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Date: Aug. 6
Mileage: 8.5
August mileage: 90.3
Temperature: 67

Another beautiful day, another post where I inundate my blog with photos from Juneau's ceiling. Today I headed up Mount Roberts. I woke up earlier but didn't rush out the door the same way I did yesterday, so I ended up with the same amount of time to burn - about four and a half hours. And like yesterday, I pushed my time limit to its very brink.

I made better choices than I did yesterday - Claritin, sunglasses, no shirt (Just kidding. I did have a shirt. It just got so soaked in sweat that I took it off for the solitude walk along the ridge, but I put it back on before I descended back to tourist zone.) Despite my better choices, I felt like I was still in recovery from Tuesday. I hike up mountains because the space makes me feel awake and alive, but the actual activity makes for a tough workout ... two to three hours constantly pushing between 70 and 90 percent of my MHR, followed by two hours of high-impact downhill pounding. My joints hate me now, but they'll thank me later. I'm still convinced that all the hiking I did in summer 2007 strengthened my knees and set me up for an injury-free winter.

But while I'm getting such a great workout, I stop often to observe the geography, visualize a future adventure and, of course, take photos. I'm not sure why I'm so intent on photographing mountains. It seems an injustice to box in all that jaw-dropping space, but I do it just the same. This photo was taken from the top of Gastineau Peak, looking down Gold Ridge toward the Juneau Ridge, where I walked yesterday. To the far left you can see Mount Juneau; the middle right is about the distance I made Tuesday before I had to turn around. Directly behind is Cairn Peak, on Blackerby Ridge - a future goal for a day when I have more than four and a half hours to burn.

I took this photo to show off Juneau's August offerings to my skiing friends. Unfortunately, in my effort to box in all the sweeping space, I cut off one really friendly, fun-looking run a thousand feet down into the bowl. I would ride it myself if I had my snowboard, which I'll likely never carry up to Gold Ridge (I don't see how one four-minute run could possibly be worth it, but, then again, I'm not a rabid snow-rider like some of my skier friends.)

Snow proved to be my undoing about 200 feet shy of Mount Roberts, when I could not find a way around this snow field, and I just wasn't willing to kick up it. The snow was soft enough, but one slip would have sent me on the fast (and deadly) track down to the bowl. So I didn't make that peak today. As it turned out, I was really pushing my schedule as it was. I didn't even have time to stop into the tram terminal for a Pepsi before I had to fast-track down through the rain forest and back to my bike.

All in all, another good day. I only GPS'ed the walking today. I think it shorted me a couple miles of distance (it doesn't seem to register forward movement too well at slow speed on steep pitches). But, anyway, today I have 8.46 miles, a total ascent of 4,019 feet and a maximum elevation of 3,664 feet. I feel cooked! Both by the trail, and by the sun. It's a wonderful feeling.

And then summer came out

Date: Aug. 5
Mileage: 12.2
August mileage: 81.8
Temperature: 64

It's hard to explain the stream of emotions that trickled through my mind as I awoke this morning and squinted out the window. Disbelief, disillusion, dumbfoundedness, and finally, delirious elation. There wans't a cloud in the sky. Not one. Even the little poofy strings of water vapor along the ridgeline were fizzling in the sun. I had slept in until 8:36 a.m. and I didn't know if I could forgive myself for wasting so much dazzling daylight. I slammed down some breakfast, slathered on the SPF 50, and raced out the door, determined to soak in all of the rays the Juneau Powers That Be were willing to send my way.

I raced my mountain bike to the base of Mount Juneau, and in my typical way-too-excited-about-a-nice-day style, I burned a lot of matches getting there. I have to admit I was pretty fried just six miles in, but I had so much ground to cover and so little time to do it, I couldn't hold back. I locked my bike and launched into the climb. I had power-hiked for about 20 minutes when I was suddenly overcome by a freak allergy attack. I started sneezing violently and couldn't stop, and I dropped to my knees in the dirt as tears gushed out of my eyes, which I couldn't open. All of the July rain must have held back the pollen of whatever I am allergic to out here, and so weeks worth of allergies mauled me all at once. I was a sputtering, sneezing mess for about five minutes, and when that finally subsided, I felt strangely depleted. Like I was sick. But I decided that the worst was over, and I was not going to let it get the best of me.

