Sometimes, all you need is elevation

The call from my co-worker came at 10:09 a.m. "Do you think you'd have time for four extra pages today?" he asked.

"Wait, what?" I replied, still a little groggy from waking up late and lingering way too long over breakfast and blogs.

"If I told you Ted Stevens was indicted today, and we were going to create a whole big package to cover it, would you be able to do a few extra pages?"

"Wait, really?" I said, again, feeling a little stupid that in all of my blogging, I had missed that little news item. "Wow, so that finally went down. Yeah, I can do it. Do I have time to go for a hike?"

"I encourage it," my co-worker said. "It's finally nice out today."

I looked out the window. The mountains were obscured by a large bank of fog. Little drops still rippled through the massive puddles on the porch. "Um, OK," I said. "I'll see you at 2." I got dressed, laced up my shoes and darted out the door. I forgot my watch, so I had to pace myself by snapping photos and glancing at the time stamp on the screen.

Time: 10:30 a.m.
On the iPod: "Supermassive Black Hole," Muse
Thoughts: What is that bright light up there? Could that possibly be the sun, breaking through the clouds? It seems impossible, but ...

Time: 10:37 a.m.
On the iPod: "No Peace, Los Angeles," Mike Doughty
Thoughts: I can't believe they actually indicted Sen. Stevens. It seemed inevitable, but at the same time ... wow. The guy is beloved. He has an airport named after him. I wonder if they'll change the name of the Anchorage airport if he ends up in a federal prison? Uncle Ted "Jailbird" Stevens International.

Time: 10:43 a.m.
On the iPod: "Blame it on the Tetons," Modest Mouse
Thoughts: I feel so much better than I did yesterday. I was just going to go to the gym for an hour, try to wait out my funk, but I'm glad I decided to go out. I think those clouds to the south really are thinning. Maybe if I can climb high enough, the fog will clear.

Time: 11:09 a.m.
On the iPod: "I'm Not An Addict," K's Choice
Thoughts: Hmm, when did I download this song? It reminds me of 1997 ... that perfect spring morning with the windows of Liz's car rolled down and my arm stretched out in the warm air. I think we were commuting to a drawing competition at that west-side high school. Taylorsville? Strange that's all it took back then to create a memorable day - warm air, a little sunshine, the freedom of legally ditching school on a weekday to draw all day and flirt with west-side boys. I remember I won a T-shirt in the contest, but I think everyone did.

Time: 11:28 a.m.
On the iPod: "Girl Sailor," The Shins
Thoughts: This looks so much friendlier than it did a week ago. Where is all of the snow?

Time: 11:31 a.m.
On the iPod: "Sleeping Lessons," The Shins
Thoughts: Oh ... great.

Time: 11:47 a.m.
On the iPod: "Happy," The Wrens
Thoughts: I must have this song stashed in every one of my mixes by now. It still takes me back to the Kuskokwim River, walking my bike through an endless sugar bowl. When I first heard it that dark morning, with the sound of crickets chirping through the soft introduction, I just assumed the crickets were real. It never occurred to me back then that it was 30 below, and there were no crickets. I wonder how long it took me to figure that out? And wait, how much time do I have? Oh no ... it's 11:47? I should have turned around 15 minutes ago. Oh well, I can just skip lunch. 100 more feet ... then I'll go back.

Time: 12:02 p.m.
On the iPod: "Hate," Fiction Plane
Thoughts: What are you doing? It's after noon! Turn around now! Ted Stevens indicted ... could be the biggest news day for Juneau all year ... lots to do ... not the day to be late for work ... people will be angry ... but look at all that blue sky ... and the peak is right there.

Time: 12:12 p.m.
iPod: Off
Thoughts: Dear Mount Jumbo,
Thanks, I feel much better now.
Sincerely, Jill.

SAD-light summer

Date: July 28
Mileage: 38.2
July mileage: 631.5
Temperature: 48

I felt just over the blah side of awful on my morning ride today - couldn't turn my legs over very fast; couldn't climb; couldn't zone away the general malaise after several miles of warm-up. Every time I have a bad ride like that, I look for reasons why. Overtraining? Hardly. I'm not even training right now. Too much time on the bike? My bike time is barely half what it was in May, and likely would be less if I had more opportunities to go hiking. So, I concluded, the struggle must be psychological.

