are we there yet?

Carey with wildflowers in the rain.

Last Sunday evening after Jon successfully installed a new bathroom fan, we decided to celebrate. Dinner? A bike ride? Do we only have time for one or the other? We decided to bike to Spenard Roadhouse for dinner, knowing they were open until 11 and have pretty awesome food. We ran into our friend Alan who was dining with one of his friends, and,of course, began talking about the rides we'd done recently.

I did Russian Lakes trail the other day, Alan began. "That was the longest 16 miles I've ever done." "Um, Alan," I said. I had just done the trail two weeks earlier. "That's because it's over 21 miles." Ah! No wonder. We all laughed about it, but when you're out in the wilds, there's nothing funny about being on a trail and thinking it's shorter than it actually is. Maybe you'll run out of food; maybe run out of water. You'll bike at a different pace knowing how far you have to go. Imagine someone telling you you're running a 5k and it turns out to be a 5-miler. And you're not a runner. Ouch!

Two days later I met my friends Carey and Amber for a ride on Resurrection Trail. Carey had suggested riding the entire trail from Hope to Cooper Landing and that the 33 miles, plus a leisurely lunch break at the pass would take about eight hours. Something sounded not quite right to me. At breakfast that morning, I pulled out a hiking guidebook and broke the news: the trail is 39 miles. I could see Carey hitting the reset button as she considered how long it would take and how much food to bring. Good thing they shuttled the car the evening before.

Amber and I teased Carey as we rode along. At the six-mile mark we let her know "your ride starts now." I'm glad I'd brought the book on the trip because I didn't want Carey hitting the mental wall when our odometers hit the 33-mile mark before we passed Juneau Falls. Considering we were riding the second half of the trail in the rain, I'm glad we never had a false sense of the end being just around the next bend.

Amber & Carey at Juneau Lake, in the rain.

On Friday a similar thing happened before a ride on Johnson Pass. Only this time, it was information in a dated guidebook that mis-set people's expectations. A mountain biking book for Southcentral Alaska lists the ride as a 21-mile trail, so that's what my three companions were expecting. I grabbed the same more-recent hiking guide I'd used earlier in the week and saw that it listed the ride at 23 miles. Since I haven't biked the trail all the way through from north to south in several years, having the right number in my head at the start of the ride really helped me pace myself and not wonder, as my odometer hit 21, why we weren't closer to the fish hatchery on Trail Lake.

At Johnson Pass, just before the rain.

Compared to Tuesday's ride on Res., 23 miles sounded like a piece of cake, though it had lots more pushki threatening to swallow the trail and a couple places where the water was running down the trail instead of in the stream channel. When it began sprinkling just after the pass, I was a bit bummed, but relieved that we were only about 12 miles from the end. Still, a part of me was hoping the old guidebook was right.

sometimes it's best to turn back

Jon levitating across Resurrection Creek.

If the ride starts to suck, turn around.

I'd heard from a friend that Resurrection Trail was pretty nice to ride. He'd biked from the Bean Creek trailhead near Cooper Landing up to Juneau Lake. Great conditions. So I started thinking, I wonder how the Hope side is. As it turns out, not as nice as I'd hoped.

Jon and I headed down on Thursday, making the drive around Turnagain Arm to get to the trailhead. The road hadn't been plowed all the way to the parking lot, so we parked just this side of the turn-around, readied the bikes and headed up the road. Before long we were on the trail and climbing.

In some places, the trail was smooth & fast.

Between areas of sweetly-packed, smooth trail were long runs where a moose or two had decided the trail was indeed an easy route to follow. We rode the post-hole filled trail for a few miles, enduring the elbow-jarring sections and hoping for improvements. We met a group of skiers who were touring the 39-mile trail over the upcoming three days, staying at a different public-use cabin each night. They would have great conditions. Three days of bluebird skies and perfect temperatures in the forecast. Plus, their skis would glide right over the post-holes while they barely noticed them. For a few minutes, I longed for my skies. And wished that moose was in my freezer instead of on my trail!

In more places, the trail was trampled and jarring.

As we rode alongside the creek, it got worse. I stopped and waited for Jon. We had to decide whether we wanted to endure or find a better place to ride. Jon admitted that he had taken me on rides where I was hating the conditions and now he seemed to be hating this trail even more than I was. The decision was mine. I rode up the trail another hundred yards or so. No, I told him, this would be great except that it really sucks. So we turned around. The pounding continued, yet we enjoyed stretches. At the top of the final long climb, we sat in the sun to share a thermos of tea and a snack.

A smooth climb.

Back in the car, we debated where to go: I was up for sitting in the sun somewhere enjoying a coffee. Jon thought Twenty Mile or Portage. We drove on. At Johnson Pass, he suggested we try those trails. I waited in the car while Jon checked out the trail entrance. He could see a few bike tracks that barely sunk into the hard-packed snowmachine trail. No sign of moose. Soon we were back on the bikes riding a pump-track descent of rollers (aka, whoop-do-dos) until we reached a creek. At a stream bank, we dropped onto a snow-covered creek and turned right but soon turned around when we approached open water, doubling back and riding up-river.

A mountain blocked the sun and the temperature dipped to 10 degrees as we followed the creek upstream. Soon we saw a bridge over the creek and knew we were almost to the summer trail. A trail whose dips and turns I recognize in the summer was now again turned into a series of rollers that climbed the narrow trail alongside a snow-covered marsh.

The air was still and cold. We heard a few birds, but couldn't see them. Not a cloud in the sky. I looked down at my watch and it was already 5:00, our turn-around time. We retraced our route to the trailhead, satisfied that even this short ride could redeem the earlier experience.

Is this Center Creek or Bench Creek? Either way, the
snowmachine trail hooks in with the summer trail just behind me.

Part of what I love about the winter riding experience is the feeling of adventure and exploration. Sure, somebody has been there before me, but I love being on a trail for the first time. Wondering what the conditions will be; what I'll find next; hoping I can take the right turns and find my way back before dark. The other part is seeing how much of a trail I can ride in the winter. Thursday's ride got me wondering whether we could have biked the entirety of Johnson Pass trail, or at least make it to the pass without being turned around by avalanche fields or too many downed trees. Something for next time.