Just like Christmas

Date: Jan. 17
Mileage: 38.0
January mileage: 410.4
Temperature upon departure: 32

I don't really mind being a job hopper, most of the time. Sure, I always misplace a lot of my possessions in the annual uprooting. And sure, I've been working for entry-level pay since I was 15. But the worst part about my constant freshman employee status is the way I get every single holiday dumped on me. I was the only one in my entire department to work Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. And what do I get in return? Random days off, three weeks later. I didn't get to choose them. So today, Jan. 17, was Christmas Day to me. Hooray.

I predictably used my extra day off to go for a bike ride. I told Geoff I was going to do my regular two-hour ride, but then I stayed out for three and a half hours. I didn't have a great reason. I'm going to try and ride 7-8 hours tomorrow, so I probably would have been better off keeping it short. Most of the paths and shoulders were buried so the going was slow. And the weather wasn't particularly great. Not even particularly tolerable, really ... it snowed about three inches while I was out, wet snowflakes roughly the size of maple leaves. I wore my goggles until the moisture froze in vision-obscuring droplets. Then I just had to take those flake daggers right in the eyes. And I wasn't even feeling particularly strong. Just sort of ... normal. Biking is just want I do now, when I'm not sleeping or working. And since I had neither waiting for me when I got home, I just ... biked.

I am still making attempts at having a life, though. Geoff and I went with friends tonight to see "Raven Odyssey," the local theater production - the legend of "Raven" as told through a multitude of Native Alaskan and Siberian anecdotes. It was entertaining and culturally enlightening. So there. So it's not all bikes all the time ... except for when I came straight home and spent 30 minutes thoughtfully putting together clothing and a care package for tomorrow. Who am I really kidding? And what of Jan. 18? Boxing Day, I guess. I hope to kick some ***.

Downhill's the hard part

Date: Jan. 16
Mileage: 8.0
January mileage: 372.4
Temperature upon departure: 32

I did some trail riding today. Three inches of new power. Soft-packed stuff underneath. Snow coming down hard. Decent elevation gain. Lotsa walking. Eight miles in two hours. It's been a while since I've done such a physically demanding, technically challenging ride. My calves are still burning. Good stuff, those mountain snowmobile trails.

This one was dramatically rutted. Some of the moguls were taller than my wheels. Geoff explained to me how snowmobilers make these bumps - by intermittently gunning and then releasing their throttle rather than just giving it even gas like normal drivers. It seems a little selfish to me, especially on a multiuse trail - but what can you do? Interestingly, they were a little easier to ride up and over on moderate inclines than they were on flat stretches. I think forced momentum makes all the difference.

Eventually, the trail became too steep to ride at all uphill. Wearing only my winter boots and no snowshoes, I was postholing up to my shins with nearly every step. I believed there was no way Snaux Bike would be able to handle anything that soft. But when it came time to turn around, it seemed worth a try.

Snaux Bike not only handled it, it left me in its powder-blasted wake. We dipped and swerved down the slope, shooting off the trail here, placing a foot down there, never letting up the forward momentum. It was amazingly fun, and terrifying, and a little bit painful. I made one big mistake - after noticing a singletrack snowshoe trail out of the corner of my eye, I shot right off the main trail without even stopping to scout it. I made it about 50 yards down before planting my front wheel to its hubs in the soft snow. I lurched forward and tumbled over the handlebars, but not before taking a blunt blow of the stem right to the crotch. The pain was metallic, enough to send me into a fetal position on top of the trail before I even processed what had happened. I can't even imagine what that would feel like if I were male. I guess I'd probably still be on that trail, writhing in pain, mourning for the children I'd never have.

Despite a few setbacks, snowmobile biking is great and I recommend it highly to anyone who enjoys challenging, but not impossible, technical downhill. The consistency and depth of snow varies from inch to inch, making that kind of trailriding a lot like coasting down a muddy doubletrack littered with invisible rocks and roots. The joy is in getting the guesswork right. And the soft, snowy landings numb the pain of poor choices. Unless you get a little too intimate with your stem. Then I don't know what can save you.

Racing tug

Date: Jan. 15
Mileage: 21.5
January mileage: 364.4
Temperature upon departure: 38

The wind advisory was extended to 3 p.m. Gusts to 50 mph, it warned. Warned of wind - but it but it felt more like taking a blunt hit to the chest. It's headwind like this that forces me to duck as low as I can on the handlebars, let my helmet take the brunt of the blast, and hope against hope that I'm still moving forward.

The highway south snakes along the narrow passage between the mountains and the channel. In high-wind high tides, the waves practically crash up on the road. Seagulls drift in with the surf. I watch them jump and flutter erratically over surging whitecaps. That's when I notice - churning several hundred yards distant over a parallel path - a barge-towing tug boat.

I mash the front shock over loose blocks of ice and notice that tug is moving the same, nodding through a surge of waves. As we heave forward, tug stays right with me, practically mimicking my every movement as we struggle together for distance. I am not about to be beaten by a ploddy tug boat. So I mash harder.

Tug falls slowly behind as I swerve around waterfall-gushing cliffs and set into a series of short climbs. As I round one bend, another unexpected gust blasts me backward. I squint into the pounding rain and hold my breath against the oxygen vacuum. And as I tilt my head against my shoulder, I see tug is right back with me again, bouncing indifferently across our parallel line.

I surge down the hill and emerge in an open river crossing. It's here that I'm exposed entirely to the full blast of wind. Through eyelids clamped shut and gasps of shortened breath, I begin to appreciate exactly what tug is fighting. Side by side we move south, buffeted by waves and wind. I no longer feel like racing ahead of tug. I take comfort in the fact tug's there.

The miles plod by as only miles can plod by. We both take a wind beating and get soaked in the process. In the end, a long downhill forces my breakaway from tug. I stop at the dead end of the road and wait on a snow berm for tug to float by. I watch it churn south, toward places I've never been; toward places I'd love to go. Someday. But right now, I have a 50 mph tailwind to race me home.