Powder suck

Well, I made good on my promise and went snowboarding today. Actually, I take that back. I went hikeboarding today - meaning I hiked my board up a mountain, and then I hiked it back down.

Nearly two years off a board has washed my memory of the fact that I am really not very good at it. Especially when the condition of the snow is 18" of wet powder atop a base of rocks, squatty spruce bushes, and the spiny, skeletal remains of Devil's Club shoots. It's really too bad, because the day started out so well.

We started at the base of a closed-down Eaglecrest Ski Resort, with temperatures in the low 30s and huge snowflakes falling from a partly cloudy sky. We found a well-packed trail and marched up to the top of the mountain in less than an hour. Staring down at 1,400 feet of vertical, I was giddy - "I could do two more of these today," I thought. And the view from the top was great.

Unfortunately, the drop from the top was sheer and we are but novices coming off a long hiatus. It was not the time to launch into a black diamond run. So we hiked around the face and started at a spot that rollercoastered slowly downward, with several hills that involved a progressive repetition of: inching forward on my back edge; carving a single turn; shooting at an uncomfortable speed down a straight line; digging my board into one of the aforementioned spruce branches; finding my momentary thrill as I shot into the air; before tumbling face-first into two feet of loose snow that had roughly the same density as liquid lead. After the flailing, digging, swearing aftermath finally set me free from my snowman cocoon, I'd hike up the next hill and start anew.

This process basically continued for 1,400 vertical feet - except for when we reached lower elevations, the bushes actually stuck out of the snow, and I was struck through my pants more than once by painful Devil's Club spines. When I finally reached the bottom, it was nearly two hours later, closing in on sunset, and I was exhausted. Geoff fared a little better - but not much. At the base, he immediately threw his board back on the car and spent the few minutes of remaining daylight cross-country skiing.

I think it was a smart move on my part to take up snowbiking last year. All the other gear-assisted winter sports are just not my friends. Oh, I'll keep snowboarding. Just point me to the groomers.

Into the gray

Standing outside my office, 3:30 p.m. yesterday...

Standing outside my office, 2:30 p.m. today ...

9" of new snow means ...

Not going snowboarding Thursday would be a crime.

I voted for Pedro

Date: Nov. 7
Total mileage: 19.7
November mileage: 133.1
Temperature upon departure: 22

Wow. I'm fried.

I'm also too hopped up on Diet Pepsi to quite quit the computer yet, so here I am, still - after 11 straight hours of this - watching these election returns trickle by, and blogging.

Newspaper journalists and politicians are alike in that they live for three things - natural disasters, wars and election day. I too got caught up in the ballot-day frenzy, participating in loud whoops and rounds of applause in front of the TV, gnawing on practically petrified pieces of Domino's pizza, updating CNN.com every five minutes, and scrambling in the final, stressful hours of the morning to lay out all of the late-arriving stories. It was a roller coaster of an evening, and I leave it feeling a little despondent.

I expected this. All of the candidates I would have voted for lost - soundly. My vote - had it existed - wouldn't have even mattered. U.S. House Democrats trounced the incumbent Republicans - soundly. It could signal changes in the direction of the war and the economy and the environment.

Or, it could not.

I set out on my mountain bike before work today, relearning how to negotiate snow-packed roads. People moved dream-like through a nearly deserted downtown, with entire streets full of tourist shops locked away from the icicles. I caught a soft pile of sandy snow with my front wheel and side-swiped a guard rail. I had to laugh at the way simple things can so easily become hard.

I crossed the bridge into the dark shadow of Douglas Island, its towering mountains locking away direct sunlight until spring. As I rolled over the bridge's summit, I noticed a strange figure circling an intersection roundabout - otherwordly at first, but as I got closer, I saw glasses, a frizzy wig, and a wheel - a single wheel - spinning through the crunchy snow. I squinted at his sign and prepared to shoot him my best icy stare as I went by what I was certain read "Vote for Palin."

But when I finally met him face to face around that ice-slicked circle, I saw what he was actually advocating.

"Vote for Pedro."

And I realized what he was actually saying was, "Smile. It's all just a silly game anyway. And, regardless of your feelings about chimichangas, all of your wildest dreams can come true."

And I couldn't help it. I smiled.