Trying to soak it all in

Date: Feb. 8
Mileage: 36.2
February mileage: 137.2
Hours:4:15
Temperature: 5

It's been tough to go out in this wind.

Even as I tell myself how valuable it all is, to forge into the big gusts and learn how well my boots hold up, and my gloves, and my Camelbak hose, I still hesitate. This drains me, every hour of experimenting drains me, the constant fighting against the crosswind blasts, the needles of frigid air that always find their way to tender patches of skin, the cold I can still feel even as I tell myself it's fine; I'm fine; that when I have my layers on, it's the same thing as riding when its 60 degrees. It's not. I'm not. Fine, that is. My eyes are bloodshot. My legs are too tired for legs that have averaged 9 mph on a snow-packed road for four hours. I have a two-inch snotcicle hanging off my goggles. I stop to take a picture of it, but it breaks as I'm fumbling with my camera.

It's tough to get out of the shower after a ride like that. I stand under the hot water and think about the prospect of 12 unbroken hours of that, or 18. Or 24. The layers I believe would hold strong, but my mental resolve is more fragile. There's the breakdown of perseverance, and then there's the dissolution of nerve. Give wind long enough, and it will tear away at your soul. But it's easier to fight when retreat is not an option. I take comfort in the fact that I am great at doing the things I have no choice but to do.

I step over my half-packed camping gear to check the weather for tonight:

Increasing clouds. Breezy. Lows 5 below to 3 above zero...except around 9 below in wind sheltered areas. Near downtown Juneau and Douglas...north wind 35 mph increasing to 50 mph late with wind gusts up to 65 mph. Wind chill to 35 below zero.

It's perfect. Nearly perfect. How can I pass up a chance to test such extremes? I put on a fleece pullover and step out onto the porch. The wind flash-freezes my wet hair as I huddle in the raging ground blizzard. I slip back inside, crack open a Diet Pepsi and settle on the couch. Sometimes, in times like these, I think of the mantra of my fellow Iditarod racer, Brig. There will be plenty of time to suffer ... later.


Late Edit: I wanted to say thank you again to everyone who has donated to my Iditarod effort. I know I owe several people photo CDs, and I am going to try to get those all sent out this week. If you are still interested in helping out - or even if you're not, but are in the market for good outdoor gear - my Internet friend and fellow blogger Rob Lucas aka "UltraRob" has offered to hold a fundraiser for my Iditarod race this Monday and Tuesday, Feb. 11 and 12. All you have to do is go to his cycling and outdoor gear search site and look for the product you've been thinking about buying. His search engine will find you a great deal from a number of online retailers, and if you buy something, Rob will donate the commissions to my fund. It's so simple! Rob has been frequenting my blog since I was a complete noob on the endurance scene. He has an extensive background in endurance racing - one of his latest endeavours was the 2006 Race Across America - and he could probably see right through my embarrassing revelations and lack of experience. But he always offered me a lot of encouragement, and although we have never met, I can imagine him being an incredibly fun guy to ride with. This fundraiser is his latest act of generosity, even as he continues to raise money for a future RAAM attempt, he is carving out a couple of days to help me. So, thanks Rob. Be sure to check out his site. But wait for Monday to buy something! ;-)

What does 50 mph headwind feel like at 6F?

Date: Feb. 7
Mileage: 27.5
February mileage: 101
Hours: 3:15
Temperature: 6

It's interesting ... it almost feels hot.

But not hot in the way you'd hope hot would feel.

No, it's a more acute heat. A furnace blast that needles its way into every weakness in your clothing and sears your skin. The slit between my goggles and balaclava; the tip of my nose; the open space where my coat stretches over my backpack; the fleece gloves as I pull my hands out of my pogies; everything burned red and tingling. I can understand how easy it becomes to confuse cold with hot, even as I wince against an ice-cream headache and a bombardment of wind-sharpened snow.

But even more amazing is that, in the midst of all this, I can pull my balaclava over my forehead and nose, reach back and tuck my insulation layers into my pants, pull on my mittens, and disappear into my own little climate zone, facing the 50 mph wind gust as it blasts me with super-cooled air and feeling almost ... normal. Although pedaling became impossible when the gusts really hit. As soon as the wind stopped me cold, I would just hop off to the side, dig my boot into a snowbank to keep from sliding backward, bury my chin in my collarbone, and steel my silhouette against the storm. After crouching in raging ground blizzards as the 50 mph gusts blasted by, the 25 mph sustained headwind felt positively tranquil.

I'm not sure what the windchill would be at 50 mph ... somewhere in the negative 20s? I'm pretty happy with my gear in these paticular conditions, although I am still searching for that ideal balance of comfort one must obtain between moving and not moving. I didn't sweat much today, but stops longer than five minutes left me a little chilled. However, I think it's fair to consider that a windchill-simulated temperature of -20 may be even worse than an actual air temperature of -20. Because in the wind, unless everything you are wearing is completely windproof, that -20 sensation is going straight to your skin.

I went pretty easy today - three hours - and felt pretty good. I am hoping to head out later this weekend for more gear testing - however, I am "leaking" a lot from this cold right now and reluctant to overnight in this condition, again. The congestion makes it almost impossible to sleep. Although in this kind of wind and the racket it makes, "sleeping" is not really an option anyway. More likely what I'll do is ride my bike somewhere and lay down for a couple of hours, and then I will come home, down some Nyquil, and crawl into bed. Maybe tomorrow ... something to look forward to!

It's all good learning experience. And in its own sick way ... kind of fun.

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