Iditarod fundraiser

It's a book! I made it! Available here!

OK, so, the book. This started in June when an Alaskan author named Seth Kantner (one of my heroes, but that's the subject of another post) came to Juneau to promote his latest book, "Shopping for Porcupine." That also happened to be the same day my parents flew into town to visit me. I dragged them almost directly from the airport to the bookstore to attend Kantner's signing and slideshow. As he flipped through photos of his hard life in the frozen wastelands of the Arctic, I kept glancing over at my mom and dad, expecting to see perplexed looks on their faces. But, like me, they seemed enthralled. I decided two things that evening: I needed to go back to the Iditarod Trail - if not in 2009, then someday. And I needed to get my 2008 experience on paper - not just the quick first impressions of the blog, but everything I could remember.

Before that night, I had already been working on essays of other past adventures, some of which I consider turning points in my life. When I started working on the Iditarod story, I noticed a lot of similar themes that cropped up in some of my old stories. The complimentary details seemed worth drawing together. I moved toward fusing the two projects - like parallel journeys at different points in time. The result is this book: My personal story of the Iditarod Trail and the far-reaching trails that led to it.

I finished it in September and didn't really feel compelled to add much to it. But I wasn't sure what to do with it. There was a sense that maybe it was worthy of publication, but I know myself well and I knew I was just going to bury it in a computer folder and forget about it as I avoided all of the work of trying to get a piece of creative nonfiction published. Years would go by and eventually the computer's hard drive would fizzle out and that would be that.

As I mulled just posting it on a blog (not this one, because this blog is already really long without the addition a 75,000-word post), I came across the idea of self publishing. I have lots of mixed feelings about self publishing, as I'm sure lots of authors do. But I put it together as a book and needled a little covert copy editing out of a friend and was fairly happy with the result.

All was uploaded and done about two weeks ago, but I've been hesitating because I wasn't sure this was what I really wanted to do. But now I don't just want to think about it anymore. This is how all of my best decisions are made. :-)

If you click on this link, you can purchase the book and help support my next big winter racing effort. By buying my book, you get a stack of new and interesting "Up in Alaska" material that you can read in bed, and I get a small royalty that I can put into my new-coat-and-peanut- butter-cup fund. The link will take you directly to the publisher's marketplace site. I understand shipping may be a little high, especially if you don't live in the United States. If that's the case, I am trying to get this listed on Amazon.com, but it will take several weeks at least. You can also download the PDF.

Finally, some of my friends and people I've met are depicted in this book (first-names only in most cases.) I worked really hard to depict the events as accurately as I could, but in the end, I'm relying almost entirely on my own memory. So I apologize in advance if you feel misrepresented in any way.

Also, if you come to this blog solely for the pictures, I am also thinking about putting together a fundraising calendar. And if you come to this site solely to compare your bicycle punishment to mine, don't worry, I'm still training hard and will be back to typing about that soon enough. :-)

Yeah studs

Date: Nov. 9
Mileage: 46.4
November mileage: 273.6

The roads were too icy for biking with the skinny tires Saturday morning, and Geoff was planning to enter a foot race called the Veterans' Day 8K, so I went with him. It was the third running race I entered this year, and, not coincidentally, only the third time I went for a run this year. We showed up three minutes before the start and were still pinning on our numbers as we took off down the path. My shoes came untied quickly and I stopped to tie them. This happened three times.

The race was held on a bike path that I ride often, and I found foot pace to be unforgivably slow. Maybe it's just my foot pace that's unforgivably slow. Either way, the pounding was hurting my shins and I was not about to amp it up. Geoff passed me on his return trip well before I reached the turnaround. He won the race at 29-something minutes. I finished a few eras later at 43 minutes and change.

I returned home feeling a little like someone had taken a swing at my legs with a meat tenderizer. I vowed never to run on pavement again. Then I finally sat down and took the time to switch out the tires on my Karate Monkey. I outfitted her with a pair of sparkling new Nokian Gnarly Extremes or whatever those 29" studded tires are called. And just like that, she went from being a blah touring bike to a heavily pierced, ice-crushing mountain bike vixen. She was beautiful.

Today I woke up to clear cold weather and a landscape coated in frost. I was feeling seriously sore - predictably - and figured my feet wouldn't be carrying me anywhere this morning. But thanks to all of my lopsided bicycle conditioning, I could still go out and spend four pain-free hours on a bike.

I hit up all the best trails in the Mendenhall Valley. They were crisp and dry and crunchy and in better shape than I've seen them in months. (In the irony of Juneau mountain biking, trails that are sloppy and muddy all summer finally become rideable after the season ends.) The area was peppered with frozen puddles and ice-coated roots that the Nokians ate up without complaint.

I was so stoked about the sunny weather and dry, hard-packed trails that I practically sprinted home on an ice-bike high. I jumped off the bike and landed on my aching shins, surprised by my continuing inability to walk normally. I hobbled in the house, where Geoff asked me how my ride went. "It was the best ride ever," I said. He just rolled his eyes, like he has taken to doing when I use this statement, but I mean it every time.

Why winter is more fun

Date: Nov. 7
Mileage: 37.0
November mileage: 227.2

Friday, again. Time to put in my long day for the week. I promised myself I'd ride hard up to Eaglecrest, push my bike for a while, and if the snow was good, spend the rest of the day playing. Six hours of daylight between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m., every one used well.

The weather was fabulous - 40 degrees, fog and snow flurries at sea level. But at 3,000 feet, temperatures were in the high 20s and skies were clearing. The thin snowpack has had a steady diet of rain over the past few days, and in its refrozen condition was in great shape for biking. The road itself was pretty chewed up by a SnowCat, but I could ride right on top of the frozen muskeg. I spent some time pushing my bike and descending (you know, carving turns) at midmountain before I ditched the bike and headed high. The clouds started to clear just as I was approaching the upper elevations. Most of these photos are from my long walk along the ridgeline.

The snow was still in great condition on the ridge - hardpacked and smooth. I only sank in a few inches on my feet. I should have dragged my bike up there. It would probably be a little like riding sand-dusted slickrock.

Some trees have harder lives than others.

Clouds still hovered low over every ridgeline but mine.

There was amazingly almost no wind up high, rare for a winter day. Even rarer in late fall. I stopped at this spot and ate a Hershey bar. You know what's even better than sitting in the sun, soaking up its warmth and eating chocolate? Earning it.

Back down the ridge, looking for a way to this peak. I have to be really careful with my winter hiking because I'm still traveling without an ice ax and crampons (I really must buy some), and in the shade the snow was as hard and slippery as ice. I couldn't go anywhere where a fall would be disastrous, and I couldn't find a way to the peak.

Oh well. I'll just make up my own peak, like Dr. Cook's famed "first ascent" of Mount Denali.

Back down after several hours, realizing that I may just run out of daylight before I get any more riding in.

Cool clouds on the horizon.

Coming down was amazing fun. This is the "slickrock" muskeg that I was riding at mid-mountain. I cut off the road when it started to get sloppy and weaved through a few trees before emerging in the open. I saw a group of young skiers and snowboarders walking up the road. When they saw me coming, they started yelling, "Hey, biker! Yeah biker!" The terrain started to get a little sketchy, but I didn't want to lose face. I let off the brakes and slalomed through a shallow gully, punching through a small berm and shooting onto the bare gravel of the road just below them. I kept accelerating down the road as they cheered me on. I felt great about having actually survived the move and even better about the brilliant way in which I showcased my unique form of snowriding. I am Downhill Snowbiker.

I love winter.