First climb

Date: June 12
Mileage: 23.3
June mileage: 201.2
Temperature upon departure: 50

After a winter of perilous ice conditions and a spring of perilous joint conditions, it has been at least six months since I've made the short jaunt up to Eaglecrest Ski Resort. The meat of the climb rises about 1,300 feet in five miles. Nothing to write to your Congressman about, but not too shabby for a sustained climb, either.

I hadn't made a hard effort since I started cycling again, and today was no exception. Still, just by nature of moving fast enough to stay upright on the bike, some of those pitches required at least moderate effort. When I'm going at moderate pace, I think about my quads. I focus hard on the muscles, firing and contracting, until I form a vague mental picture of pistons churning inside of an engine. My idea is to put all of the effort on my muscles, and remember that my knees are just being pushed along for the ride. I have no idea of this is proper therapy, but it seems to help. My pedal-turning comfort has improved drastically since I stopped "using" my knees. Who needs 'em? Someday I will have artificial robotic joints, and this will all be a distant memory.

The Great Divide Race is coming up on Friday, and I am starting to get very excited about following it on the blog. For me, this is way more exciting than the Tour de France (which is probably also coming up soon. Who knows?) My friend Dave Nice leaves this morning for the Rooseville Montana, the starting line of this 2,500-mile mad dash. It all begins at high noon. If I was a bettin' gal (which I am), I'd wager:

Pete Basinger sets a new course record in just over 15 days.
Matt Lee is really close behind, like 15:10:30.
Jay Petervay, who no one has heard from in days, rolls in at 15:20:00.
Dave Nice finishes strong and sets the fixie course record in a little less than 30 days.

As my illustrious Sen. Ted Stevens loves to say, "My guess is as good as anyone's."

I can't wait.

The Canadian dream

Later this month - well, in 12 days - Geoff is registered to ride his first 24-hour hamster race in Whitehorse, Yukon: The 24 Hours of Light. For a while, I was not planning to go at all. And then I thought - hey, road trip to Canada (and a ferry ride ... I do love those salt-encrusted snack bar pretzels.) But the reality is, Geoff does not need me as a one-woman pit crew. No matter where I exist in his Solo Spectrum, he will most likely do his own wrenching, make his own sushi, mix up his own Perpetuem and generally glower at my 4 a.m. cheerleader chants (believe me, I know how it feels.) So what am I to do? Might as well enter the race.

Now, don't freak out. I am not looking to break any personal records. I am not looking for anything beyond a fun mountain bike ride in a place where it's warm and LIGHT (I used the capital letters because Whitehorse has nearly 24 hours of it.) Why not plunk down the $60 Canadian (that's like, what, only $700 U.S.?) and be part of the event?

There is a chance I might be able to land a spot on an eight-person team. There will be cowboy hats. And debauchery. And no nudity (I don't know whether I'm relieved or disappointed.) If that does not work out, I might just 24-Solo it. Ride whenever I want. Take lots of breaks. Relish in the midnight sun lap. Stop if it hurts. Eat lots of Geoff's specialty sushi. In short, a Canadian dream (similar to the one I have planned for later this summer, without the crushing mileage.)

I have until June 19 to commit. But look at me ... I'm already giddy.

Also, I wanted to thank everyone who e-mailed me today about a photo CD. I have already set aside my Iditarod trail fund, and mailed the CDs out this afternoon. The Ultrasport is an entirely different beast at the end of the tunnel. But even after four months of struggling with injury, I still feel the same way about it that I did in February - I got on this train, and no matter what happens at this point, I'm going to have to confront the beast head-on.

Might as well start out in the Light.

I updated my photo CD

Date: June 9 and 10
Mileage: 14.4 and 40.6
June mileage: 201.2
Temperature upon departure: 63 and 69!

Way too much riding this weekend. I feel a little like a relapsed user - elated because the immediate pain has subsided, but guilty about the future consequences. There has been a rash of sunshine and I have been scratching at it incessantly ... biking, hiking, more biking. Something needs to rein me in ... or rather, rain me in. I'm sure that will happen soon enough.

The plus side of relapse is that I have been suddenly injected with more energy than I've had in a while. I've used the extra time to work on some projects I've been meaning to get around to. One was finally updating and organizing my vast collection of Alaska photos that have been lingering as anonymous files in limbo since September 2005.

