Nugget Creek

Today I had to drive out to the Valley to pick up my bike wheels and pay my rent, so I thought I'd hit up the Nugget Creek trail while I was out there. In all of my two years living here, Nugget Creek is one of the few established trails I've never ventured down. It's strange, actually, that I've never seen Nugget Creek before. It's an easy, quick morning hike ... about nine miles round trip, fairly flat, skirting the sideslopes above a stunning (and incredibly hard to photograph) gorge. But I never did it because it was just one of those "eh" hikes. It reminds me of the vacation my family took in Disneyland. We bought three-day passes and my sister and I vowed to go on every *every* ride in the park. We had a whirlwind first two days, but by the third day we were slogging our way through Dumbo and Toon Town. By the time we got to Small World, we stood in line with a sour feeling in our stomachs. Were we really waiting in line for Small World when the Matterhorn was right over there? Just so we could say we'd been everywhere? I guess this is the way I've felt about trails like Nugget Creek.

Interesting thing about deep-woods trails like Nugget Creek is I always have the distinct feeling that I'm inside an amusement park ride. Not an exciting one like the Matterhorn, but an unintentionally spooky one like Alice in Wonderland or Small World. Since I grew up in the West and did most of my vacationing there, my only experience with that rainforest brand of clammy, stagnant humidity was inside those rides. Like inside the Terror Ride - the air was so dense it breathed on you. So now, when I'm slicing my way through the liquid air of the rainforest, if I lose myself too much in my memories, I'll start half-expecting a naked mannequin streaked in red paint to jump out at me. Especially when the trail's destination is this place:

Spooky.

Tagged

Date: July 22
Mileage: 35.6
July mileage: 516.5
Temperature: 52

I was all set to write another grumpy post about cycling in the rain when I clicked through Fat Cyclist's blog and noticed I had been tagged with a new, bike-specific meme. So I will spare this blog my latest summer lament and answer Elden's riveting questions instead:

If you could have any one — and only one — bike in the world, what would it be? Well, of course that bike would be Pugsley. Pugsley is not, as some of my purist cyclist friends like to call him, a "novelty bike." Pugsley is the perfect bike, the only true "everything" bike. He floats effortlessly over snow, sand and mud, bounces joyfully over roots and boulders, and crushes everything else. He's also perfect for pavement. Wait, you ask, how can this be? Well, if you're like me and can't hold a paceline to save your life, now you finally have an excuse! When your roadie friends ask you why you're so slow, just point out the 4-inch tires and say "My bike weighs 36 pounds unloaded. What's yours?" They won't bug you anymore.

Do you already have that coveted dream bike? If so, is it everything you hoped it would be? If not, are you working toward getting it? If you’re not working toward getting it, why not? Pugsley is everything I hoped for and more! Burly, strong, impervious to abuse, handsome ... oh wait, I've said too much.

If you had to choose one — and only one — bike route to do every day for the rest of your life, what would it be, and why? This is a mean question to ask. I was going to say the Golden Circle, but then I realized that I wouldn't want to ride 371 miles every day. Then I wondered if I had to pick somewhere in Juneau, because I'm pretty sure I would rather poke my eyes with sharpened pencils than ride the same Juneau trail daily. But if I had to choose, I'd say Dredge Lake trails in Juneau, and if I could pick anywhere in the world, it'd be a long, fun loop in Whitehorse (preferably one that snowmobiles use and pack nice and smooth during the winter.)

What kind of sick person would force another person to ride one and only one bike ride to to do for the rest of her / his life? I don't know, Elden, maybe the person who thought of this question? Just kidding!

Do you ride both road and mountain bikes? If both, which do you prefer and why? If only one or the other, why are you so narrowminded? Of course I ride both, although it's arguable that the road biking I do is actually just mountain biking on pavement. As to which I prefer, I'll pick hidden door number three: Snow biking! Seriously.

