Not that heavy

Date: Sept. 22
Mileage: 25.1
September mileage: 526.0

I loaded my bike today with food and gear and set out to see how she handled. I quickly noticed the extra weight on climbs, but, as usual, started to forget about it as I coasted along the road in the crisp fall wind. I love packing up my bike with everything I need to live. There’s freedom and joy in the knowledge that I could ride to the end of the day and just keep going.

So my preparations are nearly complete for my spontaneous fall Yukon tour. I am starting to feel pretty nervous about it, which is a good thing. To me, being scared is a sign of a worthwhile adventure. The weather forecast for the area is calling for highs in the 40s and lows in the 20s with a moderate chance of precipitation on Saturday. I am hoping any precip falls as dry snow flurries if it falls at all. If I run into freezing rain, I may have to turn back or hole up for a bit.

This trip is the same route I rode in 48 hours in August 2007. During that trip, I clocked the distance at 371 miles. This time, I will have 72 hours between ferries to complete the tour. I also will be riding the route backwards, due to the only ferry schedule that worked out for me. It will be fun to see the Golden Circle from a whole new perspective, but I do have reservations about riding from Skagway to Haines. For starters, the climb out of Skagway gains 3,000 feet in 11 miles, as opposed to the same elevation in about 60 miles out of Haines. With all of my extra bike weight, that probably amounts to two hours of climbing in the red zone right out of the gate. Then I still have nearly 100 miles to ride into Whitehorse over the rolling hills that follow the headwaters of the Yukon River.

Day two will be the Alaska Highway, with mild rollers, more traffic, and, as I learned last year, very little water. When I rode this stretch in August 2007, I encountered temperatures in the 90s, oppressive sun and a steady headwind. What a difference a year and a month can make. This time, I will be happy if temperatures are in the 40s; happier if it’s dry; and even happier if the stiff wind is blowing in that same general direction.

Day three will likely be the longest and most remote stretch of the trip. I’d honestly rather get this leg out of the way on the first day rather than the last, when I haven’t seen a weather report in three days and have less options if I need to turn back. I will be watching the sky closely as I distance myself from Haines Junction, because I don’t want to be caught out there in a blizzard. Once I round the summit of Haines Highway, I’m nearly home free. It’s a quick drop back to the U.S., followed by a nice, flat meander along the Chilkat River that I’ve ridden several times before.

So that’s my tour. I have to overnight on the ferry on Wednesday, and I set out first thing Thursday for the hideous climb into Canada. I’m nervous! I know from experience that once I settle in, I’ll likely feel happy and content, with nothing to do but sleep, eat and ride my bike. But the days leading up to a big ride are always hard.

Last day of summer

I headed up to Gastineau Peak and Gold Ridge today. I did a little meandering and a little dawdling, and ended up burning nearly five hours of daylight on the mountain in the morning/afternoon. I have been consuming a lot of my free time lately in "long" outdoor activities and evenings with friends. I am really starting to feel the fatigue of never being at home, which is interesting, because I have been battling a raging wanderlust that also seems to be burning holes in my contentedness.

But it was a nice day on the Mount Roberts trail, with rolling clouds and flecks of sunlight. There were no cruise ships in port this morning, which meant the tram terminal was closed, which meant I didn't see another soul on the mountain until I passed two fellow "through" hikers (both solo) on the way down.

I did see a coyote, which shadowed me at a safe distance for quite a while. I'd stop and the coyote would stop, and we'd just stare at each other for a few seconds until finally, I got bored first and started walking again. And sure enough, the coyote walked along with me, although much higher up the ridge. It was interesting to see an animal so curious about a human in the area just above the tram. Mount Roberts has to be the most heavily human-populated trail in Juneau, at least in general. But not today - it was just me and the coyote, and a whole bunch of ptarmigans mottled with new white winter feathers. This picture is about as far as my little camera can zoom, so you may have to take my word that there's a coyote in there.

Requisite picture at the peak, just as the low-lying clouds were finally starting to clear up. I brought mittens and a hat today, which is good, because light snow flurries brushed the ridge for most of the morning.

It was a good way to spend the last "long" day of the year. Monday is the autumn equinox, and with it equal hours for both day and night across the globe. Then in the northern hemisphere, we begin to slip into darkness. And here in the far northern hemisphere, we slip into a lot of darkness. I don't consider that a bad thing, just different, a new way of seeing things, a new adventure. So by the grace of Gastineau Peak go I into autumn, into the first long night.

Everyday beauty

Date: Sept. 20
Mileage: 30.0
September mileage: 500.9

My habit of taking a camera on every bike ride has evolved into a habit of taking a camera essentially everywhere I go. Dentist appointment ... grocery store ... going to pick up a friend at the airport ... no matter where I am, there's a good chance I have my little bombproof point-and-shoot in one of my pockets. And although I generally only take pictures when I'm hiking or biking, every once in a while I stumble across a Kodak moment during my day-to-day life. Like this morning, while I was sitting at my kitchen table downing yet another meal of chocolate-flavored Honey Bunches of Oats (they were on sale), I just happened to glance out the window and see a rainbow stretched over Douglas. So I carried my cereal out to the deck and snapped a photo. (And really, how many cheap basement apartments do you know of that have a view like that? Another benefit of living in a city etched into a mountain.)

Then there was the morning ride with Terry up to Eaglecrest. I was trying to break in Pugsley, who has had a pretty lax summer, for the everyday grind with nice, steady climb. Sunlight filtered through the clouds all morning long, and the sky was just clear enough that I could see the mainland from the ski hill for the first time in ... I don't know ... weeks at least.

At about 3 p.m., I was typing away at my office computer when I saw more hints of sunlight streaming through the window. I walked out on the balcony and watched people fish for chum salmon in a heavy downpour while sunlight flared through a clearing just to the north. The fishermen were all far away from where I was standing ...

So I walked downstairs to buy a Diet Coke from the vending machine and snapped a few more photos.

I left work for my lunch break right around sunset. Before I drove home to make myself dinner (I promise it wasn't Honey Bunches of Oats), I stopped at the Salmon Creek inlet and stood by the highway bridge, just drinking it in.

All the while, right behind me, Observation Peak loomed with a healthy coat of new snow. I thought about how much I would love to be up there at that exact moment, feeling my heart pound and lungs burn in the alpine air while the sun cast an orange glow over snow-dusted boulders. Why, I thought, why couldn't the summer of 2008 just have given me a single 10-hour weather window while I wasn't at work to climb that peak before winter set in? And yet, as I stood next to the highway and my office building and an industrial-zoned section of Juneau all bathed in golden light, I didn't feel too bad about it.

I can't climb mountains every day, but sometimes everyday life is just enough.