In doing so, I also compiled a collection of 320 of my favorite scenic shots - many that have appeared on this blog, and some that haven't - for an "Up in Alaska" photo compilation . The winter before last, I mailed a similar (but much less extensive) CD out to readers who chipped in a few dollars to sponsor my 2006 Susitna 100 race. I thought I'd put the CD out on the table again, now that I'm beginning to horde funds for a future Iditarod Trail expedition (and already missing the prospect of mid-work sushi runs.) Amounts are completely optional. If you'd like to save your money for worthy causes but still want a CD, all I ask is a minimum of $4 to cover materials and shipping. The photos are of course open to all uses and reproductions. I like to think of this blog as similar to public broadcasting, without the decorative tote bags. I embark on these long-suffering rides for your (and my) entertainment.

You can click on the button below for paypal access, or e-mail me at jillhomer66@hotmail.com. In the meantime, I'll leave my final justification for the mileage spike.

It's just so nice out.

Perseverance

Date: June 8
Mileage: 31.8
June mileage: 156.2
Temperature upon departure: 58

As I rounded a sharp corner of Mount Juneau switchbacks, I nearly collided with the rear end of a mountain goat. At the time, all I saw was a bulk of white. My knee-jerk reaction was that I had run into a trail hog of a hiker, but then she turned to look at me. It's a strange experience, looking into the eyes of a wild animal standing at arm's length. I wondered if the respective reflections of ourselves would come to haunt us later -the way I could almost see my shadow framed by mud-streaked dreadlocks of white fur and wicked looking horns, flickering in the depths of those dark brown eyes. It's hard not to speculate about what the animal may have seen in my eyes; did she see the strands of broken connections that could have made us siblings in another life? Or fear? Or just a faceless threat? Not that it matters. It was a fraction of a second, and then she turned and sprinted up the trail, scaring out of the bushes a slightly smaller version of herself as they retreated together. By the time I wiped off my own stunned inaction and wrestled my camera out of my shirt pocket, they were far up the trail ... much too far for the money shot. But that eerie portrait remains.

I took my mountain bike up the Perseverance Trail this morning. First time this year. Near the trailhead, I passed a group of three women hauling telemark skis on their backs. As I was wondering, "What are they going to do with those skis?," they were probably wondering, "What is she going to do with that bike?"

I'm becoming better at my late-season snow biking ... but June 8? This is getting ridiculous. There's no accounting for elevation, and since there isn't, I thought I'd see what the south-facing side of Mount Juneau looked like.

I made it up about 1,200 feet before the snow fields really started to become thick. I know from past experience hiking with others that my own gage for perilous snow crossings is set pretty high, but after the first one I didn't see a single set of footprints that weren't hoof-shaped. It was just me and the goats up there - me clinging to the slush in my bike gloves, them hopping up boulders with the kind of grace I will always envy.

I almost believed I could be that invincible all they way to the peak, but I finally came to a snowfield I wasn't willing to cross - 15 feet high with a waterfall raging through the hollowed-out space below. Like I said, my gage is set high.

Back on my bike and flying down Perseverance as it hugged the precarious ledge of lower Mount Juneau, I couldn't shake the thought that I never really had anything to fear. Haunting brown eyes ... thin shells of snow ... everything fades into safe memories as life rushes forward. And I can't help but think that this ...

This is why I'm a happy person again.

Greenness

Date: June 7
Mileage: 52.8
June mileage: 124.4
Temperature upon departure: 47

I was finally able to surpass my longest post-injury ride - by mileage at least. Did 53 in just over three hours; it was pretty mellow with the exception of erratic but strong crosswinds over the entire distance and of course scattered bursts of rain. I didn't intend to ride that much today, but I woke up a little earlier than usual and had some time to kill before an anniversary lunch for my favorite co-worker. Twenty-five years at the Juneau Empire. Those kind of numbers boggle my mind.

Strange to spend three hours on a bicycle. After four empty months, three hours should seem like an eternity, but it's just the opposite. The minutes roll by like noon traffic on an expressway; the miles move forward even faster. I showed up at El Sombrero dripping rainwater from every square inch of clothing and feeling like I had just bike commuted in from my house, not from an out-and-back point some 25 miles north. And of course I shouldn't feel that way. But there is intrinsic virtue - even more than experience and fitness - in being new at something again. Before it becomes habit, before it becomes work, before it becomes life, it - whatever it may be - is simply an adventure. And time always gobbles up the adventures.

