Greetings from sunny Skagway

Date: Aug. 15-17
Mileage: 371.5
August mileage: 686.6
Temperature upon departure: Scorching
Inches of rain: 0"!!

My pinky fingers are numb, so it is hard to type right now.

I am killing some time in Skagway while I wait for my ferry. I rolled in at 12;51 p.m. this afternoon. I left the Haines ferry terminal at 12;38 p.m. Wednesday, which means I ~almost~ made it in 48 hours.

It's true, though, that 48 hours and two days are not the same thing. I divided this ride into three pretty equal days ... 140 on Wednesday, 120 on Thursday, 110 today.

I might have made my self-imposed time cutoff, but I stayed up late hanging out at a Whitehorse barbeque and slept in ... a little. (It was still as dark as the massive dark night when I left at 4;30 a.m. Yukon time)

Everything went about as well as I could have hoped for. Wednesday and today were two of the most beautiful bike rides I have ever experienced. Thursday doled out the heaping helping of suffering I was hoping for at least a dose of - 120 miles of mostly Alaska Highway, into an unrelenting 15-25 mph headwind all day long, ran out of water twice, with temperatures that climbed to 30 degrees Celcius (what is that? Like 90? Ouch.)

I have some good pictures to post when I am back in juneau. I definitely recommend this bicycle touring route to anyone. I used to think that riding Moab to Hanksville, Utah, via the San Juan Mountains and Highway 95 was the most beautiful road bicycle route in North America. I think I may have changed my mind about that.

I brought way too much food.

And too little water.

But I think my knee held up well, which is definitely encouraging. If it weren't for my pinky fingers and the red welts across my skin (an allergic reaction to the sun, I think ... not sunburn, actual welts) ... I'd be the picture of health.

Well, my Internet minutes are nearly up. Thanks everyone for the well wishes. Luck definitely smiled on me this weekend.

Yukon Ho!

Date: Aug. 13
Mileage: 21.1
August mileage: 315.1
Temperature upon departure: 68
Inches of rain: 0"

"But if something hurts so much, how can it be enjoyable? At the point where physical stress begins to take you beyond what you imagine to be endurable, you enter new territory of understanding, an expanded psychological landscape. ... The pleasure comes when you grasp just what has happened inside your head and spirit. It doesn’t stop when the bike stops, when you reach the top of the col or peel off at the end of the ride, so tired you can hardly think or stand straight. That’s where the pleasure begins. The self-knowledge."

Graeme Fife, "Glory Through Suffering"

I took Roadie out for a short test spin this morning (Yes, I really did wear that T-shirt and those socks. I really am turning into my father.) I was planning to weigh the bike before the trip. But as I huffed and puffed and hoisted it up the stairs, I thought better of it. I don't want that number spinning through my head as I'm chugging up a 3,500-foot pass tomorrow. In cases like that, ignorance is about as close to bliss as I'm going to get.

The first few seconds on a loaded bicycle are always a scary experience for me. I feel like I'm going to tip and tumble and I wonder how I'm ever going to pilot the thing one mile, let alone 100 miles or 1,000 miles. But once the tires get rolling, I find my balance and almost forget about all that extra weight ... until the first hill, that is.

Eight hours from now, I'm going to leave on my trip around the Golden Circle. I don't know what I'm going to tell the people at Canadian customs. That I'm going to be back in Alaska in 48 hours? They'll never buy it. They'll tell me it can't be done. Maybe it can't be done (by me.) Or maybe it will be frighteningly easy. Most likely, the effort will fall somewhere in between ... full of that phantom fatigue that burns behind your eyes when all there is to see is endless miles of raw, uncaring beauty.

I don't have any expectations for myself but to finish; I don't have anything to do out there but ride. If only life could be as simple as the road. And yet, I fully expect to suffer in kind. A road with no forks means there is no escape; and, not unlike life, its unrelenting pull only goes one direction.

I wonder if the Canadian customs agents will ask me the omnipresent question ... Why? As in, "Why would you try to bike to Skagway in two days, when you could just do it in nine - with vehicle support, and smoked salmon for lunch, and a place to lay down for the night where you will not have to shiver yourself to sleep?" It's a good question that ripples across most aspects of modern life. This ride does not need to be hard. I make it artificially hard. I seek out the suffering. I do not know whether I do so because there is something missing in my life, or because there is something to gain. It may be a little of both.

