More ghosts

Date: Dec. 1
Mileage: 36.4
December mileage: 36.4

In the winter, I know I've finished a good workout if my throat is burning.

I managed to suck a lot of cold wind today by cramming much more into four hours than I usually try to fit into my morning exercise. I sensed nice weather, dry roads, crunchy trails and beautiful new snow, and kept pushing, pushing, pushing toward everything.

I rode the big wheels to Eaglecrest and puttered around on the Cat track before I commenced the push. I really don't think there's a better full-body workout than pushing a big bike up a steep, churned-up Cat track. And there are few workouts that are more cheek-puckering than the ride down.

But the real gems of the day were these tree/ice formations hovering over the ridgeline. In the gray light, they looked like ghosts marching toward purgatory.

After I dropped off my bike, I hiked for a while with this skier. I never learned his name. But I like this picture, because his body is hunched over at the same angle as the trees.

There was a good hard base beneath the mostly wind-scoured powder. Possibly even bikeable out in the open. I definitely didn't need snowshoes.

Walking among the trees really gave the impression of strolling through a spacious gallery full of Gothic sculptures. Nature makes the best art.

I saw about a dozen people - quite a few for this still-closed ski area on a Monday morning. There's not much snow at the base, but probably a good five feet at the top. I still don't think it's going to open on Saturday.

Just before the terrifying ride down. The great thing about riding on snow is that you never really know what you're going to get.

I had to stop and put on mittens on the way down the road. I smiled when I saw streaks of sunlight on the mountains. I hope to see more of them tomorrow.

A ride in black and white

Date: Nov. 30
Mileage: 20.2
November mileage: 831.1

Sometimes when I ride in a storm, the world looks black and white.

Right now the canyon is dripping with clouds so thick that they blanket the air and smother the falling snow. Powder-coated alder branches draw faint lines in the fog, but for the most part, the landscape is featureless. Wet flakes fall in silence and I can’t see them or hear them. But I can feel them on my face, so I know it’s snowing.

I pedal hard circles in high gear to stave off a creeping chill. Despite the steep pitch of the trail, I’m not working hard enough to muffle the shivers. The snow is too soft and uneven for the warmth of work. It requires cold concentration — an intricate slowness.

This is the place I like to be most of all — locked in an effort that has no room for tangents. In this white world, it's just me and the climb; keeping the wheels on the trail, keeping the pedals in motion. For a short while, not much else matters. Not much else exists, the sting of snowflakes notwithstanding.

These places where I climb in the clouds are places that belong only to me, and to my primal urge to escape distractions. I’m not looking for the contrast of white on white. I’m not worried about the past or future. I’m not caught up in the stream of circumstance, fighting a lateral drift. I’m just moving and breathing. Living life at its simplest. It’s an unsustainable state, but I value these brief moments that have been stripped of self awareness as deeply as I value the most ponderous meditations.

This is the basic reason why I ride my bike nearly every day, and why I feel I have to go outside even in the rain and snow and chill. There are better ways to get exercise, but there is no better way to go places — both to the beautiful and mysterious landscapes of the world, and the even more beautiful and mysterious landscapes of the mind.

The low fog fades behind me as I gain elevation. The whiteout is replaced by a strengthening storm, but now I can see alder and spruce, coated in snow and leaning away from the wind. The towering cliffs are whitewashed and only vaguely recognizable as mountains. Snow covers the tiniest branches and the largest boulders. The land looks familiar, but in an otherworldly way, like an old chair draped in satin.

The snow on the trail becomes deeper until I’m off my bike and walking, but still I keep climbing. I focus on the white horizon and push harder. I wonder whether it’s the strangeness or the familiarity of the land that keeps me going, and decide it’s a little of both.

When the world becomes a ghost of itself, it only feels right to move forward.

Feels like summer

Date: Nov. 28 and 29
Mileage: 40.3 and 15.0
November mileage: 810.9

Cloudy. 47 degrees. Light rain. I complained a fair amount during the frequent days when the weather was like this in July and August. But in late November, it actually feels pretty nice. The temperatures have been so mild that there isn't a speck of snow or ice left on most of the roads and trails. I even recommissioned my road bike and rode it for the first time in two months.

Yesterday I peeled off a number of layers I didn't need, rolled up the sleeves on my hoodie and rode a brisk tailwind 25 mph along the North Douglas Highway. With no gloves and no hat, I could feel the cool breeze streaming around my skin. The bike's skinny tires hardly made a sound on wet pavement. Then, while fighting the wind back the way I came, I glanced over at the most amazing rainbow arcing over the Mendenhall Glacier - a nearly perfect frame. I slammed on the brakes, nearly tipped over because I forgot I was still attached to clipless pedals, wrestled out of my Camelbak and frantically rifled through the contents in an effort to find my camera before the light faded. But it wasn't there. I eventually dumped everything out of the pack, and the rainbow began to fade, and it wasn't there. Somehow, while reattaching the seat and seat post bag, looking for a spare skinny tube, pumping up the tires, adjusting the shifters and brakes and greasing the chain on my long-neglected road bike, I managed to forget my camera. Gaaaa!

Of course I indulged in a serious grump about the matter, and decided to work out my aggression by climbing the Eaglecrest Road at full throttle until the road conditions became too sketchy for my skinny tires. I ended up riding all the way to the top - the snow-free base of the ski area. Yeah, I hate to be the one to break it to Juneau skiers, but I don't think there's any way that place is opening Dec. 6.

Today I rode out to the Glacier to meet my friends and sustained two flat tires along the way. Right now, my road bike has a rear tire that is little more than a strip of cigarette paper with a faint hint of rubber. I've know this for months now, so I have only myself to blame for the flats.

Our friends and their 5-week-old daughter have been visiting us from the frozen land of the North - Palmer. Between hanging out with them and Thanksgiving, I haven't had much time to ride this weekend, but it's been fun to be predominantly social for a change.

I feel like I have a good long solo ride coming to me. Soon. Maybe when winter comes back.