Ski 'n cheese

I slid off the road today on the way to the Nordic Ski Club's wine and cheese tour. Four inches of new snow atop freshly glared ice is a dangerous combination for little cars. It took a half hour of shoveling, eight people pushing and a truck with a tow line to get Geo out of the snow bank. Thank goodness for small-town hospitality.

I was pretty frazzled after the ordeal, but I did promise my editor I'd take photos at the ski 'n cheese. So I drove into the blizzard and hit the trail about 45 minutes late, with most of the pack far ahead and probably already polishing off the Swiss. The photo opportunities don't really get good until after the skiers have had their shiraz, so I didn't sweat it too hard. I skied into the blasting snow, trying to separate the trail from the landscape from the sky from anything else. I thought I was doing OK. But the adult nature of the event must have compelled the ski club to set up the expert course, because about 20 minutes into the run I came to an arrow pointing straight down the longest, steepest hill in the area.

I stood there in disbelief for two or three minutes, trying to imagine exactly how I'd get down that thing. Finally I decided I was going to point my skis in the classic "A" and go for it. It goes without saying that they crossed about 20 feet and 15 mph into my descent. Down I went, knee going one direction, body going the other, everything in a cloud of powder and skis and limbs. I literally stabbed myself in the back with one of my poles, wrenched my left knee and came to a sliding stop about halfway down the hill. So there I lay with my legs twisted around the one ski that didn't pop off, cursing the throbbing pain in my knee. I could feel something wet on my back and thought I was bleeding, but it turned out to be snow coming in where I had torn a hole in my coat. And all I could think was what an idiotic way this was to injure myself one week out from my race. So that was it. I took off my other ski and walked back to my beleaguered car.

My knee felt better later this evening, so Geoff and I went out for more skiing. He was going to show me some moves. What he mostly did was show me up; I could barely keep up. But I did find I could gain a lot of speed "skating" on my classic skis, and felt more comfortable moving that way anyway. Still ... I'm a terrible skier. I guess that's the only point this post has. Also, I wish it would stop snowing. T minus five days, ten hours 27 minutes and counting.

Winter carnival

Date: Feb. 11
Mileage: 39.5
February mileage: 225.4
Temperature on departure: 34

I took about 15 photos of the Homer Winter Carnival parade today, and this was the driest one I got. At this point I was straddling my bike, clutching my camera with soaked-through neoprene gloves and trying to shake about a half gallon of water out of my overboots as I watched Scouts in short-sleeved uniforms march by. It rained nonstop today, melting vertical feet of snowpack and unleashing the whole mess in chocolate torrents down the streets. That didn't stop the Homerites from turning out in droves for the annual "winter" celebration, despite that fact that the car race on Beluga Lake was cancelled due to standing water and the firework show was threatened by the compounding downpour. This kind of weather should have a season all its own - something rooted in the word "gunk."

I guess the weather didn't stop me from doing a four-hour ride today, which included a too-lengthy stop to watch the parade (Brrrr). The first time I got off my bike, I realized my overboots were literally full of water. The only reason I wore them was a misguided attempt to keep my feet dry. Overboots seemed like a good idea - but I don't think you're supposed to go swimming in them. And pedaling 15 mph through 6-inch deep shush puddles pretty much qualifies as Olympic pool cycling. But it was just another important lesson - when in doubt, stick to neoprene.

I honestly thought the fireworks would be canceled, so I didn't go back to town tonight. But I just heard them go off, so I guess I stranded myself at home for nothing. Anyway, I've been killing some time and doing some blogging, and I realized that I've had this blog for three months and I've never posted a picture of my cat. People have entire blogs dedicated to their cats, and while I don't condone the idea, I do realize that my blog is becoming a little, well, single-track minded. So this is Cady. She is the world's neediest cat. She is also about as graceful as her owner is on wet ice (that is to say - not.) But she acts like she loves me, and that's gotta count for something.

Also, Caloi-Rider did a post today about the interesting ways people found his blog. I thought I'd check out my stats, and found that someone landed here earlier today with an msn search for "are people crazy in Alaska?" Hope they found their answer. T minus 6 days, 11 hours, 54 minutes and counting.

Countdown

Date: Feb. 10
Mileage: 25.4
February mileage: 185.9
Temperature on departure: 35

Well, I can check the 10-day weather forecast and see the day of my race now; I'm receiving empathy e-mails from fellow racers. Looks like the countdown's on. I feel like I'm physically ready for the race, but right now I'm so obsessed with the weather that nothing else seems to matter. I might as well go eat a row of Oreos.

Instead, I took Geoff's advice to do one short-but-hard ride. Thanks to a full day of ad design (blah), I only had about a two-hour span between punch-out time at the office and the start of a foreign film I really wanted to see, "The Story of Weeping Camel." (Mongolia is definitely a place I want to bicycle tour through someday.) Anyway, today was probably not the best day to decide to go out at "run" pace. Above-freezing temps and a full day of rain unleashed havoc on the deep snowpack, turning every road shoulder and bike path into unholy basins of slush. Sloppy, slurping slush that rose to my calves in some spots. I should have geared up with my new overboots. As it was, I was dressed for 35 degrees (basically, my summer suit). I biked until I was soaked through and through, and then I biked another 24.4 miles.

Hard pedaling helped me stay warm, although the wind chill was an definite minus. I pumped out 25 miles in one hour, 45 minutes. Laughably slow for road cyclists, I know, but for moving a full-suspension mountain bike with about 30 psi in high-treaded snow tires through an ocean of melting snow, it didn't seem too bad. In fact, it felt really good. Until I stopped. Then I was really cold.

The camel movie was really cute, too. I highly recommend it to anyone with an actual DVD rental store in their town. T minus one week, eight hours, 58 minutes and counting.