Terra Firma

Date: Nov. 1 and 2
Total mileage: 45.2
November mileage: 45.2
Temperature upon departure: 30

Oh man. I love winter mountainbiking.

Seriously. I wouldn't have guessed it a year ago, when the idea was just starting to drift into my realm of understanding. There's a lot of winter cycling enthusiasts here in Alaska, but I used to think it was just a form of survival rather than an actual hobby. After all, we have a lot of winter here. And not everyone wants to spend six months stuck to skis.

But there's a lot of ways that biking in the winter is - well - better.

Don't get me wrong. Summer is always amazing. It's beautiful, challenging ... and boggy. Especially here in the southeast, but the Kenai Peninsula isn't exactly Moab. The singletrack trails are often a maze of wet roots, puddles and tire-swallowing mudholes. There's gravel river beds, but there's also long stretches of moss that are best compared to cycling across a field of wet pillows. Like I said - it's beautiful. It can be colorful too - especially if you're someone like me, prone to bruising.

But then comes the freeze-up. Geoff and I planned to ride the single track trails in the Mendenhall area today. Almost as an afterthought, he talked me into installing my studded tires first, and the transformation was amazing. Suddenly, I was gripping to the web of wheel-throwing roots with all the ease of a skilled ice climber. We flew over frost-dusted gravel and clenched our teeth across lightly frozen puddles, with the stomach-squeezing crackling inturrupting our prayers to 'just let the ice hold me this one time through.' It always did. And it was a great ride. No wet feet. No mud caked to the drivetrain. No slipping out on wet wooden planks. If you ask me, ice can be a cyclist's best friend. But studded tires are what make or break such a relationship.

We stayed out a little later than planned - and three hours into the ride, we watched the 4 p.m. sunset engulf the Mendenhall Glacier in soft pink light. In deepening shades of red, the twilight set in. We pulled frost-covered masks over our faces and hunched into the tear-inducing race against the dark. Weaving through the blind shadows of hoarfrost-coated spruce trees, I felt complete faith that the ground beneath me would hold me up.


I love winter mountainbiking.

Hippy Halloween

I overheard a woman today talking about her kids' plans for Halloween. She and her neighbors got together and planned a Halloween scavenger hunt of sorts, where the kids go from house to house making crafts, playing games and enjoying heart-healthy treats such as carrots. Although I have no objections to their efforts to phase out the sugar glorification that is trick-or-treating, I did feel a tinge of regret for adventure lost to the new generation.

I grew up deep in the 'burbs, where rows and rows of houses stretched uninterrupted for miles. Most of the time, the area was as boring as plaid. But once a year, the pumpkins came out and the neighborhood glowed with endless opportunity. I was 10 or 11 - arguably a little too old for trick-or-treating - when I realized that given an infinite amount of time, the rate of gain also was infinite. But I had but limited time. I had one freakin' night. And I wanted to make the most of that infinite possibility of gain, so my friend and I formed a plot.

We set out as soon as we noticed the first trickle of toddlers hit the street. I believe it was about 4:30 p.m., with the afternoon sun still blazing over the mountains. I don't remember what my costume was. It hardly mattered. We tentatively knocked on a few doors, and when no one made a comment about us being out too early, we upped the pace.

We scoured our own neighborhood before darkness had even completely set in, so we crossed the busy highway and knocked on the first door in our first unfamiliar neighborhood. I looked down the street at the yellow lights illuminating dozens of waiting houses. I imagined the neighborhood beyond that and the neighborhood beyond that, and announced to my friend, "we should move faster."

She had no objections. Hoisting the now-bulging pillowcases over our shoulders, we raced - literally ran - from house to house, hastily knocking on doors, stretching out cramped arms and screaming 'trickertreat' in breathless gasps. As soon as the Kit Kat hit the stash, we broke into sprints renewed - probably leaving the homeowners more than a little bewildered at their open doors. But it didn't matter. We were in a race against time, no longer hearing exclamations of "aren't you a little old?," "my, you have a lot of candy in there," and "do I know you?" We ran by one house that was handing out Dixie cups of hot chocolate. My friend looked longingly at the relaxed trick-or-treaters sipping their hot drinks, but I grabbed her hand and urged her to pass the house by. "Waste of time!" I said.

