Bookkeeping

Date: Nov. 17 and 18
Mileage: 32.2 and 35.0
November mileage: 510

I felt strong during my two "tempo" rides today and yesterday. My plan has been to ride three or four of these rides every week: two to three hours of semi-uncomfortable effort. But I am almost certainly on a fitness plateau right now, because these rides have become much too easy. I know the obvious answer is "ride harder," but I almost feel like my lungs and heart have outpaced my legs, and I just don't have the muscle power to push the pace much higher. I know I probably do, I just need to find it. And of course there's the short cuts - more intervals, climbing, squats. But there's just so much fun riding out there right now - frozen trails, hardened muskeg, shattery paper ice (see small photo) and dustings of new snow. I keep telling myself I can start building again in December. :-)

I was able to get in plenty of bursts of hard effort today after I snapped the rear shifter cable on my mountain bike. I feel bad for my Karate Monkey; only seven months old, and she's already been through the war. But after riding most of the morning with three speeds (and really only using the middle ring), I have to say, I still don't understand the single-speed thing. It's not a matter of being able to push a high gear up steep hills - that I can do if I have to. But I prefer to have my rotations per minute stay the same no matter how fast I'm going. Single-speeders must have their legs spinning all sorts of different crazy speeds. And once your RPMs drop down to two or three, don't you start questioning the efficiency of your one gear?

Also, I wanted to thank people who have e-mailed me about buying a book. When I made the offer, I didn't really formulate a plan about how I would organize requests and orders and the like. So what I have is an inbox full of e-mails, some of which I have answered, some which I'm not sure, etc. I plan to sit down and organize the whole mess on Thursday or Friday, so if I haven't gotten back to you yet, I apologize. I put in a big order Monday (and I want to thank those who already sent in Paypal payments; it made the prospect of ordering a big box of the exact same book much less painful.) I was told they would take six to eight days to print, so the turnover may be a little longer than I expected. I ordered some extras and can always order more, so if you are still interested in a signed copy or are hesitant to use the direct site, please e-mail at jillhomer66@hotmail.com.

Once I get a chance to really scrutinize and think about it, I may go the route of purchasing a distribution package, getting the book on Amazon and possibly into actual stores (maybe bike shops?). Of course, this would require a ton of marketing on my part, and convincing third parties that it's a worthy product. One of the main benefits of having an outside publisher (besides brutal, thorough editing) is marketing. I'm still not sure whether I want to step outside the safe boundaries of this blog. This was, after all, a personal project and not a commercially-minded venture. More of what I think I might get out of "Ghost Trails" is a learning experience that I can use as a springboard for future projects.

That said, I'm curious if any books have trickled in yet. I'm interested in feedback, any feedback. If you've had a chance to look it over, shoot me an e-mail or leave a comment and let me know what you think. I realize people aren't just going to receive the book and read the whole thing in a day (although it is a pretty quick read), but I just wanted to throw it out there that I'm interested in hearing your thoughts, whatever they may be.

And, just as a friendly reminder, it's still available here. :-)

Finally, I just signed up for Facebook! I still don't know why. Peer pressure, I presume. But that's the whole reason I started a blog, so maybe it will work out for me. My profile.

First tracks

Date: Nov. 16
Mileage: 12.4
November mileage: 442.8

When sunlight emerges from the cold and rain, the only question is where to follow it. The obvious answer is along frozen streets, into the mountain shadows and higher until there is nowhere to go higher. Climbing toward the sun.

The day started out with a little bumpy ice biking on the frozen muskeg. Then I hid my bike in the woods (too well, as it turned out, when it took me a few passes to find it later in the day). I strapped on my snowshoes and cut a path in the crusty snow all the way to the Douglas Island ridge.

The first steps over the crest of the ridgeline are always breathtaking. Generally, I have been traipsing through shadows for most of the morning. The low sun, which never extends beyond the other side of the mountain, makes its first appearance through snow-laden branches. Just beyond the trees are the peaks of Admiralty Island, wrapped in clouds, and the shimmering surf of Stephens Passage.

