Blackerby Ridge

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Date: Sept. 3
Mileage: 9.1
September mileage: 40.7
Temperature upon departure: 55
Rainfall: 0"

Another day, another hike. It's a little rough to do two of these two work days in a row. But in Juneau, you have to take the nice weather when it comes.

I think Blackerby Ridge may be my favorite of all of the Juneau hikes I've tried so far. The trail isn't so much built as it is eroded into the steep, heavily forested mountainside. All of the exposed roots create a natural staircase that's as punishing as a walkable climbs can be. But it's to my advantage - I get all of that boring forested hiking out of the way in just over a mile (a really sweaty mile.) After that, it's all high mountain meadows and beautifully bald ridgeline.

The best aspect of Blackerby Ridge is the devious way it coaxes me forward. Once above treeline, I had an incredible view of all the surrounding ridgelines and their topography - which, from my vantage point - looked hikeable all the way to places I have dreamed of going ... the 5,000-foot Observation Peak, the Juneau Icefield, and beyond that ... Canada. Could I reach it if I tried? I don't know. I intend to try someday.

But not today. I stopped just short of the final ascent to Cairn Peak ... and that was too far for the time I had as it was. I was already running nearly an hour late, and that was assuming it would take me the same amount of time to hike down as it had to hike up (so far, descents have always taken longer.) But it was so hard to stop. I wanted to go onward into the unknown.

After I turned back to familiar territory, I notched up the volume on the iPod and let the swirl of sound engulf the landscape. Even though I stayed up until 2 a.m. last night downloading and sorting tons of new music for my tired old iPod, I spent most of the hike cycling through The New Pornographer's latest album, "Challengers." So great. Just as Sufjan Stevens always evokes images of the frozen Susitna valley, I think "Challengers" will always be Blackerby music to me:

On the walls of the day

In the shade of the sun

We wrote down ...

Another vision of us
We were the challengers of
The unknown ...

"Be safe" you say
Whatever the mess you are you mind okay
That is the custom
On down.

Timing Juneau

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Date: Sept. 1 and 2
Mileage: 23.4 and 8.2
September mileage: 31.6
Temperature upon departure: 49 and 54
Rainfall: .48"

Some workouts are all about numbers. After all, how can I gauge improvement without marking increments of progress? Since hiking is a simplistic act of putting one foot in front of another, the only way to improve at it is to hike faster. So on the way out the door to hike Mount Juneau, I stuffed my seldom-used watch with the broken band into my pocket.

The mountain bike ride to the trailhead is 4.1 miles; much of it gut-busting climbing if I ride it at all. This leg usually takes about 30 minutes, but I figured it may be the best area to shave time. I cranked in the middle ring until my lungs began to sear, my back wheel spun out and I could scarcely muster the energy to lift the front tire over logs. Head spinning and hands shaking, I fumbled with my bike lock until I managed to wrap it around a tree trunk. I looked at my watch. 25 minutes.

The trail to Mount Juneau climbs 3,000 feet in a short two miles. The early hike required active recovery to regain some semblance of consciousness. After 10 minutes, I knew I was not on pace, so I stepped it up. My heart rate climbed to that blood-toasting range of 80-90 percent of maximum. I intended to keep it there all the way to the top. When it comes to high-intensity workouts, hiking will always beat out biking for me. I could not sustain that level of effort on a bike and still maintain my ability to operate said bike in any kind of functional manner. But the simplicity of hiking allows my brain to flail around in the darkness of the pain cave while my body blindly marches upward.

But I did not actually reach the pain cave until the final half mile. The trail becomes so steep that, at any given point, my nose almost touches the same dirt that will hold my feet in four more steps. Millions of years of evolution to achieve bipedalism were thrown out the window as my hands spent more time on the ground than my feet, gaining elevation like an awkward ape on a death march. My mind began to scream sputtering pleas to stop, but the watch in my pocket had a different opinion. "You've done this hike in less than an hour before and you can do it again," it said. "March!"

