Degrees of separation

Date: Jan. 10
Mileage: 27.0
January mileage: 258.7
Temperature upon departure: 11

I think everyone has some type of clothing that no matter how many different ensembles they own, it will never be enough. Take shoes for example. Geoff owns several dozen different pairs of shoes. He used to own two pair of the exact same Montrails, for what reasons - I don't know. Maybe he carried them on runs as spares in case he was attacked by a shoe-eating pit bull. I, on the other hand, could care less about shoes. I own what is basically the minimum for the number of activities I do - about 10, including my cross-country ski and snowboarding boots. I do not own a cycling-specific pair of shoes. No one's ever managed to sell me on clipless pedals and I doubt they ever will.

I do, however, own a few jackets.

The number of those does approach the several dozen range. It may even be in the 40s, if you count sweaters and hoodies. Geoff will chastise me for stuffing the front closet with no less than five red fleece jackets. But they each have their specific place and purpose, which he just doesn't seem to understand.

I have thin fleece base layers and fluffy fleece outer layers and waterproof shells and cotton hoodies for going to the movies and dress coats to wear to work and more-stylish rain jackets that can double as dress coats and down vests to wear over my fleece pullovers and wool sweaters to wear beneath fleece vests which I can then cover with a plastic raincoat. I have orange fleece and black fleece and red fleece and blue fleece, which I can mix and match in anywhere from one to four layers, depending on the temperature and length of activity.

And the best part about all of my jackets: When I go out for a ride - which I seem to be doing daily, lately - I can come home and just throw the sweaty pile in the laundry basket. And I don't even have to think about it again for two weeks, in which time I gaze at the dozens of empty hangers in the closet and decide that the lone light orange fleece jacket and gold shell just won't match the brown pants I was planning to wear. Then it's time to do the laundry.

Empty hangers and a laundry basket full of jackets ... that's when I know I've had a good week.

5.7 Earthquake

Date: Jan. 9
Mileage: 25.1
January mileage: 231.7
Temperature upon departure: 18

This is the second time this has happened to me. During the darkest part of the morning, right before dawn, the bed lurches forward and jolts me awake. My initial reaction is to squint at the alarm clock, 6:49. But the creeks and groans grow louder and the mattress continues to rumble beneath me. So I freeze in position and hold my eyes shut, hoping against a frightened child's hope that if I just pretend I'm not here, it will go away.

But then the tremors subside and the semi-conscious disorientation fades, and I can drift back to sleep with the comfortable assurance that it was only an earthquake.

This was the largest one I've experienced yet: 5.7, but its epicenter was 120 miles north of here. A lot of my coworkers didn't even feel it. My neighbor thought it was a gust of wind ... a 5.7 earthquake ... which I think is a good indicator of how bad the wind really gets here.

Any time Juneau skies clear up a bit, strong wind is pretty much a given. Some of the gusts create chills I don't even know how to describe ... they burn in their intensity. They burn in such a way that when I take off my outer shell, my top-most base layer is coated in ice ... frozen sweat. But I need the shell to block the wind. And so we dance.

Nearly every time I ride out Douglas Island around noon, I see the same pedestrian on the side of the road that I call "Backpack Guy." He saunters down the road with a walking stick and an external frame backpack bursting at the seams with all kinds of gear ... clothing and shoes and canvas stuff that looks really heavy. He walks against traffic and so we cross paths windburnt face to windburnt face, squinting against the icy sting of errant ocean spray. He always just smiles and I nod. I like to think that he's out here training to climb Rainier or Denali or some far-off, scarcely-charted ridge in the Himalayas. That while he's building his shoulder muscles, he's steeling himself against the unforgivable ravages of exposure and elements and cold.

And I can't help but wonder what Backpack Guy imagines I'm doing out here.

200

Date: Jan. 8
Mileage: 23.0
January mileage: 206.6
Temperature upon departure: 28

I don't have much time to post tonight because I read somewhere that the weather is supposed to be mostly sunny, and I'd like to wake up (mostly) early. But I'm indulging myself because I'm feeling good about hitting my mileage goal this week (Tuesday through Monday is a week.) Despite my illusions of being an endurance biker, that would have been one of my better weeks last year - and these were mostly snow-covered miles. And I don't care what they say in Anchorage ... snow miles are hard.

Today's ride was a quick (um ... two-hour) out and back to the end of North Douglas. It snowed hard the whole way out, dumping about an inch and a half of new powder in the hour I was riding north. Then it cleared up a little, and I did some beach riding. According to the local weather observer, there has been 22" of new snow since Jan. 4.

While I'm self-indulging, I might as well throw in a shameless plug for the 2007 Bloggies. These awards mean nothing. They pay nothing. There are about 74.5 million blogs on the Web, and at least 38.6 million of them are better then mine. Still, if you feel so inclined, you could take a minute to nominate your favorite Juneau-based bicycle blogger. Even if it's not me ... at least one of us deserve a Bloggie.