I can not visualize the words, but there must be a reason to choose battle over comfort, even when the fight is an entirely selfish one, and there is nothing to gain but a vague notion of self-confidence. Will I earn it? I don't know. Every battle won only leads me deeper into the war.

"Herein lies the heroism of this beautiful sport — the inner revelation that makes the cyclist impervious to ordinary weakness because every ride he has ever made exposes him to that defeatist voice; he has known it, faced it and conquered the fear of it, again and again and again."

- Graeme Fife

Everything I need

I spent all of what turned out to be a beautiful morning finalizing my touring gear, setting it up on my bike, repacking, adding things to my list, buying more stuff ... in short, not riding. But I think it will all be worth it on Wednesday when I take off from Haines with what seems to be a pretty complete load. It feels heavy, but it's about as compact as I can go with the gear I own and the uncertainties I'm facing - two small saddle bags (one for camping gear; the other for rain gear and extra clothing) a frame bag (food) a seatpost bag (bike repair stuff, first aid kit, and batteries) and a handlebar bag (Everything else. No backpack! Yeah!)

On of the new innovations that I am especially excited about is fork-mounted water-bottle holders. This will allow me to carry ~72 ounces of water on the frame. That amount should be plenty, even with the forecasted warm temperatures. I found a detailed milepost guide to the Haines Junction and Klondike highways, and it seems that never more than 20 miles pass without at least one stream or river crossing. One of my water bottles has a built-in filter that I can pour all of my water through, and I am carrying back-up iodine pills just in case. (One thing that surprised me in packing for this trip is just how many different pills and drugs I require.)

The frame bag holds all of my food - six Clif Bars, 6 oz. turkey jerky, 10 packs fruit snacks and 22 oz. almonds and cranberries, for more than 5,000 gut-busting calories. Actually, gut-busting is the wrong word. This food has proven to be basically the only stuff I can digest in long-burn situations. Food that's too "real" (i.e. sandwiches and pasta) doesn't sit well in my stomach, and I haven't been able to trust myself to actually ingest food that's too "fake" (i.e. Perpetuem and Gu).

Of course eating Clif Bars for all of my meals and sleeping in a bivy sack do not exactly make for luxury touring, so I'm allowing myself one comfort: platform pedals. The thought of riding 12-16 hour days in my cycling shoes made my toes curl up and scream for mercy. Plus, only having one set of shoes means I'll need something to wear in stores, around camp, etc. Also, should anything happen, I may have to hitchhike for a long while.

The plan is to leave Juneau on Wednesday on the 7 a.m. ferry. I arrive in Haines at 11:30, where I'll probably grab a quick lunch in town and hopefully be on the road north by 12:30. The plan is to bike to somewhere south of Haines Junction (mile 148) that night, to Whitehorse (mile 245) the next day, probably stay in Whitehorse, and wake up long before the crack of dawn on Friday to ride to Skagway (mile 355) in order to hopefully complete the distance by 12:30 p.m. I have a grace period of about four hours before my ferry leaves town at 4:30. If I don't make it to Skagway by then, I'll have to eat the cost of the ticket and wait overnight for the next boat. I'm hoping the threat of that will be motivation enough to meet my goal ... riding about 360 miles in 48 hours. The fact that the ferry schedule forces me to do it over three days is, I think, an added comfort bonus.

While researching the route today, I found this site, which advertises was is essentially my trip ... minus the nine days to complete it, the bed and breakfast lodging, the sag wagon, the three square meals a day, and the $1,995 fee.

This site also includes some nice details about the tour. Reading through this today made me realize that I'm not just going on a training ride ... I'm going on a vacation. Yeah!

Severe Sun Advisory

Date: Aug. 11
Mileage: 25.1
August mileage: 294.0
Temperature upon departure: 71
Inches of rain: 0"

The National Weather Service issued an unofficial "Severe Sun Advisory" for Juneau this weekend. I guess the NWS feels it's necessary to warn Juneau residents that when that big yellow orb is burning in the sky and outside temperatures are approaching 80 (80!), they can't go outside without sunscreen and leave their dogs in cars and other things that they are able to do 95 percent of the year. Yes, Juneau-ites, the sun is in the sky. Head for the hills.

