Forced taper

Date: June 22 and 23
Mileage: 21.2 and 17.7
June mileage: 647
Temperature: 60 and 62

I am getting in a really good taper this week. Only rode an hour and a half yesterday and an hour today. I have so many little errands to run, I likely won't even be able to make the commute tomorrow, and late Wednesday night I leave for Canada. Often when I say I'm insanely busy, it's not really the truth. But right now, I really am that busy. The other day for lunch, I ate several spoonfuls of spicy peanut butter (spiked with cayenne pepper) that was given to me as a Christmas gift. And that was it. It was about all I had left in the cupboard. So this wonderful taper isn't exactly accompanied by wonderful nutrition. I am still trying to decide what I'll eat in the 24 Hours of Light. I am thinking one small water bottle every lap, every other one spiked with Nuun, and a Power Bar or Pop Tart for every two laps (it will probably take me an hour to do each lap.) The temperatures will be mild and the sweat factor will be low, so the Nuun should offer plenty of salt replacement. I have given up on the dream of eating protein (or liquid nutrition) during long efforts.

I heard from Geoff today for the first time since the GDR started. To be honest, I did not expect him to call, at least not this early in the race. I remember when I was riding the Iditarod, my mind was operating in a different universe, one that was repelled by the outside world. When Geoff called me in Nikolai, I was not happy to hear from him. Not at all. In hindsight, it's hard to explain why that was the case. But there is a zone in the midst of a long, hard effort - a quiet feeling of enchantment, that helps a distressed body keep on keeping on, often happily. Forces from the outside world seem to break that enchantment, at which point it's easier to slip into depression and despair.

But anyway, Geoff did call from Wise River, probably during one of his moments of lucidity. I was happy to hear from him this time. Our conversation was not much different from those before the race. No, "Hey, I'm on this crazy hard journey, I've ridden 500 hard miles in just over three days, how are you?" It was just, "how are you?" And I didn't reply, "Oh, I'm trying to prepare for this race that seems so pointless compared to what you're doing, and I'm in a living situation that is really stressing me out, and my job is still hard and I'd love to gripe about it to someone who could listen." No, I just said, "I'm great." But I think both of us understood what the other meant.

These long days

Date: June 20 and 21
Mileage: 20.7 and 32.3
June mileage: 608.1
Temperature: 64 and 54

As I suspected, I have been completely consumed by the Great Divide Race since it started. There have been a couple of other things in there. On Friday, I went fishing out North, where the reflection of the Chilkat Mountains glimmers in glassy bays and I could just dissolve in the scenery, and sometimes do. I caught a small halibut and a yellow-eye rockfish. The "chicken" halibut made for a heavenly lunch, which I scarfed as I listened to the first wave of GDR call-ins. There have been bike rides, work, movies, a new roommate, anger and stress. But, always on my mind, the GDR and its slow march south.

While Brian and I fished on Friday, a humpback whale circled our boat, again and again. A couple of times it breached far out of the water. It blew geysers of water so loud that they startled me. Sometimes it came so close to the boat I could see the deep shine on its skin; of course I never had my camera out at the best moments. Eventually, I just put my camera down and focused on my bobbing halibut pole, and the quiet reflection of the mountains, and the ripples from the humpback twirling around our boat like ribbons on a Maypole. And still, the GDR.

We were both amped up on caffeine and the promise of the solstice, so we caught a late movie downtown, where club music rattled the air and teenagers weaved through the streets like spawning salmon. We saw "Get Smart" and laughed the whole time - so much better than we thought it would be. It was still light outside well after midnight, and the music still pounded, and the teenagers were still out, and the longest day faded on its arc toward winter. And still, the GDR.

I rode today in the rain. It's been quite a while since it rained so hard it made my nose run, but that happened today. It was a short ride. I'm tapering for the 24 Hours of Light, which I don't think about any more. Geoff is doing awesome in his race. His last SPOT showed him in likely second place between Seeley Lake and Lincoln, Mont. He sounded very happy in his first call-in. Like a lifelong "Price is Right" fan who finally has his chance to come on down. I saw a picture of him at the start of the race, the only one of 18 looking at the camera, with a huge smile and two thumbs in the air. It made me feel so exuberant - and sad.

And still, the GDR.

