Perpetuation

Date: June 29
Mileage: 36.2
June mileage: 598.2
Temperature upon departure: 61

So Geoff just casually announced to me today that he is planning to line up for the Great Divide Race next June.

And, um, I think he's serious.

And, um, I think I believe him. It's one thing to say such a thing a year in advance. It's quite another when Geoff says such a thing a year in advance.

And I thought I was climbing way out on a limb by announcing in the midst of a knee injury that I'd like to ride in the Ultrasport race to McGrath next February. Clearly, I have no concept of ambition. That, and Geoff has no concept of prudence.

I'm not sure how I feel about his intentions. On one hand, I'm excited, because I know him and I know it's something he could excel at, even with the odds stacked against him. I also know that he would put his whole heart and soul into it and be gone for weeks, if not months, to prepare for and participate in the GDR. That should probably bother me ... that some dumb 'ol bike race is more important to him than hanging out with me, or that some dumb 'ol bike race is more important to him than building a "real" life. But I don't really feel that way. When I think about Geoff racing the GDR, I first feel empathy, and then envy. I think our relationship works because we're equally afflicted with the same misguided passions ... and equally self-involved.

June 2008 is a long way away. But I know - from the first time I thought it would be "interesting" to move to Alaska, or "fun" to ride 100-mile winter bike race on the Iditarod trail - that these ideas have a way of becoming self-perpetuating. It will be interesting to see what the next 12 months bring. But I already suspect (with relief, but also disappointment) that it's not going to be a mortgage and ceremony where someone smashes cake in my face.

Whew

Date: June 28
Mileage: 22.3
June mileage: 562
Temperature upon departure: 67

What a week. I feel like I've been locked in a dead sprint since the morning we left for Whitehorse a week ago. Every second of that "vacation" was about moving moving moving. Then, to make up for it, every second since has been about working working working. So I sit at my desk stewing in a steambath of my own sweat because I work in a building with no air conditioning - which would never matter, if the sun would just go down once in a while. The deadline crunch weighs down when I have nothing but fumes left. My vision is blurry. My mind is oatmeal. And, to top it all off, my legs and arms have turned into a colorful cacophony of scratches and bruises ... most from collisions I don't even remember.

The best one yet happened the night before last. Unable to sleep in my bed, I was thrashing to and fro on the floor, nearly unconscious, when I somehow kicked the iron base of the bed with a force I didn't even know I was capable of. After several eternal seconds of writhing and whining, I woke up enough to realize that I hadn't shattered my foot. But by then, the adrenaline surge had taken over. I was up for several more hours, reading New Yorkers and watching dawn grow brighter and brighter. It's a terrible biological joke ... the more fatigued I am, the harder it is for me to rest.

So I've been taking my breaks on the bike. When there are a dozen other things I should be doing - grocery shopping, laundry, dishes, unpacking - every pedal stroke is like a deep breath into a fog of soothing sea sounds. There are days when I can meditate really well while I ride, zoned in to ebb and flow and nothing else. I hit my destination and remember almost nothing that came before, but I feel oddly relaxed and rested. You would think that kind of feeling would come from puttering along out there, but that never seems to be the case. I check my speedometer and usually find that I ride faster than average when I'm zenned in. I think this is the case because when I'm conscientious, I do entirely too much thinking about headwinds and hills.

And I think about those guys out there pedaling the Great Divide route, and how even at my hottest, sleepiest, more stressful part of the day, they still have it so much harder than me. I think about that old cliche about how the worst day on a bike is better than the best day at the office, and I laugh because that's so completely untrue. I laugh, and I feel peace. And I ride.

T-shirt not included

I am feeling much better about my knee today. I put in an hour of interval "running" on the elliptical trainer and didn't even notice the kickback. The soreness seems to be fading almost as quickly as the after-ride fatigue. I think I just had to vent a little yesterday. It just wouldn't be my blog if I didn't complain about my knee.

I also spent a decent part of the morning pouring over the logistics of the Yukon Gold Ultra. It's a 100-mile mountain bike or trail run held in Whitehorse at the end of July. I had looked over elevation profiles and maps and rules and was nearly definite on wanting to do it until I came across the price.

$400 CDN. Ouch.

Triple-digit entry fees seem to be the norm for most ultra-biking events. I can't say I blame organizers. There's a huge amount of work involved in putting these races together - marking out dozens of miles of trail, positioning volunteers, enticing participants with T-shirts and decorative mugs. The price is likely justified, but it definitely puts events like the Yukon Gold Ultra out of my reach.

If I really wanted to ride a summertime hundie, I feel like I could map out my own course, support my own self, and be happier with the experience in the long run. I can see this becoming my longterm trend. I think as I become more immersed into the world of endurance cycling, I will find myself wading further from organized "races." This seems to be a habit for a lot of people - evident in the recent explosion of popularity in grassroots endurance rides: Kokopelli Trail, Arizona Trail, Kaibab Monstercross, Grand Loop, Great Divide. All self-supported. All only loosely organized. All free.

These events had their fair share of growing pains this year, with government regulation filtering in, fines, and participants haggling about the "rules" of the ride. I think the result of this is that some of the events are going to blow up into "real" races, with thousand-dollar entry fees. And some will slip further underground. I'm beginning to think I'd like to follow the underground crowd.

As for planning (and training for) the rest of my summer, I'd still like to ride the loop between Haines and Skagway (especially now that I have driven the Skagway-to-Whitehorse leg and am more terrified of it than ever.) I may try to head out to Anchorage in September for the Soggy Bottom 100 if I can swing the travel costs (though as I recall, with a $60 entry fee, this event is more reasonable than most.)

But beyond that, I like knowing that the sky's the limit. I'd love to plan a long mountain bike ride in the Whitehorse area. But I don't have to hold myself to the confines of the Yukon Gold Ultra if I'm willing to do my own legwork. And for $400, I could definitely afford to do a little legwork. It's hard to be self-motivated. But at the same time, I believe it also makes accomplishments more rewarding. I can see myself perched on a ridgeline in a frigid downpour, gasping for breath and trying to choke down a Clif Bar, all the while knowing that if I just turned around right there, nobody would care. There would be no DNF attached to my name if I quit; no win if I continued. To move forward in those conditions - cold, tired and absolutely anonymous - would, I think, be a great test of mental strength. It builds the kind of confidence you can keep in the vault for years.

And there are so many options out there for that kind of adversity. After all, $400 will buy a decent plane ticket. (Or a ferry ride to Prince of Wales Island. Hundreds of miles of abandoned logging roads in Southeast Alaska. Anyone else game? I could name the event the "Rain and Tears Trail Race.")

I still think it's going to be a great summer.