Finally going to the desert

I'm just killing some time while Geoff takes a shower after his latest double-digit-mile run and protein shake breakfast. I just rolled out of bed about an hour ago. Yeah, I'm becoming a blob.

My knee feels pretty good after three days of absolute inactivity. Probably a good thing, because I'm going to absolutely thrash it in the next five days. Carrying my 35-pound pack down the stairs yesterday reminded me just how grinding it's going to be hoisting that thing down to the bottom of Natural Bridges National Monument. At least I have until Monday to worry about that.

In the meantime, I am mentally preparing for mounting a mountain bike for the first time since February. I am borrowing a friend's bike for Sunday's ride. She is 4 inches shorter than I am. I don't remember what kind of bike it is. Something in the $400 range. I fixed the tires for her when I was out here last November, and she told me yesterday that she hasn't ridden it since. Whatever happens, it's going to be an adventure.

So it seems every time I come to Utah, I bring Alaska weather with me. Last week, it climbed above 80 degrees in Salt Lake. Yesterday, it rained all day and here on the benches of the Wasatch Mountains, dropped pretty close to freezing last night. Brrr. We were going to hike a slot canyon in the San Rafael Swell called Black Box. But because we'd rather not die of hypothermia in the desert (Black Box involves a stretch of over-your-head swimming) or drown in a flash flood, we're probably going to nix that. Just as well, too, I guess. I hate prolonging the inactivity, but I think it's doing me some good.

I realized this morning that because I lost my good camera with the real memory card, I only have the ability to take 20 pictures this week. I guess I'll have to make them good ones. Secretly, I'm hoping it falls into a slot canyon so I'll have no choice but to buy myself a new one. But the most likely scenario is that I'm going to hobble back to the airport next week with a throbbing knee, second-rate pictures, and the same war-torn digital camera that I've had since 2002.

Have a good weekend, all. I'll post the blurry-photo, over-dramatized flash-flood report when I return.

P.S. Nykole, I can't get my e-mail to work. But if you see this, I'd love to meet up Friday. I'll get in touch with you next week.

Travel day

So 20,000 Alaska Airlines miles will get you a free 8-hour flight from Juneau to Salt Lake with only three stops. That's a bargain at twice the price.

I am mainly posting today because I can't get over that landing strip in Sitka (top photo.) It's just a narrow spit of sand with some rough pavement on top. Starts in the sea. Ends in the sea. Sea to every side. No room for a pilot to yawn or a plane to slightly stall. I know landing strips can be so much worse, but you don't usually see someone trying to land a 737 on them. I am terrified of flying anyway, and when I say I am terrified of flying, I mean I am terrified of the taking off and landing part ... at normal airports, airports built on actual land. Let me just say that after a long, bike-less hiatus, it was kinda nice to be back on endorphins today. Oi.

It was another beautiful day for flying, though. I didn't get good pictures because the window was dirty. The plane looked and sounded like something purchased at a discount airline repo auction; I swear I saw bolts peeling off the wing. Again, Oi.

Now I am in Salt Lake City. As much as I come back, it is always strange to be back. I am a different person here. I feel like an observer who has just stumbled back after an extended bathroom break, waving a broken remote control at a life I left behind. But it is easy to get sucked into the swirl of images. The plot is easy to pick up, the characters all too familiar. And it's amazing how quickly Alaska becomes the broken storyline. It's been 12 hours, maybe 13. The time change always throws me off. Not that it matters, though. I will move through here as if I never left, and return as though it were all a dream.

This is where I work

And I don't have to come back for nine days. Ode to joy.

Here are my goals for my vacation to Utah:

1. Ride the White Rim, but not all of the White Rim. Maybe what Geoff says is right. Maybe the first 10 miles are the most boring 10 miles of mountain biking in the West. And maybe he will take my Advil and force me to turn around at Mile 10. And maybe, as he disappears into the Canyonlands chasm, he won't even notice if I drop off the back side of Schaefer. After all, I have all day to hoof it back up. Hooray!

2. Eat Mexican food like people in Mexico intended it to be eaten, with actual peppers and everything.

3. Go swimming in the Colorado River.

4. Somehow not fry (I haven't experienced an outdoor temperature above 59 degrees since July.)

5. Remember Mother's Day and buy my mom something nice.

6. Find out Dave's endless endurance fixie secrets.

7. Find out Pete's nutrition secrets (and end my inner debate about what's the better subzero fuel, licorice or Oreos.)

8. Remember that Geoff is the one who planned to bring nearly a dozen people from all over North America together for a disjointed week in the middle of the desert, and so it's his job to work out the logistics, and it's my freedom to eat licorice and hobble around on my trekking poles without a care in the world.

9. Be good to my knee but not too good.

10. Come home in nine days only feeling only marginally worse than I do now.

Yeah! Vacation!