Not even the rain could bother me today. I often complain on my blog about rain (but not nearly as much as I could, believe me.) But this morning I found myself completely enamoured by the rich shades of green that have engulfed Juneau. Green crawls up the mountainsides all the way to snowline; it drips from the trees with neon intensity and saturates the ground like endless gallons of spilled paint. I spent most of my life in the drought-parched Mountain West, where the green season lasts all of two weeks. We learned to find beauty in the browns and yellows, saturation in the dust clouds and neon intensity in the glow of wildfire flames and lightning. So I am caught off guard by all the green, green everywhere, nearly suffocating the valley despite its infancy. The rainy season, after all, hasn't even begun.

It is spring, I suppose, the wave of newness, and I am happy to be in a position to ride its crest. It's still early to say whether or not my knee cartilage infection - or whatever I have - has finally let go. I bend the joint awkwardly out of habit, but am having a harder time finding the pain these days. Time will tell. I will continue to take it slow. And maybe, somehow, keep things new.

My new summer dream

Haines to Skagway

I'd like to do this as a minimalist "fast tour," about 350 miles in two days. Carry the smallest amount of gear possible (bear and bug spray included).

The climbing profile will likely be killer. The roads will be gravel-strewn and terrible. I expect two 16-20 hour days, with a "night" of restless bivying between them.

It's so remote that there are really only two real towns on the whole route in which to resupply, Haines Junction and Whitehorse. But I may decide to carry everything I need because I want to see if I have the stamina for multi-day endurance rides.

It could be deliciously brutal, and brutally beautiful. A dream ride.

I think if I continue to improve physically at the rate I have been this month, I could be ready to attempt it by early fall. Maybe last week of August/first week of September. Sometime before I head down to Arizona to hike the Grand Canyon with my dad.

I would need to buy a bivy sack, but I have access to a good 15-degree bag and all of the other gear I think I'd need. I'd plan for temps 20 degrees to 60 degrees, rain to fog to snow.

The best part? Depending on the ferry schedule, I may be able to ride this entire section of Alaska/Yukon/British Columbia without even taking a vacation day from work.

Yes, I miss the fast-paced life.

Stacks of bikes

Date: June 5
Mileage: 21.4
June mileage: 71.6
Temperature upon departure: 51

Today I returned home from a bike ride to find every other bicycle in the house strewn all over the yard. It turns out there was an unfortunate sewage incident in the storage room. The plumber had dispatched many of the contents of the room wherever they fell in the back yard, which made for a scene right out of Kentucky Homes and Gardens. (I later learned he cleared out the room before the pipe burst all over the place, which made me feel both relieved that my bikes weren't covered in sewage, and also irked that they would be treated like that in the first place.) But my first thought, upon seeing a yard full of overturned bikes is, "Wow. I own way too many bikes."

I just happened to be returning from a ride on Geoff's road bike, the closest thing we have to a "real" road bike. Before my whole knee debacle really settled in, I was seriously considering purchasing my own roadie this year. And when I found the rear tire on my bike flat - again - I thought it was about time to see how I felt about drop bars, rail-skinny tires any any other seemingly frivolous feature that supposedly eats up pavement.

The first thing I noticed was that Geoff has his clipless pedals set much tighter than mine.

The second thing I noticed was that I couldn't steer to save my life with my hands down in the drops.

The third thing I noticed was that the brakes were nowhere in reach while I was hunched in that position.

The fourth thing I noticed was an oncoming curb, in just enough time to narrowly advert tragedy.

The fifth thing I noticed, after finally coming to terms with my precarious situation, is that I couldn't get a single good stroke out of my legs. I felt like I was pedaling in water, going slower than I typically do riding pavement on my 2.7" treaded tire snow bike, and I just couldn't manage the speed. I did 20 miles like I was riding into wind, although there was none. It was a truly disappointing first encounter with a true "road" bike.

It makes me wonder if I've never developed the specific leg muscles for that position. Maybe in all of the mountain/touring bike riding I've done, sitting high and happy on flat handlebars, I've progressed in such a way that all of my power relies on high and happy muscles. This theory would hold more water if I'd actually done enough high and happy riding in the past few months to develop any of my muscles. But still ... why would a bike built specifically for speed specifically make me slower?

Geoff's theory is that he owns a slow bike.

Maybe I just had a bad day.

Either way, after coming home to mountains of mountain bikes and adding Geoff's roadie to the pile, I was able to voice what I already knew. I won't be buying a road bike this year.

These glass-coated roads are way to harsh for those wimpy tires.

And I just (finally) replaced my 7,000-mile chain/cassette on my touring bike. Might as well aim for 7,000 more.

And I already have way too many bicycles.

And, anyway, I need to save up for a real snow bike.