Oh, the places we'll ride

Date: May 29
Mileage: 117.3
May mileage: 1,138.8
Temperature: 60

(With apologies to Dr. Seuss.)

Congratulations!
Today is your day!
There's no work to do.
There's more time to play.
You have food in your pack.
And legs in your shorts.
And you can propel yourself.
On an adventure of sorts.
You have a bike. And you are what you are.
But as a cyclist only you can decide how far.
You think over your options, but it doesn't seem fair
You'll think, "But I always, always go there."
With your pack full of food and your shorts full of legs
You don't want to risk pedaling around in the dregs.
But this is not the day
To wallow in your abode.
The sun is out; it's time
To head out the road.

It's opener there,
Beyond the city we share.
Out the road, there are trails
That are seldomly used
Even by people as hungry
And leggy as you.
So when you find yourself alone,
In a place that's all new,
Just keep pedaling along.
Because that's what you do.

Oh! The places we'll ride!
Where the glaciers loom large!
Where the rivers run deep!
Where deer leap along roadsides,
And the mountains climb steep.
You won't turn around because you have the strength.
To go anywhere you want to - any height, any length.
Wherever you ride, you'll see beauty and awe,
Until you can't even believe all the things that you saw.

Except when you're marred,
Because sometimes, it's hard.
Those beautiful things,
Sometimes come with a cost,
And sometimes you're tired,
And sometimes you're lost.
And sometimes you're fighting
An unending wind,
Or jaw-jarring roots
That flip you end over end.
And when you're on the ground,
You're not in for much fun.
Getting back on the bike.
Is not always easily done.
The trail will keep going,
And you'll wonder what for.
There's beauty here,
But also violence and gore.
A place where you could break a collarbone or thumb.
Do you dare move forward? Do you dare say you're done?
And if you say you're done, where do you draw the line?
Go home? Take up knitting? Drink a gallon of wine?
Or stand up and keep pedaling down the trail?
Simple it's not, and you still could fail.

You can get so frustrated.
That you'll stare at the ground.
Zoned out to all of the color and sound.
Grinding on for miles without looking around.
Headed, I fear, to a place you'll feel bound.
The quitting place.
For people just hoping that the pain will end.
So they can go home, call their friends.
Sit on the couch and maybe pretend
That there is no need to ever bike again.
People just want to quit.
Quit dodging the trees,
Quit pushing until they wheeze,
Quit hurting their knees.
Everyone is just quitting.

No! That's not for you!
Somehow you'll pull through.
All the thoughts of quitting and fear.
You'll hop those bad roots.
You'll learn how to steer.
With your hair flip-flapping,
Once more you'll ride true!
With everywhere to go and everything to do!
Oh the places we'll ride!
Narrow trails riverside.
With the flow and the feel that there's no reason to hide.
All of the magical things you can do with your bike.
Will make you wonder what's not to like.
Fast! You'll go as fast as you want to go.
With the whole world willing you to never be slow.

Except when they don't.
Because sometimes, they won't.
There will be times.
That you hit a wall.
Slowness that feels even worse than the fall.
Just slow! Whether you like it or not,
Slow is something you will be quite a lot.
And when you're slow, it's a very good bet,
That you will believe your match has been met.
And you're done, forever, with nowhere to go now but down,
And you'll want to turn and head right back to town.
But on you will go,
Though the miles run long.
On you will go,
Though you feel you don't belong,
On you will go,
Quietly humming a song,
Onward beyond,
The end of the road.
Where gravel you've never ridden,
Stretches beyond Echo Cove.
The sign says "restricted,"
Which you decide means "no cars."
And you'll take this path
To places farther than far.

You'll get tired, yes,
you'll get tired yet again.
And jolted and tossed
And stopped by dead ends.
So be sure when you pedal,
Pedal with passion and grit,
And remember that cycling's
More than just a way to stay fit.
Just never forget to be flexible and strong,
And always mix up a good list of songs,
And will you succeed?
Yes you will indeed!
Joy is one thing cycling can guarantee.
Kid, you'll ride miles!
So be your name Raleigh or Surly or Trek,
Roadie or Pugsley or Kim or Shrek,
You're off to go riding!
To go anywhere you like!
Your trail is just waiting.
So get on your bike!

