Like these pictures?

Date: March 17
Mileage: 18.6
March mileage: 192.5
Temperature upon departure: 9 (morning temp)
On the iPod: "Sunshine Highway" ~ Dropkick Murphys

For some reason Blogger isn't letting me upload my photos, so I'm reposting an old November favorite. That's OK, because all the pictures I took during yesterday's commute are muddled by nasty grayness and funk that has settled in for the weekend (you know the type - flurries, 50 mph wind gusts, whiteouts of blowing snow). That - and staying out late on St. Patrick's Day - kept me lazy and grounded for most of today.

So I made a "First Winter in Alaska" screensaver. I never realized I how many pictures I have. It's obnoxious, really, considering my extremely amateurish photography equipment and the fact that nearly every snapshot was taken in the small radius of my hometown. But the screensaver was entertaining - especially when I added music. And more than anything on this blog, people seem to like my pictures (more a statement of where I live than any photographic skill of my own.) So I had this crazy idea.

I'd like to work toward upcoming ultrabike events, including (but not limited to) the possibilities of Fireweed 200, 24 hours of Kincaid, Soggy Bottom 100, the 2007 Susitna 100 and (the more outside chance of) a future Iditarod Invitational. Since I did the 2006 Susitna 100 on the wings of blogging friends, I'm taking another swing at it.

My new "Help Jill realize her ultrabiking dreams" proposal includes an offer of exclusive Alaska wildlife and winter imagery, captured in a rotating screensaver and a slideshow set to music. Both include more than 200 frosty images - some which have appeared on this blog, some which are new and unpublished - packaged in instantly downloadable .exe files that should work on any PC. I'll mail out a CD to anyone who might like to donate a few bucks (at least enough to cover postage) to my new crazy bike ventures ... just make sure to indicate the address you want it sent to.

As always, I ride miles for dollars, so there's always the promise of future cycling misadventures.

And if you're turned off by my shameless solicitation, just ignore this post. This photo/bike/frostbite blog will always be free.

Flirting with hypothermia

Date: March 16
Mileage: 20.5
March mileage: 173.9
Temperature upon departure: 13
On the iPod: "Landed" ~ Ben Folds

I left work today wearing a kind of hybrid setup I use for commuting - jeans and long johns, cotton T-shirt, two fleece layers and my waterproof shell. The temperature in town was probably in the high teens. It was 5:15 p.m. I started up the long East Hill climb and overheated almost immediately. It wasn't just extra sweat - it was a serious concern for me. Enough so that I stopped at the first turnout I saw, stripped down to only my T-shirt and shell, removed my outer mittens, ripped off my balaclava and continued up the hill.

I was feeling good at the top, so I continued east to the summit of Skyline and hit the snowmobile trails. I tried some less-traveled trails today, so I was working hard - doing a lot of postholing, occasionally falling over, just like old times. Pretty soon it was 6:30, with the sun drifting low on the horizon. The entire hill fell into shadow. I sweated my way to the main trail and began to pedal downhill.

The snow was set up even nicer today than yesterday, and pretty soon I was flying - bouncing off hardened drifts, knifing through softer snow with crafty maneuvering, coasting over patches of glare ice. I noticed my unmittened hands were starting to hurt a little, but I didn't think much of it. I'd put my mittens on when I got to the bottom of the hill.

About five minutes later, I stopped at the reservoir and moved to take off my pack, but my entire body was stiff and reluctant to turn. That's when I realized that I was cold. Not just cold. Really cold. Probably colder than I've been yet this winter. Shivers were starting to set in. I pulled my mittens and fleece layers out of my pack and hurried to put them on. But the numbness already had its icy grip around me.

I had three more miles to ride home, most of it climbing, and I thought I'd recover pretty quickly. My body did warm up enough to return my reflexes to normal, but the shivering became more pronounced, more violent, and pretty soon my jaw was chattering involuntarily. My head was swimming, probably because I was really rushing through the last big climb. But the lactic acid and lung burn didn't matter much to me at the time. I needed to get inside, and I needed to fast.

By the time I got home I was starting to feel a little better - probably thanks to the sprinting, but I was still immersed in the kind of chill that feels like it will never go away. I shook my hands and jumped up and down for a while to bring the blood circulation back the the extremities it had long since given up on. Have you ever experienced that itchy, painful sensation that comes of warming up frozen fingers? Have you ever experienced that in your entire body?

And all I could think was - wow - I really should know better than this by now. I should have put my layers back on the moment I crested East Hill. And I should wear my normal winter clothes, and just bring a change of clothes to wear at work rather than combining the two. But this it what comes of letting your guard down. I have to remember that even though the sun is riding high, and even though the date's on the downhill side of March, the winter is still very much alive, and the cold is still very real.

Back to the trail

Date: March 15
Mileage: 15.2
March mileage: 153.4
Temperature upon departure: 19
On the iPod: "Cry Freedom" ~ Dave Matthews

The trails are finally setting up again enough to be rideable. It's not warmth that's causing this, but sunlight, so there's still plenty of powder. The skiers have monopolized almost all of the established trails near my house, so I still have to keep my distance. But I'm starting to learn that there's just about nowhere in Alaska a snowmobile won't go. And I'm right behind them, knifing over the glistening trails and dreaming of a time - not too far away now - when massive snow dumps will no longer be a concern. What snowpack we have will melt slowly in the increasing glare of daylight sun, then settle and harden during the freeze of night. Do you know what that means? The wilderness I call home will soon be blanketed - blanketed! - by rideable snow. Hardpacked, glistening, absolutely boundless snow. No trails needed. I'm so excited. And here these Alaskans are telling me that April is the worst month of the year for outdoor fun. How could that even be true?