GDR 2008

Date: June 19
Mileage: 54.2
June mileage: 555.1
Temperature: 57

Today I went out for my last longish ride ahead of the 24 Hours of Light. I dawdled through the gray morning and left around 2 p.m. in light drizzle only to return with the high 8 p.m. sun over a cerulean sky almost completely flush of clouds. A mood-brightening development for sure. I hit up all the trails in the Valley. All of 'em. Well, there were probably a few singletrack spurs that I missed (there are lots of trails out there that you can only follow for a quarter mile before you're forced to backtrack.) I also made my first-ever wheeled attempt of the East Glacier Trail. I definitely ventured beyond my comfort level, both on the climbs and descents - but especially the descents. In doing so, I also pulled, unintentionally, the coolest mountain biking move I have ever successfully rolled away from. I was bombing down the switchbacks, a little faster than I probably should have been, when I hit a hairpin curve I had no chance of rounding. Beyond the curve was a pretty good drop - the bushes probably would have caught me before I fell too far, but I was destined to shoot off the ledge. So I did what any novice mountain biker would do - I completely locked up both brakes. The front wheel wedged up against a couple of small boulders, which probably prevented an endo, and the back wheel swung around, in the air, at a perfect 90-degree angle. And just like that, I was still on my bike, suddenly facing the right direction down the trail. So I just let off the brakes and continued on my way. Not that I'll ever, ever try that again.

As I puttered around the Mendenhall Valley trail system, Geoff was in Eureka, Mont., making his last preparations for the Great Divide Race, which begins tomorrow at high noon in Roosville, Mont. I have been recruited to help update the call-ins on the race blog, a task I am both looking forward to and dreading (I already spend all of my time working, biking, trying to feed myself, and occasionally visiting my friends. Where am I going to dig out the free time to listen to and transcribe daily call-ins from what will probably be about 20 racers?) But I am excited about becoming more intimately tied to this race, even remotely, in solidarity with Geoff and his monumental task ahead. If I don't find myself too in over my head, I hope to add a little color to the coverage, sportscaster-style, beyond the verbatim phone-call transcriptions. Pete B. has given me the OK to do so. I'll just wait until he asks me to reel it in. But if my blog's quality suffers in the coming weeks, it's because I have my ears glued to Divide racers' descriptions of everything they ate at the last town they visited.

In our final pre-race conversation, I gave Geoff my love and wished him the best. I'm heading out fishing early tomorrow, so I probably won't talk to him again until he finds a working pay phone somewhere on route. It's hard to tell how I feel about everything now that it's obvious he's actually going to attempt the GDR. I also have been following Chris Plesko's singlespeed Divide attempt. His stories are interesting, but I find myself almost more interested in the little bits of commentary from his wife, Marni, who is also playing the role of the GDR widow, at home worrying herself sick some of the time. I've tried to figure out if I feel worried or scared for Geoff, and the truth is, I really don't. I know he can handle whatever is out there. I do know that. I don't know if he can finish the race, and frankly, I don't even really care. Because I know he will have a grand adventure, come what may. To me, that's what's really important.

Go Geoff!

Commuting is easy

Date: June 18
Mileage: 39.7
June mileage: 501.9
Temperature: 51

Dull twilight clings to the horizon at 11:30 p.m., casting a purple glow on wisps of fog draped over the mountainside. My headlamp captures streaks of rain like static in on a TV screen. As the static flickers, it stings, and I glance downward to watch my knees churn. In the yellow light they don't even seem like a part of me, the one who already is zoned in on late-night relaxing and the promise of the weekend. But all the while, my legs carry on, a simple crankshaft spinning mindlessly over the wet pavement.

I started bike commuting more than a month ago, and it no longer feels like extra work. In fact, it doesn't even feel like any work. I used to climb into my car and now I climb on my bike. Little else feels different.

I thought turning myself into a bicycle commuter was going to be my great challenge for the summer, but I was wrong. It isn't hard at all. It took me all of two weeks to get my logistics dialed in, and now I just go. I have to schedule my morning rides a little better to make time, and sometimes I have to put on a rain coat before leaving. But usually I just stuff my work clothes in a plastic bag, walk out the door wearing whatever was sitting on top of my "junk clothes" drawer, and let myself get a little wet. It's only 25 minutes for crying out loud. I keep extra sets of junk clothes at work to have something dry to wear on the ride home. I even had my hair chopped off to shoulder length so I can blow-dry it a lot faster.

To other cyclists out there who don't bike commute: I encourage you to give it a go. One habit translates well to the other. And, honestly, I'm not one of those commuters who feels all smug when I ride by a sign advertising $4.35/gallon gas or walks through the office in bike shorts so all can admire my rippling quads (Ha!) I'm not part of the car-free chorus, I'm just one of the recent converts, let in on the hushed secret that commuting isn't such a big sacrifice after all. So join us in bike commuting, bask in its easiness, and watch it make a big difference in many other aspects of your life.