(For Susan)

Time to go grocery shopping

Date: May 28
Mileage: 31.2
May mileage: 1,021.5
Temperature: 64

My quads are killing me. Yes, they're sore from snowshoeing yesterday. Well, not really sore from snowshoeing - more like sore from that flailing, loping run thing I did most of the five miles down the mountain because I was running late for work. It's strange, because the muscles all but throb when I'm just sitting at my desk, but they feel OK when I'm pedaling. Maybe I'll be able to squeeze in a long ride tomorrow after all.

I sent Geoff a package today with his mail and various bike parts. Because it was one of those USPS flat rate boxes, I started looking for other things to fill the empty space. I added a pair of bike socks and a few New Yorker magazines that I already read. I thought about sending him some bike food, but I don't have any left in my own stash. I rifled deeper in the cupboards and rediscovered my box of Iditarod food. This is the food I actually dragged, stuffed as it was in a frame bag, for many grueling miles during the February race. Some of it went the entire distance. Actually, a lot of it did - because I didn't really eat much of anything during the actual event. Then the food came home with me - crushed, mangled, deep frozen and defrosted. I couldn't bear the thought of eating it, ever, or even looking at it again, really. But it was food, technically edible food, and I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. So today I sent it to Geoff. I'm not sure what he will think when he opens his package to find three-month-old baggies of mixed nuts and crushed-to-crumbs Trio bars. I do know that as the post office worker whisked the package away, I felt a tinge of sentimental attachment that I harbor for just about everything associated with that race. Even my gross old food.

After I sent the package, I realized the barely salvageable Iditarod stash was my only real option for having any food for a bike ride tomorrow. My fridge contains exactly three cartons of yogurt, half a loaf of bread, a jar of jam and a bunch of condiments that are probably expired and belong to my roommate anyway. Geoff used to do most (all) of the grocery shopping and I think Shannon and I are going through withdrawals. Literal food withdrawals. I cobbled together some frozen vegetables and chicken for lunch today, but that's not going to pack well on a bike ride. I may have to make a bunch of jam sandwiches. Life is harder without Geoff. In more ways than one.

Video blog: Summer stroll

Date: May 27
Mileage: 9.2
May mileage: 990.3
Temperature: 56

I'm pushing my highest-mileage month ever on a bicycle (I mean, besides my long bike tour.) Only about 25 more miles and I shouldn't have any problem surpassing it, although I try to tell myself it doesn't matter. I've long been converted to the idea of quality over quantity, and yet I still keep track of every mile I pedal, and get excited about distance. I thought about shooting for a month-end surge if for no other reason than to bump up the record to something harder to beat (and because all the saddle time is good training for the 24 Hours of Light, which is still on the docket.) But it's hard not to take advantage of a cloudless day to hike to elevation for some stunning views.

I have been thinking more about hiking lately, silently willing the snow to just melt already so there's more user-friendly access to high points. I feel like this is the summer to hit the mountains hard - I have a GPS now, a few maps, better emergency gear, and a better idea of accessible ridgelines and possible places to explore. I probably won't delve into any seriously deep exploration this year - these roadless areas demand multi-day time commitments, and I generally have about four hours in the morning, tops. Plus, I am just a walker in a maze of technical barriers. Maybe this is the year that I learn how to climb. As if one expensive, all-consuming hobby wasn't enough.

But, yes! Hiking. I'm so excited. I take little tastes on the rapidly deteriorating snowmobile and boot pack trails. I took some video footage today while I was walking on the Dan Moller Trail because I was excited about the color and light of the day - forgetting that pretty scenery doesn't really translate to heavily compressed, pixelated Web video. And walking doesn't make for exciting footage. Every time I make one of these video blogs, afterward I think they're really stupid and I shouldn't post them. But, then I go ahead and post them anyway.




Enjoy!

