Gained some weight

Date: Feb. 14
Mileage: 13.4
February mileage: 238.8
Temperature on departure: 37

Yup. It took two and a half months, but I've finally collected and compiled the gear I need for the Susitna race. Today I loaded most of it on my bike (a bit haphazard, but daylight was a-fadin') and went out for a short ride. Including water and other gear I plan to hoist in my Camelbak H.A.W.G., the total addition is about 20-25 pounds. And you know what? I got better traction today.

I also whipped down the hills. And climbs? Well, I'm a slow climber anyway. I probably should have added the weight to my workouts before now, but I don't anticipate the gear making or breaking me. At this point, any semblance of good trail and weather conditions would have me so stoked I could probably set out on a loaded touring bike and be fine. Well, maybe not fine. But if I could just finish the race with a smile on my face, I'll chalk it up as "probably the best one I've ever done." (I know - I have to stop with the Napoleanisms.)

Oh yeah. I nearly forgot that today is the V-day-that-must-not-be-named. Not that I'm one of those people that marches for Single Awareness Day. In fact, Feb. 14 is tied to several of my more memorable anniversaries. Today I realized (because this is the kind of stuff I think about when I'm riding my bike) that it's been 10 years since my first kiss (not exactly the first, but the first one that meant anything to me, so I quickly disregarded the rest.) It was a classic moment of teenage angst: Valentine's date ... sitting shotgun in some beat-up old Buick ... idling loudly ... eyes locked on the windshield ... streams of melted snowflakes slithering down the glass ... sinking into the congested silence ... paralyzed and unable to look this boy in the eyes because I knew, just knew, it was coming.

But what really stands out about the memory is the Red Hot Chili Peppers playing softly through crackling speakers. I ran out to Tom Tom's Music the next day to purchase the "Soul to Squeeze" single for prosterity. And now, here I am, 10 years into a strange future, singing to myself as I pedal across the snow.

"Where I go I just don't know
I got to, got to, gotta take it slow
When I find my peace of mind
I'm gonna give you some of my good time."

T minus three days, 12 hours, 55 minutes and counting.

Gloom 'n doom

With eagle feeding in full swing out on the Spit, there's an eerily Hitchcockian feel out there - birds of prey peppered across the gray landscape, waiting out the silence with ominous glares. As for me, I've been feeling a little bit under the weather, in the more literal sense - as in oppressed by the weather. The local news is predicting lots of doom and gloom surrounding this week, which includes the Susitna 100. The Iron Dog snowmachine racers are tearing up the trails with as much force as they can muster in the soft snow. Several Yukon Quest dog mushers had to be airlifted off the trail after a storm (they're in a different part of the state, to be fair.) But still, weather.com calls for the delightful-sounding "wintry mix/wind" for Wasilla on Saturday, complete with a 35-degree high. I feel sad. I blame global warming.

There are some encouraging reports at the MTB Alaska forum. Although one rider mentioned renaming the race "Ididaswim," another reported riding out to the Susitna River earlier today on hard-packed trails with a light dusting of snow. Mmmmm. If it could only stay cold enough to remain that way.

But with Saturday fast approaching, I'm going to have to decide beforehand how far I'm willing to "swim" without quitting. I've decided that as long as I feel healthy and am not suffering beyond reason, I should have no reason to quit the race before the official cut-off time (48 hours. That's right.) I have the option of sleeping along the way. I'll have enough food to stuff a luau pig. And if there's one athletic talent that I have, it's plugging along - even when the going is insufferably slow. How long will it take me to swim 100 miles? I don't know. But I'm fairly certain I could walk 100 miles given 48 hours to do so. Not that I'm about to enter this race in the foot division.

Still, good reports are coming in. (Although I can't get the image out of my head of that random extra in "Cannibal, The Musical," walking past the miners chanting "Doomed. You're all doomed. Doomed. Dooooomed.") However, I shouldn't put my faith, good or bad, in the weather guessers. At least the U.S. snowboarders are tearing things up in the Olympic Winter Games. Until the IOC decides to install ice biking as an official winter sport, the knuckle draggers will always hold the softest spot in my heart. T minus four days, nine hours, 47 minutes and counting.

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.