Year in miles

January: 833.8
February: 647.7
March: 636.3
April: 789.6
May: 1,188.4
June: 822.1
July: 747.0
August: 748.3
September: 893.3
October: 587.0
November: 831.1
December: 790.1
Total 2008 bike mileage: 9,514.4

I finally got around to tallying up my 2008 mileage. I just used the numbers that I kept track of on my blog, with a few approximate additions of the Iditarod race (about 350 miles) and the 24 Hours of Light (120 plus 25 of extra riding around Whitehorse, probably on the low side.) The total surprised me. I had no idea I was that close to 10,000 miles. If I kept track of all of my human-powered mileage, including hiking and (limited) running, I almost definitely would have a 10,000-mile year behind me. Not bad.

The high-mileage month by far was May, although it certainly wasn't the most difficult. That designation would have to go to February, the third shortest month in terms of miles. After that, I'd probably throw in a bunch of other winter months and of course September and put May in sixth or seventh place. Ah, those lazy days of summer.

It's been a fun, harrowing, amazing year on the bike, and certainly not at all about the mileage. But there's a more-than-small part of me that wants to up the ante in 2009.

I eat snow for breakfast

Date: Dec. 28 and 29
Mileage: 36.3 and 31.1
December mileage: 790.1
Temperature upon departure: 19 and 15

For the past few days, biking conditions have been tough. Really tough. Like fishtailing-in-sandy-sugar-snow- punching-through-postholes- being-blown-by-wind- into-deep-snow-drifts tough. And that's just in the road shoulders! All the trail riding I've tried has been an abysmal, bike-pushing failure. Every other person in the entire city is up at the ski resort, lining up to battle for first runs through two feet of fresh power. And while I don't necessarily want to be doing that (ski crowds: ugh), I am still a little unclear about why I am trying to ride (and often walk) a bicycle in the worst of conditions.

Yesterday, I was wading through a still-unplowed bike path when I came to a mountain of chunky snow that had been deposited by a highway snowplow driver. The pile was at least six feet high. It was over my head. On one side of the path is a chain link fence; on the other, a deep trench. The bike path is the only way through. I picked up my 35-pound bike and hoisted it over my shoulders, holding the seatpost in one hand and the handlebars in the other, and stepped into pile. It was littered with ice chunks and sand. The first step engulfed my knees; the next, my waist. I threw the bike to the side as I kicked and struggled to extract myself. Then I crawled and flailed my way across more precious inches of progress, stopping briefly to catch my breath and drag my overturned bike those same few inches forward. After about five minutes I was finally somewhat free, having moved all of six feet down the path, with only another half mile of 2 mph bike pushing to go. Once I was past that obstacle, all I had to look forward to was more unplowed road shoulders, more fighting of drifted sugar snow and sand, more crawling over loose piles of snow to avoid swerving into traffic; and after that, the impossibly deep trails that were my actual destination.

Then today, I did it all again, minus the submerged bike path.

And as I churned along the North Douglas Highway amid a swirling ground blizzard and breathtakingly cold cross-winds, I realized that beneath my face mask, I was smiling. I was enjoying the high drama of it all, relatively safe in my cocoon of clothing layers and riding as far away from the light flow of traffic as I could manage. I was working hard, and I was having a tough time just moving forward, but I was happy.

And, of course, I asked myself, "What's wrong with me?"

I think the answer lies in the reality that all cyclists, from the fast to strong to the "crazy" among us, need a challenge. For some, the challenge is losing weight. For others, increasing speed or distance. And then there are those who simply want to clean that impossible move or crush other cyclists in certain races. We all have different motivations, but we're all connected by one thing: the reward. If we meet our challenges, our brains reward us with happy thoughts and a fair dose of endorphins.

So what's my challenge? My challenge is tough. That's it. The tough stuff. Rides that are tough to me. Rides that are tough to most. I'm an atypical cyclist in many, many ways. I don't care about speed. I've tried. Really, I have. But in the end, I could never develop an interest in watching a clock and calculating fractions of fractions of numbers to chase that ever-elusive edge over arbitrary standards. And I don't care about distance. I like to ride far, but what I like to do most is ride long, in terms of time, and do the best I can with the hours I have.

So if I don't care about fast and I don't care about far, what does that leave me with? Really, after that, there's only tough. I'm left with tough. And riding a bike in the winter in Juneau, Alaska, is tough. And the tougher it gets, and the better I get at it, and, yes, even the faster and farther I can go in tough conditions, the happier I am.

That's my excuse. I'm not crazy.

12 months in photos

I went through my blog archives tonight to pick out my favorite photos of the year, and it was hard to decide. I don't really think of myself as a "photographer." Photographers generally take photos for the purpose of taking photos, as works of art and expression. I'm more of a "photo documentarian." I take photos for the purpose of illustrating a particular time or place or event (most often a bike ride.) As such, it's nearly impossible for me to separate the actual aesthetic quality of photos from my emotions about the events and places surrounding them. But I tried. One for each month - 12 months in photos.

The top photo is my favorite of the year, taken on Sept. 25 along the Klondike Highway, south of Carcross, Yukon, during a late fall bike tour of the Golden Circle. Maybe it's because we spend so much of the year washed in the blues and grays of winter, but all of that color still leaves me in awe.

"Long ride," Jan. 10: I guess it's pretty clear that I like this photo since I used it on the top of my blog and on the cover of my book. It's a nice example of camera serendipity - all I did was set the 10-second self-timer on the camera, wedge it in the snow on top of the Mendenhall Lake ice, and ride away from it. But it managed to capture this perfect moment between the mist and the glare of the winter sun as Thunder Mountain loomed in the background.

"Long race," Feb. 25: February was a pretty weak month for photos. I was preoccupied with other things. This photo was taken along the Skwentna River on day two of the Iditarod Trail Invitational. I just like how crisp and clean the trail and the horizon looks - the day before everything in that race went dark and blurry. :-)

"First day of spring," March 20: This is a photo of Auke Lake taken during a century ride on the Spring Equinox. I love how the perfect reflection of the Mendenhall Towers shines in a small break in the ice.

"Spring snow," April 17: This photo was taken the day after an avalanche took down the city's connection to the Snettisham hydroelectric power plant. Eight inches of snow fell on the city, and more than a foot of new powder settled up high. I took advantage of the day to go snowboarding along the Douglas Island Ridge. The powder was as smooth as butter and as light as a cloud - so perfect.

"Commuting home," May 18: Yeah, it's another random-timed self portrait. It's true that my camera sometimes takes better pictures than I do. This was taken back when I diligently commuted everywhere on my bike, and I was heading home from work at about 10 p.m. when I stopped at the Salmon Creek delta to watch the sun set. I like the reflection of soft light in the water scattered among the seaweed.

"Broken chain," June 28: I broke my chain during my 10th or 11th lap in the 24 Hours of Light and had to hoof it about three miles back to the race start. I snapped a quick 11:30 p.m. sunset photo above a small tributary of the Yukon River. I like both the intense pink light (I honestly did nothing to color correct this photo, although the pink sky may be a camera glitch), as well as the oddities of a bike chain wrapped around a seatpost and a rear fender in the dry climes of Whitehorse.

"Wildflowers," July 17: I took this photo during a midsummer hike in the Granite Creek Basin. The lighting is a little flat, but I think that's why I like the bright yellow flowers amid the melting snowpack that much more.

"Eagle Beach," Aug. 29: I took this photo the day John McCain announced Gov. Sarah Palin was his running mate. I was called into work on a day off, and ended up riding much later into the afternoon than I had planned. Because of that, I caught the most amazing rainbow on Eagle Beach. But I decided this photo, taken with my back to the rainbow, turned out better for its stark lighting and ominous storm clouds.

"Autumn Rain," Sept. 13: September, strangely, was actually the hardest month for me to chose a favorite photo. I had the bike tour and also a handful of amazing hikes that produced good images. But I chose this one for its subtle ways it captures the season: the color and the rain. It was taken along the new gravel road at Eaglecrest Ski Area.

"Grand Canyon," Oct. 14: I took this photo of my dad hiking down the South Kaibab Trail just after sunrise. High winds the previous day kicked up a lot of dust, which created a soft glow along the canyon walls.

"First tracks," Nov. 25: Taken near where the April snowboarding photo was taken, above the Dan Moller Ski Bowl. I like the shadows and the perfect sparkly snow, just waiting to by stamped out by snowshoes.

"2 p.m.," Dec. 12: I was going to post that Christmas Eve picture of the blowing snow at sunset, but decided to post the blowing surf near Eagle Beach instead.

It's been a good year for photos. Here's hoping 2009 is even better!