Summertime, and the livin's easy

Date: May 25-26
Mileage: 26.7 and 45.1
May mileage: 981.1
Temperature: 66 and 59

My housemate and I received our long-dreaded electricity bill this week. I actually shuddered a little when he asked me if I wanted to see it. But all of our energy conservation efforts have paid off. We came in well under $100 when we were bracing for $200-$250. I'm sure we're not alone in being pleasantly surprised by our bill. Since the April 16 avalanches wiped out the city's hydro power, Juneau has cut its electricity use by more than 35 percent. The utility sends me the stats every day so I can post them in the newspaper, and they're downright amazing. Scott at AEL&P even made a nice graph. On April 16, Juneau used 972 MW-hours of energy and burned 84,417 gallons of diesel. On May 25, we used 551 MW-hours of energy and burned 33,388 gallons of diesel. A new record low. There are a lot of factors that go into energy and fuel use, but I think Juneau serves as proof that large-scale energy conservation within entire communities actually is a viable dream - as long as the incentive is good enough. People are being hit hard in the pocketbook, and so they're riding their bikes more often, walking more places, watching less TV, and generally experiencing a different quality of life. I'm not in support of natural disasters ruining valuable infrastructure, but I have to admit I view this "energy crisis" as an interesting experiment in positive change.

It does help that the weather hit 60 for the first time all year and climbed right up into the 70s this week. That's about as warm as it gets in this part of the world, and I've been venturing outside in short sleeves and shorts, soaking my pasty, hasn't-seen-daylight-since-August pale skin in UV rays until I'm dehydrated, sun drunk and covered in patchy burns where I missed a layer or two of SPF 50. I promised myself I wouldn't complain about sun as long as I lived in Juneau, but I have to admit that I did complain, a little, today as I explained to my co-worker that I couldn't eat anything hot - spicy or temperature-wise - because of the sun blister spread across my bottom lip.


But life in Alaska is pretty lax when it's summer and warm and the weather is beautiful. The sun sets so late now that I almost don't need to bring my bike lights to work any more, and it's wonderful to just walk out the door in whatever I feel like wearing and ride to the office without the burden of piles of soaking wet clothing. I like to tack on a few extra miles in the evening so I can roll alongside the water where deep orange streaks of sunlight brush across the horizon, painting over any remnants of the blues.

Beyond the dead ends

Date: May 24
Mileage: 147.4
May mileage: 909.3

I’d been feeling a serious need to leave town, even if only for a day. With the crunch of work and travel time, one day was about all I’d have. But where to spend a day? A flight to Anchorage seemed excessive. I thought about Sitka with its logging roads and trails, but then I realized what I really needed was a long road ... a road that doesn’t dead-end ... a road that, at least in the deepest recesses of potential, is limitless.

The Haines Highway is one of two roads that link Southeast Alaska with the outside world. That and the Klondike Highway are two of the most beautiful routes I’ve ever had to privilege to ride a bicycle along, which I’ve done only once, during a whirlwind tour last August. Back then I put a lot of pressure on myself to complete this post-injury, pseudo-fast-tour, which, looking back, did cut away from the experience. This time I was going out solely for the joyride, as far or as little as I felt like moving.

I booked a round-trip ferry ticket with less than 36 hours layover. The Marine Highway System is still running the slow ferries out that way, which amounts to a 4.5-hour trip to move about 75 miles. People who have lived in Juneau a long time always seem to groan sympathetically at the necessity of ferry travel, the same way others might when told about plans for airline or bus travel. I don’t really understand the objection. The ferry is like a mini-Alaska cruise. Unlike air travel, which really is tedious, the ferry allows free movement, unparalleled wildlife viewing, hot food and showers. I like to catch up on my New Yorker reading and take naps. If I were to do this stuff at home, after a few hours I’d feel guilty about my idleness. But on a boat, you have no choice. So I soak it in.

I arrived in Haines at 9:30 p.m. and went to grab my bike from the car deck only to discover that the front tube had blown up. I mean, it literally blew up - it blasted the tire right of the rim and hung there in shreds. I have no idea how that happened. I pumped the tires up to 60 psi, which is still 5 psi below the posted maximum, and took the bike for an 18-mile ride before I loaded it onto the ferry. And it’s not like there are cabin pressure changes at sea level. A mystery.

I swapped out the tube with my only spare and cursed my stupidity at only bringing one spare. The Haines Highway is nothing if not remote - 150 miles of not even a cell-phone signal. It seemed reckless to head out without even one spare tube, especially since I had already had one spontaneously explode on me. I felt a little discouraged as I hoisted my backpack and labored the five miles into town. When I am “base-camp” camping I like comfort, and a lot of it. I had books, a pillow, clothing, food, to the tune of about 60 pounds of gear that hung over my head. The large pack pressed into my shoulders, kinked my neck and dug deep into my hips. Still, the soft pink light of sunset hung over the Chilkat Mountains, and I was happy to be there.