Have you ever ridden a recumbent? If so, why? If not, describe the circumstances under which you would ride a recumbent. I'm fairly certain that I would tip over if I ever tried to ride a recumbent. Then not only would I look ridiculous because I was riding a recumbent, I would look ultra-ridiculous because I would be tangled in said recumbent in somewhere in a ditch.

Have you ever raced a triathlon? If so, have you also ever tried strangling yourself with dental floss? I have raced exactly one triathlon, the 2006 Sea to Ski in Homer, which was a 5K run, an 8K mountain bike climb, and a 5K ski. All the 12-year-olds passed me while I was plodding out my nine-minute miles during the run, so I went ahead and crushed them on the bicycle climb. But when it came to the ski, I was so unbelievably awful that even the 80-year-old ladies on wooden skis passed me. I think I spent an hour trying to scoot out that 5K, mostly by crawling on my hands and knees and dragging my battered skis behind me. After that, I told Geoff if I was ever forced to Nordic ski again, I was going to strangle myself with dental floss. Interesting side note: I'm actually pretty good at swimming.

Suppose you were forced to either give up ice cream or bicycles for the rest of your life. Which would you give up, and why? Ice cream! Ice cream! I'm terrible at self discipline, and could use some real motivation to give it up. As it is, I'm still working on killing the Cocoa Puffs habit.

What is a question you think this questionnaire should have asked, but has not? Also, answer it. If you could race anyone in a mountain bike race, who would it be? I'm going to go with George W. Bush.

You’re riding your bike in the wilderness (if you’re a roadie, you’re on a road, but otherwise the surroundings are quite wilderness-like) and you see a bear. The bear sees you. What do you do? Yeah. This is not all that interesting of a question, if only because this has happened to me on more occasions than I have fingers to count. If I see a bear, and the bear sees me, the bear runs away. Every time. As to what I'd do if the bear didn't run away - now there's an interesting question. I'm going to go with "pray."

Now, tag three biking bloggers. List them below. I'm not even sure they'll see this post, but I'm going to go ahead and pick three burly northern biker grrrls.

Julie
Michelle
And finally, Sierra, who recently posted the best picture of a Pugsley I have ever seen:

Is this a great bike or what?

Snain in July

Date: July 21
Mileage: 12.1
July mileage: 480.9
Temperature: 49

I shuffled across yet another petrified snowfield, rain-washed to an icy sheen and so slippery I was sure my soon-to-be-horizontal body was destined to slam into a tree. But I kept it vertical and splashed down into yet another puddle, beginning the climb anew atop foot-repellent roots and glistening boulders. The weather forecast had called for a 20 percent chance of rain - 20 percent! Which in my experience means little to none, and I dressed for it. But now my thin shell felt about one ounce of liquid away from dissolving completely, my polyester pants were saturated, my toes and fingers were numb beyond usability, and still the rain came down. It showed no signs of letting up. If anything, the rain was picking up velocity, and the temperature was dropping, and I was woefully underdressed. And why was I still climbing Mount Jumbo in the rain, when the storm was so socked in I couldn't see beyond the next boulder and the footing so treacherous and tentative that I couldn't even count it as good exercise? I think I was afraid of the mild chill already creeping into my core, which only promised to get worse once I stopped climbing. And the snowpack wasn't as bad as I'd feared and I was making good time, so there was still a chance of making the peak. And after everything I've put up with while hiking this month, I deserve a peak.

But then I started to feel a strange sensation on the back of my neck - still like driving rain, but with an edge. A sharp, icy edge. I looked up from the slippery trail to see thick, spear-like drops shooting through the air, mostly gray but with flecks of white. They hit my skin like needles, like daggers, like ... could it be? ... that icy mixture of snow and rain that plagues this place for much of the winter? Snain? Snain in July? Even at 3,000 feet, I could hardly believe it. But my reaction was swift and decisive. Peak was out of the question. I will now forever call my arbitrary turnaround spot "Snain Summit."

And I will return to hike another day. I am not going to let this anti-summer month beat me.