After that, there was little else but a tunnel, silent and ever-shrinking, and the presence of the watch as it ticked upward. I knew I had reached the peak only when the sharp line of the trail petered out. I looked at my watch. 56 minutes. Sunlight began to creep back into my field of vision. As the tunnel faded away I noticed puffs of morning fog still lingering over the city. The distant mountains loomed in deep shades of blue and the channel shimmered, actually shimmered, like a sequined gown twirling beneath a disco ball. Even the peak was splashed in crimson - the first hints of fall color on the alpine tundra. I didn't notice any of it before, but I hadn't really been looking.

I put the watch away, and didn't look at it again.

August, out

Date: Aug. 31
Mileage: 21.2
August mileage: 1,009.1
Temperature upon departure: 51
Rainfall: .24"
August rainfall: 3.06"

I stopped and took a picture at the point where I thought I hit 1,000 miles today. The self-timer on my camera didn't focus, which is fitting, since some of my early-August mountain bike mileage was estimated anyway. But I am a geek, so I took a picture of myself at the exact spot where I believed the imaginary odometer switched over, then rode nine more miles just to cushion myself against guestimates and rounding-ups.

I hurried home because I thought today was going to be the day that I finally tried sea kayaking. But that weather in the background of the above picture disinclined my friends from going out for an afternoon of sitting soaking wet on small boats. So we frittered away the afternoon instead and then went for Death Salsa at Fernando's. I was a bit relieved ... I have heaps of irrational fears to deal with when it comes to open water, especially open water filled with carnivorous whales and boat-tipping sea lions. But I was disappointed, too. In the end, the short morning ride and chickening out of sea kayaking made for an anticlimactic end to my big month. C'est la vie.

Tomorrow should be a good armchair day in the small world of endurance cycling. Many in the Alaska crew are going for "bragging rights" in the Soggy Bottom 100. Danielle and a lot of other cool bloggers are headed to the stacked field at the Shenandoah 100. And not that I know anything about it (beyond, you know, watching "24 Solo") ... but I think Pete Basinger and Lynda Wallenfells have decent shots at titles in the Single Speed and Women's categories of the 24-Hour World Championships solo competition. I'd really like to see Pete do well, because I think he deserves more mainstream exposure of how insanely good he is at the art of riding endlessly. But you never really know how these things will play out. C'est la vie.

Lucky day

Date: Aug. 30
Mileage: 83.4
August mileage: 987.9
Temperature upon departure: 58
Rainfall: .05"

A couple of nights ago, there was an eclipse of the full moon. Then there was a meteor shower. A couple of planets probably aligned in strange ways, too, because somehow, against the odds, I talked Geoff into going for a bike ride on the road today. And not just any ride on the road - an 80-mile ride on the road, complete with a forecast calling for a 90 percent chance of showers and a south wind that could knock a person off their bike - which at some point was going to have to be fought head on.

"It will be so fun to ride to Echo Cove," I said. And, of course, he didn't believe me for a second. Geoff would ride a mountain bike to the ends of the earth, but put him on skinny tires without any camping gear attached, and he becomes bored within fractions of a mile. As we left town with the south wind pushing us along at 20 mph, no pedaling required, he said "maybe we shouldn't ride all the way to the end of the road."

But the miles rolled along as miles often do. We talked about everything out there ... 24-hour Worlds, the atrocious eating habits of people who aren't us, movies that Geoff likes and I hate, and vice versa (which pretty much covers all movies.) It was great to have someone to talk to out there. I do so much cycling by myself. Ok, every time I go out on a bike, I'm by myself. I consider it my own sanctuary of solitude. But every once in a while, it's nice to have someone to share in a laugh about the strange foods that pass as "vegetables" in America, and geek out on far-away endurance races until, suddenly, you've pedaled 42 miles with no idea how you got there.

