The Canadian dream

Later this month - well, in 12 days - Geoff is registered to ride his first 24-hour hamster race in Whitehorse, Yukon: The 24 Hours of Light. For a while, I was not planning to go at all. And then I thought - hey, road trip to Canada (and a ferry ride ... I do love those salt-encrusted snack bar pretzels.) But the reality is, Geoff does not need me as a one-woman pit crew. No matter where I exist in his Solo Spectrum, he will most likely do his own wrenching, make his own sushi, mix up his own Perpetuem and generally glower at my 4 a.m. cheerleader chants (believe me, I know how it feels.) So what am I to do? Might as well enter the race.

Now, don't freak out. I am not looking to break any personal records. I am not looking for anything beyond a fun mountain bike ride in a place where it's warm and LIGHT (I used the capital letters because Whitehorse has nearly 24 hours of it.) Why not plunk down the $60 Canadian (that's like, what, only $700 U.S.?) and be part of the event?

There is a chance I might be able to land a spot on an eight-person team. There will be cowboy hats. And debauchery. And no nudity (I don't know whether I'm relieved or disappointed.) If that does not work out, I might just 24-Solo it. Ride whenever I want. Take lots of breaks. Relish in the midnight sun lap. Stop if it hurts. Eat lots of Geoff's specialty sushi. In short, a Canadian dream (similar to the one I have planned for later this summer, without the crushing mileage.)

I have until June 19 to commit. But look at me ... I'm already giddy.

Also, I wanted to thank everyone who e-mailed me today about a photo CD. I have already set aside my Iditarod trail fund, and mailed the CDs out this afternoon. The Ultrasport is an entirely different beast at the end of the tunnel. But even after four months of struggling with injury, I still feel the same way about it that I did in February - I got on this train, and no matter what happens at this point, I'm going to have to confront the beast head-on.

Might as well start out in the Light.

I updated my photo CD

Date: June 9 and 10
Mileage: 14.4 and 40.6
June mileage: 201.2
Temperature upon departure: 63 and 69!

Way too much riding this weekend. I feel a little like a relapsed user - elated because the immediate pain has subsided, but guilty about the future consequences. There has been a rash of sunshine and I have been scratching at it incessantly ... biking, hiking, more biking. Something needs to rein me in ... or rather, rain me in. I'm sure that will happen soon enough.

The plus side of relapse is that I have been suddenly injected with more energy than I've had in a while. I've used the extra time to work on some projects I've been meaning to get around to. One was finally updating and organizing my vast collection of Alaska photos that have been lingering as anonymous files in limbo since September 2005.

In doing so, I also compiled a collection of 320 of my favorite scenic shots - many that have appeared on this blog, and some that haven't - for an "Up in Alaska" photo compilation . The winter before last, I mailed a similar (but much less extensive) CD out to readers who chipped in a few dollars to sponsor my 2006 Susitna 100 race. I thought I'd put the CD out on the table again, now that I'm beginning to horde funds for a future Iditarod Trail expedition (and already missing the prospect of mid-work sushi runs.) Amounts are completely optional. If you'd like to save your money for worthy causes but still want a CD, all I ask is a minimum of $4 to cover materials and shipping. The photos are of course open to all uses and reproductions. I like to think of this blog as similar to public broadcasting, without the decorative tote bags. I embark on these long-suffering rides for your (and my) entertainment.

You can click on the button below for paypal access, or e-mail me at jillhomer66@hotmail.com. In the meantime, I'll leave my final justification for the mileage spike.

It's just so nice out.

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.