Everyone loves a parade

Date: July 4
Mileage: 30.1
July mileage: 91.7
Temperature upon departure: 61

As the parade moved south, I pedalled north. A congestion of cars spilled out across the bridge and oozed ever so slowly beside me. Blanket and umbrella-wielding pedestrians poured over the pavement for festivities being held more than two miles away. I could still smell bonfire in my hair and I was having a hard time blinking the steady drizzle from my sleep-crusted eyes ... but I pitied them more. No one likes to be lost in a crowd.

I rode out here, north Douglas Island, into the eerily quiet afternoon. It seems Juneau is never silent in the summer, but July 4 must be the all-consuming holiday in this town. Traffic disappeared, people vanished, and even the bridge across Fish Creek - which is now choked with king salmon - was devoid of anglers tromping along the street in their waders. It was empty ... winterlike ... lonely. After I turned to head south again, I couldn't resist the pull.

The line of cars had given up moving by the time I reached the bridge. I slipped through the narrow opening between equally impenetrable walls of stopped vehicles and stroller-pushing parade-goers. I felt like I was chasing a distant exit from a tunnel that was closing in. But there were bagpipes playing softly in the distance, and growing piles of candy and confetti on the pavement, and I knew I was nearly there. I came to a flatbed truck filled with women singing traditional Tlingit songs, slipped around its side and joined the heart of the parade. Bags of Pop Rocks whizzed past my ears as dozens of children darted into the street ... in front of me, beside me, behind me. I swerved and wobbled and craned my neck in hopes of finding an opening to the sidewalk, but I was trapped. Faces lined the streets seven deep. My only hope was to make it to the next intersection, so I tucked in and hoped that the woman throwing Pop Rocks would show me a little mercy.

She did. I finally found a spot to turn, and used side streets to get ahead of the parade. I coasted back to Main Street just in time to see the Shriners, hamming up their roles as the people in miniature cars and hats. Behind them were the Rough Riders, trail-tough children glowering from a truck as their parents popped wheelies on cute little four-wheeled vehicles behind them. One boy in shades leaned against the cab and shot me a look of Supreme Coolness - the kind of look that crossed the face of every boy on every float on every Main Street in America today. All around me was the overwhelming aroma of charcoal and kettle corn, the smoky sweet smell that wafted over every park in every neighborhood in every state today. I took a deep breath, and realized that I was exactly where I wanted to be.

After midnight

Date: July 3
Mileage: 23.4
July mileage: 61.6
Temperature upon departure: 70

In Juneau, the July 4 fireworks are dark-permitting, not weather-permitting.

So we get our kicks real early.

Happy New Year ... er ... Independence Day, everyone.

Base building

Date: July 2
Mileage: 7.8
July mileage: 38.2
Temperature upon departure: 60

So I have a rather long "off season" ahead of me. I'm focused on staying healthy, but I'd also like to push closer to my limits and build some strength. One of my goals is to regularly hit some of the gut-busting trails around town and hike them as fast as I can. The mountain bike approaches are a nice warm-up/cool-down.

Hiking Mount Juneau was a bit of a tall order this morning, given the time window I had and my current state of fitness. I locked up my bike at the trail junction and settled in to the hike, which became a brisk trudge, and then a four-legged climb. Mount Juneau's elevation is 3,576 feet. I started at sea level on my bike. The actual hike gains about 3,000 feet in two miles. Hunched over the trail, I could hear huge droplets of my own sweat hitting the dirt. I crossed a snow field that seemed to spin sideways with every step. My heart raced ahead and dark shadows darted through my field of vision. I was in the red zone and I was hurting, but I was feeling alive. I crested the final scramble and shuffled up the trail to the peak, where a family from the Yukon put down their lunch and gave me a somewhat alarmed "Hello." I looked at my watch. 53 minutes.

I felt proud of my 2 mph average ... a little lightheaded, but proud. I took about three minutes to snap a few pictures and then started back down the trail. I figured I had about 45 minutes to hike down before my time window closed in. What I didn't plan for was the unrelenting pull of gravity on my tender knee. I realized quickly that every step would have to be tentative and taken sideways. It took me an hour and 10 minutes to walk/slide down.

Even though I reached speeds of 35 mph riding my mountain bike home, and took a seven-minute shower, and packed a quick cold lunch and only half blow-dried my hair, I was still 12 minutes late for work. Nobody asked me why I was late. I was bummed about that, actually, because my coworkers are always telling me how they'd like to hike Mount Juneau and Mount Roberts one of these days "if I could only find the time."

How I love Mount Juneau on a cloudy day.

If I peek over the edge, I can actually see the rooftop of my gym. I thought of the two friendly women who dutifully show up every day at noon, and how they were probably running in stagnant circles at that moment. I sent them my deepest sympathies.