Hundo FUNDO? A Crisis of Confidence and Mountain Bikes

 

Hundo Fundo?   A Crisis of Confidence and Mountain Bikes.

 

So it began with a “suggestion” by my wife…”Hey…you should do this race.”  Admittedly, I wasn’t in the mindset for racing anything this year, but the fact that it was at what is arguably my favorite trail system (Buffalo Creek in Bailey, CO), and only 40 minutes from our new condo swayed the deal considerably.  When the email showed up saying that registration was opening…I just went ahead and signed my name on the line.  That was back in March, the race date was June 19^th…I figured I’d have plenty of time to attempt to whip myself into some semblance of fitness in the interim.  As with other races I’ve done in locales different from my flat-ass Midwestern home, training for a race at altitude with a lot of elevation change proved to be difficult…and for some reason, my motivation just wasn’t there like it was prior to big stage races like Breck Epic.  As I toed the line on that Saturday morning, all I was thinking was…”OK…the longest ride I’ve done this year has been 40-some miles and about 4 hours.  This is almost 65 miles and 7600 feet of climbing.  That math does not work.”  Confidence levels were extremely low with regard to finishing potential.

 

FORTUNATELY…I had an ace in the hole.  Our new friends Tom and Ginger from Evergreen had introduced me to their friend Scott and his wife Christine at packet pickup the previous Sunday.  The other three were doing the Hundito 50k race, but Scott was doing the big one, and he was basically just looking to have a nice, fun ride and make it to the finish…kinda like me.  Being a CO resident and avid rider, Scott was and is a WAY more fit person than me, and I was reticent to accept his offer to ride together for fear of slowing him down and harshing his overall Hundo experience.  He laughed off my concerns, and said “WE are doing this…and it will be great.”  OK.  Confidence levels slightly improved.

 

After a week of extremely hot temperatures (Michelle and I rode at Buffalo Creek the prior Tuesday in 100 degrees), it was refreshing to be standing at the start line with temps in the upper 50s, going to up to a high of 78…basically perfect weather for a ride…a really long ride.  Scott was all smiles, I was all nerves, and I was pretty concerned about the opening couple miles, which were on two-track, road, and some fire road.  This kind of riding always gets in my head, as the exhilaration of a speeding downhill is so rapidly and painfully replaced by a slow grind in your lowest gear…with the top clearly in sight at all times.  I had to deal with about 9 miles of this, and was completely unsure of how to pace myself and make sure to ride within my abilities to make up the entire distance.  Confidence…wavering at best.

 

At the crack of the gun, we started rolling.  There was to be a two mile neutral rollout, which I have experienced with mixed results in other events.  At times, “neutral” means everyone is chatting and slow rolling…and at other times…it has meant head on the bars, ass on the rivet charging just to stay with the group.  Unfortunately for me and my wavering confidence, this one was the latter.  It was a dusty two track, and Scott disappeared quickly into the cloud.  I followed him past a couple riders, but quickly decided this pace was NOT for me, and I just let him go.  When we hit the first climb, I knew it would be painful, but the added mental weight of how easily Scott rode away from me, combined with watching helplessly (and breathlessly) as rider after rider passed me by was not an easy thing to deal with.  Legs and lungs were burning, and I seriously considered just turning around and rolling back to the truck after about 3 or 4 miles.  Clearly I was in over my head.  Confidence was at zero.

 

About 6 miles of misery in, at the top of a hill…stood Scott.  I was amazed, and more than a little happy to see him, but again, I told him he needed to go on without me, as I had SERIOUS doubts that I would be finishing all 64.8 miles.  He laughed it off and said, “let’s go.”  Another three miles of less-than-fun trail…and we FINALLY hit some beautiful, wonderful SINGLETRACK.  Buff Creek is classic cross country riding.  Roots, rocks, ups, downs, tight turns, awesome berms, drops…it really has everything I love about mountain biking.  I perked up as soon as we hit it, and flew through the first couple miles, picking off riders that weren’t as adept at handling offroad terrain.  Scott was right behind me cheering me on and having fun…and my confidence level edged ever-so-slightly upwards.  THIS…was what I signed up for.

 

We rolled through the first aid station without stopping, I had plenty of water and had just started feeling good, Scott was same.  The Baldy climb was just over 1000 feet…Scott said “This one will take about 20 minutes or so.”  I’m thinking…the LONGEST sustained climb on my “home” trail is MAYBE 2 minutes, lol.  But climb we did, and rolling over the top was another confidence booster, followed by an aid station where I took a couple handfuls of peanut MnMs and ½ of a banana, plus pocketed a gel for later…then onward we rolled.  I was actually ALMOST enjoying myself at this point, but knew I still had a LONG way to go, so my confidence still was not there when it came to finishing.  Onward we rolled.

 

Aid 3 was at the bottom of a super-fun downhill, and while grabbing some more fuel, we were told that the next aid station was a mere 5 miles away.  The only issue was…it was 5 miles…UP.  The Nice Kitty trail was decidedly NOT nice…especially on the steep ramps on the lower part.  Again, we were fortunate with the weather, because the lack of shade towards the top would have been brain-frying.  I found my climbing legs on this one, and was using a bigger gear per my singlespeed roots…I was feeling pretty good at the top when we hit the aid station, which we rolled through pretty quickly.  Only, it WAS NOT THE TOP.  I knew this from looking at the course profile…starting at the bottom of Nice Kitty, it was basically a 12 mile constant incline, and the Colorado Trail followed by Little Scraggy was a recipe for disaster for me.  Any positivity I had experienced at the last aid was dumped in the dirt about ½ way up Little Scraggy…confidence evaporated…and, finally, after about 40 miles…I had to stop.  Scott still stayed with me despite me pleading for him to just take off.  I told him I really didn’t think there was a chance for me to finish at this point.  In spite of my dire condition, I knew that I had to keep going…no Medivac helicopter was going to pick me up and whisk me away to someplace with rum.  I got back on the bike, and topped out Little Scraggy at about 8500 feet and mile 42…and my confidence was all but gone.  Energy level was severely compromised, the needle was bouncing off “E.”  Still, there was over 20 miles to go…but it started with a DOWNHILL.

 

After 12 miles of climbing, we were treated to 8 MILES of downhill.  Talk about putting a smile on the face and a cramp in the calves…again, the longest “sustained” downhill for me locally is just about 1 minute, lol.  I struggled a bit when I washed out my front wheel on a turn and on my recovery, something in my right shoulder popped and suddenly I couldn’t pull up on the bars.  It gradually felt better as we descended, but for a couple miles, I was hurting.  The Shinglemill trail finished off the descent, and OMG it was impossible not to smile.  We were flying, and actually really having fun at that point.  At the bottom, we were greeted by some volunteers telling us the next aid station was only ½ mile away…uphill.  I knew that there couldn’t be many miles left, so…amazingly…I started thinking there was the TINIEST possibility I might pull this off.  More MnMs, more bananas, more water, more electrolytes…anything to fuel myself to the finish.

 

Scott said…all we have to do is get up Baldy again (that previous “20 minute climb”).  Oh boy…only now there were 53 miles on my legs…so 20 minutes was PROBABLY not gonna happen.  We started up a long fireroad incline, then hit the singletrack and went UP.  Then, maybe 15 or so minutes in…disaster struck.  Cramping in my right hamstring.  It came on quickly, and I quickly shut down so as not to pull a muscle.  I had to stop and walk to loosen things up.  Scott read the writing on the wall and left me to my misery, to his great credit.  The remainder of the climb was…well…let’s just say I’d rather not talk about it.  By the time we hit more fire road at the top and climbed some more to the final aid station at Mile 60…I was STILL not confident that I’d be able to finish.  This was certainly proving to be one of the tougher days I’ve had on a bike.

