Bender

Date: June 14
Mileage: 89.1
June mileage: 313.6
Temperature upon departure: 61

Self discipline has never been one of my strong traits ... especially when it comes to bicycling. I don't do intervals because I don't like to watch a clock. I don't monitor my heart rate or calorie intake or elevation profiles. That I've been able to bicycle a lot of miles during the winter months isn't really contradictory to this character flaw - I take plenty of sick pleasure from riding around in horrid conditions. But I take even more sick pleasure from riding around in nice conditions.

I left the house today with 40 oz. of water, a rain coat, sunscreen, a single Power Bar and a baggie of fruit snacks in my Camelbak. I had absolutely no expectations setting out at 8:45 a.m. ... maybe check out the latest line of crusie ships, take an easy spin north and be back before 11.

It's interesting how a ride with no purpose and no plan can be so helplessly self-perpetuating. The wind was moving out of the south, so I went with it. I hummed along with my intentionally lo-fi iPod playlist: Elliot Smith, Sufjan Stevens, Pinback. Every once in a while, that soft little voice of reason would tell me that now would be a good time to turn around.

But something else ... maybe those small pleasures that tug at my senses ... something just kept pulling me forward. A bald eagle hovering on the breeze above my head; the faintly lilac smell of lupin; the clouds rolling eastward in the clearing sky; the hordes of mosquitoes lingering at my back. Before I even realized it (really), I was at Berner's Bay - the end of the road, 45 miles from my house.

There was some guilt there, but more strongly, there was a sense of finding my way home after an extended period of wandering. I have not been to Berner's Bay since January. I remember it in its loneliness, frozen and remote. To see it vibrant and colorful, flowing with kayaker traffic and camper-toting trucks, was a cathartic shot of symmetry. I relished in the rush, and then I rode it home.

January ...................................................June

As I try to gain back my sense of what is enough and what is too much, I am inevitably going to hit some snags. But I truly feel that today wasn't one of those snags. In the back of my mind, I have the voice of reason chanting the virtues of prudent moderation, of small increments, of 10 percent plus 10 percent plus 10 percent. Then I have what's in front of me, calling with a color-drenched intensity that makes reason easy to ignore. Today, as I awaited the final stop light at the Douglas Island bridge, feeling strong, loose and still raring with energy, the world in front of me said "You should just ride to Thane and make it an even century." To which the voice of reason replied, "Don't be a %$#% idiot." (Yes, voice of reason sometimes has to use strong language to get my attention.

Still ... it's hard out here for a gimp.

First climb

Date: June 12
Mileage: 23.3
June mileage: 201.2
Temperature upon departure: 50

After a winter of perilous ice conditions and a spring of perilous joint conditions, it has been at least six months since I've made the short jaunt up to Eaglecrest Ski Resort. The meat of the climb rises about 1,300 feet in five miles. Nothing to write to your Congressman about, but not too shabby for a sustained climb, either.

I hadn't made a hard effort since I started cycling again, and today was no exception. Still, just by nature of moving fast enough to stay upright on the bike, some of those pitches required at least moderate effort. When I'm going at moderate pace, I think about my quads. I focus hard on the muscles, firing and contracting, until I form a vague mental picture of pistons churning inside of an engine. My idea is to put all of the effort on my muscles, and remember that my knees are just being pushed along for the ride. I have no idea of this is proper therapy, but it seems to help. My pedal-turning comfort has improved drastically since I stopped "using" my knees. Who needs 'em? Someday I will have artificial robotic joints, and this will all be a distant memory.

The Great Divide Race is coming up on Friday, and I am starting to get very excited about following it on the blog. For me, this is way more exciting than the Tour de France (which is probably also coming up soon. Who knows?) My friend Dave Nice leaves this morning for the Rooseville Montana, the starting line of this 2,500-mile mad dash. It all begins at high noon. If I was a bettin' gal (which I am), I'd wager:

Pete Basinger sets a new course record in just over 15 days.
Matt Lee is really close behind, like 15:10:30.
Jay Petervay, who no one has heard from in days, rolls in at 15:20:00.
Dave Nice finishes strong and sets the fixie course record in a little less than 30 days.

As my illustrious Sen. Ted Stevens loves to say, "My guess is as good as anyone's."

I can't wait.

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.