All around, sunlight glistens in a pillow of untracked snow. Trees slump beneath the weight of hard ice and everything is cast in stark contrast against the sky. I always have to squint but I hesitate to put on my sunglasses, for fear of shutting out even a fraction of the color and light. The landscape is so beautiful it hurts.

It's a happy hurt, a kind of ache, a sharp longing for distant joys of the past and unfiltered hope for the future. I stop to remove my hat, caked in frozen sweat, and smile in the cold wind.

Powder snow muffles the crunch of my snowshoes as I make my way along the ridge. A bald eagle screeches just a few feet above my head, but the only tracks on land are my own. Clear skies reveal ridgelines many miles away, and at elevation I can imagine these alien places are within my reach. Elevation reminds me that I don't really live in isolation; that even Juneau is connected to the world. In my mind I outline the islands and coast on a map that carries me down the Inside Passage.

The city looks warm and cozy. I have to be at work in a few hours, and the thought of leaving the mountains and the marshmallow mounds of trees is sobering. Down there are a hundred hanging indecisions, a wall of uncertainty and a company on the verge of bankruptcy. Sometimes I wonder how I can justify spending so much of my time pursuing frivolous activity while the world struggles. But it is here that I'm most powerful in the fight against despair. It is here that I remember the things that matter, forget the things that don't. It is here, on the Douglas Island ridge, where I could walk the same lines a hundred times and never feel anything short of awe.

What good would life be without awe?

Cold November rain

Date: Nov. 15
Mileage: 29.0
November mileage: 430.4

No one appreciates the tyranny of 34 degrees and raining.

There's just no way to stay warm when it's 34 degrees and raining. Warm some of the time? Yes. Warm most of the time? Maybe even. Warm all of the time? No.

Eventually you’re going to hit a slow technical stretch or an extended downhill, and your energy expenditure is going to plummet. And where energy expenditure drops, so follows body temperature.

There’s just no way to avoid it. Wear waterproof clothing if you want to be soaked in sweat. Wear water resistant clothing if you want to be soaked in rain. Either way, you’re soaked, and eventually, hyporthermia’s going to get its icy fingers around your skin.

When it does, you have two choices: Surrender or fight. Surrendering’s easy. Go inside. Take a painful shower if you must. Fighting’s harder ... and in the end, more fun.

Imagine that you’ve just arrived at the bottom of a five-mile descent. You’ve spent the past 10 minutes blasting through dagger-like sleet as downhill windchills of 20 degrees needled through your wet coat and rain pants like they were tissue paper. Your muscles feel like they’ve been injected with ice water. You go to shift down your gears, but your fingers are rigid. Your arms are sluggish. Your legs are so heavy and numb that they feel like they’re half detached from your hips. Your whole body feels like it’s locked in slow motion, and you alone have to rally these half-frozen parts into high burn if you want to get your body temperature back to normal.

And that’s the fight. It’s comical at first. Sort of like a drunken race: battling sluggish motor functions and a slight urge to go to sleep. You shimmy the front wheel on flat pavement, stand up and heave back and forth. But then your heart starts to beat a little faster. Icy blood flows in and flows out a little warmer. The warmth filters into your muscles and finally bubbles out on your clammy skin, still exposed to the rain, still covered in soaked clothing. But warmth returns! It really can. And when you feel that warm tingle, you know it’s working.

Defeating the tyrant of 34 degrees and raining is a wonderful feeling. You feel like you could go out and conquer the world, any time, any weather, until you go to work and a co-worker says something like “Feels kinda warm outside today, doesn’t it?”

No one understands.

....

Thanks to those who have bought my book. Really. You’re awesome. If you’re interested in international shipping, bulk orders or signed copies, please contact me at jillhomer66@hotmail.com by Sunday night. I’m going to put in an order Monday morning. And you can still purchase it here. It’s worth it. Really. ;-)

Also, I wanted to thank my sister, Lisa, for the sweet tribute that she posted on her blog. It made be tear up a bit. Thanks, Lis :-).