Biking with Geoff

Date: June 16
Mileage: 30.7
June mileage: 344.3
Temperature upon departure: 65

Geoff and I both spend a lot of time cycling, but rarely together. There are several of reasons for this. Like many people, our schedules and abilities only brush together in thin strands. He works afternoons; I work evenings. He's training hard for serious races; I'm still leery about laying hard on the cranks. Geoff has technical experience that stretches back to the days when I still believed 10-speeds were the end-all of cycling; I ... well ... I'm still focused on keeping that whole crank-turning thing together.

So we have our different paces. We have our different priorities. He wanted to ride 50 miles. I wanted to be at work by 2 p.m. But like all those couples engaged in a constant struggle between ESPN and The Food Network, we make it work. He turns the volume down a bit, and I pretend that the joys of technical singletrack aren't terribly overrated (After all, we're only riding loops over the footprint of a melting glacier, not traversing the Rocky Mountains.) And as he ever more gently urges me to try cleaning a log I've already nearly endoed over, I'm definitely thinking, "we should do this more often."

Not that we're really that incompatible cycling together. I guess I just think it's funny that we have any differences at all, when we're both overzealous about the exact same thing. It's like sharing the same religion, going to the same church, sitting in the exact same pew, listening to the same sermon, and envisioning two different rewards. He's thinking "Go to Heaven." I'm thinking "Stay out of Hell."

But when we waver long enough to work our way to middle ground, we find ourselves riding together, here.

(I don't know why these pictures are so blown out. I think I'm not the only one overwhelmed by all of this clear-sky sunlight.)

(At first glance, this picture is boring. But I really like the distinct layers of green hues.)

Draw'ring

This time of year, by the time I crawl into bed, the sun is already on its way back up. This means I have sunlight blazing in my face for nearly the entire span of time I'm attempting to sleep. My summertime insomnia is back in all of its hazy glory; combined with a recent increase in activity, which also wreaks havoc with my internal clock. But being sleep-deprived is not the end of the world, and it does make for some interestingly dreamlike mornings.

Like this morning, I could not stop thinking about Equus. It's a play I went to see with Geoff and friends last night. It was by far the most graphic play I have ever attended; but its message was equally haunting - the tortured psychologist, who has nearly gone mad over the enlightenment that life is meaningless without passion, in the end realizes that passion itself is a hopeless pursuit. Heavy stuff. I chewed on it for a while as I prepared to go hiking, and for some reason - at the last minute - decided to throw a sketch pad and pens in my pack to do some drawing.

It was a strange idea, and a definite diversion from my usual hiking habits. I like to go as far as I can as fast as I can without stopping much. I like the idea of covering more ground and pushing for a destination rather than lingering on dewdrop-drenched spider webs and sprigs of grass. But that was the idea I had for today. I was going to stop, and linger, and make field sketches of ferns and chunks of glacial ice. But after a few miles and stopping and going, I remembered why I don't attempt this often. I have grand plans to create an image of the world as I see it, and I end up with drawings like this:

Awwww ... a black bear on a snow bike. These anthromorphized critters are the kinds of doodles I make when I am either listening intently to a lecture, or have my mind turned off completely (like when I'm in a meeting.) But more often than not, they're what come out when I'm zoned out. And it's interesting to me that I'd so quickly dive into doodling when I was really trying to be tuned in. But I think this is, whether I like it or not, the way in which I see the world. When I am truly lost in a moment, my mind fluctuates wildly between past and future without lingering long on the present. Thus, I'd be tempted to sketch out a winter-esque picture of a little bear in a hat, when what I was really looking at is the scene in the photo at the top.

Anyway, those are the doodles I make, and these are the blog posts I make when I am in the throws of an excessive-daylight-driven insomniac episode. I am really enjoying the summer though. We went to a barbecue tonight. It was warm enough out to wear a tank top (yes, I have lived in Alaska long enough to consider 65 degrees tank top weather.) And as I was gnawing on a juicy chicken skewer and looking across the channel with strips of orange sunlight lingering over the horizon, I felt completely at home. I think, someday, when people ask me what was the best thing about living in Juneau, I will say "June."

Bender

Date: June 14
Mileage: 89.1
June mileage: 313.6
Temperature upon departure: 61

Self discipline has never been one of my strong traits ... especially when it comes to bicycling. I don't do intervals because I don't like to watch a clock. I don't monitor my heart rate or calorie intake or elevation profiles. That I've been able to bicycle a lot of miles during the winter months isn't really contradictory to this character flaw - I take plenty of sick pleasure from riding around in horrid conditions. But I take even more sick pleasure from riding around in nice conditions.

I left the house today with 40 oz. of water, a rain coat, sunscreen, a single Power Bar and a baggie of fruit snacks in my Camelbak. I had absolutely no expectations setting out at 8:45 a.m. ... maybe check out the latest line of crusie ships, take an easy spin north and be back before 11.

It's interesting how a ride with no purpose and no plan can be so helplessly self-perpetuating. The wind was moving out of the south, so I went with it. I hummed along with my intentionally lo-fi iPod playlist: Elliot Smith, Sufjan Stevens, Pinback. Every once in a while, that soft little voice of reason would tell me that now would be a good time to turn around.

But something else ... maybe those small pleasures that tug at my senses ... something just kept pulling me forward. A bald eagle hovering on the breeze above my head; the faintly lilac smell of lupin; the clouds rolling eastward in the clearing sky; the hordes of mosquitoes lingering at my back. Before I even realized it (really), I was at Berner's Bay - the end of the road, 45 miles from my house.

There was some guilt there, but more strongly, there was a sense of finding my way home after an extended period of wandering. I have not been to Berner's Bay since January. I remember it in its loneliness, frozen and remote. To see it vibrant and colorful, flowing with kayaker traffic and camper-toting trucks, was a cathartic shot of symmetry. I relished in the rush, and then I rode it home.

January ...................................................June

As I try to gain back my sense of what is enough and what is too much, I am inevitably going to hit some snags. But I truly feel that today wasn't one of those snags. In the back of my mind, I have the voice of reason chanting the virtues of prudent moderation, of small increments, of 10 percent plus 10 percent plus 10 percent. Then I have what's in front of me, calling with a color-drenched intensity that makes reason easy to ignore. Today, as I awaited the final stop light at the Douglas Island bridge, feeling strong, loose and still raring with energy, the world in front of me said "You should just ride to Thane and make it an even century." To which the voice of reason replied, "Don't be a %$#% idiot." (Yes, voice of reason sometimes has to use strong language to get my attention.

Still ... it's hard out here for a gimp.

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.