In transit

Date: August 2 and 4
Mileage: 14.1 and 33.8
August mileage: 66.2

One way to make a move involving 1,000 road miles, two international border crossings and a scheduled ferry ride even more exciting is to prolong the bulk of it as long as possible and then scrunch the rest into one super Saturday. Another way to make the move exciting is to do it in this rig ---->

And I sure am excited, because after three days of schlepping around a 10-year-old Geo Prism with a metric ton of all of my worldly possessions, I am currently in Palmer, Alaska, about 250 miles north of Homer by generous estimates. But, hey, my slowness hasn't been in vain. I spent a tourist day in Seward on the wildlife cruise and glacier tour, visited friends in Palmer, wrestled a mad zoo movie crowd to see "Over the Hedge" and finally got a chance to ride the rollercoaster bike path along the Parks Highway. And how could I leave southcentral Alaska without at least once standing next to a Halibut that's taller than I am?

Now that it's Saturday, I may even be able to catch a glimpse of the pain Geoff is willingly putting himself through tomorrow before I embark on my own marathon. I feel really nervous for him and the Matanuska Peak Challenge, and it helps overshadow my own realities ... the fact that I'm "between jobs." And homeless. And more than 700 miles from the place that is responsible for my next paycheck. And putting a lot of faith in a loaded-down sedan with 142,000 miles on it.

It's exciting.

And Mom, I'll call you from the road tomorrow. Don't worry. I'll be fine.

For a great diversion, a Soggy Bottom spectator climbed all the way to Devil's Pass to get some great pictures of the leaders and the course. They're posted here. I think they show in stunning detail why people do this race. They don't, however, explain the Matanuska Peak Challenge. Nine thousand feet in 13 miles? (Make that six and a half miles, with six and a half more of knee-busting descent.) No amount of scenery is going to save that race. Wish Geoff luck.

Last ride

Date: August 1
Mileage: 18.3
August mileage: 18.3
Temperature upon departure: 51

Last bicycle ride in Homer.
With a wind chill in August and rain-spattered streets
Pavement I've pedaled down many dozens of times. Maybe 100 times.
Suddenly drenched in a nostalgia I cannot shake, a beauty I never noticed.

I struggle because I want to remember all of it -
The way the trees pinstripe the sunlight,
The tear-soaked plummet to the Bay.

I find it hard to breathe because I'm descending
Something I'll never again climb.

Wavering against the cow parsnip,
I strain to memorize the musty sweet smell in the explosive umbrellas
Unable to forget how each one looks at 10-below
Encapsulated in ice
As if locked inside eternity.

I find comfort in the idea that nothing stays the same.

I may never return.
But I'll never leave, entirely.

When you hear from me again, I'll no longer be a Homer in Homer.
I'll be a Jill in Juneau.

Wintry ride

Date: July 30
Mileage: 39.2
July mileage: 710.3
Temperature upon departure: 47

It's been a little while since I doubled over in the shower to claw at the searing, itchy pain of blood circulation returning to my feet. But that happened to me today.

How quickly my long-term memory fails me. I looked at the thermometer before I left and observed the 47 degrees it was. I stepped outside and felt a light drizzle hitting my skin. But I'm so inclined to routine that my mind said "July" even as February weather descended outside. I thought little of my cotton T-shirt and light rain jacket, the only layers that stood between me and a soggy refrigerator.

I froze. It wouldn't have been all that bad, except for I stopped to wait for Geoff at the fishing hole. And waited. And waited. I was already drenched from a two-hour ride and standing still beneath a narrow balcony for a half hour nearly put me into convulsions. I was shivering profusely by the time I realized the pain I was in for if I didn't get moving. So instead of fishing like I had planned to do, I biked 9 miles home in a state that ranged between shivery annoyance and mild distress. I could have stopped at a number of businesses along the way, but at that point all I could think about was a hot shower. If staving off hypothermia in July isn't bad enough, the worst irony was that hot shower. Wincing through the prickly warming of my numb extremities was by far the most unpleasant experience of the day.

Geoff called me a few minutes later to urge me to come back to town, but it was too late. I was spent. The task of staying warm can be so much more exhausting than riding in the sun. As cold rain continued to pound the roof, I settled in with some hot tea and read an article about the Badwater Ultramarathon. Ah. I love Alaska.