Snow-riding tips

Wet weather has me hitting the weights again. I neglected my gym routine for more than a week, and I can notice a difference even after a short hiatus. Weight-lifting has been an interesting experience for me. It's by far the most controlled aspect of my training, and its also the area where I can best identify real gains and losses. I hate weight lifting with a drudgery that stretches beyond cycling in the sleet, and yet I can't deny its value.

That's about all I have to report on that. I made another article for the NPR blog. I'm not sure when it will be posted, but I hope they don't mind if I republish it here. This week, it's: 10 tips for riding a bicycle on snow:

1. Think surface area: If you’ve ever used snowshoes before, you know that all that mass at the bottom of your feet can mean the difference between coasting atop power or wading knee-deep in it. Snow bikes work they same way. They incorporate wide tires with a flat profile in order to distribute bulk (you) as evenly as possible, allowing for maximum floatation.

2. Fat is the new skinny. As long as there have been bicycles, there have been weight-weenie types trying to shave grams off wheels. Nowadays, it’s not uncommon to see a spoke-free wheel sporting tires as thin as razors. But once you slice into snow, skinny tires might as well be razors. Snow-bikers know that fat means float, and have been developing bicycles to accommodate increasingly larger wheels for years. I predict that not too far in the future, someone will build a bicycle frame with room for motocross tires. Look for it.

3. There is no shame in walking. Cyclists hate to admit when they come to a hill or an obstacle they just can’t conquer. I have seen cyclists blow out their knees and face-plant over logs just to avoid suffering the indignity of getting off the bike and walking. Snow-bikers have no such pretensions. We know that bikes are not ready-made for snow, and vice versa. If snow is too soft, or too deep, or too wet, we simply step off and amble along until we can ride again. We learn to enjoy it, like walking a dog, but without the constant slobbering.

4. When in doubt, let air out. Often, snowy trails are what we would call “marginally ridable.” By letting air out of tires, you can increase the surface area and improve your floatation. Sometimes it means riding on nearly flat tires at a pace a snail wouldn’t envy, but, despite what I said in the previous paragraph, it’s still better than walking.

5. Learn your snow types. It's been said that Eskimos have dozens of different words of snow. Snow bikers also understand the myriad varieties: powder, sugar, corn, hard-pack, sandy, slushy, and so on. Each type comes with its own challenges. But understanding the nature of the white stuff you are trying to ride atop, you can adjust your riding and wheels to meet the conditions.

6. Don't be disappointed when you fail to set a land-speed record. Snow, like sand, puts up a lot of resistance, and snow bikers are not known for their speed. I have often heard accounts of cyclists who said felt like they were careening down a hill, only to look down and see they hadn’t even breached the 10 mph barrier. In snow races, 10 mph is considered fast. 8 mph is average. 6 mph is respectable, and 4 mph isn’t uncommon. When ask to describe the nature of the 2006 Iditarod Invitational, which was plagued by cold temperatures and fresh snow, third-place finisher Jeff Oatley said, “It was about as intense as a 2.5 mph race can be.”

7. All brakes are not created equal. When contemplating what brakes to put on their bikes, cyclists have all kinds of reasons to choose between disc or rim. But snow bikers, who often find their rims coated in a thick layer of ungrippable ice, have the best reason of all: Rim brakes could mean an icy death by gravity. Go with disc.

8. Re-lubricate and be free. There is nothing that will slow down a snow biker faster than having their hubs freeze up, which is always a possibility when the mercury drops below 0. We have to lube up our moving parts with a special low-temperature grease, sold widely in cold regions like Fairbanks and Minnesota.

9. Stay away from moose tracks. Common injures for road cyclists include road rash and head injuries. Mountain bikers have problems with broken collar bones and bad knees. Alaska snow bikers are always being tripped up by the deep, narrow holes moose leave when they walk through the snow. Avoiding these minefields will help curb post-holing injuries like broken ankles.

10. Stay away from dogs. We talk a lot about fear of angry moose, grumpy bears and rabid wolves, but our most likely animal to have a dangerous encounter with remains the sled dog. They approach so quickly and quietly that we sometimes don’t even have time to jump off the trail. A collision can be disastrous - imagine tangled lines, confused canines and a lot of sharp teeth. Add to that an annoyed musher who’s likely packing heat, and you stir up the kind of fear that convinces snow-bikers to give those racing puppies a wide berth.

••••••

Also, from YouTube, we have a treasure from time: A short documentary about the 1988 Iditabike race, back when it was 200 miles and everyone rode on "skinny" tires. I'm going to try to embed part 2. It's worth watching just for the great '80s news-lite soundtrack. To view the three segments, click here:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

"Bicycles on Snow"

Staying cold

Date: Dec. 11
Mileage: 28.2
Hours: 2:30
December mileage: 255.6
Temperature upon departure: 35
Rainfall: .58"

For me, the problem in dressing for Juneau winter cycling isn’t starting warm; it’s staying warm. I can have the ideal combination for long periods of comfort - sometimes hours. But if anything breaches the heat barrier - a lingering stop, or an extended descent - it often takes many teeth-chattering, skin-burning minutes of hard pedaling to find my way back to normal. Some days, I don’t find my way back at all.