 

I inquired at the aid station about the status of the remaining course…with all hope in my voice…I said “It’s all downhill from here, right?  RIGHT?!?!?!!?”  The course volunteer said…”I wish I could tell you yes, but I can’t to that.”  Sigh.  We ended how the race started…on a dirt road with screamingly fast downhills and agonizingly slow and crampy uphills.  Scott would ride ahead, and wait for me as I struggled to maintain forward momentum, weaving crazily all over the road.  At this point, finishing was inevitable, but just how painful it would be was to be determined.  I kept drinking and taking in electrolytes in the hopes that my leg would not totally lock up…and luckily it did not.  We took the final turn to the finish line, Michelle and Christine and Ginger were waiting to cheer us in, and I happily dismounted after 7 hours 22 minutes and 50 seconds of struggle and…fun?  Yeah…I’m pretty sure I had fun.  I’m still in disbelief that I managed to finish, lol.

 

Post ride was wonderful, as we had free beers, free burritos, and then a tailgate party with our new CO friends.  Next year, I think I’ll skip the riding part and go right to the party part.

 

So many thanks are owed to Tom and Ginger, Scott and Christine, and my loving and supportive wife Michelle.  Another stupid ride in the books…I SWEAR I’m done doing this to myself!  I’m retired!

 

Before the race, I told Scott “I usually finish right in the mid-pack on these things.”  Final results:  92nd place out of 179 finishers.  7 hours 22 minutes 51 seconds. 

You wanna know what's wrong? One man's opine...

 It's November in 2020, and dystopian novels have proven to be both prescient and unheeded.  I've had drinks, and I need to express myself in the only artform with which I have a modicum of talent, that of the written word.

WHAT IS WRONG.  I've just finished watching a documentary on Hunter S. Thompson.  Certainly a genius, not a role model nor even a person I'd wish to follow down any of his chosen paths in life.  But...a genius in his vision of society, and, unfortunately, eventually a victim to his own predictions of destruction.

WHAT IS WRONG.  You cannot ask any significant portion of the American populous who their favorite author is and expect an answer that is supported with detail and reason.  The age of the learned and objective pundit is dead.  Or...at least the age of the reasoned pundit is dead, anyway.  What killed it?  The cathode ray tube.  Instantaneous media.  The Facebook.  The 24 hour news cycle.  The death of objectivity through the dearth of time taken towards cognition as opposed to abject reaction.  We only react, we no longer think.

HST invented a method of reporting on society that was both piercingly real, but hyperbolically fantastic.  It takes a bit to get used to figuring out where the line is drawn, and the reality dissolves into the symbolic...but his gift to those who read him is the clarity with which those far-reaching absurdities so accurately capture the human condition.  It's raw.  It's embarrassing.  It's difficult.  It can be tedious, but the man...who was about as "liberal" as they come...had an affinity for guns and powerful motorcycles that stepped outside the halls of the "learned left" and into sharply defined reality without regard for dichotomy. His love for life was eventually crescendoed by a bullet.  

P.J. O'Rourke.  Both a contemporary and a student of Hunter.  National Lampoon editor.  Rapier wit, and subtle yet qualified economic and political bard.  His is a tale of "boomer" America, and, thankfully, as resistance to reactionary journalism.  His compendium of written work spans the whole spectrum of political ideology...something imperative in an eventual arrival at what one can finally call...WHAT I BELIEVE.  Personally, even though my ethos does not entirely intermingle with his, I find that the journey described and the experiences that have shaped his positions to be a thing I aspire to in my own quest for a solid structure of belief.

WHAT IS WRONG.  Not enough people have read Vonnegut.  Gaimon.  Bryson.  Twain.  Abbey.  Ambrose. Jack freakin' London.  If you want to see America...if you want see our world...my opinion lies strongly in the belief that the written word...actually...the well-considered written word...holds the answers.  Now, we attribute a talking head on a screen to reality, all too frequently that reality is solidified for each one of us when it agrees with our core feelings about a subject.  

WHAT IS WRONG.  Feelings...however strong...do not constitute reality, which, last time I checked, is based in fact.  Today, fact and reality are snowed under by belief, and the strength of beliefs is bolstered by a constant stream of targeted information...the marketing of falsehood.  The truth is...out there.  And it won't be spoon-fed to you.

WHAT IS WRONG.  We are quick to judge, quick to attack  and counterattack.  We operate as though those with beliefs contrary to our own MUST BE DEFEATED.  Henry Clay's old bones must be spinning around underground, not that his role as "The Great Compromiser" didn't eventually result in a bloodbath.  Compromise is dead...killed by a basal understanding and gradual implementation and exploitation of human behavior. We have been corrupted by marketing.

WHAT IS WRONG. "Reaching across the aisle" is now considered to be basic impotence.  There are people who won't read this for the centrist rant it is intended to be, simply because they know...or think they know...my particular political bent.  Before I am representative of a "party," I am an American.  I do not think I am alone.  I am a student of the comparatively short history of this Great Experiment.  My heroes have always been visionaries in the guise of Thomas Jefferson and Theodore Roosevelt.  Men who history reveres, but men who, when studied, were most certainly not without fault (what man is?).  What would they think about the America of today?

WHAT IS WRONG.  Contention does not have to be divisive.  Contention SHOULD be based in fact.  What is wrong...is that "fact" is under fire, and media is holding the gun.  We are being played against each other.  We are being systematically programmed to hate.  Take ONE step back from the argument you are so fervently banging the keys on your computer to support...and breathe.  Take TWO steps back...and consider the point of the opposition.  Take THREE steps back...and STUDY EXACTLY what you are attempting to countermand.  Take your TIME to do this, as great minds and authors of the past have done.  See if your general attitude changes, and SOLUTION begins to rear its head.

This might just be pissing in the howling wind of divisiveness that is gripping this country like never before.  This is a tiny posting in a hurricane of discord.  This is a TL;DR for a lot of people.  But, however small, it is my plea for unity.  It is my bridge across the divide.  It is an apolitical request for humanity through humility.  Fly the flag of your cause, but make sure it is planted in truth and reason.  Find that truth and reason might just mean common ground and a way forward for this country.  Take a hard look at WHAT IS WRONG...and do your damndest to find a way to make it right.

What the hell happened in 2019

A year in review...aka The Lost Christmas Letter

Well...let's see...2019 began in Eden.  Powder Mountain was the last of 4 ski resorts we hit on our Christmas - New Years sojourn...the others being Park City/Canyons, Snowbird, and Snow Basin.  Per usual, we had a good time, especially at PowMow with our Indiana friends Kyle and Colorado and Beth...and a bottomless snowpack.

The next weeks saw one of the better snowmobile seasons in recent memory...and the first time Michelle ever really wrecked me.  Thankfully, Gorilla tape was the only necessary repair required.

More winter fun included go-carting with Nick and Meg, and getting a ride in the Presque Isle Sno-Bunnies groomer.

The polar vortex hit hard, but only one of us suffered through...as I was "stranded" in California mountain biking for 8 days.  It was hard.  Very hard.

SPRANG BRAKE found us in Arizona...with hiking taking place in Phoenix, followed by hiking AND biking with Beth in lovely Sedona.  It was so nice to have warm and dry after months of cold and wet.  We walked the White Line and went to a Buddhist meditation thing.  We found zero vortices.

We bought another boat.  It was supposed to be a snowmobile, but ended up being another boat.

Memorial Day was a confused mess of options until we happened upon a wonderful combination of boating and mountain biking at Land Between the Lakes in Kentucky.  Little 27 Donzi was perfect...even though she was only running on 7 cylinders.  Oops.  Mtb was perfect Michelle-level riding...and I had fun too.  There are bars with fruity drinks and a nice party cove...plus two huge lakes.  We liked it so much, we went again for Labor Day.

Then...it was the BIG TRIP.  Hawaii.  Kaua'i was incredible.  We had a condo on the beach with pigeons.  The hiking was awesome...the trail names had a lot of vowels.  The Napali Coast was amongst the most amazing things we've seen...and we saw it by land, sea and air.  7 days of beauty, gorgeous hikes and beaches.  Oahu was family time.  Honolulu was decidedly NOT pretty.  Tourists doing tourist things...we are not.  Climbed Diamond Head, went surfing, beach yoga, Pearl Harbor, Uncle Cliff and SPAM.  Day trip to Maui.  Private waterfalls are the best waterfalls....would do again.