I tried two new foods today that I decided were more disgusting than their hype merited ... Clif Shot Bloks (Margarita variety ... They taste like citrus-flavored stale vegetable oil, and that is just wrong); and Gatorade flavored Jelly Bellys (Fruit punch Sport Beans. Ew.) I maintain my very subjective belief that electrolytes should not be mixed with any kind of sugar, which is why I was so excited to discover Nuun on this ride. Nuun is just an electrolyte tablet that you throw in your water, and it dissolves like Alka Seltzer. It's sweet, but just barely (like 3 calories), so it takes the edge off all that salt without turning it into a sickly sweet, inedible energy food. Now I can continue to eat food I actually like (fruit leather) and still get that replenishing shot of electrolytes. Score another one for lucky day Aug. 30.

Even the weather forecast - which, most amazingly, was for the most part accurate - worked out in our favor. That 90 percent chance of showers was actually something that is a very rare phenomenon for Southeast Alaska ... thunderstorms. All around us, dark clouds would gather and churn. We'd cross over pavement that was drenched in deep puddles from a passing downpour, but, somehow we spent the afternoon riding in sunlight. How every single one of those scattered downpours missed us is beyond me, but they did. And somehow, we came home warm, dry, and bathed in rainbows.

The headwind did become harsh, but Geoff and I had each other to help share the full brunt of it. Geoff cooked himself a little toward the end and had to unipedal the last three miles after his IT band seized up. But I think I may have finally solved my heel problems. I guess that part's just lucky for me.

Only 12.1 more miles to go.

Running the gauntlet

Date: Aug. 29
Mileage: 51.1
August mileage: 904.5
Temperature upon departure: 57
Rainfall: .04"

It's exciting, setting out to ride a bunch of 50-mile days in a row. But I am becoming a bit tired of the ride out the road, so today I put together a tripod route to mix it up a bit - North Douglas and back, Thane and back, Lemon Creek and back.

The Thane spur is my favorite road route in Juneau. However, I'm pretty sure I can count the number of times I have ridden it this summer on one hand. There's only one reason for this: The Gauntlet. Now, I have ridden Moab's Slickrock Trail. I have descended a muddy Resurrection Pass with no brakes. And I can say that no ride I've tried is as scary - or dangerous - as downtown Juneau on a five-cruise-ship summer day.

It's downright exhilarating in a what-just-happened-back-there kind of way. Hundreds of starry-eyed pedestrians who have spent days being herded around a boat and stuffed with food spill out onto the sidewalks. Most of them think they have landed in Downtown Disney, a magical place where there are no cars, no traffic laws, and everybody understands their right-of-way is absolute as they weave from jewelry store to jewelry store. The problem is, Juneau is not Downtown Disney. There are actually quite a few cars, cars that eventually get tired of slamming on the brakes for clueless walkers and idling in the street as crossing guards let herds of responsible tourists stream past. The drivers eventually decide they're going to do whatever it takes to get through.

As a cyclist, I'm in the middle of it all, dodging tourists even as I'm being dodged by fed-up drivers. If I keep my speed above 20 mph, the cars will stick behind me, but no one can know what is going to spill out from the walls of people surrounding us. It's like the Red Sea has parted and any second it's going to close in on us. Not knowing where or when this may happen only makes us move faster, which in turn increases the likelihood of certain death should the tourist sea topple into the street at the wrong time. I'm especially lucky to be on a little bike; no one sees me.

But it's such a thrill, when I finally break free of a long line of cars and sprint into the narrow corridor between tourists and road, fingers hovering above the brake levers, palms pressed lightly on the handlebars, ready to swerve sharply at a millisecond's notice as I pedal against the ebb and flow of erratic traffic. At the end of The Gauntlet, my reward is five miles of badly cracked, rolling pavement that practically dangles over the narrow precipice between the steep mountainside and the shore. I love it.

As I pedalled back toward my second run through The Gauntlet today, I stopped for a short break on the Sheep Creek bridge. Below me, a gathering crowd of salmon splashed and struggled against the current, bodies flailing and colliding as they fought to gain a few inches upstream. The effort seemed so futile, and yet so intriguing. It made perfect sense to me.