With that, 7 p.m. became 8 p.m. became 9 p.m., and the miles just flew by. It's easy in the fog of memory to exaggerate distances, but I'll use this example: My dad and I did I five-mile run when I went to visit last year. I had definitely trick-or-treated beyond the furthest reaches of that run. By the time people really started to complain about the late hour or outright refused to give us candy, our pillowcases were so full it was hard to keep them closed, let alone hoist them the two or so miles we had left to walk home. I can recall few other times in my life when I was so proud of my accomplishments.

I imagine those women I overheard today would have called me greedy. I like to think of it more of Halloween capitalism, and a great adventure race at that - prowling those dark, unfamiliar streets in a whirl of adrenaline and endorphins. I find it hilareous to think that my youthful candy obsession may have sowed the seeds of my current bicycle riding obsession. It's like that Gumpism - life is a box o' chocolates. You really do never know what you're gonna get.

While I was sleeping

Michael Penn, a photographer at the Juneau Empire, took this photo last night at about 12:30 a.m. At that time, I was just about to doze off in an effort to go to bed at a decent hour so I could get up early and take this picture:

Not to disparage the Blackerby Ridge or its fresh coat of velvety snow, but I'm feeling a little cheated. The northern lights only come to Juneau on a clear night once every 487.3 years or so, and I missed them. Missed them so I could wake up marginally early, hike up the geological Stairmaster known as Blackerby Ridge, stair-step my way down, go to work and wait for the end of Daylight Savings Time to kick the sunset up to 4:15 p.m.

I did have a good morning, though, all said and done. The upper portions of Blackerby Ridge are covered in nearly a foot of new snow, deep and heavy atop ice-caked mud and partially frozen streams. I dressed well for the sub-freezing temps but not for the slippery conditions. I spent the last half of the morning wet from the knees and elbows down.

The biking season here is definitely in transition. Geoff and I headed out yesterday morning and didn't make it more than a half mile from the house before we both crashed down on a steep stretch of black ice. It must have been a funny sight to see. I hit the downhill slope and my front wheel slipped almost immediately. I dipped into what I feel was an unusually graceful fall - hanging at a 45-degree angle for several fractions of a second, I tucked slowly into the skid, landing square on my left hip, where I and my bike continued to slide down the road for about 20 feet. Geoff tried to swerve around me and down he went as well, also taking a fairly minor fall - although from his road rash I can tell he wasn't as lucky to land on top of the ice. We decided to turn around right there. I walked the whole way home to put off dealing with major chain suck. I really am going to put my studded tires on my mountain bike now ('tis time). I'm also going to start building up my snow bike.

The beginnings of it came in the mail earlier this week. Right now it's nothing more than a Raleigh frame and 2"-wide snowcat rims. (I love these things. The rim tape doesn't even cover half of the rim's surface.) I have to start buying parts. I still have some decisions to make. Like V-brakes versus disc brakes. How to set up the drive train. I've wrestled with everything from single speed to single-ring crank to triple ring. I think I may just go with the triple ring. Although I like the simplicity of a single speed, I'm more drawn to the versatility of a 27-speed. Weight is truly not an issue with this bike. And although it's nice to have less moving parts that may seize up in the cold, I really believe I'll need the low gearing for new snow or bogged-down slushy conditions. After all, my goal in building up this bike as opposed to just riding Sugar all winter long is to do less walking.

Anyway, if any out there has experience with snow or wide-rimmed bicycles (or just bicycle building in general) and has some good advice for me, don't hesitate to tell me why I'm an idiot. Does anyone know if there's such a thing as gear grease formulated for lower temperatures? Anyone have any bicycle parts lying around that they're looking to get rid of? Your comments are always appreciated.