Lake of the Ozarks for 4th of July.  More work than fun...might be could be last time we make that drive?  Still squeaked out a good time with good people.

Michelle has chick adventure #2...with heavier emphasis on the "chick."  Montana.  Glacier National Park.  Hiking with Terry and Lindsey, then meeting Colorado and Amy for 3 days of flannel fun at mountain bike retreat.  Mike goes to WI and wins a 6 hour mountain bike race in a downpour.

We do Chicago Scene Boat Party, go wakeboarding/wakesurfing/jet skiing on Lake Geneva.  Sommer summer fun.

Mike decides to do something stupid and enters a 3 day stage race in Canada.  Matt does a dumber thing and agrees to accompany him.  Its way, way harder than predicted, but check another off the list.

We grab the last vestiges of summer with a Tuesday night boat ride downtown.  The next day it is fall.

Bike things in fall...Wine Ride #2 in SW MI....good fun with great people.  TRIBE.  Brown County Big Woods Epic...more of the same.  Untrained Michelle knocks out 40+ miles on a cold but beautiful fall day.  Mike is super happy.  Cemetary 6Pack.  Many good friends and good times.

Fall seemed boring and long, but we managed to have a fun downtown weekend with Open House Chicago, headed to Terre Haute, IN to watch NCAA CC Nationals, and went to two Bear games...one at home...and one bucket list at Lambeau Field in Green Bay. The frost froze on my pocket beers.

Winter came in October and left in December.  We rode our bikes in shorts on Christmas Day.

Now you know what happened...and now you'll remember.

Crank The Shield - One Man's Painful Perspective

Yet again, the seemingly insatiable desire to mentally and physically torture myself under the guise of having a good time has resulted in mileage under wheel and under foot.  And yet another finish line has been crossed.  I am ALMOST resigned to stating that I just MIGHT not stop doing this to myself....?  Yeah...right.

Buckle up campers...it's time for a tale of what it was like for a dude that retired from racing like 4 races ago to toe the line and grind out the event that was:  CRANK THE SHIELD 2019.

Prologue:  I'm not very good at doing nothing, so riding my mountain bike is an almost daily occurrence.  Sometimes, riding just for riding's sake is enough, and sometimes having a challenge or goal in mind adds a bit of spice to the mix...especially during the long, cold, wet spring months.  I hadn't had a "goal" race set since the Breck Epic of 2017, and 2019 was looking to be the first time in many years I had gone a full 2 seasons WITHOUT something big and stupid to do.  The exceptionally cold, wet, rainy winter, spring, and early summer Chicago dealt us this year quite literally put a damper on my riding in general, much less any targeted "training."  I wasn't bored, but in the back of my mind, I knew I wanted a challenge.  Vacations and work scheduling precluded any event prior to late summer or fall, and it was a happenstance posting on a Facebook page that caught my eye as something where the timing would work...and, honestly, it didn't look IMPOSSIBLY difficult and was thusly more "on par" with my level of fitness.  Crank The Shield is a 3-day stage race north of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada...total distance was going to be in the 110-115 mile range with around 10,000 feet of climbing, but much of it on gravel fire-roads and two tracks.  Eminently do-able, IMO.  So, about a month to go before the start...I signed up.

Training and Preparation:  In retrospect, this section of the blog post SHOULD  be a lot longer.  But, it's not.  Partly because I only had one month, and partly (mostly) because I underestimated the difficulty of the event...by a lot.  About the only extra efforts I put into my normal biking routine were a couple 4 hour touring rides of the local trails (one on my singlespeed) and a 6-hour Wisconsin Endurance Mountain bike Series race that I conveniently won (adding to the confidence level that was already overinflated).  The end.

OH, CANADA.

Thursday morning at 6am found me in the driveway of Matt W, a veteran of two Breck Epics and 3 Cemetery 6-Packs among other things, who had fool heartedly agreed to accompany me on this sojourn...on only about 10 days notice.  Again, my confidence was somehow elevated knowing he had even less "training" than me...which makes NO sense at all.  With my trusty pop-up camper in tow, we headed east and then waaaaaaaaaay north, crossing the Mackinac Bridge (which I had boated under almost exactly one year prior), then crossing into Canada at Sault Ste. Marie and hitting that button on the dashboard that makes everything seem faster because it goes from mph to kph.

A 25 minute drive north of the city of SSM put us out into some beautiful country, with trees, rolling hills and the Goulet River.  Everyone seemed to be towing something fun...campers, ATVs, boats...so it was clear that we were in vacationland.  We made our way to Stokely Creek Resort, which is apparently heaven-on-Earth to the cross-country ski set in the winter.  Endless miles of groomed XC ski trail, warming huts in the backcountry, and a lodge made up of several cozy buildings that would soon be filled with mountain bikers.  We were among the first to arrive, and had our pick of where to park and set up the camper.  Matt had weaseled his way into a room at the lodge, and brought his gear inside, and then we both took several minutes to figure out the logistics of the coming days.

Crank the Shield is a unique event in many ways, chief among them would be the course itself.  While technically based at Stokely Creek...the start was somewhat...different.  From Stokely, we drove the truck back down to SSM with our bikes and gear for day one, checked in at Outspoken Brewery (damn right mountain biking!), and handed our precious carbon bike-cycles (Ibis Ripley for me and Yeti SB4.5C for Matt) over to the organizers to be loaded onto a TRAIN for the morrow.  Yup...we would be taking the Agawa Canyon scenic train ride in the morning to get to the starting line far north out into the bush.  Certainly a cool thing, and a great way to showcase the area.  After a dinner and a couple beers, we checked into our hotel, which was conveniently located closely by both the brewery and local bike shop (Algoma Cycles)...and only a couple blocks from the train station. 

Sleep didn't come easily due to anticipation, but it had been a long day.

ALL ABOARD...

6am saw a LOT of very fit-looking people at the Holiday Inn complimentary breakfast...and two dudes from IL slightly disappointed that they only served regular bacon and not Canadian bacon.  Fueled up and amped, we drove the truck over to the train station and about 10 minutes later, our ride came steaming down the tracks.  Groups of riders were chatting about course expectations, where they were from, and whether they'd done this event in the past (this was the 8th year...and the second using this portion of Ontario).  We all clambered aboard, and Matt and I flopped into a couple seats in the car adjoining the "food" car (pastries and coffee were served during the ride).  We chatted up the guy across from us...quickly determining that he was an exceptionally fit rider...and eventually finding out he was not only a previous rider at the event...but a previous winner.  Peter Glassford couldn't have been nicer, and we had a great running convo for the length of the ride, which helped me avoid any nervousness that I tend to build prior to a starting line.  We also learned that a toque was a Canadian hat.

We came to a stop in the Middle of Nowhere, Ontario, Canada, and everyone disembarked, then formed chains to help unload all of the bikes.  We were given about 1/2 hour to get situated, the sun was shining, mood was high, and I couldn't wait to get started on what was to be an 80 k (yeah...it was a week spent doing quick kilometer to miles math in my head)...or 50 mile...ride to Stokely Creek.  The course description stated that much of the day was to be on gravel roads and two tracks, with several creek crossings and a small section of singletrack after the second aid station at mile 37.  There were smiles all around, Matt and I high-fived and wished each other luck...and somebody yelled "GO!"

Things got really dusty, really fast, as the leaders moved up the road.  I tried to stay conservative...as 50 miles would be about the longest ride I've had all year...but I kept jumping from group to group and moving through the pack on what was basically a dirt road.  We turned into a double track that was pretty closed in by foliage...branches were whipping your arms no matter what side you rode on...and I was still in a lot of traffic when we hit the first creek crossing.  It was about knee-deep and very rocky, so a dismount was required, and the cold water was quite refreshing on the legs.  This spread things out a bit, and I wound up riding with a couple that had matching kits featuring the front and back ends of a cat, which was particularly amusing.  They were riding REALLY strong, and I was still trying to find my tempo, so I backed off a bit and wound up largely by myself.  The terrain was rolling, and the surface varied from swampy loam to sand to loose 3-6" rocks to embedded large rocks.  I found that I was really strong on the uphills, largely because I was mashing a bigger gear and floating over the rough terrain as opposed to immediately dumping into the spinny gears and bouncing over everything.  This works great right up until you CAN'T turn that big gear, lol.

