blind shadows of hoarfrost-coated spruce trees, I felt complete faith that the ground beneath me would hold me up.


I love winter mountainbiking.