Perseverance

Date: June 8
Mileage: 31.8
June mileage: 156.2
Temperature upon departure: 58

As I rounded a sharp corner of Mount Juneau switchbacks, I nearly collided with the rear end of a mountain goat. At the time, all I saw was a bulk of white. My knee-jerk reaction was that I had run into a trail hog of a hiker, but then she turned to look at me. It's a strange experience, looking into the eyes of a wild animal standing at arm's length. I wondered if the respective reflections of ourselves would come to haunt us later -the way I could almost see my shadow framed by mud-streaked dreadlocks of white fur and wicked looking horns, flickering in the depths of those dark brown eyes. It's hard not to speculate about what the animal may have seen in my eyes; did she see the strands of broken connections that could have made us siblings in another life? Or fear? Or just a faceless threat? Not that it matters. It was a fraction of a second, and then she turned and sprinted up the trail, scaring out of the bushes a slightly smaller version of herself as they retreated together. By the time I wiped off my own stunned inaction and wrestled my camera out of my shirt pocket, they were far up the trail ... much too far for the money shot. But that eerie portrait remains.

I took my mountain bike up the Perseverance Trail this morning. First time this year. Near the trailhead, I passed a group of three women hauling telemark skis on their backs. As I was wondering, "What are they going to do with those skis?," they were probably wondering, "What is she going to do with that bike?"

I'm becoming better at my late-season snow biking ... but June 8? This is getting ridiculous. There's no accounting for elevation, and since there isn't, I thought I'd see what the south-facing side of Mount Juneau looked like.

I made it up about 1,200 feet before the snow fields really started to become thick. I know from past experience hiking with others that my own gage for perilous snow crossings is set pretty high, but after the first one I didn't see a single set of footprints that weren't hoof-shaped. It was just me and the goats up there - me clinging to the slush in my bike gloves, them hopping up boulders with the kind of grace I will always envy.

I almost believed I could be that invincible all they way to the peak, but I finally came to a snowfield I wasn't willing to cross - 15 feet high with a waterfall raging through the hollowed-out space below. Like I said, my gage is set high.

Back on my bike and flying down Perseverance as it hugged the precarious ledge of lower Mount Juneau, I couldn't shake the thought that I never really had anything to fear. Haunting brown eyes ... thin shells of snow ... everything fades into safe memories as life rushes forward. And I can't help but think that this ...

This is why I'm a happy person again.

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.