Pugsley is here

Date: July 30
Mileage: 25.1
July mileage: 832.1
Temperature upon departure: 53
Inches of rain today: 0.30"

This frame actually arrived a few days ago. I originally thought I was going to mull it over a while before deciding whether I really wanted a Pugsley or a Wildfire or another beefy bike. But then I found a good deal on a 16" gray model, and I snatched it up quickly because I am not interested in riding anything that's the color of fermented grape Koolaid. However, since it showed up, I seem to be having delayed onset of joy.

There may be two reasons for that. First, a bit of knee relapse has me questioning the wisdom of training all winter long. Second, I started dismantling Snaux Bike to cannibalize some parts and unload others. Yesterday I wrapped up the SnowCat wheels in a box bound for Colorado. Now Snaux Bike is no longer a snow bike. He's just something useless ... broken ... and there's sadness in that. Bringing Pugsley into the house is a bit like having a new boyfriend move in while the old one is still gathering up the pieces of a shattered relationship in hopes of reconciliation. "I'll always love you, but, you know ..."

Still, it's better to move on than always wonder what could have been. I, for one, can't wait to figure out what kind of bottom bracket I should buy so I can slap Pugsley together and take him out for some joyriding on the rocky beaches of Douglas Island. And winter ... don't even get me started on how excited I am for winter.

Urban trailriding

Date: July 29
Mileage: 14.1
July mileage: 807.0
Temperature upon departure: 65
Inches of rain today: 0.04"

Living in Juneau has not done wonders for my progression as a mountain biker. I have finally come to terms with the reality that the best option for workweek trailriding is to tootle around on the Mendenhall Valley trail system. I am the first to admit that I don't mind riding loops, but there is something about weaving a tight grid in a small area that is vaguely ... suffocating. As such, I don't feel compelled to take out the mountain bike nearly as often as I should. So my technical skill-building suffers, therefore my handling suffers, therefore my confidence suffers. Plus, the combination of fairly little elevation gain with root-choked trail means it's nearly impossible to get a good workout on a mountain bike.

But it is fun, just the same. It reminds me of motorcycling with my dad as a small child. He would sling me over the seat of his dirt bike and I would clasp the front of the handlebars, stretching my legs as far as I could away from the searing engine. We took off from our driveway for some nearby subdivision, still lingering that silent, semi-natural state always present before a tsunami of construction blasts through. The open fields were criss-crossed with a tight network of sandy trails, washboarded to teeth-chattering perfection by heavy ATV and BMX use. It was endlessly fun, and right in our backyard, and exhilarating to believe that adventure hovered so close to the mundane. That is a bit what biking in the Mendenhall Valley feels like - I could be tearing into the gut of some mud-soaked root maze, completely unaware of the movie theater that lies a half mile away.

Nearly every time Geoff and I ride here, I come home soaked in mud splatters and a few drops of blood, patches of Devil's Club rash and new insect bites, and a big stupid grin stuck to my face. I really should run the grid more often.

Savoring sunset

What to do with a gimpy knee day? A friend of a friend is in town from D.C., and we have been trying to help her along the fast track tour of everything Juneau. Wednesday night it was dancing at The Alaskan with the rockabilly sounds and Janet Jackson costumes of the Glorious Youth Parade. After the show, several dozen spectators poured into the street with donated hula-hoops, swiveling the after hours away in some kind of strange Alaska-flavored luau. Today we promised her a good hike, but she is too gimpy herself (with a sprained ankle) to do much walking. She stayed in town, but the two Geoffs and I still went. Today we hit Sheep Creek trail, another new one for me.

I discovered the trail is actually a delicious stretch of grass-covered singletrack, hidden deep in a beautiful highland meadow. The only catch? Getting a bike up there would require a gruelling 3/4-mile hike-a-bike that really redefines hike-a-bike (meaning, you'd probably have to put the bike on your back as you scrambled up near-vertical stretches of root-covered trail.) But for the dearth of smooth trail in Juneau, it may actually be worth it. I pondered the effort as we walked, slowly, without time limits, fitness goals or even a destination.

We took our D.C. visitor out to North Douglas tonight to roast up the salmon she caught in Ketchikan, accompanied by feta-and-olive pasta salad, blueberry-and-melon fruit salad, veggie burgers, basil-roasted peppers and onions, cous cous and apple pie (what could be more American then apple pie on the beach in July?) As the sun began to slip behind the horizon, a bald eagle coasted by, clasping a large, still-flopping salmon in its talons. We explained to our guest how rare her particular Juneau experience really was, with its nearly-dry weather, quirky bar music, crazy hula hoopers and quiet sunsets that bathed the beach in pink light. "It really doesn't get much better than this," we said.

It just kept getting better.