The ride got serious probably 8 miles in when we hit the first "wall" of the day...and it was the first of many.  Off the bike and pushing seems to be the norm in every stage race I've done, but the frustration of it in this particular race was compounded by the fact that you were technically walking up a "road," and you could always see the top.  The descents were largely the "hang onto your ass and hope" high-speed variety, almost inevitably with a section of 5" deep pea gravel or sand at the bottom ready to send your front wheel into the next province.  After a beautiful double-creek crossing, we were treated to about a 10 minute climb...I managed to stay in the saddle for maybe 70% of it...but it was a burner.  I decided I needed to slow down at the first aid station shortly after.

I didn't slow down, though, because my legs like to only ride one pace.  So...I suffered.  I saw very few other riders, which I took to be a good thing because it meant I must be up front (or very, very far off the back).  We rambled through a hydrocut (Canadian for "power lines") area with a ton of sand, and eventually came out to a spectacular vista of the Lake Superior shoreline.  It was breathtaking...and I really, really NEEDED that breath!  I then rolled up on a course marker arrow that was unlike many I'd yet seen...it was pointed down for some reason.  It wasn't lying, however.  Next thing I knew, I was hurtling down the world's worst slip'n'slide...being made up of about 200 vertical feet of round 5-7" rocks (400-600 centimeters or something like that I'm not doing the conversion).  The three people that had been in front of me were all walking...but I couldn't stop, so I dropped my dropper post and just let 'er rip.  I made it down in one piece AND on both wheels...and I still don't really know how.

Aid Two never seemed to arrive, as the hills were relentless, but when it did, I knew I only had 20 km to go (a bit over 12 miles).  A couple locals I spoke with while rolling said "It's ALL uphill to the finish" but I figured that just what locals like to do.  Nope.  This is Canada and people don't bullshit you.  I grabbed a couple bananas and some Gatorade, and decided to forego the offers of hot dogs and beer that Matt would heartily take advantage of, and decided I just wanted to knock this thing out.  We immediately entered a SUPER sketchy singletrack that was described as "rideable," but for the life of me, I cannot figure out by whom.  I was forced off the bike by impossibly steep rock drops and ascents, slick mossy boulders, wet roots, and loamy berms, and basically walked my bike for the next 2/3 mile, which was disheartening, seeing as it was largely DOWNHILL.  Upon a horrible creek crossing exit, the next serving of pain was delivered in the form of a grassy, embedded boulder-strewn field, followed by a soul-crushing gradual grass/gravel climb.  At this point, I figured I had probably 10 miles to go...and I was almost on empty.  Still, I kept turning the pedals and hoping that finish line would come...metering my efforts on the climbs and dismounting to walk rather than burying myself.  Those damn locals really hadn't lied.  At 11k or so to go, I encountered a rider at a creek crossing, who was apparently out of water because he asked me if I thought it was OK to drink. I said I didn't know...but also that I wouldn't do it...and offered him a sip off my bottle...which was only 1/2 full and my ONLY liquid left, my Camelback having gone dry a couple minutes earlier.  He politely refused, and we rode together to the next checkpoint about 1k later, where the guy directing us to turn had some water for the dude.  It must've really helped because about a mile later he passed me like I was going backwards (note:  I may have actually been going backwards at this point).  6 miles to go...more rolling hills, more grass, more gravel...but I was not stopping.  And then...I had to stop. With about one mile to go, the inside of my right hamstring engaged in open revolt...and suddenly I couldn't pedal.  I tried to just use my left leg, but didn't have much success.  Finally, I had to stop and stretch for a minute, then gingerly get back on the bike and HOPE the cramp didn't return.  Fortunately, we were treated to a fun, short, steep downhill singletrack before the finish line...which mercifully came after 5 hours, 31 minutes in the saddle.  25th place overall.  Whew.

Pizza at the finish line is the greatest and best thing I've ever experienced and CTS had on the first two days.  I inhaled a couple slices along with a ton of water and Gatorade, retreated to my popup (which I was lucky enough to have...other riders that were tenting had to finish the race and THEN set up their tents!), and grabbed  a quick shower.  In order to celebrate feeling more like a human being, I propped my feet up and had a rum and coke while waiting for Matt to finish, which he did just over an hour later.  A couple cocktails, a delicious dinner of chicken and mashed potatoes, and the constant exchange of war stories with other competitors made for a quick evening, and after a LONG day, we hit the sack early, legs aquiver.


DAY TWO SUCKED

I mean...why sugarcoat things?  Positivity is a key in any distance event, and keeping your brain in a good place contributes in a BIG WAY to keeping your body moving always forward.  Day Two hurt my brain...and my body.  The more sadistic reader will appreciate the following...

It rained off and on all night, and rain seems to echo off the roof of my camper for some reason.  The same happened on one night of the Pisgah Stage Race, and I swear I counted every single raindrop that hit.  This did NOT result in a restful evening.  Nobody told my leg muscles to stop firing, and my brain was awash with thoughts of the previous ride and apprehensions about the upcoming two...especially now that wet trails were going to be a factor.  Day Two was billed as having more singletrack, which I very much looked forward to, but I also know that wet rocks and roots are a great way to turn fun into NO fun.  I was first in line at breakfast, having gotten to the dining room an hour before it was served, and by the time the food came out, I was ready to eat the light fixtures.  Scrambled eggs and bacon...my favorite long-effort morning fuel.  I hit the starting line with a modicum of positivity...and my legs felt OK, but both were undermined by the knowledge of how much that first day took out of me.

Everyone we had spoken to at dinner and breakfast seemed to be in the same boat (well...except for Peter...who was crushing it).  Matt and I together and separately yakked with people from all over Ontario, and then some folks from MI and even Mexico...it was a good crowd of friendly people bonded together in our mutual suffering...and somehow hungry for more.  Josh was a veteran of 8 years in the Canadian Army and hammering a rigid aluminum bike with a kickstand!  Ashley was killing it in the women's race utilizing her fancy new Shimano 51 tooth cassette.  Matt was looking to take more pictures, drink more beer, and hopefully take a dip in the swimming hole that was featured on the day's course.  Gotta love it.

"GO."  So we went.  I pedaled out SEMI-easy...trying to get a feel for my legs while keeping towards the front of the group before we hit the singletrack.  Oddly enough...my legs felt kinda GOOD.  I was scanning the racers to see if I found anyone I had been with yesterday to try and gauge where I was and/or needed to be, but it was useless.  We hit the singletrack and it was only SLIGHTLY more rideable than yesterday.  Nasty mud bogs, loamy whoops that would catch your chainring, downed trees, slippery rocks, and a good bit of conga-line walking because people were sliding off and having to dismount constantly.  I was starting to not like things.  And then it got way, way worse.  King Mountain was in store, the second highest peak in Ontario, and getting up it was nightmarish.  Starting with a LOOOOOONG grassy climb (again, steep enough that walking was sometimes a better option...but you could see like 1/4 mile in front of you and the grade NEVER slackened), then denigrated into a gnarly, root-filled, slick, muddy singletrack interspersed with wooden bridges so slippery that if you looked at them wrong your eyes would slide off.  I took my only fall of the event by SLIGHTLY turning the wheel at the end of a bridge and instantly flying off the bike.  Hike-a-bike, get on an pedal, get knocked off by a root or a downed tree or a slab of rock, then hike again, for probably a full 1-1/2 hours...just to get to Aid One at 14k into a 50k day.  Ugh.