Snow days

Date: Dec. 26 and 27
Mileage: 30.1 and 34.2
December mileage: 722.7
Temperature upon departure: 27

Well, I'm back home now after starting the drive north, running into a wall of whiteout conditions, and thinking better of crawling my front-wheel-drive-with-summer-tires sedan out to the Eagle Glacier trailhead for a 5.5-mile night hike and campout in the snow. I was going to meet my friends, who are staying at the Eagle Glacier cabin. My plan was to resist the lure of the toasty cabin, and instead test my trench-digging and sleeping-in-a-suffocating-bivy-sack skills by camping outside. I realize now that even though I couldn't make it out to the cabin, I could in theory still go camping. But I've been avoiding that crucial aspect of my training. Eight hours of winter bivying is in many ways more exhausting than eight hours of biking, so I've been waiting (stalling) for the perfect opportunity to come along. It's too warm tonight (25 degrees.) Maybe I'll wait for another cold snap ... next week ... maybe ...

It's been a snowy couple of days. We received about 18 inches of snow yesterday and today. While I enjoy the addition of new white stuff, it seems to bring out the worst in Juneau biking as long as it's falling. Yesterday, with all the trails snowed in, I set out to do some serious resistance training on the North Douglas Highway. I stuck to the far right of the shoulder, plowing through 8 to 10 inches of warm (i.e. heavy) powder, breaking a serious sweat even though I rarely broke 8 mph, and was often churning closer to 5 mph. It took me four and a half hours to ride 30 miles, in conditions as difficult and slow as soft sand, while icy flakes continued to blast my face in the headwind. Even though the road lanes were swept fairly clean by traffic, I avoided them almost entirely except for a few swings to veer around snow berms. The sheer physical effort I expended to stay on the shoulder is the main reason why I was supremely offended and annoyed when a guy in a truck stopped, in the lane, and rolled his window to yell at me. "You're a traffic hazard!" he said. "What's wrong with you?" All I said was "Whatever, dude," and kept on riding. But what I wanted to say is "I'm a traffic hazard? I'm a traffic hazard? I'm working my butt off to keep my bike a full two feet off the road. You're the one stopped in the traffic lane! Jerk off." But I'm too timid. I wondered if that guy would have even given me a second thought if I was jogging or walking a dog, or if he was just bombarding me with typical bicycle prejudice. I stewed about it for quite a while. Little encounters like that are enough to ruin entire rides, but luckily, I was soon north of the ski resort traffic, engulfed in beautiful white silence and lost in my maximum-heart-rate cloud.

I headed out to the Valley this morning to see if any of the trails had been packed down, and encountered another resistance workout just getting there. Anytime there's heavy snowfall, the city can take days (and, if the snow continues, sometimes weeks) to plow the bike paths. The problem with this lies in the fact that bicycles are illegal on Egan Drive, Juneau's freeway-like artery that is the only road through these narrow sections of town. This law is heavily enforced, making the bike paths mandatory. There's a mile of unplowed path near my office building and another mile near the airport, and the only way through is to push your bike through knee-deep powder. This adds a full 45 minutes of slow walking onto a ride that usually takes less than an hour. It's great if you're training for a race like the Ultrasport, but infinitely frustrating if you're trying to bike commute from one side of town to the other. The city and its overfull bus system are forever conducting surveys to see how they can convince more people to bike commute, and I want to don my Captain Obvious suit and show up at those public comment meetings singing "PLOW THE BIKE PATHS!" (and make it legal for cyclists to citizen-arrest idiots who stop in the traffic lane to lecture them.)

Yes, I like the snow, but I will be relieved when it settles down.

Christmas Day

Over our years in Alaska, Geoff and I have become more and more minimalist in our holiday celebrations. We moved past the pretense of giving each other gifts years ago. We do give serious thought to going "home" for the holidays, but each "home" is on the opposite side of the country, and neither is anywhere near Alaska. Geoff went home in 2005 and 2006. I have yet to make the leap. And we have the admit, the sadness we feel in missing our families and their holiday traditions is tempered by relief in missing the extra expense and stress that always accompanies travel this time of year. I work at a business that operates 365 days a year. I wouldn't even have Dec. 25 off work if it wasn't my natural weekend. But since it was, Geoff and I decided to go for a Christmas Day snowshoe hike.


The winter sun was out.

We went for a casual stroll up to Spaulding Meadow. It was a holiday outing, and we treated it as such, walking easy and talking about life. I think it was a little strange for both of us, in the midst of our mostly focused winter training, to do something outside that didn't feel like exercise.

Well, maybe it felt like exercise to Geoff, who forgot to bring his snowshoes on our snowshoe outing.

After he became tired of swimming, we went on the hunt for a packed snowmobile trail. We explored new places and did some impromptu "sledding" into some creek beds.

Christmas Dinner: Turkey and mustard on wheat, homemade chocolate chip cranberry cookies, and slushy Pepsi.

Perfect.

Christmas Eve

Date: Dec. 24
Mileage: 12.1
December mileage: 658.4
Temperature upon departure: 23

My boss gave me an unexpected day off today. Geoff had to work. I finally put Pugsley back together after getting a new free wheel installed, and managed to mangle the chain during a particularly bad case of chain suck. Now I'm going to have to order a new one. Lately, Pugsley's been sick more often than he's been healthy. But there wasn't much I could do about it on Christmas Eve, so I went for a hike.

I worked hard to reach the Douglas Island Ridge, and decided to walk along the spine for a while and see if I could make it to sunset. Low clouds on Admiralty Island promised the possibility of some spectacular colors, and it seemed like the ideal Christmas Eve situation: Watch the sunset at 3,000 feet, sprint down the mountain in the twilight, and ride home beneath an emerging pattern of stars, all while scanning the sky with that same kind of childlike anticipation that my sister and I used to feel when I snuck into her room and we stayed up late on Santa Watch.

That would have been ideal it if wasn't for the awful wind. It was hard to tell from lower on the mountain how bad it really was up high, because the slopes had been scoured clean by earlier winds and there wasn't much powder blowing around. But when I reached the top, I discovered the surface snow was as hard as concrete, and even still, 50-60 mph gusts would find loose grains of frigid, dry powder to blast right in my face. I wasn't dressed warmly enough for that kind of windchill - with an air temperature of 13, it was probably close to 10 below - but thought I could hang for 45 minutes if I kept moving, knowing I could always retreat back down to the wind-protected basin.

I couldn't hang. I started to feel uncomfortable, and then concerningly cold. I turned my back on sunset and blasted down the steep slope in long, loping strides (a lot like beginner powder skiing without the death wish.) I had to enjoy the subtler reflections of sunset on the eastern peaks, but was happier for getting myself out of the wind.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good ride.

New York Times coverage

I don't have much of my own content to add today, but I wanted to post a link to this great New York Times article about the Iditarod Trail Invitational. There's an embedded video on the Web site that is probably my favorite piece of reporting I have ever found about this race. The video follows race organizers Bill and Kathi Merchant as they conduct a winter training camp for those who plan to attempt the race this March. It captures so well the transition - well, it's more of a startling realization - between the expectations about the Iditarod Trail and the realities of it. The two men at the winter camp, George Azarias and Aidan Harding, start out with the usual "easy explanation" Iditarod banter: "Oh yeah, we're crazy, we don't know why we're here. The guys go out on the trail, eat some nasty yellow glop, push their bikes for a while, and, suddenly, you can see that moment of truth in the face of George - the moment that I think every rookie experiences - the "holy cow, this is real" moment: "People think, OK, this race takes seven days. 350 divided by seven, that's 50 miles a day. On a road bike, easy, you do that in three, four hours, max," George says. His eyes widen. Cut to pushing a bike up a steep snow berm. "It's (voice becomes quieter) ... it's so hard. You need to struggle to survive."

Perfect. Great video reporting from the New York Times. Go watch it!

Day 11 of sun

Date: Dec. 22
Mileage: 27.5
December mileage: 646.3
Temperature upon departure: 14

Eleven days have passed and I'm still in awe of this clear, colorful, holy-cow-you-can-see-forever weather. Today was likely the last day of sun, with a Tuesday forecast calling for seven inches of snow. But it's been a good run, and I'm not complaining. I'm fairly certain this has been the longest stretch of consecutive dry days since I moved to Juneau two and a half years ago.

"Clear weather is such a waste this time of year," Geoff told me. "For every clear day you get, what, six hours of sunlight? And none of it's direct sunlight. I'd rather have three sunny days in the summer then 11 in December."

I disagree. The winter is such a beautiful time of year, in my opinion, and the clear sky opens up jaw-dropping views that catch me off guard even after two and a half years. Just today, I headed out North Douglas for a mellow "endurance pace" two-hour ride and a quick jaunt on the Mendenhall Wetlands. I was so focused on trying to hold my line and keep the studded-rubber-side down atop papery ice that I almost rolled right into the Channel. As I looked up from where the water met the frozen shoreline, I was met with the searing white cliffs of the Mendenhall Towers and the light blue glacier below it. I looked left to a sharp view of the Chilkats, and right to the rolling outline of Blackerby Ridge. How many times have I seen these geographical features? And from how many angles? And still, the same reaction hits me: "This place is unreal."

Beyond that, the wetland rides have been really fun, although pretty precarious. There is certainly a limit to what studded tires can handle, and I have been skirting the edge of those limits all week. Still, I love the shimmer and sparkle of glare ice. I'm going to miss it when the snow returns.

Yup, that's my happy face.

Look at that line and tell me that doesn't look fun.

