Backyard backcountry

Geoff's on a big skiing kick right now. Geoff, new hobby and eBay can be a daunting combination. The last time he did this (with bikes), he ended up with a Trek 5200, a Trek Fuel 100, and a lot of miles I couldn't keep up with - even when we went riding together. But at least cycling was something I could do.

After he spent the morning surfing the Web for info on pricey ski equipment and reading about "Cross-Country Skiing 101" from some library book, we went out for a backyard expedition. He went on his backcountry skis. I snowshoed. I gave myself blisters trying to keep up, but the rest of my bruise-free limbs let out a collective sigh of relief. We went out for a long trek, following Bridge Creek downcanyon over an impressive network of trails broken by other skiers. Everywhere we traveled, all I could think was, "Man, a little colder weather would turn this into some great single track." Or, "I bet with low tire pressure I could ride these snowmobile tracks right now." It was like scouting, not hiking. And I was discovering a whole new backyard playground I never knew about.

Maybe I'll go out tomorrow. But the truth is, trail conditions are still all too perfect for skiing. Which means soft snow, deep drifts and painful glares from the Sunday skiers. I could fight the mid-30s thaw in town. Or ... I could go skiing.

Aftermath

Date: March 3
Mileage: 28.7
March mileage: 28.7
Temperature upon departure: 31

Tough ride today, for a town ride. It included:
1.) three miles of ice bolderfield
2.) puddles
3.) 5.0-magnitude earthquake (OK. That actually happened while I was still at work.)
4.) random, balance-threatening blasts of sidewind off the Bay
5.) more traffic than usual (The Salty Dawg Saloon opened for the season today. I don't understand the big deal, as this is the first time it has actually been open since I moved here, but the number of vehicles parked in the vicinity of that little shack made me wonder if the Academy Awards moved north.)
6.) puddles
7.) slush trail
8.) nearly endo-ing after plowing into a deep snow drift at 15 mph (I just assumed it was fairly solid. But ... it wasn't.)
9.) puddles
10.) arriving home looking like I took a swim in a coal-mining tailings pond.

There were also a large number of state trooper vehicles lurking around. It was a grim reminder of tragedy, which, even without the air of sensationalism, violence and questionable judgment, always hits a small town hard.

And as a resident of a small town, it hits me hard. I know these cops. They stop into my office. They joke with the reporters. The wheel their kids around Safeway. To imagine them locked in the crossfire ... arms outstretched ... guns drawn ... high school choir students gathering at the airport window ... the wide-eyed gaze of the toddler in the passenger's seat ...

It takes observers to a level that's far away from the Channel 5 top story or some overblown episode of CSI. It's not loud or fast or filled with fire. It's quiet - eerily quiet - in the aftermath, and beneath the silence are answers no one will ever find.

This guy wants in

It was snowy today, a little wind, low 20s. I had planned to attempt a trail ride in honor of Peter and Rocky, who won the Iditarod Trail Invitational at 7 this morning. But when I got home from work, a little later in the evening than I had hoped, looked at the newspaper and saw "Sweet Home Alabama" slated to air on one of the channels my TV picks up, well ... I spent the better part of the evening on the trainer. I have been sufficiently lulled by post-training complacency. But, for what it's worth, it was a good trainer ride. A commercial-laden chick flick can really stack on the minutes.

I didn't think the long winter would get to me, but something about the recent explosion of daylight, compounded by the calendar's turnover to March, has got me looking at the cold and snow with a confused melancholy of sorts. Where I come from - the land of salt and sand - early March is the time of year when temperatures start climbing into the 60s. The grass looks green again. Songbirds start tiptoeing their way back. Where I live now - the land of snow and Susitna - near-zero is still a harsh reality. Grass is buried under six feet of white stuff that continues to accumulate. Birds are trying to break into the house. I've lived in Alaska nearly six months now, and I have yet to see a different season.

It's a rough transition. As much effort as I've made to jump full-tilt into southcentral Alaska's winter, it's still tough to acclimate. At least I don't live in Barrow. You know what they say about Barrow -

There are two seasons in Barrow. Winter, and July 14.