The obvious solution is to just wear more than I think I need, but I hate that sticky feeling of being overheated in cold air. Taking additional layers to put on later is complicated by the soaking nature of the one condition that consistently breaks me - sleet.

Today I headed out in the gray slush for a quick ride to North Douglas, and decided to head up the Eaglecrest road at the last minute. I wanted to check out the snow depth and see if any pre-season trails had been laid yet. There’s definitely a fair amount of snow up there, but no trails. Using the area for training is a bit of a Catch-22, though. I don’t think I could get my bald-tire Pugsley up the icy access road, but once I’m there, my studded-tire Sugar becomes basically useless. Back to the drawing board.

I spent some time at the top tromping around the Nordic ski area, listening intently for snowmobiles and exchanging incredulous glances with backcountry skiers as they passed. Before heading back down, I took off my gloves because they had become completely soaked (as had basically everything else on my body.) I pulled up my face mask, adjusted my goggles, stuck my bare hands in my pogies and locked into the screaming descent.

The downhill run was so full of goggle-coating sleet and jaw-clenching ice patches that I didn’t even notice that the skin on my legs had started to tingle, and my fingers were going numb, and my torso was beginning to feel clammy and cold.

By the bottom of the hill, shivering had taken over. I still had plenty of energy, so I amped up the speed as much as my legs and the slush-coated road would allow. But all that seemed to do is intensify the wet wind chill, and I just couldn’t shake the shivering. My condition had started to improve, somewhat, by the time I made it home. I peeled off my dripping layers and turned on the shower, but then remembered how nauseated I usually feel if I reheat my prickling skin too quickly, and thought better of it. So I scavenged the refrigerator until I found a half-eaten cup of lentil soup, and stood in the kitchen in my underwear as the microwave reheated it. The thick, tomato-flavored soup oozed down my throat like melted gold, and tasted every bit as warm and rich. It was heaven sent, that soup, and you don't earn that kind of deliciousness by staying indoors.

But, I concur. Brushes with hypothermia are pretty funny until they're not. I need to rework my wet-weather layer system for days when even fenders can't ward off the endless shower of slush. Or maybe, next time I ride up to Eaglecrest in a sleet storm, I'll see if one of the backcountry skiers can shuttle me down the mountain in their Subaru.

Mind over body

Last week, the New York Times published an article, appropriately titled “I’m not really running, I’m not really running ...” about the effectiveness of dissociation in endurance racing. It’s commonly believed that humans use only a small part of their intellectual capacity, but dissociation plays off the idea that humans also tap only a fraction of their physical ability. The article calls it “mind over mind-over-body:” the art of tricking your mind into believing it’s not actually forcing your body to do the things that nobody but your ego and maybe a small part of your spiritual self want it to do. The result is an ability to jump higher, run faster, and cycle farther than the preconceived - and rather unimaginative - limits of the concious mind would generally allow.

Athletes who practice dissociation learn to block out the white noise of the human condition - past events, future goals, perceived fatigue, real pain - and focus completely on the immediate moment. Many athletes count. Some chant. Some fixate on a distant point, or a shadow, and watch only that. However they do it, dissociation whisks a person away from the task at hand and all of its complications, and transplants them in a simpler place far away from the weaknesses of the mind ... the weaknesses that tell a body it’s too slow, too tired, in too much pain, and tell it to stop.

In the article, an exercise psychologist asks the reporter to imagine she is running on a wet, windy, cold Sunday morning. “The conscious brain says, ‘You know that coffee shop on the corner. That’s where you really should be,” said Dr. Timothy Noakes. And suddenly, you feel tired, it’s time to stop. “There is some fatigue in muscle; I’m not suggesting muscles don’t get fatigued. I’m suggesting that the brain can make the muscles work harder if it wanted to.”

A scientist who tested this method based his research on a group of Tibetan monks who reportedly ran 300 miles in 30 hours. It's an unbelievable story, if only because monks aren’t typical athletes. They don’t spend all day training their bodies, ingesting scientifically precise diets and maintaining an unwavering focus on their fitness. But in their spiritual pursuit, while breathing in synchrony with the moment, these monks achieved something that many of the world’s most elite athletes would consider impossible.

It’s an interesting idea, and one that’s especially intriguing to me. It gives mere mortals like myself hope that we can overcome our own athletic mediocrity and rise to extraordinary feats. Geoff, who fits more in the athletic freak of nature category, finds the idea frightening. “If a person can really find their way into an order higher than physical pain,” he said, “what will stop them from running themselves to death?”

What indeed.