No one said winter sun in Juneau doesn't come at a price. This photo didn't turn out so well, but I was trying to show my handy compass/ emergency whistle/ firestarter / thermometer giving a reading of about 10 degrees. Oh, and that black streak on my fingers isn't frostbite - it's chain grease. :-)

Also, I wanted to post a link to a "Ghost Trails" book review by Sandra in Brisbane, Australia. I nearly forgot to post it, as it was written about a week ago, but it's very flattering. Thanks, Sandra.

"When I put the book down I had this sad feeling I get sometimes when I fall in love with a book character and have to say good-bye after sharing such an intense and intimate time. I was wishing that she had taken up the invitation of Kathi to continue on, all the way to Nome, adding another hundreds of miles to the race and consequently more pages to this amazing story. "

You can read the review here.

I have received a number of insightful e-mails from readers, and wanted to thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts. I wanted to post some quotes, but decided against it because e-mails are generally intended as private communications. I also got in a little trouble earlier this month for posting part of an e-mail on this blog, because the woman who wrote to me had intended to give the book to her sister as a Christmas gift. Whoops. Sorry. :-)

If anyone is interested in some holiday reading, the offer is still out for free PDF copies of the eBook for any blogger who doesn't mind taking the time to write a review. Just e-mail me at jillhomer66@hotmail.com or leave a comment here.

Shoutout from the South Pole

Claire "Down in Antarctica" sent me this photo, and I had to share it because it's so cool. That's the South Pole (the South Pole!) and that's a sign for me (for me!) right next to it. So cool. What a great Christmas present. Thanks, Claire.

Claire told me they are currently enjoying balmy (read: Frigid) summer weather on the South Pole, where she works for a physics project called "Icecube." She offered to traverse the continent on a bicycle with me if I ever decide to do so. Careful, Claire, I might just take you up on that offer.

Solstice

Date: Dec. 21
Mileage: 38.1
December mileage: 618.8
Temperature upon departure: 23

Dec. 21 is a big day in Alaska. And not because it's the first day of winter, which no one gives much thought to, because most Alaskans have been thinking about winter since October. And not because it's a solstice, a designation that no one gives much thought to on June 21 when they're kicking back in lawn chairs, sipping cold drinks and watching the sun set at 11 p.m. No, Dec. 21 is a big day because it's the winter solstice. The day that brings the light.

I rode out to the glacier today, and the area was packed with people. Ice skaters weaved around each other in erratic lines like water skeeters on the surface of a blindingly blue pond. The low sunlight sparkled on the frozen lake. I ventured out onto the glare ice for the first time. I'm terrified of riding glare ice. I've washed out enough with my studded tires to know they're not slip-proof, and I don't have any traction on my shoes to back me up. But I saw enough people out walking on the lake that I let my guard down, picked my bee-line so I wouldn't have to turn or use my brakes, and pedaled toward the blindingly blue towers at the end of the lake - the age-old glacier ice.

Normally I shy away from crowds, but I was happy to see all the people on the lake. It warms my heart when people go outside simply to enjoy the winter air and the noon sun hovering at its lowest point of the year. It's four days before Christmas and everyone I passed said, "Happy Solstice." They know the real reason why nearly every major culture in the Northern Hemisphere saves its biggest celebration for this time of year. The coming of the light.

Yeah solstice.

On ice

Date: Dec. 19 and 20
Mileage: 4.0 and 23.4
December mileage: 580.7
Temperature upon departure: 7

I've had actual requests to start listing the departure temperatures in my daily ride stats. I think I stopped posting them back in July, when I got tired of typing boring old 50-something every day. Temperatures get interesting again in the winter, and more meaningful for my future reference, so back they go. It was 7 degrees when I left the house today. Feels brisk! But, then again, it feels less brisk every day. Juneau's been locked in this clear cold snap for so long (nine solid days with hardly a cloud), that when the rain (or even snow) finally does return, it's going to feel strange.

I only cheated a little on my day off on Friday ... with one quick sunset lap around the Mendenhall Lake (so quiet, so cold, so perfectly beautiful. I heard a wolf - likely Romeo - howling in the forest.) I was out in the Valley running a bunch of errands (first and last time Christmas shopping all year. Woo Hoo!) and had my mountain bike on top of my car anyway (how did that get there?) I was dressed more for Christmas shopping than for riding a bicycle on lake ice at 5 degrees. It was one of those rationalization moments (it'll be a quick trip. What's the harm?) And, of course, in about 20 minutes I managed to become so wracked with shivers that I had to slow down just to avoid shimmying my bike clean off its wheels. Funny how quickly you forget those elementary school lessons in winter cycling - you have to dress as warm for 20 minutes as you do for 20 hours.

But there's good news, Juneau readers. Taking the day off gave me time to finally drop into Hearthside Books and get "Ghost Trails" placed on shelves! Woo Hoo! So you can drop in to the Nugget Mall now and buy my book. You should go buy them out quickly so they'll think it's really popular and order a bunch more. I'm also working on sending some books to Speedway Cycles in Anchorage, so Anchorage readers can pick up a copy without paying for shipping. I'll post again when those are available.

Today I went ice biking on the frozen Mendenhall Wetlands. I've owned my 29" Nokian studded tires for about two months now and I can't say I'm real thrilled with them. I knew they would take a beating a wear down quick from the hundreds of pavement miles I ride each month. These have also had the added beating of rides on rocky trails that were coated in light layers of ice, but mostly rocks. Either way, wow, after two months they look nearly as worn as the 26" Kenda tires that I used for three seasons. They're missing about 10-12 studs in each tire, and the ones remaining on the center of the tire are bent, pushed all the way in, or otherwise misshapen. I'm a little disappointed, if only because I should have known better. If I'm going to ride a bike in such a way that a pair of tires is only going to last a single season, I might as well buy the cheapest ones I can find.

The cold snap looks like it might have a least a couple more days left in it. Now, if only I could find the courage to go camping.

Wash the day away

Date: Dec. 18
Mileage: 82.7
December mileage: 553.3

I feel like I just went through the bike version of the Master Cleanse:

* I set my mind to completing something illogical and counterintuitive.
* It pretty much took over my life for a little over a week.
* It tested crucial aspects of my willpower.
* I started to suffer toward the end.
* I walked away with feelings of renewed vigor and control, a better understanding of my own body, and a reluctance to go back to solid food (or, in my case, free time that I don't spend riding my bike.)

And thus ended my eight-hour ride following a 30-hour week, for 38 hours of riding and hiking in eight days, always in temperatures below 25, with plenty of single-digit temps and windchills below zero. That's essentially a peak week for me. I don't plan to do any longer efforts in preparation for the Iditarod. This week just had a perfect storm of ideal conditions for enjoyable riding and race training, and I figured a "peak" week would fit in well to something new I am trying this year: Rather than just build, build, build, I am going to try to ride some hard weeks followed by "recovery" weeks, for an ebb and flow of effort that I hope will make me a healthier person come March 1.

Effort: Every time I stopped to eat (and yes, I do stop to eat. After all this time, I still haven't mastered the skill of ripping open wrappers and gnawing on frozen energy bars while wearing mittens and piloting a bicycle on ice), I checked my thermometer. So I know temperatures ranged between zero degrees (the icebox around Herbert River) and 15 degrees (roasting in the sun on the Mendenhall Lake ice.) The air was breezy, but I only felt a few really strong gusts of wind. Even without the "extreme" aspect of the cold that I admit I was somewhat hoping for, it's still hard for me to spend eight hours outside in those temperatures. It's hard when I'm riding. It's hard when I'm walking. It's hard when I'm standing still. Every second of the day feels like hard work, pumping out massive quantities of body heat and trying to maintain a sense of normalcy when one part of my body is roasting and another stings with cold in the frigid air. I woke up feeling pretty weak and still went out and tried to maintain my normal pace riding on roads, a few miles of hardpacked but bumpy trail and about 12 miles of loops around the (perfect and so much fun) lake ice. As always, parts of the ride were exhilarating (the lake ice). But I also hit a fair share of low points. Some were really low points, where I was angry at myself for riding out the road because I couldn't catch a bus out there. But I never got on a bus. I rode home, and toward the end, I felt happy again, awake and alive, even strong, for having tried it.

Eating: So, as expected, I never had an appetite, all day long. I wish I could change that part of my physiology. But I didn't do too bad with the force-feeding. I was able to stuff down three Power Bars and four "100-calorie" granola bars, for an average of 150 calories per hour. For me, that's a perfectly sustainable amount for an eight-hour ride, although it's not really sustainable for the long term, when I'm out riding hard in the cold and there's no big dinner waiting for me at the end of the day. I'd like to be able to put down twice that, about 300 calories, ideally, and am going to continue to work on it. Starting to use my pogies so I can stuff baggies of Goldfish crackers in my handlebars and eat them while I'm riding will, I think, help.

