One more parked car

Date: April 24
Mileage: 35.5
April mileage: 604.6
Temperature: 47

Today was errand day. I had time to squeeze in a decent ride while my car was at the shop, but for the most part I spent a beautiful warm day knocking mundane things off a list that I had let build for a little too long. It made me miss Geoff that much more. I really took for granted all the little things he was always the one to do ... grocery shopping, recycling, repairs, cleaning. Now that I need to do all of this stuff for myself, I won't be able to just let my life revolve around working, eating, and biking anymore. I actually have to be self-sufficient again.

Much of my day revolved around my car. I had the summer tires put back on (only nine days past the legal deadline. Better than last year.) I had the oil changed. I vacuumed up a winter's worth of dirt from the upholstery, scrubbed all the panels, cleaned out the trunk and sprayed down the exterior. I took it on all the errands I need a car to do ... haul multiple boxes of trash to the recycle center, and buy calories in bulk at Costco. Then I put some gas in it ($3.75 a gallon), drove it home and parked it in my designated parking spot, where I plan to let it sit for quite a while.

My summer of bike commuting has officially begun. I nearly have my road bike ready for on-demand transportation (lights, trunk bag, bike lock mount, rack with optional waterproof panniers and new tires.) It still has clipless pedals, which I think are bad for commuting because they require use of cleat-bottomed shoes that are unpleasant to walk in. I can't mount my platforms yet because Geoff took the pedal wrench, so I need to buy a new tool first.

I plan to use my bike to commute to work every day, as well as evening outings, the library, and other miscellaneous errands. I will probably still use my car to go grocery shopping, since I dislike grocery shopping so much I usually only go once every two weeks and pile up $126 worth of food at Costco. (It is possible for a single person to shop at Costco, as long as you don't mind eating a big spinach salad and a chicken breast for dinner every day for a week.) And I have never been good at quitting anything cold turkey, so the car will probably still come out on rainy days when I am really grumpy. But for the most part, I want it to sit.

It struck me today as funny that I was doing all this work on my car only to not use it for most of a season. Some of the work was necessary (getting my illegal studded tires removed.) But the rest struck me as a form of winterizing - similar to the way people clean and tune up their bikes before stowing them in a basement for the winter. It just seems that if you are going to neglect something, you might as well do it with dignity.

And so my car sits. Let the commute begin.

The snow biking's still not bad

Date: April 23
Mileage: 33.1
April mileage: 569.1
Temperature: 43

I've been trying to reinvent my road bike as a do-all commuter, so it was in several pieces in the living room when my cats woke me up at an unspeakable hour this morning. I had a lot of time to kill before work (and my commute to work), but I wasn't looking forward to restarting my rack installation/tire changing/light mounting/pedal-swapping project. I decided I was going to take the Karate Monkey out for a morning spin on pavement before I finished fixing my preferred bike.

But when I went to the basement to grab it, I noticed the seat was still on Pugsley (I still only own one saddle and seatpost for my Surlys, and I have to swap it out between the two.) I was so, so lazy this morning that I didn't even feel like turning a wrench on a seatpost clamp. I grabbed Pugsley instead.

The tires were inflated to only about 7 or 8 psi from recent runs on soft snow, but I was so, so lazy that I didn't even want to put air in the tires. "Where can I go where it won't matter if I'm on bouncy wheels?" I only have to pedal a half mile from my house before I reach the Mount Jumbo access trail. This was the first point in which I thought about snow biking today.

Soft and punchy was the theme of the day, but rideable the snow still is - at least on slight inclines and downhills. It took only minutes to climb up to the meadow and just like that - a world apart.

Mount Jumbo looked like avalanche central. It's hard to tell from the shadows in this photo, but to the immediate left of the peak, there is an overhanging ceiling of pure snow that must be at least 20 feet deep. I kept staring at it, waiting for a wall of powder to peel off the slope. Meanwhile, I skirted along sidehills and made often-dead-ending efforts to stay far away from the mountain.

Even so, there's still enough good terrain up there to consume a whole day. The snow pack is definitely rotting, and I was surprised to discover Pugsley was getting better float than I could. The going was always slow, but when I started fishtailing out of control, I would put my foot down only to sink thigh-deep in the oatmeal-like slush. Strange to climb out of that, get back on my bike, and start rolling again.

After riding down, I took a detour onto the beach that, thanks to low tide, became a long detour. Crushing mussel shells, crunching over barnacle boulders and and mashing through sand put a big smile on my face. I was freewheeling again, loving life, loving Juneau, happy.

It was exactly what I needed. Thanks, Pugsley.

