Dear Canada: Fear me

Date: June 24 and 25
Mileage: 18.0 and 12.1
June mileage: 677.1
Temperature: 61 and 57

I'm trying to get myself pumped up for the 24 Hours of Light. So I thought ... what the heck? Why not engage in a little good, old-fashioned trash talk.

Dear mountain bikers of the Yukon,

You may not remember me. It was just a year ago I first visited your fine land, but I was forgettable back then - the chick with the knee braces and the squeaky full-suspension 26'er. I pumped out a respectable number of laps before midnight, then I ate some soup and crawled into a tent. Just another one of those girls that couldn't handle the full 24 hours, right?

Wrong. I'm coming back. And I'm bringing with me a full year's worth of healing, training, glucosomine and suffering. I'm bringing a full year's worth of technical riding improvement and a new 29'er that can roll over your puny interior-of-the-continent black spruce roots like they were brittle pencils. I'm bringing my healthy knees and rain-soaked Juneau conditioning and Iditarod-forged perspective on just how relatively pleasant 24-hour races really are. In short, I'm bringing my "A" game.

Plus, I am an American and we all have a bone to pick with you Canadians. Your dollar surpassed ours in value, which we are supremely unhappy about. You have that universal health care while we American athletes must routinely decide between physical therapy and food. Yes, we're sure there must be something we're better than you at. I know the answer: 24-hour races.

Why? Well, for one, we train in miles, which make your puny Canadian kilometers look like, well, like something that is a little more than a half mile. And we train in the land of (relatively) cheap gasoline, big cars and abundant off-road vehicles. We dodge Hummers and split trails with roaring ATVs. And, let me tell you, you haven't raced a mountain bike until you've tried to outrun a snowmobile. And don't underestimate our egos. We Americans always believe we're better at everything, even if we're really not. But in this game, believing is half the battle.

Yes, dear mountain bikers of the Yukon, I am coming up from my land of moss and rain to tear across your tundra with nothing to lose and nothing to prove - except that I'm here. And I'm ready. And I'm going to win. And into next year, you will remember me by my scorch marks.

You have been warned.

Sincerely, Jill from Juneau

Forced taper

Date: June 22 and 23
Mileage: 21.2 and 17.7
June mileage: 647
Temperature: 60 and 62

I am getting in a really good taper this week. Only rode an hour and a half yesterday and an hour today. I have so many little errands to run, I likely won't even be able to make the commute tomorrow, and late Wednesday night I leave for Canada. Often when I say I'm insanely busy, it's not really the truth. But right now, I really am that busy. The other day for lunch, I ate several spoonfuls of spicy peanut butter (spiked with cayenne pepper) that was given to me as a Christmas gift. And that was it. It was about all I had left in the cupboard. So this wonderful taper isn't exactly accompanied by wonderful nutrition. I am still trying to decide what I'll eat in the 24 Hours of Light. I am thinking one small water bottle every lap, every other one spiked with Nuun, and a Power Bar or Pop Tart for every two laps (it will probably take me an hour to do each lap.) The temperatures will be mild and the sweat factor will be low, so the Nuun should offer plenty of salt replacement. I have given up on the dream of eating protein (or liquid nutrition) during long efforts.

I heard from Geoff today for the first time since the GDR started. To be honest, I did not expect him to call, at least not this early in the race. I remember when I was riding the Iditarod, my mind was operating in a different universe, one that was repelled by the outside world. When Geoff called me in Nikolai, I was not happy to hear from him. Not at all. In hindsight, it's hard to explain why that was the case. But there is a zone in the midst of a long, hard effort - a quiet feeling of enchantment, that helps a distressed body keep on keeping on, often happily. Forces from the outside world seem to break that enchantment, at which point it's easier to slip into depression and despair.

But anyway, Geoff did call from Wise River, probably during one of his moments of lucidity. I was happy to hear from him this time. Our conversation was not much different from those before the race. No, "Hey, I'm on this crazy hard journey, I've ridden 500 hard miles in just over three days, how are you?" It was just, "how are you?" And I didn't reply, "Oh, I'm trying to prepare for this race that seems so pointless compared to what you're doing, and I'm in a living situation that is really stressing me out, and my job is still hard and I'd love to gripe about it to someone who could listen." No, I just said, "I'm great." But I think both of us understood what the other meant.

These long days

Date: June 20 and 21
Mileage: 20.7 and 32.3
June mileage: 608.1
Temperature: 64 and 54

As I suspected, I have been completely consumed by the Great Divide Race since it started. There have been a couple of other things in there. On Friday, I went fishing out North, where the reflection of the Chilkat Mountains glimmers in glassy bays and I could just dissolve in the scenery, and sometimes do. I caught a small halibut and a yellow-eye rockfish. The "chicken" halibut made for a heavenly lunch, which I scarfed as I listened to the first wave of GDR call-ins. There have been bike rides, work, movies, a new roommate, anger and stress. But, always on my mind, the GDR and its slow march south.

While Brian and I fished on Friday, a humpback whale circled our boat, again and again. A couple of times it breached far out of the water. It blew geysers of water so loud that they startled me. Sometimes it came so close to the boat I could see the deep shine on its skin; of course I never had my camera out at the best moments. Eventually, I just put my camera down and focused on my bobbing halibut pole, and the quiet reflection of the mountains, and the ripples from the humpback twirling around our boat like ribbons on a Maypole. And still, the GDR.

We were both amped up on caffeine and the promise of the solstice, so we caught a late movie downtown, where club music rattled the air and teenagers weaved through the streets like spawning salmon. We saw "Get Smart" and laughed the whole time - so much better than we thought it would be. It was still light outside well after midnight, and the music still pounded, and the teenagers were still out, and the longest day faded on its arc toward winter. And still, the GDR.

I rode today in the rain. It's been quite a while since it rained so hard it made my nose run, but that happened today. It was a short ride. I'm tapering for the 24 Hours of Light, which I don't think about any more. Geoff is doing awesome in his race. His last SPOT showed him in likely second place between Seeley Lake and Lincoln, Mont. He sounded very happy in his first call-in. Like a lifelong "Price is Right" fan who finally has his chance to come on down. I saw a picture of him at the start of the race, the only one of 18 looking at the camera, with a huge smile and two thumbs in the air. It made me feel so exuberant - and sad.

And still, the GDR.