Clothing: I'm pretty happy with my "base" system. I wore a standard pair of bike shorts, two pairs of socks with a vapor barrier between them, winter boots, a thick pair of polyester leggings (to deal with the "cold butt" issue), a skin-tight polypro shirt, a vapor barrier vest, a fleece jacket, soft shell pants and coat, mittens and either just a headband or a balaclava. My insulation was on the "a lot" side for the conditions I ended up riding in. I did a lot of sweating in the sun, but I was glad to have it all on when I went through breezy, shaded areas. I find sweat pretty much balances itself out in the end, and is almost impossible to avoid anyway, so I like to lean on the side of overdressing.

I never had problems with "too cold" body parts. I did notice a problem area with the coat. The vapor barrier vest funnels nearly all of my body moisture through the arms. Back when I used a Gortex coat, I used to get ice rings around the bottom of my fleece jackets, and quite a bit of frost coating my arms. But the Gortex coat has pit zips, which I think helped funnel away a lot of the moisture. This new soft-shell coat expels moisture better than the Gortex, but it doesn't have pit zips, so I ended up with a lot of frost built up on the coat beneath my arms. I'm not sure if that's really even a problem, but I may stay in the market for a better fitted soft shell with pit zips.

Sleeping: I couldn't sleep last night. This is always a problem for me during hard, long efforts - rides that I can't recover from quickly enough - and I try to fall asleep while my heart is still beating at an abnormally high rate. I know now if I want to get any normal sleep during the race, I am going to have to experiment with sleeping meds. I've avoided drugs because frankly, I'm afraid of them. But I think I won't have a choice but to lean on sleeping aids, so I'd love to hear recommendations.

Right now I'm trying to take a day off. I admit it feels strange. Another beautiful, cold, bluebird day, and here I am at the computer. I'm tempted to drag my bike out to the Mendenhall Lake for one more gorgeous lap, because I feel pleasently tired, in control, and strong, like I could ride forever.

Only one more shopping day!

Date: Dec. 17
Mileage: 39.2
December mileage: 470.6

I completely forgot to hold my LIVESTRONG drawing for a book this week. I plugged the pleasingly large numbers into a raffle and Nancy P. is the winner. Congratulations! I sent you an e-mail, but if you didn't receive it, post a comment and let me know. I'm going to hold another drawing this Friday, and this week's pool is still relatively small. Five bucks nets you one ticket. You can donate to the fight against cancer here.

Also, Thursday is the last day to buy a book in time for Christmas. I'm going to make a trip to the post office Friday morning for shipment on "Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday, depending where they live (in the U.S.)," according to the postman. Then it's Christmas. You can purchase a signed book or two or several from me directly by clicking on the gold "Buy Now" button in the sidebar of this blog.

Thank you to everyone who supported me in my book-selling efforts this past month. Sales have been strong, better than I expected, and I appreciate your contribution to my "Iditarod fund," as well as your comments and suggestions. Geoff and I were just talking today about the idea that if I could somehow maintain the book sales I've had in the past month, I could make a modest living by riding my bike all the time and occasionally entering a crazy new race and self-publishing a book about it. Of course I know I can't keep that up - on all fronts - but it's fun to dream.

I took one step into the dream life by working hard yesterday and today and achieving my goal - a 30-hour workout week. I've noticed that toward the end of a long workout week, I can't get away with the same things I can when I'm fresh. Like riding for 3.5 hours and not eating anything. I do this all the time, but at the end of a 30-hour week, it cuts a lot deeper. My blood sugar was so low after my ride today that my hands were shaking. And I couldn't recover as the day wore on. My heart rate stayed high, and my energy level remained low.

I know, I know. Classic signs of overtraining. So what am I going to do about it? I'm going to do one last long ride tomorrow. I'm hoping for eight hours if I can survive it. I can't say I'm particularly thrilled about the idea when what I really want is an eight-hour nap, but there are several reasons I think this is important:

1. The weather forecast is calling temps between 8 and 14 and gusting winds to 40 mph, which will drive the windchill to 20 below. I know. Sounds awful. But it will give me a chance to really test the clothing I've put together for the Iditarod, minus stuff I don't own yet (but won't really need when the weather is as "mild" as 20-below windchills. Ha!) It's one thing to go out for two or three hours, and it's quite another to go out for eight. That will give me time to really identify problem spots, like sweat pooling on my back or cold toes.

2. The psychological training for the race is as important as anything, and I really need to become reacquainted with putting in tough, long efforts when I am 100 percent less than fresh.

3. I also need to gain better understanding about maintaining performance when I feel like stopping, so I can avoid another 12-hour bivy in the Farewell Burn.

4. I need to work on eating enough calories to cover my effort during longish efforts. I didn't do so well last week. This week, I won't have much choice, because I think my glycogen deficit is spent.

Should be fun. Or wait, fun's not quite the word. Should be educational. After that, it will be time for rest and recovery, I promise.

The brightest time of year

Date: Dec. 16
Mileage: 12.5
December mileage: 431.4

The sun rose today at 8:42 a.m. and set at 3:06 p.m., for a daylight total of six hours and 24 minutes. Juneau is going to lose exactly one more minute of daylight between now and the solstice on Sunday; then we begin the long upward arc toward summer. It is, by most accounts, the darkest time of year. And yet, I don't see it that way.

Back when I first moved to Alaska and started venturing out into the snow and painful air to train for the Susitna 100, I joked with Geoff that winter was my favorite time of year in Alaska. But as years wore on, as snow fell and wind blew and I spent more and more time out in it all, that became less of a joke. Now I find myself in my fourth winter in Alaska, falling more deeply in love.

I love the sharp lines and soft colors of a world swept with snow and encased in ice.

I love the crunch of tires spinning up a difficult trail. In winter, the rides become so much harder; the rewards so much greater.

I love the random bruises that crop up on my skin after I fling myself off my bicycle in yet another battle with gravity. They remind me that I am pushing myself; that I am always pushing myself to be better.

I love the sting of cold air on sweaty skin, and the flecks of frost wrapped around strands of hair and eyelashes. They remind me that I am a furnace of self-perpetuating warmth, biologically engineered to move freely through the world, awake and alive.

I love the low sun and long shadows, stretched across pristine landscapes.

I love the stark, white surface of distant high mountains, looming with all the fragility of a ceramic sculpture and mystique of a forbidden border.

I love the deep silences and startling realizations.

I love my Pugsley.

I love winter.

I love this clear, cold weather

Date: Dec. 14 and 15
Mileage: 42.2 and 17.3
December mileage: 418.9

It occurred to me today that I am in the midst of a full-on outdoor binge. I noticed the to-do list from my "other" life stacking up, so I crunched the numbers. 5.5 hours Thursday, 7.5 Friday, 4 Saturday, 3.5 Sunday and 3 today, for total of a 23.5 hours of moderate to strenuous physical activity in a week that still has two days left in it. I mostly feel it in my throat, which has become raw and scratchy after 23.5 hours of heavy breathing in cold, dry air. But beyond that, I feel great - so much better than I have the past couple weeks, when I had admittedly succumbed to a mild bout of Seasonal Affective Disorder and the general gloom and doom of the times. A little Vitamin D and a lot of exercise has recharged my outlook, and I don't want to stop, and don't plan to, quite yet, because I think the occasional binge is good for me - especially in context of training for the days-long continuous effort of the Iditarod race.

The temperature's hovered in the low teens since Friday — often with hard gusting winds that drive the windchill well below zero. I tested out some potential race gear but still wore essentially the same thing that I had been for riding when it's 38 degrees and raining ... just substitute the soft shell outer layer for Gortex and nylon, a vapor barrier for neoprene socks, and a balaclava instead of a fleece headband. I still wore the same kind of polypro base layer and fleece pullover. I was dying of heat pedaling up the Dan Moller trail today. I was overdressed for sure. And my thermometer still couldn't decide if it was 9 or 10. I made a mental note that if it's actually dry outside, I can add at least 30 degrees to the temperature.

I also made a mental note to write a letter to Surly bicycles and ask them if they've ever considered designing an alternative Endomorph tire for hilly terrain. The current version has virtually no tread, so even on well-packed snow trails, it slips out too easily going up steep hills. My ideal tire for snowbiking in Juneau would still be 4" wide, but have aggressive tread and studs. Each tire would weigh about 70 pounds and would be incapable of rolling faster than 8 mph on pavement. But on narrow singletrack and steep snowmobile trails, it would be a dream wheel.

I'm also thinking about modifying a pair of leggings by adding extra insulation in the butt area. Not the sit-bone area, where the chamois goes, but up high, where all of the surface area is. My butt cheeks are always cold when the temperature drops below 15 degrees, even when the rest of my body is sweating bullets. I mentioned this to Geoff and he said it must be a female thing, because he's never experienced the "cold butt" phenomenon. Then I mentioned it to an avid snow cyclist in Anchorage, and he suggested that my body's, um, "insulation" is probably the culprit. It makes sense. Unlike muscle, body fat doesn't produce its own heat, so it's more susceptible to the cold. Because Geoff has close to zero percent body fat, he wouldn't understand. I guess until I can find a way to alter my genetic makeup or drop my own body fat percentage near zero, I'll have to come up with a creative way to keep the, um, "insulation" warm. Kind of gives new meaning to "junk in the trunk." :-)

I'm hoping to get out for a good trail ride tomorrow before I finally take Pugsley in for the repairs he badly needs. I'm hoping for continuing high energy and (relatively) low temperatures.