It's sinking in, this summer. My friend confided that he had resorted to cooking himself all of his most desperate winter comfort foods. Several people have told me they dug their full-spectrum SAD lights out of storage and switched them on. Then today, I was walking by a cubicle when I was hit with a blinding flash of white. "What is that bright light?" I wondered, and squinted toward it. "Oh, it's a SAD light. How sad." The jokes about pot roasts and SAD lights in July were pretty funny, until they weren't jokes.

I know I have no mandate to complain about the weather. No one in Alaska moves here for the weather, and I distinctly signed up for Southeast Alaska knowing full well what I was getting myself into. But my status as a former desert baby and northern country expat means I have no background to draw on when the coping gets tough. We are products of our environment, and it's been a long time since my last vitamin D fix. So I joked about how ready I am for summer to be over already so snow can rescue us from some of this rain, and it was pretty funny, until it wasn't a joke.

During the dark winter, I always believed that getting outside every day would help me push through seasonal malaise. Until now, it always did. But that's not so much the case this summer. I actually feel worse when I'm outside, and start to feel a bit better as the work day drags on, when my eyes are fixed on a computer screen and my back to the window. Maybe the fact that it is summer makes coping harder. Deep down I know that September and October are coming, and there will be no respite or relief. Geoff has been hinting that he's not coming back to Juneau after the Wasatch 100 in September. His plans for extracting himself from this place made for pretty funny jokes, until they weren't jokes.

But just because I'm a little blue right now doesn't mean I'm ready to follow him out. I still love this area, in the same way I'll still love my cat even when she's old and smelly and can't always make it to the litter box. I always knew we'd come to a tipping point. But why did it have to be July?

New road

Date: July 27
Mileage: 35.4
July mileage: 593.3
Temperature: 50

As this soggy month trickles to a close (and we all just want it to be over already), I have been dredging the dregs of motivation for reasons to go out for a ride. No longer can I drag myself out there with half-hearted musings about how fresh everything smells in the rain, or scoldings about all of the chocolate chips I have eaten this month, or ambitions to train for races in which I may or may not even be able to afford to show up at the starting line. No, I don't want to ride today. Simple and plain.

But Geoff and I started talking about possible new routes yesterday and he asked me if I had seen the new road the city is building to the top of Eaglecrest Ski Area. They've been at it all summer, they're probably halfway up the mountain by now, and I had never even bothered to check it out. I envisioned a gentle access road switchbacking all the way up to the ridge, where I could chug to the top, grab a narrow deer trail through the pristine wilderness, and ride down to the other side of the island, where Christian Bale would be waiting in his yacht to whisk me away to places where the sun comes out in July. It was a beautiful dream, and I was suddenly excited to set out Sunday morning on an exploration ride.

But Sunday morning did not make it easy, with a hard wind out of the south, pissing rain and the temperature just a click or two above 50. I just put my head down and squinted at the white line on the road for 15 miles. But as I rounded the final curve to the ski area, I looked up just long enough to see a dark brown scar carved into the slope. There really was a new road there, and I half hoped it would end in a half mile so I could go home and take a hot shower already, and half hoped it would take me to the west side of Douglas Island, my imaginary yacht, and the warmer climes I deserved.

The road was steep and rough and a beast to climb, which in itself was a nice diversion. I redlined up the final pitch and found an abrupt dead end about two miles beyond the pavement, so I set down my bike and waded through calf-deep mud around a couple of construction vehicles to see what lay beyond. There wasn't much - a swamp, a few distressed spruce trees, and the profile of the ridge still hundreds of feet above the half-finished road. But there was promise ... the promise that someday soon I will be able to ride my bike all the way up these mountains; the promise of greatly expanded access to winter trails across the expanse of the Douglas Island Ridge; the promise of more miles.

I feel really excited about the possibilities of the new road, especially once the snow flies and covers up the mud and swamps with sweet, packable powder. It's not much to keep me going through this soggy summer, but I'll take it.