Gunning for 1,000

Date: Aug. 28
Mileage: 41.8
August mileage: 853.4
Temperature upon departure: 57
Rainfall: 0"

August has been full of beautiful days that make me wonder ... is this the last day of summer? The last day of sun before the rainy season really sets in? Last year, August and September brought blocks of wet weather that had to be measured in weeks. Those long stretches of gray brought a sameness to the days ... as though not even time could pass through the thick fog. Then one day I woke up to the sun blazing high in a blue expanse I couldn't even recognize, and there was snow on the ground. Winter came, and no one even warned me.

But today, today was the last day of summer. Unobstructed sunlight failed to even warm the temperature above 60, giving the air a crisp, autumn-like taste. I spun through the school zone clocking at least 5 over the speed limit, nodding at sullen-faced teenagers as they shuffled past with their eyes locked on text messages and lips wrapped around energy drinks. It's the first week of school, and already we can't remember what we did with our summer vacation. All around us, the groundcover was beginning to die ... yellow edges curled the end of giant Devil's Club leaves, blueberries shriveled and fireweed clamped shut.

Today's ride was flawless, and for that I was silently grateful. I was so blissed out that I nearly forgot my place in time and space ... rushing to make it to work in time, knowing I could rush some more, then surprising myself with a lot of time to spare. It made me wonder if I have one more summer goal in me yet. Maybe I could ride my first 1,000-mile month. I have 150 miles to go and three days to do it. It's easy to visualize on the last day of summer, with its warm moments surrendering to nearly effortless miles. Harder to do when looking at the three-day forecast, with its 90 percent chance of rain and 15 mph east winds. But it would be fun to try; and what a way to ring in the rainy season fall.

I miss that soggy feeling

This coming Saturday is the date for the 2007 Soggy Bottom 100. I spent most of the summer swinging wildly between definitely entering this race and definitely not entering this race. Somehow, I ended up at the latter extreme. It is probably a good thing. It's still travel money I don't need to spend; vacation time that could probably be better used elsewhere. That doesn't change the fact that I'm feeling remorse right now about blowing it off ... that last big gasp for my 2007 season, now nothing more than a whimper.

From an athletic perspective, it's hard for me to think of 2007 as anything more than a small disaster: a disappointing showing at my "A" race in mid-February, followed by months and months of chronic injury and immobility that dogged me throughout my mellow, competition-free summer. It's disappointing because I felt like I had a good thing going after 2006. I even entered a 24-hour solo race before I realized they were supposed to be one of the most difficult events out there, then came within just a few minutes of making it to the overall podium (I know what you're thinking. "Really? Her?" It's true, but Anchorage never gets a huge showing for these races.) Still, for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a shot at being competitive at an athletic pursuit. It was a great feeling after years of feigning illness during the presidential fitness tests and hiding my shame as I waited to be picked last for the softball team.

Then the 2007 season came and went, and suddenly I feel like I have not much to show for it. This remorse has stoked my competitive fire for 2008 even more ... to devote my free time from mid-October on to training and studying (yes, studying) for the Iditarod Invitational 350. I want to put in the smartest, strongest effort I have to give. Then, if I survive that, I'd like coordinate my summer vacation with a good endurance race - maybe the Kokopelli Trail Time Trial if such a thing is organized this year, or Trans Iowa V.4 (I do love the Midwest). Maybe I'll even find a 24-hour solo race where I can actually compete with other women (I'm trying to think beyond hamster races, but I really do like 24s. It seems everything about them plays to my strengths, and the sheer repetition snuffs out a lot of my weaknesses.)

What to do next year? Where to go? It's exciting to formulate plans. However, if I am to survive the ride to McGrath, I'm going to have to treat this February race like it's my one and only. If it ends up like the 2007 Susitna 100 did, it will be.