Ode to Pugsley

Today I went to the gym for 90 minutes and felt pretty strong. I didn't push all that hard, but I feel like I have likely surmounted all but the residual annoyances of my cold. Since I don't want the germs to come rushing back to action, I won't particiate in all of the activities I was planning for this weekend. But I do hope to get out into the latest cold snap and its 30-below wind chills to test gear, including my Ghostbuster-worthy hydration system.

Beyond that, it seems being sick and going to the gym isn't very condusive to good posts for my photo/lifestyle/training blog, so I thought today I'd do a blog dump of sorts. I have a picture of downtown Juneau as seen from the Treadwell Ditch trail, taken Jan. 14. I also thought I'd include my latest NPR post. Like many cyclists, I have a bad habit of humanizing my bikes. A while back, I wrote an apology letter to Sugar. Recently, for my NPR blog, I wrote a love letter to Pugsley. I was running on minimal sleep and what was probably the beginning of my contribution to cold and flu season when I penned it. So it's a bit loopy, but it's sincere...

Dear Pugsley,

I'll never forget the first time I laid eyes on you, dangling from the ceiling at the Anchorage REI. An arctic blast of nitrogen-freezing proportions was ripping outside as I browsed the headlamp aisle. That's when I first caught a glimpse of your well-endowed wheels. I felt like a Valley girl in a bad '90s rap video ... "Oh, my, god. Becky, look at his butt. It is so big." You looked like one of those fixie guys' Frankenbikes. But, you know, who understands those fixie guys, anyway?

You moved on to other things. So did I. I was new on the winter bike scene, and convinced that studs were more my type. Those carbide-pierced tires were so punk rock, and I was thrilled by the way they gripped onto ice and never let go. But when the snow really started to settle in the relationship, the studs just bogged down like a pothead with a Nintendo. I came to realize that studs and I had no real future.

The next winter, I went looking for something a little more willing to commit. That's when I found SnowCats, the wide rims that fit on a regular bike. I outfitted them with semi-wide tires and together we hit the snow, finding more float and more opportunities than before. But there was still something missing in my life, a certain longing that was just out of reach.

The final blow came as I was pushing my SnowCats over a loose, narrow trail, and watched in wonder as a cyclist passed me, riding. His bike was equipped with the same wide tires I had seen at REI that fateful winter day. The tires of Pugsley. The next day, I told the SnowCats we had to talk.

I'll admit I had my doubts, Pugsley. In a sport that cherishes sleek and thin, you were excessive and obese. You wore the purple remnants of somebody's bad '90s ecstasy trip, and even when they finally painted you gray, I could still see your skewed fork and crooked frame and offset rims — purposeful deformations just to make room for all that excess fat. But once I finally took the plunge, I was amazed at your strength and grace. You plowed over boulders like they weren't even there, then floated atop sand like you weighed an ounce. When the winter finally came, with our powder-blasting downhill rides and soft trail traverses, I knew it was love.

It's true what they say, Pugsley: Once you've had fat, you can't ever go back.

I like fat bikes and I cannot lie.

So now I just wanted to tell you that I'm so glad we met. We have a long and treacherous trail ahead of us, and I wanted to let you know that I trust you completely. You are my bike. And for better or worse, for faster or slower, in bonking and in health, I know you'll carry me through. I need you, Pugsley. Like I've never needed a bike before.

With love,

Jill

Sick day

Today I took the first full day off in ... I don't know. It's been a little while. I was terrified yesterday that I might be coming down with the flu. I experienced one of those flash fevers where it's all you can do to stumble to the bathroom before you pass out. Then I used my dinner break to take an 80-minute nap (my boss was really reluctant to let me leave work because half the staff is out sick right now, and I felt just guilty enough about it to cave in.) I spent the rest of the evening slumped over my desk, went home and slept for nearly 10 hours, and woke up feeling at least 70 percent better. Not better enough to justify plowing right back into my routine, but better enough to mill around the house looking for productive things to do.

One thing I did was tape a thick layer of some old-fashioned, Home Depot-style bubble insulation around my Camelbak hose. I have had endless problems with water freezing inside the hose, even after I bought an insulated bladder, and a brand new thermal kit, and took every single precaution recommended to me, including, but not limited to, gently blowing water out of the hose after each drink, forcibly blowing water out of the hose after each drink and burying the hose and finally the entire backpack in as many clothing layers as I can muster. So I went for broke. Geoff says I look like I'm ready to join the Ghostbusters. If my system still freezes, I'll be no worse off than all the other times I had to drink straight from the bladder. However, anything that freezes inside this hose will probably never become unfrozen.

I also have been sewing small pockets inside my first thermal layer for miscellanious items that I want to keep close to my body: Lighters, camera, snacks, etc. I'm positioning them so that they're close to my underarms, but still against the vapor barrier, so hopefully they won't get too, um, moisturized. Then I spent the morning doing some math, and I think I have the specific items for my drop bag gear list about 91.3 percent finalized. I get two drop bags over the course of the race, spaced 1-2 days apart depending on how well things go for me. I'm planning for ~12,000 calories in each one, along with fuel, batteries and heat packs. And yes, there will be Pop Tarts.

Besides the sore throat and lung-ripping cough, I think I'm nearly done being sick. I'm still crossing my fingers that it's a wimpy little bug after all.

Sick, again

Another self-portrait from yesterday's "ride." We've had a lot of new snow this week, which means more walking than riding on these excursions. Walking, I've learned, is generally less fun. I've found creative portraiture helps pass the time.

So I finally caught the office bug that has been making the rounds. This one already has taken me down much harder than the last one. It's actually pretty strange for me to be sick twice in the same season. My immune system is usually ironclad, but maybe all the recent stresses, moving, working, training, and other miscellanious tasks were more than my body could handle. Either way, I'm bummed about it. This was going to be my last week of training; regardless of what I end up doing this week, I'll have to launch into a pretty serious taper by this Saturday. And right now, my prospects are going rapidly downhill. Earlier today, I thought I could still train lightly through what seemed to be a minor cold. Then this afternoon, I had to eat a small packet of Sweet Tarts just to conjure up the energy to stand up out of my chair. I don't think those are going to sit in the stomach too well.

Maybe this is my body's unfair way of forcing me to slow down. Doesn't it realize that I still have so much to do? Even if I cut out training entirely, there's still so much to do in the realm of buying and planning and packing and studying and repairing and mailing and breathing deeply and chanting soothing mantras ... and there's another cold snap coming for testing and practicing and toughening up.

Right now, all I can think about is how disgusting Sweet Tarts are.

I hope I don't hate them forever. They're like the perfect energy food ... a cheap source of dextrose and maltodextrin with just the right hint of Red No. 40.

"Toughen up, just toughen up already."

I think I may be running a fever.

I guess that's all for today.