Yukon Ho!

Date: Aug. 13
Mileage: 21.1
August mileage: 315.1
Temperature upon departure: 68
Inches of rain: 0"

"But if something hurts so much, how can it be enjoyable? At the point where physical stress begins to take you beyond what you imagine to be endurable, you enter new territory of understanding, an expanded psychological landscape. ... The pleasure comes when you grasp just what has happened inside your head and spirit. It doesn’t stop when the bike stops, when you reach the top of the col or peel off at the end of the ride, so tired you can hardly think or stand straight. That’s where the pleasure begins. The self-knowledge."

Graeme Fife, "Glory Through Suffering"

I took Roadie out for a short test spin this morning (Yes, I really did wear that T-shirt and those socks. I really am turning into my father.) I was planning to weigh the bike before the trip. But as I huffed and puffed and hoisted it up the stairs, I thought better of it. I don't want that number spinning through my head as I'm chugging up a 3,500-foot pass tomorrow. In cases like that, ignorance is about as close to bliss as I'm going to get.

The first few seconds on a loaded bicycle are always a scary experience for me. I feel like I'm going to tip and tumble and I wonder how I'm ever going to pilot the thing one mile, let alone 100 miles or 1,000 miles. But once the tires get rolling, I find my balance and almost forget about all that extra weight ... until the first hill, that is.

Eight hours from now, I'm going to leave on my trip around the Golden Circle. I don't know what I'm going to tell the people at Canadian customs. That I'm going to be back in Alaska in 48 hours? They'll never buy it. They'll tell me it can't be done. Maybe it can't be done (by me.) Or maybe it will be frighteningly easy. Most likely, the effort will fall somewhere in between ... full of that phantom fatigue that burns behind your eyes when all there is to see is endless miles of raw, uncaring beauty.

I don't have any expectations for myself but to finish; I don't have anything to do out there but ride. If only life could be as simple as the road. And yet, I fully expect to suffer in kind. A road with no forks means there is no escape; and, not unlike life, its unrelenting pull only goes one direction.

I wonder if the Canadian customs agents will ask me the omnipresent question ... Why? As in, "Why would you try to bike to Skagway in two days, when you could just do it in nine - with vehicle support, and smoked salmon for lunch, and a place to lay down for the night where you will not have to shiver yourself to sleep?" It's a good question that ripples across most aspects of modern life. This ride does not need to be hard. I make it artificially hard. I seek out the suffering. I do not know whether I do so because there is something missing in my life, or because there is something to gain. It may be a little of both.

I can not visualize the words, but there must be a reason to choose battle over comfort, even when the fight is an entirely selfish one, and there is nothing to gain but a vague notion of self-confidence. Will I earn it? I don't know. Every battle won only leads me deeper into the war.

"Herein lies the heroism of this beautiful sport — the inner revelation that makes the cyclist impervious to ordinary weakness because every ride he has ever made exposes him to that defeatist voice; he has known it, faced it and conquered the fear of it, again and again and again."

- Graeme Fife

Everything I need

I spent all of what turned out to be a beautiful morning finalizing my touring gear, setting it up on my bike, repacking, adding things to my list, buying more stuff ... in short, not riding. But I think it will all be worth it on Wednesday when I take off from Haines with what seems to be a pretty complete load. It feels heavy, but it's about as compact as I can go with the gear I own and the uncertainties I'm facing - two small saddle bags (one for camping gear; the other for rain gear and extra clothing) a frame bag (food) a seatpost bag (bike repair stuff, first aid kit, and batteries) and a handlebar bag (Everything else. No backpack! Yeah!)

On of the new innovations that I am especially excited about is fork-mounted water-bottle holders. This will allow me to carry ~72 ounces of water on the frame. That amount should be plenty, even with the forecasted warm temperatures. I found a detailed milepost guide to the Haines Junction and Klondike highways, and it seems that never more than 20 miles pass without at least one stream or river crossing. One of my water bottles has a built-in filter that I can pour all of my water through, and I am carrying back-up iodine pills just in case. (One thing that surprised me in packing for this trip is just how many different pills and drugs I require.)

