Greenness

Date: June 7
Mileage: 52.8
June mileage: 124.4
Temperature upon departure: 47

I was finally able to surpass my longest post-injury ride - by mileage at least. Did 53 in just over three hours; it was pretty mellow with the exception of erratic but strong crosswinds over the entire distance and of course scattered bursts of rain. I didn't intend to ride that much today, but I woke up a little earlier than usual and had some time to kill before an anniversary lunch for my favorite co-worker. Twenty-five years at the Juneau Empire. Those kind of numbers boggle my mind.

Strange to spend three hours on a bicycle. After four empty months, three hours should seem like an eternity, but it's just the opposite. The minutes roll by like noon traffic on an expressway; the miles move forward even faster. I showed up at El Sombrero dripping rainwater from every square inch of clothing and feeling like I had just bike commuted in from my house, not from an out-and-back point some 25 miles north. And of course I shouldn't feel that way. But there is intrinsic virtue - even more than experience and fitness - in being new at something again. Before it becomes habit, before it becomes work, before it becomes life, it - whatever it may be - is simply an adventure. And time always gobbles up the adventures.

Not even the rain could bother me today. I often complain on my blog about rain (but not nearly as much as I could, believe me.) But this morning I found myself completely enamoured by the rich shades of green that have engulfed Juneau. Green crawls up the mountainsides all the way to snowline; it drips from the trees with neon intensity and saturates the ground like endless gallons of spilled paint. I spent most of my life in the drought-parched Mountain West, where the green season lasts all of two weeks. We learned to find beauty in the browns and yellows, saturation in the dust clouds and neon intensity in the glow of wildfire flames and lightning. So I am caught off guard by all the green, green everywhere, nearly suffocating the valley despite its infancy. The rainy season, after all, hasn't even begun.

It is spring, I suppose, the wave of newness, and I am happy to be in a position to ride its crest. It's still early to say whether or not my knee cartilage infection - or whatever I have - has finally let go. I bend the joint awkwardly out of habit, but am having a harder time finding the pain these days. Time will tell. I will continue to take it slow. And maybe, somehow, keep things new.

My new summer dream

Haines to Skagway

I'd like to do this as a minimalist "fast tour," about 350 miles in two days. Carry the smallest amount of gear possible (bear and bug spray included).

The climbing profile will likely be killer. The roads will be gravel-strewn and terrible. I expect two 16-20 hour days, with a "night" of restless bivying between them.

It's so remote that there are really only two real towns on the whole route in which to resupply, Haines Junction and Whitehorse. But I may decide to carry everything I need because I want to see if I have the stamina for multi-day endurance rides.

It could be deliciously brutal, and brutally beautiful. A dream ride.

I think if I continue to improve physically at the rate I have been this month, I could be ready to attempt it by early fall. Maybe last week of August/first week of September. Sometime before I head down to Arizona to hike the Grand Canyon with my dad.

I would need to buy a bivy sack, but I have access to a good 15-degree bag and all of the other gear I think I'd need. I'd plan for temps 20 degrees to 60 degrees, rain to fog to snow.

The best part? Depending on the ferry schedule, I may be able to ride this entire section of Alaska/Yukon/British Columbia without even taking a vacation day from work.

Yes, I miss the fast-paced life.

Stacks of bikes

Date: June 5
Mileage: 21.4
June mileage: 71.6
Temperature upon departure: 51

Today I returned home from a bike ride to find every other bicycle in the house strewn all over the yard. It turns out there was an unfortunate sewage incident in the storage room. The plumber had dispatched many of the contents of the room wherever they fell in the back yard, which made for a scene right out of Kentucky Homes and Gardens. (I later learned he cleared out the room before the pipe burst all over the place, which made me feel both relieved that my bikes weren't covered in sewage, and also irked that they would be treated like that in the first place.) But my first thought, upon seeing a yard full of overturned bikes is, "Wow. I own way too many bikes."

I just happened to be returning from a ride on Geoff's road bike, the closest thing we have to a "real" road bike. Before my whole knee debacle really settled in, I was seriously considering purchasing my own roadie this year. And when I found the rear tire on my bike flat - again - I thought it was about time to see how I felt about drop bars, rail-skinny tires any any other seemingly frivolous feature that supposedly eats up pavement.

The first thing I noticed was that Geoff has his clipless pedals set much tighter than mine.

The second thing I noticed was that I couldn't steer to save my life with my hands down in the drops.

The third thing I noticed was that the brakes were nowhere in reach while I was hunched in that position.

The fourth thing I noticed was an oncoming curb, in just enough time to narrowly advert tragedy.

The fifth thing I noticed, after finally coming to terms with my precarious situation, is that I couldn't get a single good stroke out of my legs. I felt like I was pedaling in water, going slower than I typically do riding pavement on my 2.7" treaded tire snow bike, and I just couldn't manage the speed. I did 20 miles like I was riding into wind, although there was none. It was a truly disappointing first encounter with a true "road" bike.

It makes me wonder if I've never developed the specific leg muscles for that position. Maybe in all of the mountain/touring bike riding I've done, sitting high and happy on flat handlebars, I've progressed in such a way that all of my power relies on high and happy muscles. This theory would hold more water if I'd actually done enough high and happy riding in the past few months to develop any of my muscles. But still ... why would a bike built specifically for speed specifically make me slower?

Geoff's theory is that he owns a slow bike.

Maybe I just had a bad day.

Either way, after coming home to mountains of mountain bikes and adding Geoff's roadie to the pile, I was able to voice what I already knew. I won't be buying a road bike this year.

These glass-coated roads are way to harsh for those wimpy tires.

And I just (finally) replaced my 7,000-mile chain/cassette on my touring bike. Might as well aim for 7,000 more.

And I already have way too many bicycles.

And, anyway, I need to save up for a real snow bike.