Gasping for breath

Date: July 15
Mileage: 10.5
July mileage: 411.8
Temperature upon departure: 66
Inches of rain today: Trace

I completely blew up on a climb today. Imploded. I was following Geoff up the Salmon Creek trail, the first part where you really have to take the full brunt of an average Juneau slope, mashing my pedals and promising myself that I would ride the entire climb. The dark shadows crept along my peripheral vision, and that was OK; the red dots starting shooting across my line of sight, and that was OK; the gasps and whimpers started to come out involuntarily, and even that was OK - until breathing ceased to be an option. I nearly tipped over sideways before I slammed by foot down.

That was probably the furthest I've ever fought before giving into inevitable defeat. It was also a good reality check about my fitness level. I thought I'd gotten into pretty good shape since spring, but it's obvious that my lungs are nowhere near peak performance. My fear of injury continues pressuring me to hold back. I've put in a few long slogs this summer, but I still haven't done anything hard.

A quick solution? More hiking! All of the good trails involve at least a short, bikeable stretch where I'm required to put in 100-percent pedal effort. After the trails become unbikeable, they're wickedly nearly unhikeable. Good, steep stuff that prevents me from faking anything. Today was my first time on the upper stretch of Salmon Creek. There's a reservoir up there, which means lots of weird infrastructure on the trail - rickety stairs, pipes and a giant holding tank. You'd think the stairs would make the hiking easier, but the wasn't really the case with me. I still struggle when walking down stairs - seems stairs are my bad knee's last bastion of pain. Plus, wet wood has never quite agreed with the bottoms of my shoes. After I slipped out a third time, I started thinking up headlines - "Graceless hiker tumbles to death on backcountry staircase." "Mountaineering experience no match for stairs."

The downward hike was strenuous, but the return ride was effortless and fun. I need to combine these ride/hikes more often. They involve more of a time sacrifice than I'm usually able to make during the workweek, but I expect the dividend will be a nice spike in fitness.

Maybe I will always be a tourist here

Date: July 14
Mileage: 30.2
July mileage: 401.3
Temperature upon departure: 54
Inches of rain today: 0.08"

Saturdays are like Mondays to me, and this morning felt particularly bleak. I had planned to do a mountain bike ride regardless of the weather, but I wasn't feeling adventurous at all. I felt particularly unadventurous about the inevitable mud bath and the prospect of having to hose myself down before walking in the house to take a shower. I wanted to do something safe and mindless, something to accentuate the Monday-ness of the day. I wanted to do a two-hour ride out to the valley, a ride I have so permanently drilled into my routine that I don't even have to think out there any more.

I always take a short break at the Glacier Visitors Center, which has a real bathroom and an outdoor drinking fountain - a dream pit stop. It also has hordes of cruise ship tourists who are bused there in steady streams on any given day. The crowds used to bother me, but I have learned to move among them - clack clack clacking in my bike shoes as I shoulder for a spot at the glacier overlook, so I can take my requisite photo-of-the-day.

As I raised my camera to frame a shot I've captured dozens of times before, a lady in a plastic bag poncho walked up next to me and held up her camera.

"You don't see that every day," she said.

"No," I replied. "You really don't"

Fish Friday

Two tasty silvers today. We landed them and a pink salmon in a flurry of activity that lasted less than an hour. Brian let me fight them all into the boat. The big guy wrapped the line around the engine, which Brian untangled in an impossibly quick feat of logic while I clutched the reel to prevent the fish from gaining any more leverage. The next two hit right away, bam bam, as a half dozen boats swarmed closer to what everyone hoped was a huge school of salmon. I reeled and danced around Brian who was juggling the net and the fish skull basher and at one point knives, as the boats closed in and wake kicked up and the sea swirled in a vortex of incongruous activity.

Then, just like that, all was quiet again. My heart was pounding, and I sat back down in a bit of a stupor, not really knowing what to do with myself or what would come next. Fishing is really nothing like cycling, which has a fluidity to it ... a continuous movement that ebbs and flows and eventually finds its even pace. Cycling is strenuous until it's not. Fishing is relaxing until it's not.

Fishing also makes me voraciously hungry - much moreso then cycling. Longer rides usually rob me of my full appetite for more than a day. But fishing ... I spend an afternoon sitting and gazing out at the water only to come home with an urge to take little bites out of every single piece of food in the fridge. I'll admit I have only a passing interest in fishing ... but there is something undeniably primal about the sport that makes it really rewarding. When I spend an afternoon gazing out at the water and looking for whales, what I am really doing is spending an afternoon fixated on the violent notion of winning food. And when I come home with a carcass in a bag, I want to devour my reward. Geoff and I pan fried some fillets with chili peppers, creating two big hunks of blackened salmon. Then we used the head and carcass to make a big pot of salmon chowder. Oh, and we had a little salad too.

Worth it? Yes.