Looking for heroes

Here's yet another Alaska thing I haven't become accustomed to yet: The compounding daylight. At a rate of five more minutes every day, it doesn't take long to stack up. Today I came home from work much later than I had planned. It was 5:30 p.m. and overcast, and I just assumed it would be dark in another half hour. Not really feeling motivated to attempt a night ride, I crawled on the trainer and started cranking out minutes, thinking I'd probably just stop as soon as it got dark. But then 6:00 came. Then 6:30. I was feeling good and decided to go long, and before I knew it, 7:15 came with usable daylight still lingering outside. Who knew?

The Iditarod dogsled race is going strong. It's immensely popular up here, so it gets a lot of ink. Consequently, I've found myself following the mushers' progress, grazing through statistics and reading about people in a sport I never thought I'd be interested in. But, when I think about it, these long-distance mushers embody a lot of the characteristics I admire most in people.

You know what they say - you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can't always pick your heroes. Because when it comes down to it, you're going to look up to the people who have mastered qualities you'd like to see in yourself, who have skills or status that to you is just a distant potential. But that's just it - potential. Those who want to be fast look up to Lance Armstrong. Those who want to be immensely successful look up to Bill Gates.

Me - I'd like to be strong. And not necessarily strong in the raw, athletic sense that defines those who stand at the top of their game, because that's just not me. My envied strength lies more in mental toughness, and the hard, mind-over-body decisions that people make when they want something badly enough. I think that's why I've become drawn to ultra-events, and why I usually find myself rooting for people who may not necessarily be the leaders - and who may never be the leaders. It's in these people that I see pieces of myself.

I'm not a natural athlete. I'm actually somewhat of a klutz, "built to spill" as they say, and my athletic gifts lie somewhere on the talent level of Madonna's acting skills. I'm so pale-skinned I'm practically allergic to the sun; I'm also painfully allergic to grass pollen and mosquitos - basically, I'm allergic to going outside when it's nice out. When I was born, I'm fairly certain my genes had me all mapped out to be a librarian or a book editor, but I developed an unflagging sense of adventure that I just can't shake. That single quality has taken my weak, uncoordinated body to places I never imagined I'd see, given me skills I never dreamed I'd have, and yet still I want more. Still I want to be stronger, tougher, more able to master a body that was never designed to conquer mountains or cross continents. And so I ride, and admire those who do the same.

The Good Fight

Adam Bartlett took this picture during the Iditarod Trail Invitational. He posted it on the Alaska MTB forum. Check it out. He took some amazing pictures during his six days in the Great Nothing.

So now the Iditarod dogsled race is on. Yesterday the rugged mushers and their puppy teams flew over the terrain I slogged through during the Susitna 100. Today the leaders crossed Rainy Pass, fast on their way to McGrath - and nipping at the heels of the last forlorn racers of the Invitational. The carnage of this year's human-powered Iditarod is almost complete, with the only a few racers fighting through the last 50-mile stretch (only one guy, so far, is going on to Nome.) Those who are still out there are pushing 10 days. Think, for a minute, what you did with the past 10 days. Went to a couple of movies? Put in 60 hours at the office? Shopped for bicycle parts? Even if you didn't do much, adding up 10 days of tasks seems like a lot, doesn't it? Now imagine that you spent those 10 days squinting into the endless white of the Alaska tundra, facing the brutal wind, blowing snow and a blazing sun without heat, or a frigid night without light. And all you're doing, day into endless night, is placing one foot in front of the other, again and again and again.

Adam wrote: "It was a whiteout at some points with cold like I have never felt before. Exposed skin felt like it was being touched by a flame. The foam liner on my goggles froze to my face and my face mask froze to my cheek, leaving some minor frostbite marks. It was a nasty dark pass crossing. There was no trail until noon (12 hours after I left) when the bison hunters passed me by Pass Creek. So I spent a good part of the night route finding. Despite all this, I had a good time on the pass."

I've never even met Adam, but damn. I have a new hero.

Cliches

Date: March 5
Mileage: 27.1
March mileage: 55.8
Temperature upon departure: 29
Listened to: "The Kids Aren't All Right" ~ The Offspring

Well, I finally broke down and bought an iPod. It's actually out of character for me to purchase a shiny, trendy little gadget (I may be the only person who grew up in the 90s and drives a car with a tape deck.) But I think it was the Susitna race that finally convinced me it wouldn't be a bad idea to own a decent MP3 player. Normally, I prefer to ride free, without the noisebox crowding out all the ambient sounds. But with Breakup approaching (that's these Alaska types term for Spring), I realized that I may soon want to start packing on road mileage. And since I live at the very southern end of a peninsula, there's pretty much only one direction I can go for any distance. I realized that the Sterling Highway northbound may start to get very boring if I don't blast a little Yellowcard now and again.

There was nothing really notable about today's ride, except for being outsmarted by a dog. I often ride out to Ohlson Mountain, which is 13.5 miles from my house. There's a mean dog at mile 13 that chases me every time, up a hill, and nips at my ankles as I try to outrun him. I always end up weaving and spinning out on the ice, nearly losing control until I can finally crest the hill and fly the last half mile to the end of the road. Then I have to turn back and face him again. Today, as always, he chased me on the incoming stretch. His teeth got so close to my leg that I was certain I was going to lose a chunk of my calf, so I kicked out and he backed off. As soon as I hit the turnaround, I pulled my waterbottle out of my coat and popped the top off, then began pedaling hard back up the hill. I was filled with road rage and I wanted to face that dog head on. The thought of soaking that snarly little snout with every precious ounce of water I had made me positively gleeful. Within another minute I was back in his territory, viciously clutching my weapon and scanning the road when I locked eyes with the brute. He was just sitting on top of a snow bank, panting, like the harmless mutt he pretends to be. And he just watched me go by - just sat there, having no idea how close he came to a rude awakening. Or ... did he?

Today was also different in that I sat through most of the How-Great-Are-We Awards for the first time in, well, ever. I love movies, but I've never cared enough about the Academy Awards to bother watching them (after all, that's what newspapers are for). Still, there's something about a big windy blizzard outside, homemade pizza, and John Stewart on the only station that comes in semi-clear that can really make sitting though all the self congratulations worth it. Go George Clooney!