50 miles before work

Date: Aug. 8
Mileage: 51.2
July mileage: 179.6
Temperature upon departure: 55
Inches of rain today: 0"

I used to be a 9-to-5'er, a standard-issue worker, staring bleary-eyed into my morning bowl of Wheaties and scraping ice off windshields in the predawn darkness. When I fell into the copy-editing side of newspapering, those shifts got thrown out the window - along with my prime-time TV habit, my alarm clock, and any chance of a functional social life with the other standard-issue workers. So what did I gain in return? Sometimes I wonder.

I rolled out of bed today at 8:21 to a face full of daylight that had been up for three and a half hours. In the height of summer, more than five passed by the time I woke up. But I'll never miss any of it. In fact, with as well as I've been sleeping lately, I bid the long daylight good riddance.

I lingered over breakfast for a while - who knows how long, really, as time creeps slowly in the a.m. hours. I sipped the elixir of life that some call coffee and watched thick tufts of fog crawl up the mainland mountains. The sun may come out today yet.

I debated the appeal of hiking or biking. As fog clung to view-blocking elevations, I decided I deserved at least one dry day on the bike.

Roadie is extra rickety in dry weather. A steady diet of rainwater has found its way into his headset, his bracket shell, his hubs. Rainwater now serves as his lube and without it, he creeks and groans like an 80-year-old man being dragged along on a reluctant outing. I felt bad about his life of neglect, but I also know that geography combined with my lifestyle means any bike of mine is going to be higher maintenance than a pop princess at a cocaine party. I have convinced myself that life rolls along smoother after you learn to accept the rust and the grit.

Sunlight crept through the fog in sharp beams - fingers of God light that always inject the landscape with quiet reflection. When I lose myself in those moments, I never remember, later, what kind of things I thought about or what inspiration I found. I do remember smiling and waving at a shoulder-grazing tour bus as children pressed their faces against the rear windows. In commute-mode, I let near-misses like that make me angry. But this morning, seeing those comically contorted faces reminded me that we all had the same destination ... the pursuit of wonder.

I turned around at mile 26 and meandered back to a beachside picnic area, where I set my rickety old man of a bike on the ground and shuffled in my bike shoes along the gravel shoreline. Several steps later, I discovered a blueberry patch glistening with dew and not-quite-ripe berries. I rustled through the leaves like a greedy grizzly and began popping the purple orbs in my mouth. A few were so sour they made me wince; regardless, there's something intensely sweet about devouring berries in the wild. Maybe it's the serendipity of finding them, the satisfaction of earning them; maybe there's a hunger that fruit snacks and Power Bars can't fill.

Somewhere, many miles away from that beach, my real life waited. The one with flickering screens, the meetings, the deadlines, the bad news that hasn't even happened yet. And there I was, all those miles away, mildly hypnotized by the calm rhythm of waves as I walked along with blueberry juice oozing between my fingers. It's a place I can escape to every day. It isn't even hard.

My friends always groan when I tell them my schedule. "You work from 2 to 11? That must be awful."

And all I can do is smile.

This actually is post 500

It's a bit of a scary number when I think about it ... think about all of the productive things I could have been doing in all of the time I've spent typing on my blog.

Unfortunately, I don't really have anything interesting to write for post No. 500. After more than a week of pain-free riding, I have the Yukon loop on my mind again. I am still trying to work out my days out of the office to determine whether I can leave Aug. 15 or Aug. 22, but either way, it is coming up a lot closer than I am probably ready for.

One thing a blog is really good for is organizing thoughts. I have been putting together a gear list for the bike tour, and am trying to go as light as possible with the gear I have available. I am planning for temperatures ranging from 40-70 degrees, at least one rainstorm long enough to soak me to the bone, possible snow at the passes, and only two legitimate food stops in 360 miles. I am not planning to put anything on my back - at all - but rather stuff everything into a trunk bag, a frame bag, and a handlebar bag. Here's what I have in mind. I'd love to hear some input: Things I've forgotten ... things I should leave behind.

