A sonnet

"Ode to Spring Snowshoeing"

With sunscreen slathered on winter pale skin;
I approach a sea of snow, smooth and wet.

Glistening ice crystals invite me in.
Snowshoes hold me above slushy depths.

In the calm of a warm Sunday morning,
Lethargic mosquitoes buzz by my ear.

Avalanches could drop without warning,
So I seek out places open and clear.

Open, so open in rich April light,
I run hard; my legs and lungs gasp for more.

On a canvas where creation takes flight,
I could leap off a cornice and soar.

White spires line paths to the great beyond;
It’s how I’ll remember you when I’m gone.

Nearing an

Date: April 17 and 18
Mileage: 37.4 and 32.2
April mileage: 656.6
Temperature: 46 and 40

I was still stoked from all of my Tuesday snow biking when I pounded out 60 miles in less than three and a half hours Wednesday, and since then, I just haven't been able to get my legs back. I've gone out looking for them, but mostly coming up with nothing. Lack of enthusiasm; dull ache in my quads; urge to lie down and take a nap in the boggy, ice-crusted grass.

"Maybe you're coming down with something," Geoff said.

"I'm not sick," I said. "Just tired."

Sometimes life catches up with me. And sometimes it just rushes by.

I struggled under a crush of boxes and bins as I hauled another carload of crap to the storage unit. One of the benefits of moving often is that it allows you to regularly assess your worldly possessions and realize just how little they mean to you. I can't manage to completely part with this stuff, but yet I can leave it all behind. I lifted the only light bin in the mix and peeked inside. My winter sleeping bag fluffed up and tried to escape the rigid confines of hard plastic. I slammed the lid back down and smiled. That sleeping bag has been my lifeline in hard times, and yet its only real worth is in the places I carry it. I stacked the bin at the top of a small pile in a plywood-lined closet, turned off the light, and left.

As I dug through my car, I found an old piece of paper stuffed in the door. A long list of numbers filled the faded sheet, front and back - a score card from a series of Gin Rummy games that Geoff and I played as we meandered across the country in 2001. I fingered the old paper, ripped and crinkled with rain drops, ballpoint pen faded yellow, and followed the long string of numbers until they petered out, final score 1,993 to 1,926. Geoff won. He was the one keeping score, adding numbers in his head beneath the labels "J-Pod" and "G-Pod." I smiled, because I didn't even remember referring to each other with that kind of nickname, and it was long before the days of iPod, but, either way, it was probably looked just as geeky then as it does now. But that was more than 120,000 miles ago; the Twin Towers still stood in New York and we were still innocent; or, at least, we hadn't discovered ultra-running and cycling yet.

Every time I approach a life change, I'm met with all sorts of regret and unrest. It's not focused negativity; it's just there, reminding me that, regardless of what happens, I can't return to the same situation as the same person. It reminds me that I didn't do things perfectly, that I don't always treat my life with the awe and love it deserves even as I struggle with powerless legs as the rain dissolves the snow and exposes a winter's worth of decay. That maybe Geoff and I haven't been spending as much time together as we should because we've been so caught up in our own lives. That maybe it will be strange to get in a small car and travel across the continent together, again.

But I found this old scorecard, and maybe now, eight years, 120,000 clicks on the Geo's odometer, and countless running, biking and hiking miles later, we can pick up the Gin Rummy game where we left off. There's adventure in that, too, in an innocent way that all the ultras we pour our hearts into can never fill.

Packing up

Date: April 14, 15 and 16
Mileage: 21.4, 58.9 and 44.7
April mileage: 587

It's been a tiring few days of hard riding, heavy packing, and trying to close up shop at the office. My to-do list seems to be getting longer rather than shorter. I've had a surprisingly Zen attitude about it all - not feeling the least bit guilty about cutting out in the morning for three-hour rides, purposely forgetting my cell phone and leaving half-full bins stacked up in the bedroom for days on end. I really did do my taxes at 10:15 p.m. Wednesday night. We just set up our storage unit today. We're set to board a ferry next Wednesday morning, and I haven't even gotten the oil changed in my car yet. Now I'm half-fried from riding hard in the afternoon on no food (tried to squeeze the ride in after a long string of errands, and it was a long time after lunch and a bit longer than I had planned), and I'm just sitting at the computer, frivolously clicking away at a keyboard. The Zen attitude persists. Come what may.

But in their own way, things are coming together. I got my Karate Monkey back from Glacier Cycles today. The Reba fork is back on, the studs are about to go, and it has a whole bunch of shiny new parts that are just screaming, "Ride me on dirt!" Around here, however, there's still none to be found. I have to settle for gravel-coated pavement and the occasional spur onto the beach.

But speaking of packing, I just received these great new bags from Eric over at Epic Designs. He's come a long way since I received my first round of winter bikepacking gear back in late 2007. The gas tank is streamlined for maximum space, and the bags are made out of what appears to be bombproof, waterproof material and zippers. Super sweet! I love that I can cull everything I need in this world from bins and bins that I have to haul to a storage unit, to only what I can fit in a few bike bags. I'm already trying to determine how many peanut butter cups I can fit in the gas tank. Geoff is going to take my Pugsley bags, which fit his mountain bike much better than they fit mine. We're hoping to take some overnight tours together in the next few weeks.

We also finally found a home for these little devils - my roommate's cats, Suki and Izumi. He's actually been out of town for the majority of the past year, and Geoff and I won't be around to care for them over the summer, so they had to go. Shannon found a nice woman who was willing (I'd go so far as to say excited) to take both of them, so they won't have to split up. Geoff's and my cats are going to stay with a friend who lives next door to open woods, so I anticipate they'll have a fantastic summer crouching in blueberry bushes and slaying voles. Everything's starting to come together.