A walk in the clouds

Date: Aug. 9
Mileage: 7.8
August mileage: 187.4
Temperature upon departure: 61
Inches of rain today: 0.02"

The weather forecast called for clear(er) weather, so I went to bed last night believing that today was going to be the day, the day I hiked the Juneau Ridge. So of course I woke up to settled fog and a steady drizzle. I knew that my chances of finding the route up there weren't great, but that didn't change the fact that I was raring to go. I gave it a shot.

I started backwards from Granite Creek Basin because I have been up the Mount Juneau trail before, and it seemed better to make my destination some place I might actually recognize. As I was locking my bike at the Mount Juneau spur, a man passed me and chuckled quietly. When I caught back up with him up the trail, he asked, "Why did you leave your bike back there?" When I explained the loop I hoped to complete - up Granite Creek, across the ridge, down Mount Juneau, bike home. He just laughed again and said, "Well, good luck with all that."

Luckily, Granite Creek Basin alone was worth the effort. Patches of brilliant green lit up the graveled surface of what counts as high country in Alaska - 3,000 feet. But as I followed the snow-choked drainages further into the fog, visibility dropped to three feet ... sometimes less. I spent the next couple of hours picking my way along the ridge. Having no trail to follow, no ridgeline in my sight, and no intuition for direction were three solid strikes against me. My inclination led me to drop off the ridge many times, eventually finding myself rimmed on a cliff or trapped by an impossibly steep field of snow. I was backtracking more than I was moving forward. Soon it became apparent that I would spend all day and all night and then some on that ridge if my progress continued at that rate. And since I had no idea how far I really had to go, I turned around.

Of course, about a half hour after I decided to make my hike and out-and-back, the clouds began to clear. Oh well. At least I could finally see more substantial pieces of the big picture. I don't feel too disappointed about not making it to Mount Juneau today. Now I've checked out both the approach and the descent, I feel like all I have left to discover is the highline ... and I can't wait to go back.

A lake still frozen in August ...


with edges of water so blue it was like an open window into infinity.

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?