Black Diamond winter bivy sack
Synthetic 30-degree sleeping bag
Thermarest 3/4 sleeping pad
One headlight
One helmet light
Extra batteries
Red blinky
Multitool
Patch kit, tube, tire levers, lube
Small first aid kit
Pump
Lightweight socks
Bike gloves
Neoprene socks
Neoprene gloves
Lycra tights
Long-sleeve shirt
Extra shirt
Water-resistant pants
PVC jacket
Sunglasses
Aleve, Claritin and Alka Selzer
Iodine tablets
1 day of food
24-ounce water bottle equipped with water filter
Two regular 24-ounce water bottles

... Suggestions?

Travelogged

A picture of the Brakeless Wonder at Lower Russian Lake, taken Friday night.

Date: Aug. 6
Mileage: 25.1
July mileage: 128.4
Temperature upon departure: 56
Inches of rain today: 0.24"

Until yesterday, I was almost definite in my decision to fly out to Anchorage during the first weekend of September to ride the Soggy Bottom 100. My only hesitation had been the expense, which I could minimize pretty easily thanks to airline miles and my willingness to work extra hours. But now, I am almost definitely thinking I will not do it. Because, really, why should I pay so much and work so hard just for another opportunity to suffer?

And I am not talking about the cycling. The cycling is the easy part. I am talking about the flying, and the taxis, and the renting and/or borrowing of a bike, and all of the other headaches that go along with transporting myself anywhere that isn't Juneau. It just isn't worth it. Sunday morning reminded me of that.

Geoff and I made the mistake of letting a friend who is not known for his mastery of details make a taxi reservation for us. We had to leave at 6:15 a.m. to catch a 7:50 a.m. flight out of Anchorage, from a cabin that did not have its own address, an Internet connection or a phone. In any given year, there are 364 incidents that make me happy I don't own a cell phone, but there is always one that convinces me it's time to break down and sign up for a plan. Sunday morning was that day.

So the cab didn't show up at 6:15. By 6:25, Geoff had begun to use his power of deduction to figure out that our friend had probably given the company the address number of the house were waiting in front of, but the name of an intersecting street - which meant that the driver was probably more than three miles away. We had to get to a pay phone fast, so I suggested using our friend's car (she was out of town.) Geoff urged me to make the trip, because he was still in pain from his race. I got in, drove a half mile down the road, realized I had forgotten to look at the right street name, and put the car in reverse. It stalled and wouldn't start again.

When it comes to stress, I usually cope great with large blows. It's always the compounding layers of little disasters that cripple my ability to rationalize. I went into full-on panic mode, leaving the car in the middle of the street while I sprinted back toward the cabin. I had completely snapped - hyperventilation, sobbing, the whole package. Geoff to his credit made a solid effort to hobble quickly to the car, managed to get it started, and took off to look for a phone. I sat down on our bags and came to terms with the fact that we were going to miss our flight, the next one was at least eight hours away, and I was going to be late or miss the shift at work that I promised to return for under penalty of beheading.

After that, a lot of little things went wrong - and enough little things went right - to really bring the cycle of torture full circle. The car stalled a half dozen times. The closest phone was two miles away. The new cab driver dispatched to us came fast, despite the fact we were in a middle-of-nowhere part of town. There was a huge backup at the baggage check-in. I found a newly opened line. The security line snaked out the door. An earlier baggage mishap had made about a dozen other people really late, so the security people created a fast-track line that we were able to sneak into. We made it through security two minutes before our scheduled flight departure, convinced the doors had been closed. We sprinted and sprinted and I was amazed how quickly Geoff found his legs. Luckily, that earlier baggage mishap also delayed the flight, and the gate employees ushered us inside. I sat in that cramped seat with my heart racing at maximum capacity, sucking recycled air and vowing never to leave Juneau again.

Then today, I bought another plane ticket - a two-stop flight to Utah in late September - because that was always part of the plan. However, it did made me feel a little sick. I like the idea of riding the Resurrection Pass gauntlet in a month, but I don't think I can handle two more airport trips. I don't have to stomach for it.