I had hoped to get an early start the next morning, but I thought it better to wait until Sockeye Cycles opened so I could buy a tube before hitting the open road. I toured around town to kill some time and set out for real around 9:30 a.m. The morning was nearly perfect - low 60s, mostly sunny, almost no wind (I tried not to get too attached to that last condition because I knew it was bound to switch to a mean headwind when the prevailing breeze picked up in the afternoon.) The road hugged the wide Chilkat River, with chiseled and whitewashed spires of the mountains as its background. “People in Haines live in paradise,” I thought. “I could ride this road every day” ... momentarily forgetting that if I lived in Haines, where the Haines Highway dead-ends, I wouldn’t have much choice.

(August ........................ May)

But you forget how freeing the simple idea of the open road can be. I didn’t know how far I was going to ride that day and liked that I didn’t know that. I put my GPS in my backpack and let it tick off the miles where I couldn’t watch them. I had tons of food, iodine tablets, lights, a bivy sack, extra clothing, and enough confidence in my abilities to know that I truly could go as long as I wanted - as long as I made it back it time to catch my 9 a.m. ferry the next day. That, to me, is one of the best benefits of fitness - the unhindered freedom to explore.

(Haines Highway Summit, one of the great 1,000-meter summits of the world, near km 104.)

The unwatched miles passed surprising quickly and before I knew it, I was crossing into Canada and beginning the happy crawl into the heart of the mountains. Old snowpack lingered well below the treeline, and above the treeline the snow was streaked and stark against the gravel and granite. I veered onto a pullout at Haines Highway Summit just as a tourist in a giant Cruise America rental RV pointed his camera right at me. “Bicycle with snow,” he shouted in a heavy, possibly German accent. I shot him my best expert grin.

(Here's what the Haines Highway Summit looks like without my hammy mug in the way.)

Beyond the pass, the breeze picked up at my back and I became painfully aware of all of those miles of soon-to-be-headwind behind me. 65, maybe 70 miles? The tundra was so stark and beautiful that the thought of turning around hurt, but I had to think hard about how far I really wanted to push beyond the pass, how late into the evening I was willing to ride, how excited I’d be about arriving back in Haines after all of the restaurants closed to eat a dinner of the same Power Bars and dried cranberries I had been stuffing down all day. I decided to end my pursuit of the open road about a half hour beyond the pass. I checked my GPS before I turned around. 68.7 miles.

Dropping off the Haines Highway pass on a bluebird day in May is an experience to be lived again and again, if only in my head. It's 18 km of my-big-ring-is-too-little free coasting, with a beautiful span of distant mountains blasting toward me at tear-inducing speeds. It is a feeling as close to flying as any I can imagine, and I have been skydiving. In fact, I was just talking about my skydiving experience with my dad, who, at 55 years old and not yet retired, has decided he’s going to go full-steam ahead with his life list of “someday” experiences. Last week he went skydiving, and afterward we talked about the float and fall. On Friday, as I descended the pass with the wind ripping at my cheeks and cool air pumping through my lungs, I wondered about my own "someday" list and what I’d put on it.

The river miles into the wind were predictably tiresome, and for the first time all day I had to remind myself that my legs felt great and the tiredness was just perception, my mind too focused on the understanding that this was a return trip and at the end there would be French fries. This shift in perception is another benefit of endurance training. Two or three years ago, if I was already a century into a ride with 40 more miles to go into wind and flagging, I would have been so frustrated. Now I've learned to take the ebbs with the flow and understand that while my mind is my strength in the battle to keep on keeping on, my body's still stronger than I know.

I was still back in time for dinner, a lingering stroll around town at sunset and a few minutes with acquaintances who had just arrived in Haines for the actual weekend - Memorial Day Weekend. I readied my gear to prepare for my return to my own dead-end roads, with the Haines Highway still stretched out limitless behind me, promising me it would always be there.

Worth 1,000 words

Date: May 22
Mileage: 18.7
May mileage: 761.9
Temperature: 47

I am hopping a ferry to Haines for a couple of days. But I will be back when I get back.

Green-up

Date: May 21
Mileage: 31.3
May mileage: 743.2
Temperature: 49