Finally, I made it.  I can't say I was happy, and I knew more darkness lie ahead, as we had been told there'd be more climbing at the end of the day.  I grabbed a bit of food, and received some encouraging advice from Paul, a mechanic at Algoma Cycles that had helped me out prior to the race.  "There's a couple rollers, but mostly just drop that dropper and have fun on the way down."  I'm sticking to my idea that Canadians aren't bullshitters...so maybe he was thinking of a different trail than the one we took?  I dropped in...but was immediately confronted with a LOT of climbing...and rocks, and roots...followed by a sign that said "Cliff Area - Carry Bike"...which...duh.  After what seemed like an eternity, we emerged on a big slab of rock...and I pulled over to rest (something I never do).  The guy following me did same and we chatted about the insane difficulty of this singletrack...both of us being on the same page that what we were riding was relatively terrible.  We were being made to earn every single meter (appr. 3 feet), and slidey, gnarly downhill that followed was almost as tough as the climb!  I was bottoming out...my positivity tank was on empty.  A couple riders went by and I just tried to find a tempo on the next section of gravel, when I rolled up on another guy and we started talking.  Jason was an ex-pat Aussie living in London, Ontario, my age, and apparently going through the same mental trepidations...in addition to riding the same pace.  It is to him that I owe a great deal, because the camaraderie and misery shared in the last 20 or so kilometers is what got me to the finish line.  We rode through a pretty good section of singletrack then, which raised spirits, then passed by the swimming hole and did a quick stop at Aid Two.  The second climb of the day wasn't QUITE as bad, as it was largely just straight up a grassy hill, replete with a hand-drawn sketch about halfway up telling us we hadn't gotten to the REALLY bad part yet, lol.  Another crazy sketchy downhill followed by some XC ski trails put us back into the same finishing singletrack as the previous day...and again I was so happy to be done.  4 hours 24 minutes to go ONLY 30 MILES.  Yikes.  56th place overall.

It was straight to the bike wash afterward, then to the Mike wash.  I was so zonked I forgot to eat pizza...those who know me will recognize the seriousness of this situation.  I rectified that soon after, then slammed a bunch of water and Gatorade before squelching my pain with rum.  Our tent neighbors Nick and Stacy hung out with us for the afternoon when Matt got back (having taken a nice swim and almost enjoying his day out).  I found out Nick and I had finished pretty close together, and if it were for him taking the Day One "optional" climb of Batchawanna Mountain (20 riders signed up for extra extra pain...and a t-shirt), we'd have likely been right together in the standings.  Dinner (DELICIOUS chili dogs omg) and awards completed...I hit the pillow at 1 million kph.


IT GETS BETTER........right?

So...when I researched this event and signed up for it, somehow I got the impression that it was going to be a 50 mile day, followed by two 30 mile days.  I was REALLY looking forward to having ONLY 30 miles to go on the final day...but I had overlooked some things.  First...I seem to have missed the part about the "neutral rollout" which had been stated as 15 k in length (appr 9 miles).  The only other neutral rollout I've ever done was Stage 1 of Pisgah...and those miles were included in the length of the stage.  Not in this case.  We basically just had to get our carcasses to the starting line by 10am (10am Canadian)...only the 15k was now being stated as more like...20k.  Oh...and something like 750 feet of climbing (#$%& meters).  At least it was all on the road?  Oh...and also...the 50k length of stage?  That wasn't really a thing...its 65k.  So...I awoke in the morning feeling pretty blasted, and was hit with the fact that I was facing basically another 50 mile day (1000 kilometers).  Right.  Right?

We spent the morning breaking down camp (tenters would be putting their stuff in a Uhaul truck to be delivered to the finish line...we would have to drive back up to Stokely to pick up the camper post-race).  If I was uncertain how I felt the day before...I was floating through the cosmos somewhere in terms of what I felt this morning.  Still...my legs responded well when we rolled out of Stokely with Nick, and spent the next hour soft-pedaling so as not to tax the legs too much.  AND THEN...there was about a two freakin' mile uphill.  Anger.  Rage.  Sorrow.  I got to the starting line with 25 minutes to contemplate what I had done to myself and also feed the local mosquito populous.  12 miles and 750 feet of vert just to get to the START.  Then, 38 miles of racing.  Oh boy.

GO.  Up even more.  A 200 foot grind to start the day and really crush those remaining positive thoughts into oblivion.  I wound up next to Nick somehow, and he pulled slightly ahead of me at the top, only to hit an embedded boulder in the grass and fly over his bars.  I asked if he was ok as I passed, but then had problems of my own, as the people in front of me were dismounting for a nasty wet exposed rock section, before remounting, dropping the dropper post and hanging on tight as we bounced down an intense downhill mere feet off the wheel of the next rider.  A super-slick wood bridge with a diabolical downward swoop was the next thing to get me off my bike and pray I didn't slip off to my death (could have ridden it, but with traffic, it was impossible to stop so I walked like the rest).  Remounted again, and the guy behind calls out that he'd like to pass.  I find a wider spot, duck to the left, and he whips by...then immediately hits a root and flies over the bars, his bike careening off into the woods and smacking a tree.  Two more crashes and at least three people with broken bikes or flat tires, and I made it out of the woods unscathed.  Whew.  What a rush!  Am I...happy?!?  NOPE.  Turns out, this trail has just dumped us right at the bottom of the nasty road climb we already had to do once on the rollout. GAH.  10 minutes of grinding...funny how my race pace now looks a LOT like my rollout pace.  Nick catches me again as we cross a highway and continue upwards.  Somehow this gravel road is absolutely saturated...I am wondering how the heck the areas at the TOP of the mountains are wetter than those at the bottom...and I still don't have that answer.  But I digress.  And then I egress the fire road, and into yet another section of horrible hellish, mostly walkable and not rideable by human beings (the leaders of the race don't necessarily count as humans...they are some kind of mutant life form).  I yell to Nick "This is the GOOD stuff, right?"  His response indicated a similar viewpoint...no.  He got away from me on the next section of forest road, which was littered with rocks and downed trees.  Despite all of this...I was moving pretty fast...although I began to feel nauseous for some reason.  At Aid 1, I wanted to eat, I knew I should eat...but I couldn't eat.  I drank some Gatorade and grabbed a packet of peanut MnMs, and then rolled out.

The next gravel section was actually pretty fun...maybe 10 miles or so of pretty flat, fast rocky stuff with the occasional huge puddle or creek to splash through.  My nausea came and went a couple times, but I eventually choked down the MnMs, and nobody passed me, so I felt I was going alright.  Before I knew it, I was at Aid 2, which meant...the home stretch.  20km (12 miles) to go...and it was almost ALL singletrack.  This was a point of consternation, because, as yet, I hadn't really ridden any singletrack that was even remotely FUN...so this 12 miles could be all kinds of bad.  I grabbed 1/2 banana, filled my water bottle with Gatorade, and shoved off.  Thankfully, dear reader, the trails were BLISSFUL for the balance of the ride.  Swoopy, twisty, bermy, flowy...all the good things that come with mountain biking.  It was VERY fun, and I was having a great time.  It was VERY fun, and I was having a great time.  It was VERY fun, and I was still enjoying myself.  It was PRETTY fun and I was starting to get tired.  It was OK but enough is enough.  It was GET ME THE HELL OUT OF THIS FOREST I WANNA BE DONE.  And then...after a mere 3 hours 58 minutes and 46th place...it was over.


CRANKING THE SHIELD

Well, the Shield (which is what that particular geographical area of Ontario is known as) was cranked.  And so was I.  Wow...way more challenging than I'd anticipated, but at the same time, one of the most positive environments I've experienced at a race event.  Everyone was so friendly, the staff was on-point, the courses were very well marked (even when I was hallucinating I didn't get lost), meals and accommodations were top-notch...a remarkable event.  HUGE kudos to organizer Sean, I cannot imagine the countless hours of prep it took to bring all these random strangers into your backyard, but I appreciate it.

Matt finished as I went and picked up my truck, we enjoyed a post race meal and the awards ceremony before heading back up to Stokely for my camper, then back to the Holiday Inn for a quick shower and meal before the afterparty at the Bushplane Heritage Museum, which was SPECTACULAR.

Thanks to all those we high-fived, cheered on, jeered at, and shared beers with...everyone who threw a leg over a top tube and finished this one should be proud of themselves.

I still think I should probably retire from this kind of thing.

water water everywhere...