Our last ride of spring

Date: April 21 and 22
Mileage: 40 and 29.2
April mileage: 536
Temperature: 42 and 45

I traced the emerging trail beneath a canopy of spruce trees, dripping snowmelt and strings of moss onto still-frozen mud. I reconnected with the paved bike path and rolled back to Geoff, who was parked on a bench and inhaling a sandwich.

"Still a lot of snow back there?" he asked.

"It won't be too long now before this town has real mountain biking," I said.

"Not soon enough," he said. He held out the remaining piece of sandwich. Tuna and mayo on pumpernickel bread. I wrinkled my nose. "How bout a Tootsie Roll then?"

I took the chilled piece of candy and popped it in my mouth. It was meaty and a little bit stale from possibly a few too many rides in Geoff's coat pocket. I kicked a piece of ice onto the grass, short and dead in April. I wasn't even thinking about the promise of May. I was wondering why there weren't corpses of August flowers everywhere. "I can't believe you're willing to leave this all behind," I said.

Geoff smirked. "It's not too late to come with me."

"Yes it is."

"What do you think you'll do?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to quit biking. I think I'll get some Direct TV or whatever the cable companies are pushing these days, and put in some good time on the couch with Bon-Bons."

"Bon-Bons?"

"Ok, Cheetos. And Coco Puffs straight from the box. The works. I'm really going to put in the hours this summer. Next time you see me, you're not even going to recognize me."

"You'll have to get a working TV first."

"I hear they sell those at stores these days."

Geoff laughed and looked away. "Whatever. You're probably exicted not to have me around bothering you and trying to feed you real food anymore. I know you're just going to end up riding 100 miles every day."

"I wish it was as easy as that," I said.

Geoff reached into his coat pocket. "You want another Tootsie Roll?"

"No," I said. I squinted at his watch. "Is it really noon?" He nodded. "I really have to go," I said. "I'm going to be late for work. How much further are you going?"

"I'm going to try to get 100 today," Geoff said. He stuck the Tootise Roll in his mouth and we rode together to the end of the bike path. I turned back and he kept going, toward summer.

Long summer.

I need a new training goal

Date: April 20
Mileage: 29.2
April mileage: 466.8
Temperature: 41

The rash of nice weather continues, and I feel like I should have endless, boundless energy - the self-perpetuating kind that feeds off warmth and light and gives me the boost I need to launch into summer. But instead I just feel a little sluggish, a little weighted, a little too tempted to crawl back into bed for early morning naps. The stamina's not there. I lack motivation. And focus.

Focus is something I need right now. In two days, Geoff leaves to head south for the summer and I need some projects to ward off the loneliness. Now would be a great time to prepare for a big event, if only I had one to work toward. I have some ideas, but nothing that really warrant the necessary vacation time or expense. I was thinking of embarking on a fast tour somewhere, but do I really want to burn a week of vacation to spend more time by myself? Lower 48 races are out of my league. Southeast Alaska has almost nothing to offer. I browsed the local bike club site today and found a bunch of 12-mile time trials and short mountain bike races on Saturday afternoons, when I'm at work.

I already have plans to head up to Whitehorse for the 24 Hours of Light, on June 28. But I'm torn about how to train for this race. For starters, I'm tempted to join a noncompetitve team of four or eight because I know I'll have so much more fun that way. But I'm also interested in riding a hard 24 Solo and really trying to push myself. It's a little silly, however, to attempt a 24 Solo in event like the 24 Hours of Light. If I'm riding laps the whole time, I'll completely miss out on the mountain bike festival atmosphere, which is the best part of that event. I'm also likely to have little to no competition. I "won" last year's solo race by beating out the only other solo woman 13 laps to 4 laps - and I stopped and partied for the whole second half of the race. It's probably going to be kind of hard to motivate for those 4 a.m. laps when I'm 10 laps ahead of the second-place competitor and there's no Geoff there to cheer me on, because he's out in Colorado somewhere doing something much more difficult.

I'm just drifting a little right now, and I don't have any great ideas.

Video blog: Blue Sky Gazing

Date: April 18 and 19
Mileage: 48 and 13.7
April mileage: 437.6
Temperature: 34 and 29

So instead of typing about my weekend, I thought I'd make another video blog. This one also didn't turn out the way I imagined it. I strapped my "helmet cam" way too high, so all of the cycling shots are basically blue sky and treetops. But I sprinkled some clips in because they help break up the blathering (don't worry. It's only six or seven minutes long.) I looked for a song that goes well with skygazing ... The Goldfinger cover of Nena's "99 Red Balloons." Someday I will get this video thing right. In the meantime ...

Juneau multisport

Date: April 17
Mileage: 21.1
April mileage: 376.9
Temperature: 30

When I woke up this morning, a swirling blizzard was raging outside. Of course I was thrilled about this development on a Thursday morning. "What should I do today?" I asked myself as I hurried to gulp down my Special K so I could get outside before it melted. "Should I go for a bike ride? A hike? Maybe try to do a snowboard run?" Then it hit me. Why not do all three?

