The view from up here

Look fast. It goes quick.

Peak-bagging in Juneau could be a good analogy for life. You toil up the steep an muddy trail, mind fixed on the prize, focused on the trail ... only to look up at some random point and realize that the surrounding world is completely shrouded in fog, you have no idea where you are, and all this time, you've been laboring toward something you'll never have. Good lesson. Disappointing hike.

Not really, though. We hit the Mount Roberts trail late in the day with no real intention of making it to the top. But after we passed treeline, there was always the hope of finding that ever-elusive view. Unfortunately, right about the time we left the forest canopy, we met the cloud canopy. The initial contact point was an interesting sensation - walking into swirling wisps of visibility-obstructing gray vapor, then emerging into a colorful, wide-open sightline. Eventually, though, we were high enough in the cloud that the only things we could see - those things immediately in front of us - looked dreary and cold. We turned around.

Mount Roberts is interesting, because about two miles up the trail you reach the top of a huge tram that carts tourists up from the cruise ships. We stopped in on our way back down the trail, dripping cloud condensation and scraping our mud-coated shoes across the carpet. We were at that point a couple hours into our "wilderness" hike, suddenly browsing books and Tlingit trinkets in the climate-controlled confines of a huge gift shop. I was able to stop in at a full-service restroom, rehydrate at a drinking fountain, and continue on down the rugged trail. Someday, I plan to go back up and try the salmon burger. Hey, if you can't hike for the view ...

Today is my "Labor Day." (Ug. I can't believe I just said that. It used to drive me crazy when friends who had unconventional days off would call random days like Tuesday "My Friday." Now, I'm one of them.) Anyway, I have Thursday and Friday off, so I'm feeling guilty for not doing something more productive or adventurous with my three-day weekend. But maybe tomorrow I'll find a dresser. I wonder how that would look on top of my car.

Settling in, gearing down

Date: September 4&5
Combined mileage: 49.0
September mileage: 54.0

I spent the past two mornings riding the island roads with Geoff. Geoff and I hardly ever rode together during the summer because he was always training for mountain running, and I always insisted on four-hour rides whenever I could squeeze them in. But now we're both in a fitness lull, eager to explore our new home and unconcerned with upping our VO2 Max. For all of that time spent apart, though, we're having a hard time synchronizing our road riding. He can still outclimb me without even breaking a sweat. But today, I somehow dropped him cold on the flats, putting nearly a mile between us before I started to get worried and turned around.

As soon as I can get over my aversion to riding in downpours, I think I’ll begin to appreciate just how great the daily road riding opportunities from my doorstep really are. The route to Eagle Crest Ski Resort climbs 1,200 feet in 5.2 miles on a smooth, scenic canyon road that sees almost zero vehicle traffic this time of year. The North Douglas Highway snakes along the ocean shoreline for 13 miles, occasionally breaking away from the rainforest for sweeping views of jagged, glacier-capped peaks and a treeline draped in puffs of clouds. I can cross the bridge to downtown and ride my fill of lung-searing, 20-percent grades, then roll along the Thane Highway and cross numerous salmon-choked streams. Or, if I’m feeling destination-inclined, I can take the valley bike path 11 miles to the base of a giant glacier. For as limited as my options are, I think it’s going to take me a long time to get tired of riding these rides.

Rubber boots not included

Date: September 3
Mileage: ~5
September mileage: 5

This morning, Geoff and I did a nice hike-a-bike on a boggy trail near Eaglecrest Ski Resort. It was the beginning of what will probably be the slow elimination of many nearby trails - beautiful, unrideable trails. And still, I have this determination to hoist my mud-soaked mountain bike through ever mile of soggy peat until I know for sure. Today's ride, the Treadwell Ditch Trail, had several hundred yards of tentative but exhilarating balance-riding on narrow wooden planks, interspersed by much longer stretches of slimy roots, slick stairways and sludge.

For a failure of a mountain bike ride, though, it was oddly satisfying. This is the first time I've ventured into the thick of the rainforest, dripping brilliant shades of green from every dead tree trunk, sinewy vine and bolder. When I look at this kind of landscape, I can imagine what people must see the first time they step into the redrock desert that I grew up in - it's like stumbling upon an alien world. People in southern Utah call it "Mars." With its giant mosquitoes and burgeoning bear berries, Tongass National Forest looks to me like a prehistoric remnant of Earth. I can almost imagine mammoths milling about, though it dosen't take a very wide stretch of the imagination to see the backside of a big black bear. For a split second today, I could have sworn I saw a furry butt ... but I can't be sure. By the time I cranked my head for a second look, all I could see was a mass of bushes. Probably spending too much time daydreaming.