Yeah for me

Date: June 17
Mileage: 42.2
June mileage: 462.2
Temperature: 57

Yes, this is completely just a bragging post. I learned today that I received a first place award in news page design in the 2007 Society of Professional Journalists’ Pacific Northwest Excellence in Journalism competition. (Take that, Washington, Oregon, Idaho and Montana!)

This is a big deal for me. Maybe even bigger than winning the 24 Hours of Light! (which also will happen this month, by the way. Ha!) I've mentioned before that I'm on a somewhat rough and rocky trail in my career right now, but navigating that kind of terrain makes the podium placement that much sweeter.

I think some readers of my blog might be surprised by the fact that while I play one on the Internet, I'm not actually a writer. I'm a graphic designer. I tried reporting early in my career, but after several brain-numbing city council meetings and reprimands for not being hard-hitting and confrontational enough, I drifted over to the other side of the newsroom. Now I work in copy editing and page layout. I love it, and I'm good at it, but it doesn't transfer well beyond the lumbering Titanic that is the newspaper business. Miami Herald columnist Leonard Pitts laid out my current situation well in his column today: "Virtually every newspaper is going through the same thing: shrinking profit margins, declining circulation, staff cutbacks and morale at subterranean levels as journalists struggle to figure out how we can save the American newspaper. But I have come — reluctantly — to believe we can't. We must blow it up instead."

I can argue my case all I want ("But I'm a good page designer! Look, I'm an SPJ best!") It won't help me much once media sources phase out newsprint and replace it with online design (which, as you can tell from this blog, I'm not so adept.)

Still, I can work. Here. Now. In beautiful Juneau, Alaska, at what is, despite all, a pretty great newspaper with a pretty good, albeit one-and-only, news-page designer (Ha!) And I'll adapt with the changing times. Earlier in my career, I'd be pretty stressed out about this situation; I'd probably be dusting off my 1997 food handler's permit and digging out my old law school applications. This is another area where my traveling and cycling habits have changed me - I've not only become better at embracing my own strengths and weaknesses; I'm so much more willing to embrace the unknown.

OK, tomorrow, back to your regularly scheduled bike programming.

Parents part two

Date: June 15 and 16
Mileage: 19.4 and 28.0
June mileage: 420.0

I feel much more exhausted right now than I do when I'm cycling all the time. Strange to feel like I'm on vacation in my own hometown, but it's been a good week.

Dad in snow.

Mom in snow.

Dad and I rode out to Herbert Glacier. I was bouncing over the big boulders of the glacier moraine, thinking that was terrain only Pugsley could handle, and looked over my shoulder only to see Dad right on my tail on the Karate Monkey, with the fork still locked out no less.

He's a natural on a mountain bike. I guess years of dirtbiking on the rugged trails of the Utah desert will help with that.

Even out the road into the wind, the pace kept up. Riding Pugsley on the road felt like a pedaling a reconfigured paddle boat with two flat tires. I can't believe I spend entire winters on that thing. But I guess the glacier moraine riding can't be beaten, except by my dad.

Together we made the year's first attempt of Mount Juneau. After a couple of heart-stopping, scary steep snow crossings, we lost the trail entirely and ended up way off the route on the west face of the mountain. We bagged it there, about 3,000 feet up. A good attempt. I feel so much braver when I'm hiking with my dad. I think it goes back to my teenage years when I believed he would always be there to protect me. I still feel that way.

Don't forget to go over the Fatty's site to fight cancer and win a great bike.

Back to your regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

The parents in Juneau

Date: June 12 and 14
Mileage: 12.1 and 17.1
June mileage: 372.6

My parents flew up from Salt Lake City for a few days. This is the first time they've visited Juneau. They weather's been blah and I've already dragged my mom on more hikes than I think she would prefer, but the Alaska bug has burrowed in. She seems genuinely excited for the next day's adventures, even if the shopping is somewhat sub par ("How many Glacier Soap stores are there?")

My dad caught his first king salmon, a 25-pound, 34-inch monster. Later we trekked up Mount Roberts; Mom motored the whole way up, and didn't even complain when the hot chocolate stand at the Tramway was closed. Later we had the most delicious, melt-in-your mouth salmon dinner. Nice to have someone in the house who can cook, again.

Mom thought Pugsley was a riot, and Dad and I went on eBay and searched for his first non-motorized bike in what must be decades. He bought a nice, steel-framed Trek 820, perfecting for commuting and long jaunts around the Salt Lake Valley. I'm working on turning my parents into Alaskans, but first I'm going to turn them into cyclists.