Mount Juneau is a mean, mean, nose-to-the-dirt kind of hike, and I was dripping sweat and guzzling water like it was summer, actually summer. And even in my hot, sneezy discomfort, squinting because I forgot my sunglasses and panting in the warm air (70 degrees? Could it actually be 70 degrees?), I was happy. I'll admit that I felt just this side of awful, but I was happy.

I took a quick glance at my watch on the peak and decided I had 40 more minutes to skirt the ridgeline before I had to dart back as quickly as I could move my legs just to make it to work in time, and this was already accounting for a planned sailor shower and no lunch. I began to jog as a cool wind brushed my face, and all I wanted to do was stay high forever, and why couldn't it be Thursday, and why were there clouds already crawling in from the north?

I caught a large group of hikers who couldn't stop raving about the sightlines ("I bet you can see a hundred miles from up here!" one woman gushed, even though the horizon was already looking pretty hazy.) I admitted that I was minutes away from turning around, and they tried to coax me into following them across the ridgeline and down Granite Creek Basin. "I can't. I'll be late for work," I said. "Oh, what time do you work?" the group's leader asked me. "Two," I said. He looked at his watch. "Um, it's noon now." The other hikers just looked bemused, like I was delusional to think I would be sitting in an office desk a mere two hours later. The Juneau Ridge, set apart by snow and tundra, feels like its days away from the world below, even as concrete and traffic hug the mountain.

I made some effort to walk/slide down the trail, but I twisted my knee once to the point and searing pain, and that scared me back to my usual downhill method of inching sideways slowly, which always takes longer than the climb. When I finally reached a strip of level ground I shuffled through my GPS screens. I should take a GPS on more of my hikes. It was fun to look at the stats. As for today's numbers, the mountain biking really dilutes the total - I gained about 800 feet in the first six miles of biking and 4,000 feet in the next 3-4 miles of walking. It also inflates the average speed. But overall, it's a good gauge for future efforts. GPS stats:
Total mileage: 18.74 (12.2 cycling, 6.54 walking).
Total elevation gain: 4,833 feet
Top elevation: 3,576 feet
Average speed: 4.21 mph
Average moving speed: 4.75 mph

I'm always happy to round the corner and see my bike, because it means the downhill pounding is over and it's time to coast home. That die-hard rear fender finally broke; I taped it up with packaging tape for now, but it still wags a bit, like a puppy dog tail, which makes it seem like it's happy to see me. It's hard to explain the aftermath of a morning like this, so brutal and yet so refreshing. My eyes are still watering and my knees are still throbbing, but there's a few new freckles on my forehead and a smile on my face. A good day. Like money in the bank ... and I think I'm OK for at least another week of clouds.

Life in the clouds

Date: Aug. 4
Mileage: 37.4
August mileage: 69.6
Temperature: 52

So those partly cloudy yellow sunshines promised by five different weather forecasting services never materialized. I'm OK with that. Really. Not bitter at all. I have perspective. I once lived in the desert. I remember the seemingly endless strings of days when the mercury soared into the triple digits. I remember the oven rides, dripping so much sweat and rubber that you could have scraped pieces of me off the pavement to make gravy. The hard sun soaked through my skin and I swore that someday I'd find a home where summer wasn't so stifling. It's true. I wished for it. I have everything I deserve.

But dragging myself outside with everything I deserve is a different story, and my motivation is hitting new lows. I headed up to Eaglecrest today for a hard climb, which is nearly always a good way for me to deal with grumpy. I approach the hill reluctantly while thinking about random things like salmon berries and California, but launch furiously with renewed vigor and focus. I become angrier and angrier as the pain festers and the clouds close in around me. And just when I'm certain I have to quit, when sweat percolates through my clammy cold-weather layers and sharp breaths of thick air tear at my lungs, my senses begin to retreat. All sounds are gasps and breaths; all thoughts are gasps and breaths. All scenery is fog whether it's cloudy or not, so it's strange how much clearer everything seems. Life in the pain cave is a life without details. 1s and 0s. In and out.

I emerged at the end of the gravel road. The construction no further along than last week, I slowly caught my breath as I stumbled toward the east bowl on foot. As my heart rate slowed, details began to re-emerge. An old army tank. An excavator. Weather-worn paint adding splashes of color to ski run signs. Everything obscured by the swirling clouds, and the sun was still 92 million miles away, but I felt so strong, I could almost see it.