Draw'ring

This time of year, by the time I crawl into bed, the sun is already on its way back up. This means I have sunlight blazing in my face for nearly the entire span of time I'm attempting to sleep. My summertime insomnia is back in all of its hazy glory; combined with a recent increase in activity, which also wreaks havoc with my internal clock. But being sleep-deprived is not the end of the world, and it does make for some interestingly dreamlike mornings.

Like this morning, I could not stop thinking about Equus. It's a play I went to see with Geoff and friends last night. It was by far the most graphic play I have ever attended; but its message was equally haunting - the tortured psychologist, who has nearly gone mad over the enlightenment that life is meaningless without passion, in the end realizes that passion itself is a hopeless pursuit. Heavy stuff. I chewed on it for a while as I prepared to go hiking, and for some reason - at the last minute - decided to throw a sketch pad and pens in my pack to do some drawing.

It was a strange idea, and a definite diversion from my usual hiking habits. I like to go as far as I can as fast as I can without stopping much. I like the idea of covering more ground and pushing for a destination rather than lingering on dewdrop-drenched spider webs and sprigs of grass. But that was the idea I had for today. I was going to stop, and linger, and make field sketches of ferns and chunks of glacial ice. But after a few miles and stopping and going, I remembered why I don't attempt this often. I have grand plans to create an image of the world as I see it, and I end up with drawings like this:

Awwww ... a black bear on a snow bike. These anthromorphized critters are the kinds of doodles I make when I am either listening intently to a lecture, or have my mind turned off completely (like when I'm in a meeting.) But more often than not, they're what come out when I'm zoned out. And it's interesting to me that I'd so quickly dive into doodling when I was really trying to be tuned in. But I think this is, whether I like it or not, the way in which I see the world. When I am truly lost in a moment, my mind fluctuates wildly between past and future without lingering long on the present. Thus, I'd be tempted to sketch out a winter-esque picture of a little bear in a hat, when what I was really looking at is the scene in the photo at the top.

Anyway, those are the doodles I make, and these are the blog posts I make when I am in the throws of an excessive-daylight-driven insomniac episode. I am really enjoying the summer though. We went to a barbecue tonight. It was warm enough out to wear a tank top (yes, I have lived in Alaska long enough to consider 65 degrees tank top weather.) And as I was gnawing on a juicy chicken skewer and looking across the channel with strips of orange sunlight lingering over the horizon, I felt completely at home. I think, someday, when people ask me what was the best thing about living in Juneau, I will say "June."

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.