Product testing

Date: Dec. 13
Mileage: 10.1
December mileage: 359.4

I bought this coat, oh, maybe two months ago on super clearance from, hmm, probably Backcountry.com. It's an Outdoor Research soft shell coat, and it's ultra light for a winter coat. They only had large. I thought, "eh, I'm not all that small of a person." I really wanted to try it out. It arrived in the mail, and it's pretty much a tent. It's huge.

Still, for a coat that was only about $50, I still wanted to give soft shell a try. Problem is I really haven't seen the right conditions for testing. It's either been too warm or too wet. So when I woke up today to a temperature of 20 degrees at sea level and a wind advisory - 30 mph gusting to 50 mph, I thought, "Oh good, coat weather!"

I also wanted to give my new Arc'teryx soft shell pants a test run, which I've been reluctant to wear while riding my bike for fear of tearing the cuffs. So I set out today for a short ride and long hike in the Hard North Wind.

Pugsley's out sick with a number of problems that I really need to attend to but haven't had time, which is why I've been riding my Karate Monkey so much as of late. My plan was just to commute to the Dan Moller trailhead and hike from there, but I found the snowmobile trail in near perfect condition for snow biking. In fact, the somewhat unique condition of the trail - hard-packed ice with an inch or so of sugar on top - was actually better suited to the Monkey than my Pugsley. The Monkey has deep treaded tires that can dig into the sugar, and studs that grip the ice underneath. The Endomorphs on Puglsey would just wash out on top of the sugar. So I was able to ride a long way up the trail on my 29'er, which was, in its old-school way, quite thrilling.

The sugar became deeper and eventually I had to ditch the bike and switch to snowshoes. After I strapped my pack back on, I inadvertently buckled the waist strap around my Camelbak valve and didn't notice until the front of my fleece shirt was pretty well soaked. My thermometer was already giving me readings in the mid-teens, and I could see snow tearing off the ridge in what appeared to be an intense wind. But since there's always the option of turning around, I thought, "Well, might as well see what this coat can really do."

So up I marched with my soaked shirt and super clearance coat, warmed by the hard effort but admittedly nervous about the arctic blast that surely awaited me at the top. I crested the ridgeline at a moment of relative calm - I didn't know then, but the Hard North Wind was actually an ebb and flow of calm moments followed by intense gusts - and took a minute to pull on my balaclava. While I had my mittens off, I checked my thermometer - 8 or 9 degrees flat - and snapped some pictures. Even in the calm window, my fingers went stiff and began to ache within seconds. Just as the mittens went back on, the gust hit. "Wow" is all I really have to say about that. A blast of white powder came tearing toward me like a fireball in a bad action movie. I saw it coming, and all I could do was hold my mitten over my eyes, look down, and brace myself. It wasn't hard enough to blow me over - so perhaps only in the 50 or 60 mph range. But the wind chill. Wow. I could feel it seeping through my cupped mitten and stinging my face. It whipped around my ankles and needled through two pairs of thick wool socks. But my torso, wet shirt and all, felt surprisingly warm. The legs weren't too cold either.

I stood there about five minutes longer, completely still, just to gain even a small grasp on how I might deal with such a windchill wearing such a coat for a much longer period of time. About three more big gusts came through before I turned around and headed back down. My gloves - lined with down, which I wore all day yesterday and again today - had frozen almost solid where they had been soaked with sweat. Once I was out of the wind, I pulled one off to beat some of the ice away, then reached inside my coat to feel my shirt. It was relatively dry. I mean, for having been soaked with at least a cup of water, not to mention all of my sweat, it felt pretty much dry. Which meant not only was that coat impressively windproof, but it was breathing, and releasing all of my inner moisture back into the cold dry air. Which is all I needed to know. I already have plenty of waterproof clothing. This seems to be a great coat for winter - real winter. If only I could find it in medium.

As far as the raffle for LIVESTRONG contributions, Daniel R. won the Olympus camera. Dan said he lost his father to cancer three years ago, and was really happy about the effort to raise money for cancer research. Alex O., Lisa B. and Richard B. all won books. Two of the winners had one already, but they were still gracious about being the runners up. I'm going to hold a raffle for another book as soon as I figure out Elden's random raffle process. I'll post the winner on Monday. I'm going to continue to hold a raffle for one book every Friday, so keep donating! Your chances of winning will be much better this week. Thanks again to everybody who gave. Donate here.

Also, I had a stack of book orders come in recently and I want you guys to know that I'm going to get those out Monday, so if you ordered in the past few days, you should see your book(s) by Wednesday or Thursday. For everyone else, I wanted to announce that I'm expecting a good-sized shipment on Tuesday, and feel pretty confident that I can get any books ordered before Thursday sent out in time for Christmas (I even grilled a postal worker about this. He insisted that three business days is still the norm.) You know, books make great gifts. (More about the book here.) I always give books to people for whom I otherwise couldn't think of anything to buy. Even if the person on your gift list doesn't like biking, if they enjoy adventure stories or maybe just want a reason to feel better about their own hobbies, they'll probably like it. You can buy signed copies directly from me by clicking on this button. I can ship one, two or three books for $4.80 flat. $9.60 if the shipment is international. I can personalize the signature and ship to any address. Just indicate where you'd like it to go in the message box!

12 hours in photos, part 2

Date: Dec. 12
Mileage: 85.1
December mileage: 349.3

So I rode my bike for seven hours today. The time was actually on the long side, about 7.5 hours, but I felt great. So much better than I felt all day yesterday, when I was fresh. Riding back-to-back long days is something I plan to continue to do this winter whenever I can make the time for it, and the plan is that they're only going to get longer. But today's ride was helped by the fact that it was one of the most beautiful days, well, ever. A brilliantly sunny day followed by a full-moon night. One of those days where I was out for seven hours and hardly felt the effort, because I was so busy looking around and saying things out loud like, "Wow" and "Fer reals? Reals." I also stopped to take a few photos. Today just happened to be the latest installment of this other blog I contribute to, "12 Hours in Photos." The idea was that on Friday, Dec. 12, all of us would document 12 hours of our day, one photo for each hour. This was my day. It was a good one:

9 a.m. The view at breakfast. Yawn.

10 a.m. The trip to the post office is becoming a daily chore for me. I don't mind at all. :-)

11 a.m. Riding into the Mendenhall Valley on the Dredge Lake trails, mouth agape.

12 p.m., heading back toward the highway on some nondescript road. Mouth still agape.

1 p.m.: Life's good between Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

2 p.m.: An interpretive photo of the Hard North Wind. It brought in a blast of frigid air from Canada, gusting right in my face. The temperature was probably about 25 degrees. The windchill couldn't have been warmer than 5.

3 p.m.: Alpenglow on the distant mountains.

4 p.m.: The last bit of daylight and a really bright planet over Auke Rec. I'm not sure which planet it was - a bright one.

5 p.m.: The self-portrait I took after my sad attempts to take a photo of the moon. I don't have a proper camera for night shots, so you'll just have to take my word that it was the most amazing full moon I have ever seen. The Hard North Wind was tearing clouds of snow off the mountains. As the moon rose, it illuminated the ridgelines with this soft, intense glow, almost as bright as daylight. I couldn't take my eyes off the moon, which was rough because I was back in the traffic of Juneau proper and it was rush hour.

6 p.m.: Having dinner with Geoff, our friend Christina and a couple of our parasitic cats.

7 p.m.: Trying to figure out what's going on in my friends' children's play. At this point, my head was nearly as fuzzy as this picture.

8 p.m.: For seven-hour rides in the freezer, there's no better recovery food than a huge spread of Christmas cookies.

Solid investment

Date: Dec. 11
Mileage: 64.4
December mileage: 264.2

I rode hard for five and a half hours today. Started in the late morning, finished after dark, got rained on, slushed on, fought a cold wind and finally some real snow. All in all, a good training ride. The plan is to ride at least seven hours tomorrow, also at a motivated pace.

I'm excited for tomorrow's longish ride, but wow, I feel pretty wiped out for having only put in five hours and change and a measly 64 miles. Every winter when I really start investing in these long rides, I always come away disappointed in my mileage. I can't help it. I worked really hard and rode mostly pavement and, huh, can't even average 12 mph? It was easy to maintain 17 with the mountain bike in the summer. But it's amazing - slap some aggressive studded tires on a bike, ride in the road shoulders where the surface is mostly covered in soft snow and slush, and fight the wind and slush shower just to keep your body temperature near normal, and suddenly cycling becomes a lot more work for less payoff. So I have to remind myself to stop looking at the raw numbers and focus on how I feel immediately afterward: Pleasantly tired, a little hazy, and completely content. Perfect.