I have often wondered about the human fascination with moving water. Waterfalls, rapids, waves...all of these things seem to touch some deep trigger within our... collective psyche that cause us to stop and just....watch. Please allow me to wax metaphorical when I say that it might just be a subconscious observation of life itself and how it flows in an around us every day. Its like we are in a liquid environment....a constant and simultaneously ever-changing flow that we can never quite get to stop. Our options are to sit on the shore and watch, jump in and fight and thrash to stay in one place, or just literally go with the flow. One thing we cannot do is stop it. You can cup the water of life in your hands, but you can't keep it there for long. I have found that the practice of going with the flow works out the best, but, sometimes that water starts moving VERY quickly and its tough to navigate...and even tougher to hold on to. Every once in a while its nice to slip into an eddy or a protected cove and reflect. I guess that's probably my main reason for writing a blog...taking time to reflect and being able to come back and revisit my own musings in the future is an important way to immerse myself in the flow of life and appreciate every wave.

Electronic Medium Vs. Pen and Paper Plate

Electronic Medium Vs. Pen and Paper Plate

 

YEARS ago, on our very first sojourn into the relative unknown, I had a hankering (yeah….we were in Nebraska…so it WAS a hankering, not a “thought” or a “desire”) to record the events of our adventure in real time, so as to be able to revisit them in the future, and more adequately recognize the “feels,” as it were, of the situation when we originally experienced said scenario.

 

To where have I been delivered?  This is today’s burning question.  All those years ago…in a farm field mid-Corn-state…things were pretty simple.  And so was my means of recording…a paper plate was the closest thing within my reach after dinner, so it became the medium upon which I began to record.  Today, however, we have been dropped into the complexities of our 49^th state.  And, I am “writing” on an Android something-or-other that doesn’t autocorrect correctly…so we are somewhat at war with the device.  Interesting.  (Postscript – I lost the war…and rather than be able to simply save and transfer these musings digitally…I am now transcribing from one screen to another.  Joy.)

 

I’m fighting this device hard and I hope like hell my thoughts are somehow recorded via digitalization, to be retrieved and enhanced in the future. (I guess that’s what I’m doing now)

 

As of now, I sit outside our chosen bed and breakfast…kinda cold but not really cuz rum…looking out at the sea with mountains hiding behind clouds across the water.  Alaska.  Pretty sure I’ll be attacked by a bear on this one…but hoping like hell it doesn’t happen.  Either that, or death by small plane crash.  Vacation fun with Mike and Michelle.

 

We haven’t really done anything just yet…merely flown from the horrible everydayness of our common existence to the commonality of a community on the edge of what we would normally consider civilization.  Super nice airport, though.

 

We got here, hit the local grocery, then the local liquor store, then the local Trek dealer for a bike rental, and the local REI for bear spray…followed by Dankorage…the local dispensary…for some calm-me-down brownies.  Excellent.  I then proceeded to get mega-lost on the ride home from renting my steed…and despite encounters from sketchball locals and heavy traffic…managed to make it home to my rum and wife.  It’s beautiful here…further north than we’ve ever been…and we ordered pizza.  So…all in all…life is good.

 

IT’S big here.  Really, really big.  And uncooperative, as it were.  We blew out of Anchorage at our scheduled 7:30 am…and it was drizzling rain, same as the previous day.  I had collected our rental vehicle…a Chevy Trailblazer Michelle has named “Buddy,” through a not entirely smooth process involving an incorrect address for the rental car joint and a confused cabby…early in the AM…due largely to the wonder of the 3 hour time difference playing in our favor.

 

We were scheduled to go flight-seeing in Talkeetna…but the heavens were unkind, and, after a 2 hour sojourn, we were told that the tour we wanted to take was not an option due to the low cloud ceiling.  After much wailing and gnashing of teeth by Michelle, we decided to put it on the back burner and rescheduled for July 4.  Then, we did what all vacationers should do when confronted with difficulty, and sat downtown Talkeetna with a warm slice of homemade apple pie.  Then…it was off for Denali.

 

The road was long and scenic…but mostly just long.  I spied the first major wildlife of the trip with a roadside moose, but was soon evened up by a similar sighting by Michelle.  Other than that, it was an uneventful journey (with the notable exception of filling up at the dankiest gas station EVER).  We drove basically the length of the park on its eastern side, and were treated to some amazing vistas…although the namesake mountain of the park remained largely obscured by annoying clouds.

 

As a National Park, Denali is, so far, falling well below expectations in terms of logistical ease.  We visited one park office, only to be told we had to go to another park office, and then return to the original park office…and there was ZERO available parking.  After SOMEWHAT figuring out the bus system to access the park, and our game plan for tomorrow, we were ready for some adventure, so we donned our hiking gear and proceeded up the Mt. Healy Overlook Trail.  5 miles round-trip, with 1700 feet of vertical gain and subsequent loss on the way back…it provided some incredible views of the far-off mountains, and the tiny cove of humanity referred to as Glitter Gulch, which housed most of the hotels in the area just outside the park entrance.  It was well worth the effort, and best of all, Michelle survived the Attack of the Suicide Squirrel.

 

At the conclusion of our hike, we headed down to our home for the next couple days…McKinley Creekside Cabins.  We are in a cozy cabin alongside a swiftly running mountain stream…some beautiful music to fall asleep to.  Which is what I’m about to do.

 

Tomorrow…we are shooting for the bus trip out to Wonder Lake and hopefully the big mountain will be visible.  I’m going to ride some miles on the park road and hopefully remain bodily whole.  Good night.

 

AND…as usually occurs with documenting trips of this nature…I’ve missed a couple days due largely to lack of time and exhaustion.  So…let’s see…where were we?  Ah yes…Denali Day Two.  The big bus trip.  We had acquired our “green bus” tickets and a pass for my bike, which basically meant we had to meet our Wonder Lake shuttle at 7:15am for the long journey down the Park Road.  Our driver Anna informed us that we could disembark at any time and simply grab another green bus, but hers was heading to the last stop 86 miles away if we should choose to stay onboard.  In addition to driving the bus, she provided a rolling commentary about the park and its denizens, while at the same time, keeping a sharp eye out for those creatures.  I saw the south end of a northbound moose, but then it was a long while before we saw anything else of significance…and that turned out to be a momma grizzly and two bouncing baby cubs.  Along the way, we made several rest stops, and hashed out a plan for the bike.  I would jump off the bus at the Eilesen Visitor Center at mile 65, and snag another bus headed back towards the park entrance with the bike, and Michelle would continue on to Wonder Lake.  I would then hop off my bus at the Polychrome Overlook, at the 48 mile mark, and ride back to the entrance.

 

What ensued on my end was easily one of the more spectacular bike rides of my life.  The scenery here is simply amazing.  It’s like Jurassic Park for a northern clime.  The tree line is only at about 3500 feet, so my ride had me climbing out to vistas of endless tundra, then descending through thick stands of evergreens to a bottom formed by a couple of braided rivers running fast and flush with glacial silt.  This was NOT an easy ride…although the grades were not unmanageable, the heavy pig of a Trek Fuel EX wasn’t exactly the best tool for the job.  I was only worried a couple times, when there would be a 10 or 15 minute gap between vehicle sightings, and I was basically rolling snack food for Mr. Grizz…particularly on the uphills.  I made it out unscathed and damn near starving, something that was quickly rectified by a well-placed café at the Visitor’s Center that made a MOST-excellent grilled cheese.  I then waited for a bit over an hour for Michelle’s return.  Her day included two more grizzly sightings, two bull moose sightings, a number of caribou and Dall Sheep…and one very sore back and neck from being on a bus for 11 hours.  Dinner was conveniently located at the awesome restaurant right on the property at McKinley Creek…then it was off to bed.

 

WE were both up early again the next day, eager to embark upon the activity both of us were looking forward to the most in Denali…a Discovery Hike in the back country with a ranger.  Our bus driver Dale had been driving the Park Road for 24 years, and regaled us with some tales of his experiences, as well as imbuing us with a sense that there is a real community amongst those who choose to work in and around the park.  Our “express” bus ride still took about three hours to the point at which our ranger, Adonis, had us jumping ship.