Today I hiked with Geoff to the top of Mount Jumbo, the highest point on Douglas Island. I think it may just turn out to be our only hike together this summer; now that he has seen how slow I am on the downhills, he will not take me hiking again. I don't know exactly what is wrong with me right now - whether I am out of practice, out of shape, or just a little too self-aware of my tender knee. Either way, it took us a comfortable 90 minutes to climb to the top, and a lumbering, leg-pounding two hours to get down with me in the lead. I felt like a wooden marionette flailing down the mountain, grasping and clawing at roots as gravity sucked me into an abyss. And it just kept going down, and down and down and down.

But it's worth it, because you can't beat the views at 3,500 feet. It really gives me perspective on where I live. It's so easy to get lost in the day-to-day out-and-back that defines my routine. The reality of Juneau is that it is a small speck on a very large, very craggy topo map. Whenever I feel stifled in my small town, I like to think of all those ridgelines stretching into the great beyond, and how I could wander for the rest of my life and never see them all.

The sun, however, actually has me a little worried. The weather forecast extends this high-pressure system late into the week, which means my ride Wednesday-Friday could be accompanied by something unexpected entirely: hot weather. With forecasted temps in the mid-70s in Juneau, it could reach the 90s in interior Yukon. Before you smirk at the irony of my concerns, picture this: I'm one of those light-skinned, light-eyed types who is naturally sensitive to sunlight anyway. Throw in the fact that I am in no way acclimatized to sun, and have no recent experience with hydration, eating or perceived effort in warm temperatures ... I may just wither out there. Or I may still freeze. But now I have no idea what to expect. I liked it better when freezing was a given.

Look at me. I'm complaining about a "Severe Sun Advisory." I really am from Juneau now.

One good push

Date: Aug. 10
Mileage: 85.5
August mileage: 272.9
Temperature upon departure: 67
Inches of rain today: 0"

Holy cow. It seems like I may actually attempt this 360-mile ride next weekend. I had come so close to talking myself out of it, too. But the bad knee started cooperating just long enough to respark those temptations. And once that fire starts building, it's only a matter of time before it consumes everything, even common sense. I have to put it out, somehow. Might as well do the ride.

This weekend was my final test to see how my body might cope in the long slow burn. My repetitive motion pangs seem to come on as a result of long periods of buildup rather than just one big ride, so to be able to move pain-free through a 50-mile ride, a six-hour hike, and an 85-mile ride in a three-day period bodes well. I felt great today. It seems like I'm probably as ready for a ride like this as I was ever going to get. Time to cool it off a little, stock up on Power Bars, and spend some time rebuilding Roadie into the lean, mean touring machine he was meant to be (well ... maybe not the lean and mean part.)

The clouds cleared out while I was riding this morning, opening up the sky to what may turn out to be the warmest, sunniest weekend of the summer. Everyone has huge plans and I actually feel a little bit lucky to have my upcoming workweek there to hold me back - otherwise, I'd probably be out scaling entire ridgelines or mountain biking all the trails out the road or otherwise completely burning myself out before Wednesday.

We opened up the official weekend with a big bonfire on the beach. We roasted rubbery "Tofu Pups" over the flames and intentionally dropped a lot of them in the coals. Then we wolfed down our day's allotment of calories and then some in the form of freshly made rhubarb pie. About two dozen people rolled in for this particular beach barbecue, officially making it the largest of the summer. The food was terrible but I think everyone suspected there would be a great sunset tonight. So far, the Friday night horizon has not disappointed us.

A walk in the clouds

Date: Aug. 9
Mileage: 7.8
August mileage: 187.4
Temperature upon departure: 61
Inches of rain today: 0.02"

The weather forecast called for clear(er) weather, so I went to bed last night believing that today was going to be the day, the day I hiked the Juneau Ridge. So of course I woke up to settled fog and a steady drizzle. I knew that my chances of finding the route up there weren't great, but that didn't change the fact that I was raring to go. I gave it a shot.

I started backwards from Granite Creek Basin because I have been up the Mount Juneau trail before, and it seemed better to make my destination some place I might actually recognize. As I was locking my bike at the Mount Juneau spur, a man passed me and chuckled quietly. When I caught back up with him up the trail, he asked, "Why did you leave your bike back there?" When I explained the loop I hoped to complete - up Granite Creek, across the ridge, down Mount Juneau, bike home. He just laughed again and said, "Well, good luck with all that."