And if I spend enough time out on a bike, even on a marginal day like today, I always see some intriguing things:

I was pushing my bike into the Dredge Lake area in a fruitless search for hard-packed trails when I came across two state troopers who had been lurking in the woods. One was wearing a bullet-proof vest and carrying a huge rifle. The other didn't have a weapon in his hand, and eyed me suspiciously. My immediate thought was that they were hunting a rogue bear. But then I remembered that state troopers don't hunt bears. Wildlife officers hunt bears. State troopers hunt people. I lingered several seconds, worried or maybe hopeful that some "Cops"-type perp was going to burst out of the forest shadows, clad only in socks and briefs, and lunge at me before the troopers tackled him. But that never happened. The troopers just slunk back into the woods and I was left wondering what they could have possibly been looking for. I even checked the police report and didn't see anything related, so I may never know.

The rest of the ride was pretty uneventful. I started to notice the sky clearing as I moved north, which always perks me up.

One of my favorite benefits of winter (and, oh yes, winter has many benefits) is the extended sunsets. For more than 10 miles I watched the sky cast varying shades of pink and orange light on the snow-covered trees, the sea water and the glistening, icy road. Gorgeous.

I raced the last few miles before twilight in an effort to reach an opening in the trees in time to witness the moment the blazing orange light of the sun finally slipped below the horizon. I just missed it, and I only made it as far as the obstructed view. Still, the sight of blue sky made me happy. I think it bodes well for tomorrow's seven hours.

Wow!

$2,975.00.

That's how much we've raised for the LIVESTRONG Challenge. In a week. If someone told me last Wednesday, the day that I signed up for Team Fatty, that my personal page would bring in nearly $3,000 in one week, I would have just laughed. But I guess that's the power of Fighting For Susan. I shouldn't be surprised. But I do feel inspired.

I look at the list of contributors and I see a few names that I recognize, so I know I did coax in a few of my friends and family. But many of you are strangers - friends of Fatty, generous cyclists, people who have been touched by cancer and want to strike back. I had always been the type who took a cynical view of fundraisers. "What could I really even do?" was my overwhelming sentiment. But I understand now that every little bit helps. I understand now that every little bit adds up very quickly. $3,000 is a lot of money. And if $3,000 can help even one person - offer them comfort, or ease their pain - then it's a fortune beyond any dollar amount.

My records show 105 people donated since Dec. 4. We're the top fundraisers in Seattle, right up there with my good friend Chris Wightman, who has raised $950 so far on his own without any help from a plug on fatcyclist.com or a giveaway of a sweet camera. It's going to be a fun reunion in Seattle. I can't wait to meet some of you and help drag Chris to the finish of his first century. :-)

As to the raffle, Elden is coordinating that so I expect to see the winners of the camera and books posted on his Web site Thursday or Friday. I am holding my own raffle on Friday for another book, and will continue to hold a weekly raffle for the contributors that week, so don't stop donating! I wanted to send a huge thank you to everyone who pitched in so far. I have a big training weekend planned, and a lot to think about regarding my non-bike life, but I know I'll be able to ride easier knowing there's still so much good in the world.

Thanks again.

The ride after

Date: Dec. 8
Mileage: 37.6
December mileage: 199.8

To start, I wanted to send out a huge thank you to everyone who has donated to the LIVESTRONG Challenge. Together we've raised $2,205 so far, which is simply amazing! There's still one more day in the raffle for a chance to win a sweet Olympus Stylus camera (just like the one used to take all the pictures in this blog.) Five bucks is all it takes. $50 nets you 10 times the chance of winning. And everything goes to the fight against cancer, so everyone wins! (Except cancer.) Donate here!

That's the very good news. The rest of this post is kind of a downer. You can stop reading here if you want to. It's just that sometimes it's cathartic for me to write it all out. I mean, that's why I keep this blog.

So I took my bike to work today. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I already knew the roads were covered in 11 inches of slop and the bike paths weren’t plowed, because I had already gone for a 25-mile snow ride earlier in the day. During that ride, I took to the beach when the roads became too slippery and sloppy to navigate. The smooth sand felt nice but the streets were covered in goo, and to top it all off, the falling snow had switched over to hard, cold rain. I certainly didn’t want to go back out in the gunk. But when I couldn’t coax my car out of the slop-coated parking lot, I didn’t have a choice. I rushed around to gear up yet again and commence the ride/push to the office.

I had to jog with my bike through deep snow the last half mile on the bike path. I finally arrived at work late, soaked and coated in grit, sans any kind of brown-bag dinner (It was going to have to be old Power Bars again.) I thought I was having a bad day. Realtive to others, I really wasn't.

I was fresh from the restroom, still holding a wad of dripping clothing in my outstretched arms, when the message reached me. Mandatory meeting. Those two words, when said together, set heavy in the throat and only sink deeper, becoming thicker and more nauseating as the syllables resonate. A “mandatory” meeting is anything but. These days, in these times, everyone knows what gets said at mandatory meetings, and no one wants to hear it. I pulled my wet hair back into a ponytail and shuffled into the conference room.

In mandatory meetings, the hardest words are always blurted out first, followed by an eternity of condescending rationalizations. I often wonder why anyone bothers with the rationalizations. Nobody’s listening. Nobody. The hard words are out there. The white lights of shock have streaked through and blinded everybody with private, searing thoughts. As the rationalizations droned on, I fought the urge to get up and walk out of the room in anger, or solidarity, or frustration. I scanned the faces of my co-workers in a plea for levity. But there was no out-of-place humor in their expressions; only guilty relief. Some among the group had not been invited to the mandatory meeting. Those of us who had were grateful.

“This is reality,” I kept telling myself. “This is the real world.” I continued to grope for levity. It’s one thing to laugh at "Office Space" and “The Bobs” and corporate downsizing in your favorite movie from the late ‘90s. It’s quite another to watch your coworkers, people you know and like and respect, stiffly carrying armfuls of their personal belongings to the door.

“It should have been me,” I kept thinking. “Why not me?”

The hits keep coming and they’re not going to stop. I’m beginning to think it’s no longer a question of how long I’m going to try to hold on to the dream career I've wanted since I was a little girl — the life of a newspaperwoman. It’s becoming a question of how far into the North Pacific I want to ride the Titanic.

The air was steeped in silence when I left work, well after 11 p.m. Dim moonlight flickered through mottled breaks in the clouds, and the night looked bright, almost like dawn, as the light reflected off a blanket of new snow. Soft rain fell as I unlocked my bike and I breathed deeply, grateful for the solitude. I didn’t want to ride to work, but when the day was done, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than to ride home. The quiet allowed for meditation, the winter twilight for clarity. My legs felt warm and close, but my thoughts were muffled, as though they were coming to me from a unknown distance. I focused but couldn't hear them. The whir of studded tires and the splash of snow-dammed puddles were lost to an all-encompassing silence. I focused harder. I whispered rationalizations. Still I heard nothing. There was nothing to hear. Even when you have already given serious consideration to changing your life, the approach of the tipping point is deafening.

“This is reality,” I kept telling myself. “This is the real world.” The miles passed, and the snow just kept melting, and melting.

Like spring, summer, fall

Date: Dec. 7
Mileage: 35.7
December mileage: 162.2

I've been in a bit of a weather funk again. Sometimes I just can't help it. Sometimes I feel like Juneau's been between seasons since, oh, March or so. Summer was always peeking just over the horizon but never really came. Since then, we've had a few quick gasps of winter, but the rain always returns. Always the rain. The 12-month season. It doesn't matter whether it's March, July, October or December, I struggle to slink out the door when it's 42 degrees and raining (and I have ridden in this exact weather in all of these months.)

And yet, for all the times I remember reluctantly gearing up and wheeling my bike out into the blah weather, I don't recall a single ride when I came home and thought "I wish that never happened." Sometimes I push hard and feel strong. Sometimes I learn something new about my gear. Sometimes I listen to good music. Sometimes I see something exciting or beautiful. And I always end up being glad I went.

Take today for example:

I don't know whether it was the warm weather or if there was some kind of salmon run, but False Outer Point had a huge gathering of marine mammals today. I saw a small pod of humpbacks (two or three, it was hard to tell) and several large groups of sea lions and harbor seals. I was working on some intervals, but ended up stopping for a while just to watch them. The humpbacks were too far away to see much beyond the occasional spout, but the sea lions and seals were especially entertaining. A few caught giant fish and lunged out of the water, violently whipping the fish around like a dog playing tug-of-war with a sock. Then they'd dive back in and disappear, probably enjoying the spoils of the meal they just shook to death.

Eventually I became a little bit chilled from watching the animal show and headed out to the Rainforest Trail to ride a few fast loops on the twisting, tight singletrack. (Ah, dirt.) The Rainforest Trail looks rainforesty even in December.

On the coast I came across the remains of a startlingly pink sea creature strewn over a piece of driftwood. Maybe a jellyfish? Then it was back for more sea lion entertainment and some hard intervals home in the rain.

Really, not so bad. Maybe, in the future, I'll remember today as a pleasant respite from the snow.

*****

Also, I'm working on organizing the info about my book (brief description, first chapter, ordering details and reviews) into its own blog site. It's still very much a work in progress, but you can find it here.

