My snowmachine

Date: Jan. 7
Mileage: 35.5
January mileage: 108.2
Temperature upon departure: 33

Today's ride was sponsored by Kevin. I set out a little later than hoped (noon), but made up for my procrastination with serendipitous exploration. I found a maze of winter trails and unplowed four-wheel drive roads networking through the woods just north of Skyline Drive. For a mile I'd plow through untapped snow, only to suddenly find myself on a well-traveled snowmobile trail, cascading over packed waves of powder. Then I'd hit the rutted and icy roads, bounce around for a bit, take a left turn and find myself up to my pedal strokes in powder again. Along the trails I came across two dog mushers. One stopped to tell me the trail I was on was a dead end.

"It ends at my house," the man told me. His 4 or 5-year-old daughter was clinging to the cargo side of his sled. Four restless huskies whined and nipped at the air.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't realize this was a private trail."

"That's OK," he said. "It's not like you're on a snowmachine or anything."

As he pulled away I could hear his daughter say, "Daddy, daddy, was that a bicycle?"

All in all, it was a fun ride, even though this kind of cycling turns up disappointing mileage for time spent in the saddle (in today's case, a little more than four hours.) But all this trail riding is necessary for me to improve my handling abilities in snow. Any snow or ice condition, for me at least, still wavers on the unpredictable side (I think of it as riding through deep sand one second and the next bouncing over large roots - and having no prior knowledge of the transition because on top, it all just looks benignly white.)

Very knowlegable folks such as mags (who, by the way, is a future Olympian) have asked me why I don't enjoy all this God-given white stuff in more natural ways, such as skiing. And I do understand the importance of cross-training to stay in good athletic shape (I do run from time to time.) But these rides, especially the trail rides, are as much about gaining skill as they are about building a solid set of quads. I am a rookie in the most unapologetic sense. I had never even seen a studded tire (bicycle or otherwise) until this year. And I don't have much time, so I practice - any free moment I have. I know that my success depends on my level of confidence, even more than it does on my level of fitness.

Earlier today, I thought I had a good idea for a post. But Geoff and I just went to see King Kong, and my brain is a little bit mushy. Kevin, my sponsor for today, suggested I do a Susitna 100 gear post - what I'm planning on using and what I still need. This sounds like a good idea (I admit it. I'm hoping to receive suggestions and recommendations all around.) So I'll pencil that one in for tomorrow.

Reservoir dogs

Date: Jan. 5
Mileage:15.7
January mileage: 72.7
Temperature upon departure: 24

There's something about bicycling on top of a mass of water that's so ... ethereal. Something about gliding atop the epitome of a smooth, flat surface; about the silencing strength of snow against the grind of wheels and the darkness of evening settling over a frozen landscape. Geoff and I hit the reservoir today after a harrowing descent down the rutted-out ice roads above. The sudden change amounted to the difference between weaving through Los Angeles traffic and an joy ride on the Bonneville Salt Flats ... all of the speed, and none of the stress.

After the ride I was eating a giant burrito and browsing the Anchorage Daily News when I came across a letter to the editor titled "Hopefully, violent collision with SUV knocked sense into winter cyclist." Of course, I knew that reading a so-titled piece of work would probably cause the burrito to churn uncomfortably in my stomach, but I read it anyway.

"I was initially sympathetic to the piece published Dec. 25, 'Cyclist happy to be alive after violent hit-and-run by SUV,' Mitch Lewis of Palmer began. "However, I had to wonder why the author didn't mention the obvious: This is Alaska, it is winter and the streets are covered with snow and ice. Am I the only one who saw this?"

I can just see Mr. Mitch Lewis of Palmer approaching the downed cyclist on the highway shortly after the accident.

Mr Lewis: "I'm sorry to see you're hurt, but I'm afraid to say you have no one to blame but yourself."

Cyclist, fighting for consciousness through a nasty concussion: "Um ... I'm pretty sure that SUV hit me."

Mr. Lewis: "Yes, but, it's winter out. (which is the best argument he poses in his letter)"

Cyclist: "I know."

Mr. Lewis: "So, if you agree with me on that fact, you can't deny the unreasonable risk of cycling in the winter in Alaska" (for Mr. Lewis's sake, let's just say he means the months between September and July.)

Cyclist: "But I was in control that entire time. That SUV hit me. From behind."

Mr. Lewis: "It's an infallible fact that Sport Utility Vehicles are impervious to the perilous conditions of winter roads. Therefore, sir, it must be your fault."

"To wish him back to the same place and frame of mind that would encourage him to ride a bicycle on the same snow- and ice-covered streets of Anchorage that he was almost killed upon in the first place, would be a misuse of glad tidings," Lewis wrote. "I hope he had a bit of common sense knocked into him and he takes the bus when the weather and streets warrant it."

And, Mr. Lewis, I hope you have a bit of common sense knocked into you when your SUV hits an ice patch on the Seward Highway and careens into the Turnagain Arm at 80 mph. Well ... that sounds a little too vindictive. My point is, the risk of any form of travel is increased by snow and ice. Personally, I feel a lot more in control navigating winter conditions down the 1,000-foot elevation drop of West Hill on my mountain bike than I do in my car. I only wish I could feel the same sort of confidence in the traffic barreling down with me.

Duck and cover

Augustine let off a little steam today, prompting a rush of calls to the Homer Tribune in the late afternoon. After about a half dozen calls I could practically hear my co-worker grinding her teeth through her usual cheery receptionist voice: "No, sir, we've already confirmed it isn't an eruption ... No, it's just steam venting ... We got that from the AVO (Alaska Volcano Observatory) ... Yes, I believe there is a difference ... No, sir, we can see it too ... Well yes, it does look like an eruption is coming, but ..."

People around town are on pins and needles right now waiting for this thing to blow. The scientists still have the Augustine alert on yellow, but these stubborn Homerites are convinced an eruption is imminent. Last week, my office took a poll on the date it will go. My boss has her money on Jan. 6 ... tomorrow. I'm last on the list, with what I thought was a conservative guess of Feb. 20 (This is probably more optimism than an educated predication. On that date, I'll be hunkered down 300 miles north of the nasty ash plume, sleeping off the Susitna 100. Then, not only will I not have to buy a face mask, but I'll also have a lot more recovery time from the race, stuck in Palmer as I'll be.)

Today I did a light training day - 50 minutes of "sprinting" intervals on the trainer. Perhaps I'll do a two-mile run before bed. My friend Dane's bivy sack arrived in the mail, which means the only gear I have left to acquire before the race is a liquid fuel stove, neoprene socks and a sleeping bag rated to -20. We're required to carry all of our camping gear even if we never use it - which adds a whole new layer to my training that I'll need to start on soon. But if the volcano goes off, I'm going back to bed.