 

The idea was to get out into the “wild” with someone who knew what they were doing, and not get killed or eaten.  Well…we got that, but we also got a few unwanted lessons in botany and a bunch of seemingly rhetorical questions that turned out to be some kind of inverted psychological test regarding our place as humans in this world.  Yeah…unexpected, more than a little weird, and kinda disappointing.  Our hike was only a bit over 2 miles (we wanted like 8-10!)…but we were off stomping across spongy tundra and glacial remnants…no trail…just the land as Mother Nature intended.  Denali is, unlike most National Parks, actually structured to PURPOSELY have no trails, and remain as pristine naturally as possible…rendering most of it inaccessible to all but the most intrepid of individuals.  We don’t quite qualify as such just yet, but have met some people that have inspired us to that end…like the girls I met on the bus yesterday before my ride that were spending EIGHT DAYS in the backcountry…awesome…and a little crazy, IMO.  Our hike ended at a cool waterfall fed by the melting ice of last winter, where we ate some lunch, took some pictures, then hiked back out to the road to catch the next green bus…which got us back to the car a scant 2-1/2 hours later.  Another late afternoon, followed by rum and another restaurant just across our home creek.  After days of running like mad, I proposed the next day be more relaxed, so we decided to forego our 7:15am bus tickets and sleep in a bit.

 

TODAY we relaxed in the morning per plan, and decided to drive over to the park for a hike in spite of drizzly, rainy, cool conditions.  Fortunately for us, the weather decided to cooperate, and the pouring rain at the cabin had dissipated to an occasional drizzle at the Savage River trailhead, which, at the 14.8 mile mark, is the furthest you are allowed to drive your personal vehicle on the Park Road.  Only busses are allowed to go further.

 

We hit the River Loop trail, only, instead of just using the prescribed route, we decided to test our new “back country” mettle and just follow an unmaintained “social” trail down the river valley.  We were rewarded with some truly unreal vistas as we scrambled around rock formations and twisted through gnarled limbs of dwarf willow, finally deciding to turn back after a bit over a mile.

 

This gave us time to head over to the Denali kennels to check out the Park Service’s only team of working sled dogs.  In the winter, these pups are still used to haul loads around and patrol even today, mostly because they will actually start and run when temps drop to -50.

 

We followed up with a grocery restocking trip and some souvenir-buying, and then back home EARLY for once…so I could write this, enjoy a cocktail on the deck, and listen to the water rushing by in the background.

 

Denali…we loved you.

 

ONWARD!  5:30am…an hour that seldom sees a wakened Michelle…and we are rolling back towards Talkeetna and our rescheduled flightseeing appointment.  The problem…as before…it is raining.  Bummer.  No flights going up.  Soooooo…we got on the road early for naught.  But…that gave us some free time, so we did a bit of sightseeing on the gravel road known as Hatcher Pass.  It’s only open two months out of the year, and MAN did it have some spectacular views…right up until we drove into a cloud.  Sadly, the cloud obscured the gold mine Michelle wanted to see, so our plans once again changed, and we happened upon a nice trail system for me to hit some singletrack in AK.  The Government Park system wasn’t huge, but it was perfect for our needs.  I rode and Michelle hiked for a bit over an hour…I was freaked out the whole time and really watching my speed due to copious amount of moose sign in the area…then we started rolling again to Glacier View, where we….wait for it…viewed the Mantanuska Glacier.

 

Being that we are never content with the “seeing” when there is a possibility of “doing”…we signed our lives away to the Nova Guide Service…and, having geared up with waterproof boots, crampons, a helmet, and a climbing harness…we were off to the glacier.  Funny thing…our fee included a “glacier access charge”…because some dude had the foresight to purchase the only land access to said glacier, so that everyone that wants to go there has to ante up and pay the toll to use the bridge he made over the runoff river.  Smart, and, I’d imagine, quite lucrative.

 

We stomped out onto the ice, put our crampons on, and trekked a bit more while one of our guides set a top rope on a ledge.  We then proceeded to learn how to ice climb, which, it turns out, is pretty damn cool.  After that, we explored the glacier some more, checking out fins, crevasses and the like, and learning proper techniques of glacial excursioning.  4 hours later, we found ourselves tired and hungry and had a decent meal and a far better view of the Chugash range at the Long Gun Saloon and Gas Station.

 

Right now, we are at what will likely be the most eclectic of the places we are staying on this trip.  The Cub Cabin has no running water, and Michelle has already made use of the outhouse AND the sponge bath we are provided with.  It’s super cozy, though…not really roughing it….as we DO have both WiFi and a microwave.  Tomorrow, we are Anchorage-bound again, and Michelle will take yet another crack at getting on a flightseeing tour, while my plan is to have a go at some more Alaska singletrack before we have to return both the bike and the car.

 

AAAAAAAAAND….yet another two days have passed, lol.  Our schedule seems to have everything planned out with the exception of REST and/or SLEEP…which is, in and of itself…totally appropriate for this particular endeavor, considering there IS no night.  Seriously…22 hours of daylight and THANK GOD for good shades!

 

We slept in and enjoyed a leisurely depart from the Cub Cabin, and meandered back towards Anchorage, Michelle’s flightseeing plans foremost on the list.  She managed to swing a spot on a 6pm flight, with the potential for her chicken husband joining her.  In the interim, we hit up Kincaid Park…popularly known as Alaska’s best mountain bike experience.  I rode, Michelle hiked, we had fun.  I could have spent MUCH more time at this trail system (even in spite of the numerous moose and bear warnings), because it was SUPER fun, but, alas, time was not on our side.  This damn state is TOO BIG!

 

We dropped the bike, then hit up 49^th State brewpub for an awesome meal (Michelle had YAK!) and some tasty beers, before finding out there WOULD be space for me on the evening flight.  I took the seat with reluctant apprehension, basically sweating bullets for 2 hours prior to our trip to the airport.

 

I’ll keep it simple when I say flightseeing Denali was among the best experiences I have ever had.  I was chosen to be in the co-pilot seat, and despite my trepidations, I found flying in a small plane (pilot and 6 passengers) to be pretty damn awesome.  The views, however, are what truly allayed my fears, as they were beyond words.  Seeing the vast untouched wilds of Alaska and, more particularly, the immediate Denali area, was simply unreal.  Total 10 out of 10.  I could write another blog solely on the flight.  Unreal.

 

That completed, we dumped our rental car and cabbed back to our hotel, the Anchorage Grand, and readied our luggage for the early morning departure on the morrow.

 

5:30 AM.  Again.  Michelle is decidedly unhappy, despite the fact that our train journey departs mere feet from the hotel.  I am totally stoked, having never really taken a train to a fixed destination.  We purchased the Gold Star package, which allowed us our own window-domed car and really good breakfast served while we rolled through the gorgeous Kenai Peninsula.  Again…spectacular.

 

We arrived in Seward about 4 hours later, and set about finding our hotel for the evening and grabbing a bite for lunch along with a couple brews.  Fortunately, our room was ready soon after said libations, and we snagged our bags and headed up to prepare for the afternoon adventure…standup paddleboarding by icebergs recently calved from Bear Glacier.

 

The group consisted of Michelle and I, along with our guide Piper (yeah…Alaska name), and 4 women from Hawaii in town for a wedding.  A 45 minute boat ride into some vicious oncoming waves ended in a serene bay, only to be capped by a wicked fun and fast rip through a glacial estuary whilst dodging chunks of ice.  WAY FUN, especially the last part, with twin BMW turbo diesel motors coupled with jet drives, the boat really ripped through the shallows.

 

Disembarking in the shallow water meant utilizing the dry suits had been issued…the water temp being a steady 40F.   Feet were cold, but not uncomfortable…we grabbed our boards and paddled off into the lagoon.

