Blog appreciation day

Date: Nov. 3
Total mileage: 41.2
November mileage: 84.4
Temperature upon departure: 25

So "Up in Alaska" turns one today.

This is actually post No. 271. I know what you're thinking. Two hundred and seventy one posts? Deee-yam, that girl needs to get a job. I just want to go on the record and say that I have a job. A very productive, blog-free job. Promise. Blogging is what I do when ... well ... when I should be watching TV. Blogging is what I'm doing when Geoff walks up to me holding some dismantled bike part and I hiss "shhh ... you're making me miss today's Fat Cyclist."

It's funny, because when I launched this thing, I had no intention of penning a daily biking blog. I just thought my friends and family were starting to get sick of all of the attachment-clogged mass e-mails I started sending when I moved to Alaska. I didn't actually think anybody besides my mom and my friend Monika in Ann Arbor would ever browse the thing. But the greatest thing about an open blog is the way it pulls you into this virtual community of like-minded people from all over the world. Friends and family, for the most part, reacted to my blog with deafening yawns. But who knew there would be so many strangers in the world who would participate in my rambling "bike-hike-rain-snow-reminisce-about-random-moments-in-the-past-ad-nauseum" conversation?

So I just wanted to use my one-year-anniversary post to say thanks to everyone who stops by, especially to those who say hi once in a while, to those who supported me in my foray into mountain bike racing and who offered encouraging words and suggestions. Who knew I'd still be at it one year - and 271 posts - later? Good thing I'm not one of those people who watches "Lost."

As for today - clear weather continues to hold on in Juneau, to the amazement of nearly everyone. I rode my bike out to the Herbert Glacier trail to meet some friends this morning. Who knew it was 30 miles away? By the time I reached the trailhead, I was already dripping with sweat and the rest of the ride (10 slow miles on a trail covered with 1-2 inches of snow) was mostly just a battle to stay warm. We reached the Herbert Glacier, with a fierce wind blasting off the snowfield and hitting our watery eyes like thousands of tiny needles. I'd put the windchill in that spot at about -10. That'll wake you up, quick. We went with our friend Geoff (not my Geoff, another Geoff I know. It was me and two Geoffs with a "G.") He's one of those people who's great to ride with - doesn't care in the slightest about making good time or covering good distance, but everything is glorious and breathtaking, and he'll remind you of it at every turn. He stops to inspect icicles. I like that in a riding companion.

Here's hoping the weather stays clear and cold, and that this blog survives to see Nov. 3, 2007.

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.