Luckily, Granite Creek Basin alone was worth the effort. Patches of brilliant green lit up the graveled surface of what counts as high country in Alaska - 3,000 feet. But as I followed the snow-choked drainages further into the fog, visibility dropped to three feet ... sometimes less. I spent the next couple of hours picking my way along the ridge. Having no trail to follow, no ridgeline in my sight, and no intuition for direction were three solid strikes against me. My inclination led me to drop off the ridge many times, eventually finding myself rimmed on a cliff or trapped by an impossibly steep field of snow. I was backtracking more than I was moving forward. Soon it became apparent that I would spend all day and all night and then some on that ridge if my progress continued at that rate. And since I had no idea how far I really had to go, I turned around.

Of course, about a half hour after I decided to make my hike and out-and-back, the clouds began to clear. Oh well. At least I could finally see more substantial pieces of the big picture. I don't feel too disappointed about not making it to Mount Juneau today. Now I've checked out both the approach and the descent, I feel like all I have left to discover is the highline ... and I can't wait to go back.

A lake still frozen in August ...


with edges of water so blue it was like an open window into infinity.

50 miles before work

Date: Aug. 8
Mileage: 51.2
July mileage: 179.6
Temperature upon departure: 55
Inches of rain today: 0"

I used to be a 9-to-5'er, a standard-issue worker, staring bleary-eyed into my morning bowl of Wheaties and scraping ice off windshields in the predawn darkness. When I fell into the copy-editing side of newspapering, those shifts got thrown out the window - along with my prime-time TV habit, my alarm clock, and any chance of a functional social life with the other standard-issue workers. So what did I gain in return? Sometimes I wonder.

I rolled out of bed today at 8:21 to a face full of daylight that had been up for three and a half hours. In the height of summer, more than five passed by the time I woke up. But I'll never miss any of it. In fact, with as well as I've been sleeping lately, I bid the long daylight good riddance.

I lingered over breakfast for a while - who knows how long, really, as time creeps slowly in the a.m. hours. I sipped the elixir of life that some call coffee and watched thick tufts of fog crawl up the mainland mountains. The sun may come out today yet.

I debated the appeal of hiking or biking. As fog clung to view-blocking elevations, I decided I deserved at least one dry day on the bike.

Roadie is extra rickety in dry weather. A steady diet of rainwater has found its way into his headset, his bracket shell, his hubs. Rainwater now serves as his lube and without it, he creeks and groans like an 80-year-old man being dragged along on a reluctant outing. I felt bad about his life of neglect, but I also know that geography combined with my lifestyle means any bike of mine is going to be higher maintenance than a pop princess at a cocaine party. I have convinced myself that life rolls along smoother after you learn to accept the rust and the grit.

Sunlight crept through the fog in sharp beams - fingers of God light that always inject the landscape with quiet reflection. When I lose myself in those moments, I never remember, later, what kind of things I thought about or what inspiration I found. I do remember smiling and waving at a shoulder-grazing tour bus as children pressed their faces against the rear windows. In commute-mode, I let near-misses like that make me angry. But this morning, seeing those comically contorted faces reminded me that we all had the same destination ... the pursuit of wonder.

I turned around at mile 26 and meandered back to a beachside picnic area, where I set my rickety old man of a bike on the ground and shuffled in my bike shoes along the gravel shoreline. Several steps later, I discovered a blueberry patch glistening with dew and not-quite-ripe berries. I rustled through the leaves like a greedy grizzly and began popping the purple orbs in my mouth. A few were so sour they made me wince; regardless, there's something intensely sweet about devouring berries in the wild. Maybe it's the serendipity of finding them, the satisfaction of earning them; maybe there's a hunger that fruit snacks and Power Bars can't fill.

Somewhere, many miles away from that beach, my real life waited. The one with flickering screens, the meetings, the deadlines, the bad news that hasn't even happened yet. And there I was, all those miles away, mildly hypnotized by the calm rhythm of waves as I walked along with blueberry juice oozing between my fingers. It's a place I can escape to every day. It isn't even hard.

My friends always groan when I tell them my schedule. "You work from 2 to 11? That must be awful."

And all I can do is smile.