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Date: Feb. 9
Mileage: 22.1
February mileage: 159.3
Hours: 2:30
Temperature: 7
Snowfall: 8"

I spent the month of January feeling more and more lost in the big picture of the Iditarod Invitational. Now that last-minute preparations have narrowed my focus back to the little details, I am actually feeling less anxiety. Give it another five days or so. The race starts two weeks from this afternoon.

Geoff and I finished packing up our food drops. Combined, we have 40 pounds of duct-tape-wrapped “food bombs” ready to ship. Among his more interesting additions are two packages of precooked bacon (until about two months ago, Geoff was for the past 10 years a vegetarian), Hammer Perpetuem and 2,700 calories of Reeses Peanut Butter Sticks. I kept my drops simple, knowing that in the survival state endurance cycling induces, monotony, simplicity and precedence are key. My food bomb consists of one pound dried fruit, one pound nuts, 8 oz. sunflower seeds, 5 oz. chocolate, 9 oz. turkey jerky, four Pop Tarts, eight Clif Bars, four Trio bars, 10 fruit leathers, 10 oz. packaged tuna and 9 oz. Wheat Thins (those last two are my checkpoint “treats.”) It also has batteries, chemical warmers and fuel - for a total of about 12,000 calories, 10 pounds gear, and provisions for two-three days.

I also, after too many failed trials, am leaning away from using my Camelbak as my primary hydration source. I will still carry a backpack and a bladder - either my insulated 3-liter Camelbak bladder or noninsulated 6-liter MSR bladder. But I also bought one of those Outdoor Research insulation sleeves and plan to stuff a Nalgene bottle in one of my pogies, then refill it with my bladder. I know the inconvenience of a bottle is a likely path to perpetual dehydration, but it’s still more accessible than a Camelbak with a frozen hose.

I also have a lot of little things to add to Pugsley before I break him down and ship him off to Anchorage for his final overhaul. I will need to have him boxed up and on a FedEx truck by Wednesday morning at the latest.

Beyond that, the taper has started. My training has slowed down and I haven’t even noticed. I feel busier than ever. I was hoping to go for as many rides as I could before I ship Pugsley away, but the recent winds and 8-10 inches of new snow Saturday made cycling impossible everywhere today (the plowed-in road shoulders were even more unrideable than the trails.) Rather than embark on a windblown push-a-thon along the Douglas Highway, I went for a snowshoe hike in the vicinity of the Mount Jumbo trail, breaking my own path and sinking to my knees with every step. It was a trudge. I was drenched in sweat. All around me, billowing pillows of fine powder frosted the landscape with almost confectionary softness. And all I could think about was how I was going to format my schedule so I could completely load up my bike before I completely break it down. Maybe this detail focus isn’t such a good thing after all.


P.S. Don't forget to drop by UltraRob's outdoor gear site for some great deals on fun new toys! Good for you ... good for me!

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.