*****

Finally, don't forget to enter the raffle for an Olympus Stylus 1030 SW camera today, tomorrow or Wednesday! For every $5 you donate to the LIVESTRONG CHALLENGE through my donation page, you'll receive a raffle ticket from Fat Cyclist for a chance to win this great camera! (And I'm going to throw in a few books as consolation prizes.) Donate here!

Staying and going

Date: Dec. 5
Mileage: 42.2
December mileage: 126.5

It's been raining for two days now and there's been a dearth of photo opportunities, so I thought I'd take this opportunity to talk about Iditarod gear. This is probably the best picture I have of my setup from last year's race, taken by some race fans on Seven Mile Lake (seven miles from the start.) It's basically the same gear I plan to take next year, with some key differences. So here's what's staying and going:

Staying: That giant bivy bundle on the front, and all of the crap inside of it. A -40 degree sleeping bag was my lifeline when I was really struggling last year, and I don't plan to tempt fate by going any lighter with my sleeping gear.

Staying: The front rack, because there's no other way for my 16" Pugsley to support all of my sleeping crap.

Going: The Princeton Tech headlamp as a headlight. I haven't decided exactly what yet, but I plan to buy something a little stronger (and more lithium battery-efficient) this year.

Gone: My red blinkie. I lost it somewhere between the Susitna River and Luce's last year. For the one whole snowmobile I saw after dark in 2008, I think a fair amount of reflective tape is probably enough. (I would get off the trail anyway if I heard a snowmobile coming. Who knows what they've been drinking.)

Staying: My Outdoor Research insulated water bottle sleeve. I accidentally left my Nalgene bottle in Palmer last year, and had to pilfer a 32-ounce Gatorade bottle from my friend's truck at the race start. But the insulation sleeve worked pretty well. Even when temperatures were below zero, it seemed to take about 12 hours before my bottle would reach its hard-freezing point (the point where it was ringed in ice and difficult to access the water inside.) It would probably take longer if I more frequently replenished the liquid in the bottle, or used an actual Nalgene.

Going: That ridiculous Camelbak bladder. I wrapped it with bubble insulation and duct tape, and I looked like I was riding off to fight floating slime monsters with the Ghostbusters. For all the effort and ridiculousness, and for all of the times I stuffed it beneath my inner layers and diligently blew all the water out of the hose, it was always frozen. My plan this year is to take an MSR bladder that has a spout for pouring instead of a hose, and keep it in a smaller pack inside of my coat.

Going (with reluctance): The Gortex coat. I say that with reluctance because it has such amazing wind-blocking properties, demonstrated wonderfully on Mount Roberts earlier this week. But it doesn't breathe well and I think I'd be better off with a form-fitting soft shell coat and a down coat to go over that when it's frigid.

Going: The rain pants. On the Kuskokwim River between Nikolai and McGrath last year, I pulled down my pants to pee and found a solid half inch of frost built up between my polar fleece longjohns and my outer pant layer. This year I bought some Arc'teryx soft shell pants that I think will breathe much better.

Going (probably): The $24.99 snowmobile handlebar mitts. I'd really like to leverage some of my book earnings into some real custom bike pogies this year, but only if the artist has time to make them.

Gone: The "wind-resistant" fleece gloves and mittens that I used, both lost in post-race activities. Which is a shame, because I really liked them. I'm going to have to find a way to replace them with something very similar.

Staying: The frame bag and seat post bag. All of my bags are early models from Epic Designs. They've been ravaged by a couple of completely unrelated wars (the Iditarod Trail Invitational and the Great Divide Race) and not only held up impressively, but also proved their continued usefulness.

Going: A lot of the stuff I had in those bags. This year, I'm going to really work to streamline my food and extra clothing so I'm not carrying so much stuff I either won't eat or don't need (food is actually pretty heavy, as it turns out, and it's kinda dumb to carry a dozen assorted bars and a pound of nuts 350 miles across Alaska if you're never going to eat them.) I'm going to stick with chemical warmers because I love them, but I'm going to take less and ration more effectively (now that I understand what temperatures are perfectly comfortable without warmers on the hands and feet.)

Staying: The fuel bottle and stove. I didn't use them last year, but I certainly would have at least tried to melt snow if I had a little more practice starting the stove in the wind before the race. Water is good.

Staying: The boots. I was going to get rid of them and completely change my foot setup, and go with something lighter. But after thinking it through, I've decided to keep these boots and buy some NEOS overboots that will fit over them. The reason I want to keep them is because I've done quite a bit of walking in them, and they're really comfortable. Plus, they're completely insulated, to the point of nearly being a vapor barrier. They're basically bunny boots, but comfortable. When I dropped my bike and dipped my leg in Pass Creek last year, one boot got completely soaked. I think the only reason my foot never became cold is because the insulation allowed the water inside the boot to warm up to body temperature. Even though I spent 17 hours in Rohn last year, the boot never actually dried (probably because it's so insulated.) I just tossed the insole and kept going. (Wow, I think this is the first time I admitted that I actually continued the last half of the race with a wet boot.) Anyhow, I'm pretty comfortable with these boots. I just want a system that's waterproof to about knee level. (Also, they're Euro men's size 8. I think that's like a U.S. size 9.5, when my normal shoe size is about a men's 7. So by the time I find an overboot that will fit over them, they'll be as wide as snowshoes.)

Going: Gaters. Won't need them if I have overboots.

Staying: Pugsley. Although sometimes I dream at night about titanium Fatbacks and 100 mm rims, I only have love (and funds) for Pugsley. Over the winter, he will be getting another complete overhaul, however: New tires, new hubs, new bottom bracket, probably new seat post, new chain, cables, cassette, blah, blah, blah. Also, I should probably apply touch-up paint to the rusty spots. :-)

Geoff's year-end race

Geoff just called me to let me know he finished fifth in the North Face Endurance Challenge 50-mile ultramarathon in San Fransisco! He was happy with the result, but not necessarily with his race. He was leading the race until mile 24, when his quads started to "give out" and he was really hurting. He had a similar problem in the Miwok 100K, and he thinks the main culprit is the "hardness" of California trails. He's used to training in Juneau, which is full of muddy, mulchy, mossy trails. Great for training the legs for technical running - but not so great for training muscles to get used to the impact of California dirt.

"It was like running on pavement," he told me. "Between mile 30 and 40 I felt horrible. I was contemplating dropping out for a while. I didn't want to thrash my body any further just to do OK in the race. But as soon as I decided to keep going for sure, I felt much better after that."

Geoff told me he finished the 50-mile run in 7:12 - which for someone of his discipline (he's really a 100-miler, and doesn't think "short" races are his strong point), and for a course with that kind of elevation change, is pretty fast! He said he was really happy with his uphill strength, and felt that until he started to fade after mile 30, he seemed to be the strongest climber.

He told me Matt Carpenter won the race in 6:49. Ulli Steidl finished second in 6:53. "This dude from Japan" finished third in 7:01, and Kyle Skaggs finished fourth in 7:02. Geoff was a little bummed about not finishing "in the money" (this race had a $10,000 prize for first place.) But the big purse and North Face's recruiting efforts brought in the strongest ultrarunning field in any race all year. "Speedgoat" Karl Meltzer finished 20th, also an amazing result this soon after his assault on the Appalachian Trail record. Geoff left for San Fransisco thinking he'd be lucky to make it into the teens, so I think after he's had his big burger and a nice long sleep, he'll feel pretty proud about his race. I sure do.

EDIT: Geoff's an even faster blogger than I am. His race report is here.

Close to home

First of all, I just wanted to express a heartfelt thank you to everyone who donated to LIVESTRONG today. I set up my personal page at 11:30 p.m. last night, and by 8 a.m. (while I was still snoozing in bed), I received an e-mail from the Lance Armstrong Foundation congratulating me for meeting my fundraising goal (I didn't even know I had a fundraising goal, but as it turns out my goal was set to the default number, which is $250.) Now, together we've raised $450, in less than 24 hours! I look at the names you included, the people you donated in memory of, and they have really touched my heart. I feel inspired by your outpouring of generosity, and plan to work harder for this cause in the coming months. I feel like I have a lot on my plate right now (Really. A lot. So much that I don't even think about the Iditarod race every minute of every day like I did last year.) But this is important. Really important. I'm glad to be a part of it.

The donation page didn't provide e-mail information for each contributor like I thought I would. So if you're Kevin Casey, Andrew Good, Jeanne McCabe, Lauren Dunn or Richard Bischoff, could contact me at jillhomer66@hotmail.com with your mailing address so I can send you a book? Congratulations! You were the first five to donate. (Richard, I know I should have your contact info, but I am terrible at keeping records. Do you mind shooting me it again?) Thanks to everyone. I will continue to hold a "raffle," once a week on Fridays, for a book to a random person who contributed that week (any amount.) You can donate here.

Anyway, all of this generosity was a wonderful surprise to wake up to this morning, as was this ...

(I took off my coat to set my camera on to take a self portrait, which is why I'm not wearing a coat. Although it was about 36 degrees outside, which, when marching up a mountain, feels downright tropical.)