The frame bag holds all of my food - six Clif Bars, 6 oz. turkey jerky, 10 packs fruit snacks and 22 oz. almonds and cranberries, for more than 5,000 gut-busting calories. Actually, gut-busting is the wrong word. This food has proven to be basically the only stuff I can digest in long-burn situations. Food that's too "real" (i.e. sandwiches and pasta) doesn't sit well in my stomach, and I haven't been able to trust myself to actually ingest food that's too "fake" (i.e. Perpetuem and Gu).

Of course eating Clif Bars for all of my meals and sleeping in a bivy sack do not exactly make for luxury touring, so I'm allowing myself one comfort: platform pedals. The thought of riding 12-16 hour days in my cycling shoes made my toes curl up and scream for mercy. Plus, only having one set of shoes means I'll need something to wear in stores, around camp, etc. Also, should anything happen, I may have to hitchhike for a long while.

The plan is to leave Juneau on Wednesday on the 7 a.m. ferry. I arrive in Haines at 11:30, where I'll probably grab a quick lunch in town and hopefully be on the road north by 12:30. The plan is to bike to somewhere south of Haines Junction (mile 148) that night, to Whitehorse (mile 245) the next day, probably stay in Whitehorse, and wake up long before the crack of dawn on Friday to ride to Skagway (mile 355) in order to hopefully complete the distance by 12:30 p.m. I have a grace period of about four hours before my ferry leaves town at 4:30. If I don't make it to Skagway by then, I'll have to eat the cost of the ticket and wait overnight for the next boat. I'm hoping the threat of that will be motivation enough to meet my goal ... riding about 360 miles in 48 hours. The fact that the ferry schedule forces me to do it over three days is, I think, an added comfort bonus.

While researching the route today, I found this site, which advertises was is essentially my trip ... minus the nine days to complete it, the bed and breakfast lodging, the sag wagon, the three square meals a day, and the $1,995 fee.

This site also includes some nice details about the tour. Reading through this today made me realize that I'm not just going on a training ride ... I'm going on a vacation. Yeah!

Severe Sun Advisory

Date: Aug. 11
Mileage: 25.1
August mileage: 294.0
Temperature upon departure: 71
Inches of rain: 0"

The National Weather Service issued an unofficial "Severe Sun Advisory" for Juneau this weekend. I guess the NWS feels it's necessary to warn Juneau residents that when that big yellow orb is burning in the sky and outside temperatures are approaching 80 (80!), they can't go outside without sunscreen and leave their dogs in cars and other things that they are able to do 95 percent of the year. Yes, Juneau-ites, the sun is in the sky. Head for the hills.

Today I hiked with Geoff to the top of Mount Jumbo, the highest point on Douglas Island. I think it may just turn out to be our only hike together this summer; now that he has seen how slow I am on the downhills, he will not take me hiking again. I don't know exactly what is wrong with me right now - whether I am out of practice, out of shape, or just a little too self-aware of my tender knee. Either way, it took us a comfortable 90 minutes to climb to the top, and a lumbering, leg-pounding two hours to get down with me in the lead. I felt like a wooden marionette flailing down the mountain, grasping and clawing at roots as gravity sucked me into an abyss. And it just kept going down, and down and down and down.

But it's worth it, because you can't beat the views at 3,500 feet. It really gives me perspective on where I live. It's so easy to get lost in the day-to-day out-and-back that defines my routine. The reality of Juneau is that it is a small speck on a very large, very craggy topo map. Whenever I feel stifled in my small town, I like to think of all those ridgelines stretching into the great beyond, and how I could wander for the rest of my life and never see them all.

The sun, however, actually has me a little worried. The weather forecast extends this high-pressure system late into the week, which means my ride Wednesday-Friday could be accompanied by something unexpected entirely: hot weather. With forecasted temps in the mid-70s in Juneau, it could reach the 90s in interior Yukon. Before you smirk at the irony of my concerns, picture this: I'm one of those light-skinned, light-eyed types who is naturally sensitive to sunlight anyway. Throw in the fact that I am in no way acclimatized to sun, and have no recent experience with hydration, eating or perceived effort in warm temperatures ... I may just wither out there. Or I may still freeze. But now I have no idea what to expect. I liked it better when freezing was a given.

Look at me. I'm complaining about a "Severe Sun Advisory." I really am from Juneau now.