 

Moments here seem to always have a touch of the surreal…but this particular venture went in deep.  The next couple hours were spent paddling around a protected cove populated by recently-formed icebergs, ranging in size from a couple inches square to literal house-sized blocks.  The sounds of the area were almost more impressive than the visuals, as the ice cracked, popped, and thunderously boomed across the lagoon.  We watched as a block as large as our home broke apart and flipped over, exposing layers of ice tens of thousands of years old, now consigned to the depths of the Pacific.  And then, as if there needed to be more majesty added to the scene…a bald eagle sat perched upon on of the larger ‘bergs.  Alaska pretty much rules.

 

After a long (and exorbitantly expensive – but worth it) day, we settled back at our room at the Breeze Inn and took in the harbor view, whilst trying to kill off the remainder of our rum AND launder a week’s worth of dirty clothes.  We nearly missed dinner, but a nearby takeout joint set us up with an evening breaded-halibut meal.  Now its sleepytime, and we shall see what hike awaits us on the morrow…followed by meeting up with my family and embarking on the cruise portion of this expedition.

 

 

TODAY dawned with indecision, as we weren’t quite sure where we were going to hike on our final day pre-cruise.  Harding Ice Field by Exit Glacier, or Mount Marathon right here in town.  A bit of discussion led us to the conclusion that we had observed things icy for a number of days in a row, and rather than rely on a bus schedule to get us out to the former, we would just hit up the latter and take in the resultant views of Seward and the surrounding mountains and fjords.

 

We walked about ½ mile from our hotel to the trailhead (conveniently marked with a recent homemade sign detailing bear activity) and began our trek upwards.  The trail itself started wide, but basically degenerated to an overgrown singletrack…unmaintained, as described in the website Michelle had used.  After traversing much of the mountain, things took a hard left turn and went VERY vertical.  We didn’t encounter any wildlife, thankfully, but we did get caught and passed by the Mount Marathon Booger Man (the name says it all…it was gross and hanging a good ½” out of his nostril), who pointed us in the right direction.  The summit was attained only through much consternation and considerable effort…with no “real” trail to follow, we were largely left to blaze our way up sans traditional switchbacks, and it was tough.

 

From the top, the entire hike was immediately deemed worthwhile, as the views from Seward out to the Pacific Ocean left us gaping with disbelief.  It was cloudy, but they were just high enough to give us a view of all the mountain peaks in the area, right down to the waterfalls still rushing down from snowmelt.  Another amazing Alaskan panorama.

 

The trip down…well…let’s just say we all know the trip up is usually tougher.  Not today, said Mt. Marathon.  We decided to take the most direct route down, which happened to be part of the race course for an annual 5k that runs from the town to the summit and back (it had taken place only days prior).  The problem was, the ground itself was basically a huge glacial scree field.  Rocks.  Tons of small, loose rocks.  AND…a massive downhill angle…like disconcertingly steep.  Fall-off-the-mountain steep.  After figuring out that the deeper rock was better to tread in, we stomped, slid, scurried, ran and nearly fell down about a mile of scree…it was crazy.  But then…things got REALLY hard.  We basically walked down the semblance of a trail that was cleverly disguised as a waterfall.  Later on, we learned it was a triple-black diamond rated trail.  We wound up with another group of four hikers (who happened to be workers on the OTHER cruise ship in port), and we were DAMN happy to get to level ground…our legs shaking like jello.

 

After an exertion like that, we needed a stop at the Seward Brewery for some lunch and libations, and we still needed to kill an hour before boarding the ship, so Michelle hit up the Seward Sea Life museum to check out puffins and a baby walrus, and I continued upon the libation track, visiting the dankiest local bar I’ve been to in a long while.  It was excellent.

 

Then, it was a bus ride back to the hotel to grab our bags, and a quick jaunt by shuttle van over to the ship.  We are aboard now, and met up with the rest of the family after their Denali adventures.  Bedtime now…and we are cruising.

 

 

STILL figuring out this silly electronic medium…and…coincidently…the “cruise” thing as well.  So far, we have established the way to get around the whole drink package thing and make sure my unlimited drinks feed Michelle’s alcoholic desires as well.  After a couple days on the ship, it is pretty obvious that we are NOT “cruise” people…apologies to both Tom AND niece Meagan…it’s just not “us.”  Seeing my family and having big fun is a YUGE plus, however, so we are rolling with the positive and tolerating the people who are mostly here to sit back and enjoy unlimited food and limited activity.

 

Day One on the boat was pretty chaotic, as we were swept around on a rapid tour, I worked out on a stationary bike for a while, and then there was lots of eating and drinking and sucking at trivia with the family.  We also went to a formal dinner…Vans are still as formal as I get in a vacation setting.  We turned in relatively early in anticipation of a big hike on the morrow.

 

 

WHEN I awoke, we were not yet docked, so our anticipated 8AM departure was delayed, so we went and grabbed breakfast before returning to our room to gear up for THE HIKE.  I capitalize this, because this was one that was not just highly anticipated, but also potentially extremely dangerous and difficult….as in….from what we had read, the route was unmarked and fairly strenuous.

 

We grabbed a cab out of Juneau, and a $40 cab ride later, we were at the West Lake trailhead, hoping to find some indicator that would point us in the right direction.  Fortunately for us, that proved pretty simple, as there were plenty of signs basically saying DON’T DO IT.  So…away we went.

 

About 2 miles up an easy trail, we came to a split, with a small sign that said “Ice Cave Trail…Easiest Way.”  Only “Easiest” was crossed out, and someone had written “SHORTEST…NOT Easiest” in pen underneath.  Obviously, this is what we were looking for.

 

Several SUPER-slick slabs of granite and a twisting, gnarly, and puddle-filled trail led us along a lake shore, and, eventually to a vantage point where we could observe the ridge we would have to get over to reach the Mendenhall Glacier.  Turns out, all it took was 2+ hours of our time and scaling a slimy, wet granite face next to a waterfall, followed by a scramble across a glacial scree field to get to our destination…pockets of space BENEATH the glacier that exuded an unearthly blue glow.  Of all our Alaskan experiences thus far, this was the most surreal.  Touching the underside of the glacier was like touching time itself…I got a chill completely unrelated to the ice.  Phenomenal.

 

We ate our traditional trailside pb and j, then hiked around the debris field for a bit, before heading back.  We also learned that we PROBABLY shouldn’t have been in the particular cave we had explored, as a guide for one of the tours our there informed us that the ice above us was rotten and could at any time collapse in 2-3 TON chunks, lol.

 

Our biggest obstacle on the return was the descent of the waterfall we had climbed.  It was probably 30-40 feet of limited hand and footholds…I would have GLADLY used a rope and harness were it available.  I stayed in front of Michelle and was careful to brace myself before she descended each move…just in case she slipped we’d both have a chance.  Even practicing this level of extreme caution, the downclimb was scary enough that we both sighed with relief once we hit bottom…it was pretty apparent that THIS was the area that the signs at the beginning of the hike had warned about, as a catastrophic fall would likely have resulted in a heli-evac due to the remoteness and inaccessibility of the area.

 

5-1/2 hours after we started, we grabbed our return cab and had him drop us at the relatively authentic Red Dog Saloon for a celebratory beer.  Then, back to the boat for warm showers, dinner with the family, and a magic show before bed.  We are now underway and heading for Skagway, and another big day…hopefully on two wheels.

Well...we did Skagway the anti-tourist way.  Michelle and I were the ONLY people to take the "uphill" version of the bike-ride options available to us from the list of cruise excursions...which was GREAT.  We took the scenic White Pass railroad out of town and up into the Yukon, passing along a trail that was once upon a time full of laboring mules and wannabee gold miners heading for perceived riches.  We met our guide at the top, changed into our cycling gear, prepped our Specialized rental roadies...and were off on an INCREDIBLY scenic 30 mile ride...with our own support vehicle like the pros that we are.  It was chilly, a bit rainy...but absolutely worth it...especially with the massive tailwind we enjoyed.  We finished up, had some sammies on the way back down to Skagway, then toured the town a bit (and the local bike shop :) ) before heading back aboard our yacht.

From here...I have yet to upload my recollections...I should really do that someday.  Suffice to say...AK was a place I will DEFINITELY drag my ass back to in the future....