We received nearly a foot of new snow overnight, which sadly degenerated to sleet/rain (i.e. snain) shortly after I woke up this morning. A tree had fallen on power lines and knocked out electricity to most of the city, and the power had been out for more than an hour when I stumbled out of my dark bedroom to find my bleary-eyed roommate, Shannon, sitting on the couch and staring out the window. He mumbled something about wandering all over Douglas looking for coffee and finding none. Both Shannon and I are pathetically dependent on morning caffeine, so I just sat down near him and petted the cats as we listened to the deep nothingness that is an electricity-free neighborhood buried in snow.

Eventually the electricity fired back up and Shannon turned the radio and coffee maker on, and I went outside to check the condition of the snow. The falling snain was quickly turning it into a substance more similar to wet cement than frozen water, and with more than a foot of it covering everything, I knew I didn't stand a chance of getting out for a bike ride today (I put up with a lot of slop, but even I have my limits.) It goes without saying that the conditions are too treacherous for riding my bike, they're certainly too treacherous for driving my car. It seemed I was stuck at home for the afternoon. So I did what anyone stuck at home would do ... I strapped on my snowshoes and went for a walk through the neighborhood ...

The Mount Jumbo trail is a trail I can literally walk out my front door and be moving up the mountain within three minutes. Sometimes I take full advantage of the proximity of this steep, lung-busting, heart-rate-working, beautiful forest route and use it frequently; and sometimes I neglect it for weeks at a time. But for all of the dozens of times I have walked on the Mount Jumbo trail, today I found it in the most enchanting state I have ever seen it in. The thick snow covered every branch of trees 60 feet high, and buried the mountainside in fluffy, forgiving pillows of powder. The snain turned back to light falling snow above 1,000 feet, and the air was so calm, so completely calm, that not even that tallest branches on the tallest trees swayed. As I walked, I heard only the muffled crunch of my footsteps. If I stopped, I heard nothing at all. Even though I was supposed to be working my heart rate and busting my lungs, I found myself stopping often and gazing up at the treetops, mesmerized by the white silence.

What can I say? My neighborhood is a pretty place.

Joining Team Fatty

Date: Dec. 3
Mileage: 38.5
December mileage: 84.3

As many of you out there in the world of blogs already know, Elden aka "Fat Cyclist" aka "Fatty" has organized a massive fundraising effort for the LIVESTRONG Challenge. In honor of his wife, Susan, and countless others who are fighting a battle with cancer, he is aiming to raise upwards of $1 million for cancer research and support. I spent a few days thinking about how I could get involved. I didn't think I was going to sign up for an event because I wasn't crazy about the date of the Seattle event, and the others were just so far away.

But then I got an e-mail from my friend in Utah, Chris, who announced he not only committed to raising $5,000(!), but also intends to ride the century in Seattle(!!). Chris is not your typical cyclist. I'm not even sure he'd call himself a cyclist. He's a therapist who sometimes works upwards of 70-80 hours a week. He loves to hike and camp but rarely has time for either, and admits that right now he's "in the worst shape of my life." Chris and I traveled through Alaska, along with Geoff and another friend, Jen, in 2003. Just a few days into the trip, Chris learned his mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer. He was nearly on his way back to Utah before his mom strongly encouraged him to continue with the dream trip he had been planning for months. I watched him wrestle with his guilt and grief, and try to comfort his mom from afar. He had a head of long, wavy hair and he shaved it all off in solidarity with her. His mom won her battle with breast cancer. Many do not. When I found out Chris was getting involved with Team Fatty, I felt inspired.

I signed up for the event that I'm still not sure I'll be able to attend. I'd love to go, not only to ride with Chris, but to finally once and for all meet Elden (I know. It's crazy. He lives less than 10 miles from the place where I grew up, but we've never met.) So right now, I'm in for 100 miles in Seattle. That was the easy part. Now the hard part - raising funds. Luckily for me, Elden contacted me with a wonderful idea.

He is holding a series of raffles to help inspire people to donate a few bucks. Next Tuesday and Wednesday, he'll be raffling an Olympus Stylus 1030 SW digital camera. You may recognize this camera because I rave about it all the time. It's my camera, only newer, and less abused, and with even more special features. It's shockproof to 6.6 feet, waterproof to 33 feet, crushproof to 220 pounds of pressure and freezeproof down to 14 degrees (I've used it while it was 25 below and can attest that it continues to work well below 14 degrees.) And you can have a chance to win this camera by visiting www.fatcyclist.com next Tuesday and Wednesday and contributing to the LIVESTRONG Challenge. If you win the camera, you to can take mountain bike ride shots like this:

(OK, you'll have to come to Juneau to take a mountain bike shot exactly like this.)

I'm going to throw in a few books for the raffle as well. But, in an effort to coax a few people to donate early, I'd like to offer signed copies of my book to the first five people who donate $25 or more to the LIVESTRONG Challenge through my personal page. I'm "AlaskaJill" on the Seattle team. (Click here to donate.) Every cent will go to this amazing cause, so it's a good way to get the book if you've been thinking you might like to read it.

Also, I wanted thank those who recently bought signed copies of my book through my new Paypal page. The Thanksgiving holiday put my printing back a few days, but I am expecting my order on Thursday or Friday, and will send out books shortly after. I ship priority, so you should have them by the following Wednesday or Thursday. I want to apologize for the short delay, but I have things rolling now and my turnover times should be much shorter from now on. (I can process Christmas orders until Dec. 15. After that, there are no guarentees.)

There's a couple of new reviews of the book. One from Mike Jacobsen. (a cyclist in Washington), and a "non-biker review" from my sister, Lisa (not biased at all.)

I also got a few nice e-mails from readers, including this one from Heidi Olson: "I've really enjoyed reading your book - your descriptions of each day on the trail made me feel like I was right there. I had to grab for a warm blanket several times and I'm sure that I consumed more peanut butter cups then you did through the entire book."

And from Karen Ness: "I really enjoyed the way you flashed back to previous years leading up to move to Alaska, alternating chapters with your Iditarod travels. That was a great way to tell the story. It broadens your base and allows the reader to learn more about where you came from and how you got to where you were on the trail. The way you expanded your story helps for anyone who has followed along on your blog. It is a new story even to old readers."

So what are you waiting for? Go donate! (And then come back Tuesday and donate again for a shot at an awesome camera.)

Brutal wind

Date: Dec. 2
Mileage: 9.4
December mileage: 45.8

I could see a stream of snow pouring off Mount Roberts as I rode down the North Douglas Highway.

"Windy up there," I thought. "But that's a good thing. Good practice."

Most days, conditions are relatively mild in Juneau. So I'm always looking for unique opportunities — little tastes of the extreme. I parked my bike at the Roberts trailhead, readjusted the snowshoes on my pack and began hiking up the dirt. The trail was coated in flaky ice and a dusting of snow, but it was dry for the most part. Simple. I strapped on the snowshoes near the closed-down tram terminal and continued the hike over hard-packed snow. The breeze was starting to pick up and I checked my thermometer. 17 or 18 degrees. Perfect.

Just above treeline, the wind gained considerable force. The first big gust hit hard and I gasped as I pulled my Gortex hood over my balaclava. My knee-jerk reaction to a chill like that is always "Holy cow, I'm going to die." But as the wind continued to stream around my coat, I realized that I hadn't flash-frozen. I actually felt warm. And I remembered that, just as I hadn't in all the cold winds I lived through before, I probably wasn't going to die.

"This is awesome," I thought. "This is just like the Kuskokwim River valley."

Low on the ridge, sustained winds were easily 50 mph. The snowpack had been scoured. What was left was as solid as ice. The crampons on my snowshoes hardly left an imprint, but the footing was good. I leaned hard into the wind and continued up.

As I gained elevation, the really hard gusts began to hit. Some hurricane-force jet stream seemed to be moving along the saddle, and I was in its periphery. I wish that I had some kind of wind measuring instrument with me, because my guesses probably seem inflated. But I swear, some of those gusts were moving 70, 80 mph. Enough to stop me in my tracks, crouch down, and wait until they subsided. A small strip of exposed skin - my cheeks and nose - began to burn in the cold blasts, which made sense, because the wind chill was probably about -20.

Still I stood up, and thought, "Good. Feeling warm. Feeling good. Have to get used to this sometime. Might as well be now."

I knew there was no way I was going to climb to the ridge, but I let myself believe I was at least somewhat protected by the saddle and didn't think the wind would get much worse. I climbed over what I had already decided would be my last little knoll when I was hit by a blast so strong that I instantly dropped to my knees and instinctively grabbed for some nearby rocks. Hard to describe that gust. I've never felt wind so strong, ever, in my life. I'm sure of this. I became convinced I was going to blow off the mountain, even though I wasn't actually moving at all. But I death-gripped those rocks and buried my face in my coat as the wind poured around me. It just kept blowing and blowing and blowing. I started to fear that it wasn't a gust, but an actual sustained wind that I was going to have to fight. But it eventually calmed down a bit. I stood up, turned around, and with the wind at my back, moved very quickly down the mountain.

No real danger, ever, but it was an educational little taste of extreme weather. Baby steps up the big mountain.

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.