Snow's back

Date: Jan. 5
Mileage: 28.0
January mileage: 124.5
Temperature upon departure: 32

New snow today ... About nine inches of fresh, cement-thick Juneau powder when I woke up this morning. It was a friendly sight - after the successful castration last night of the Timberwolf tire, it was time to really see how deep this snowbike could go (sans knobbies, of course.)

I'm glad to report that the first experiment was a raging success. I was bummed to see that by the early hour of 11 a.m., the city had already plowed most of the bike paths. But the road shoulders, sidewalks and dirt trails were beautifully buried. Even at 20 psi (pretty high, really), I was able to plow straight lines through nearly all of it, from two-inch deep sections all the way up to nearly a foot. The sanded, slushy shoulders threw me a couple of times. I can't even imagine what life would be like on a truly big-wheeled bike. I probably should have just dropped for the Pugsley before I got entangled in Snaux bike. But he holds his own. And he leaves a decent footprint.

The air was pretty warm ... right around freezing, and every once in a while a pile of snow the size of my couch would come shooting down from the forested unknown. The sound was pretty spectacular. Almost enough to hear over my iPod. Almost. (OK. I admit it. Sometimes I turn it up pretty loud when I'm alone on a low-traffic trail.) Today, I actually turned it off for a while. Pillows of powder muffled the squeak of my tires enough to listen the snow melt in a symphony of drips. I had promised Geoff I'd meet him for skiing, and after about 2 1/2 hours, I realized that I wasn't going to be able to put that off any longer. By the time I switched over all my gear and staggered over to the trail, he had already skied a loop and decided the conditions were bad. But he skied another loop for my sake. We met a friend and looped the trail in a mildly indifferent shuffle combined with engaging conversation.

Skiing ... eh. I don't know. The trail was ungroomed and none of the skiers seemed to think it was a great day for the activity. Too warm ... too slippy ... still snowing but not sticking. And I thought biking was a picky activity ... that whole thing about needing something resembling a trail slanted at preferably less than a 45-degree angle. But give me that and a bike, and I'm going to at least make an effort to rip it up. Give me this and skis, and I am a timid puppy on a leash, restlessly toeing the line.

I blame the sun

Date: Jan. 4
Mileage: 47.0
January mileage: 96.5
Temperature upon departure: 28

I love this picture because its timing is uncanny. Geoff and I hit this frozen, snowless trail in the only window of clear sky that slid over Juneau all week. It was only about 45 minutes, but it gave us our first shot of direct sunlight in the New Year, and Geoff his first shot of direct sunlight in Juneau since Nov. 22. Shielded from the wind by the thick forest canopy, we broke through bars of sunlight and relished our own little piece of July. I could taste it and see it and even feel it, despite temperatures that hovered in the 20s (which, in direct sunlight, feel more like 75). By the time we made it back to the snow-dusted road, the clouds had closed in and the sun was gone. By the time Geoff cut off and I continued north, the wind picked up something fierce. For the last six miles of my ride, the city was engulfed in a whiteout blizzard. In my own unique way, I loved it all.

But the sun is a little like caffeine. Too much, and it you only get a flash-flare of energy followed by hours of sluggishness. But deny yourself sun, for weeks at a time, and even the smallest taste is like cocaine. I had a great, high-energy ride. A little less than 50 miles took four hours (The snow drifts are back, I'm riding Sugar for now and I'm slow again.)I basically bonked toward the end because I neglected to eat anything after breakfast, but for the most part I felt unfazed by the ride. When Geoff announced he was going to the gym after my 4 p.m. lunch, I decided to follow him there. I did a typical session - 90 minutes, with 45 minutes moderate-to-high-intensity cardio and 45 minutes of lifting. I was going for wearing myself down, really good and down ... which at my current level of fitness, it seems like 5 or 6 hours would be a good threshold. But I'm a little disappointed. Just not really feeling it. So I have to feel regret for not pushing myself hard enough. I could try again tomorrow, but we're supposed to receive 8 to 12 inches of snow in this storm, and with all of that new powder, it seems like I should give skiing another try. I guess I'll just wait and see.

Brand new treads

Date: Jan. 3
Mileage: 21.2
January mileage: 49.5
Temperature upon departure: 36

The latest piece of Snaux bike arrived this week, via USPS parcel post (every single purchase I make on eBay, I beg the sellers not to ship parcel post. I tell them I will pay them the 38 cents they'll save. I tell them I live in Juneau %@$#! Alaska, the end of the line, the black hole of post-office shipping. And every time, they send parcel post and I have to wait six weeks for packages.) This package had the WTB Timberwolf tires I bought in early December. I got a little greedy and went for the 2.7" tires. It's finally starting to look just a little like those big-wheeled bikes I dream about. Unfortunately, the rear tire doesn't fit the rim ... but it could, if I shaved down the outer knobs a little. Has anyone ever tried doing that? If so, what kind of results have you had? And what do you use to cut away the rubber?

Today I rode alongside the beach I biked across the other day. An unusually high tide had devoured nearly all of the sand, and I noticed that several of the shipwrecked boats were missing. They were just gone. Floated away, I imagine. But there was something disheartening about the scene. I find comfort in the rotting permanence of junkyards. They're almost like graveyards - places where you can go to mourn the remnants of forgotten histories. I liked to believe that those boats had washed up after long, fulfilling lives as sportfishing rigs full of shooters and salmon nets and wide-eyed tourists, but in old age and neglect had broken loose of their mooring and washed up on the shore to die. It seemed fitting to me to imagine that they had been there for years ... decades even. Now I realize that these scenes change in a matter of days.

I need to start putting in some longer hours on the bike. What I do now doesn't even really register on the training scale. It's been a while since I've done a ride that really floored me. I need to do one of those. But, man, it's going to be a psychological miracle of I succeed.