I don't really have the gear to just ride my bike with a snowboard on my back. I tried to stuff the board in one of my larger daypacks, but its angle and height made my shoulders ache something fierce - not to mention the way it caught the 15 mph headwind like a giant sail. My original destination was Eaglecrest. I made it about eight miles past my house, just shy of the cutoff, before I decided that there was no way my screaming shoulders could survive the climb. I turned around with a new destination - the Douglas Ski Bowl.

I parked my bike on the snowmobile trail just as the powder started to become soft and deep, and strapped on my snowshoes. The storm had moved on and the clouds were starting the clear out. I could see strips of blue sky above my head, and something strange, something bright ... could it be the sun? I could hardly believe it.

In the walk up, the presence of that alien orb made everything feel superheated. Sweat poured from my scalp. I only had about 30 oz. of water with me, no sunscreen, no sunglasses ... but I was all but bounding up that trail, just happy to be awake and alive and bathed in sunshine.

I reached the ridge and looked out over Admiralty Island for the first time since January. I miss that view. I live my life in the shadow of the Douglas Island ridge, when all that time this horizon stretches just beyond my grasp.

As I traversed the ridgeline, a wicked north wind tore off the slopes. I put all the clothes I had brought with me back on, and still the chill cut through. As the frigid wind gnawed at my cheeks, I wished for a face mask I didn't have. I went to drink the last of my precious water out of my Camelbak. The valve had frozen completely solid. The fact that had happened made me smile. It was April 17. But being amused by frozen water didn't change the fact that my body was headed that same direction if I didn't get out of the wind. I hated to leave the ridgeline and the view, but then I remembered: My fun was only just beginning ....

I dropped into the canyon, paralleling someone's high-line snowmobile trail in a soft cloud of powder. The whole world disappeared behind silence and weightlessness, falling and flying at the same time. When you spend all of your time on a bicycle, you forget what that feels like. I was completely in awe. I stopped in the bowl and climbed up for more. I couldn't figure out why I hadn't just spent my whole winter powder boarding. It took me a couple more runs to remember ... I'm really much better at cycling than I am at snowboarding. Everything's beautiful until you take a nosedive, then it's just bounce, bounce, followed by a lot of exhausting swimming.

On the way down, I swerved to miss a big knoll only to realize I had nearly run over the Dan Moller Cabin ... normally a two-story structure that sits at about 2,000 feet elevation, still completely buried in snow. It was a somewhat painful reminder that hiking season is still a long, long time away.

But that's OK. Winter can stay.

Running on diesel

Date: April 16
Mileage: 29.2
April mileage: 355.8
Temperature: 40

My co-worker Brian shot this photo just as we were returning from our respective dinner breaks, about 7 p.m. We had about three inches by the time the sun set, and more slated for tonight. It was a little surreal to watch fluffy piles of new snow shimmer in the 9 p.m. twilight. A collision of seasons. I love it. Anything to lift the landscape out of the monotony of rain, which will surely return tomorrow.

The snow has everyone freaked out right now, and not because there's a few soon-to-melt inches accumulated on the ground. A massive avalanche cut down a series of transmitter towers to Juneau's hydro-power station, and the local utility announced they will be switching to diesel power until they can enter the unstable area and fix the transmitters, likely months. In the meantime, our power rates will be jumping 500 percent. 500 percent! When you look at your monthly power bill for $46.48 and do some simple math, the prospect is downright horrifying.

Meanwhile, I think about those generators pumping out hundreds of thousands of gallons of diesel fuel to feed Juneau's electricity appetite. That forms its own surreal image. The idea of water flowing from the mountains and giving us power is vague enough to be beautiful. But to think about Juneau being hooked to a massive, fuel-sucking generator is disheartening enough to make the smallest power uses seem so wasteful ... the things I like and depend on ... my reading lamps, my refrigerator, my computer. I walk around turning off lights and appliances but I feel like I'm throwing water balloons at a forest fire. A raging forest fire. The kind that sets ablaze everything in its path.

In its path like my housemate (and landlord), who is already on the ledge about selling his condo and will probably take the leap. In its path like my employer, who is already on the ledge about expenses, the largest and most easily expendable of which is its workforce. In its path like the local housing market, which will likely go even further to raise already astronomical rents and tighten already insurmountable no-pet policies to coax any of us who might lose the meager roof over our heads back into living at the Mendenhall Lake Campground. These things have a way of changing lives.

But what can I do besides cut tiny threads of my connections to the grid, maybe go to bed early tonight, maybe turn off my computer?