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.

soggy bottom

Jon crossing a snowfield above Devil's Pass Lake.

Earlier this year, my friend Wendy said she wanted to do a race this summer and she wanted to do it as a relay. All she needed were two other riders to fill out the team for the 100-mile Soggy Bottom. (You see where this is going...) For some reason I must have said "yes." Or maybe I said something like: "that would be fun" or "I've thought about doing that." Well, Wendy has more initiative than I, and pretty soon I was committed to being on the team. Just a couple weeks ago, she told me she'd found our third team member. Now it's a go. I'm doing the Soggy.

I told her the leg I preferred is the final stretch covering just over 30 miles from the Devil's Creek Trailhead to Hope. I biked the route last year over the Fourth of July weekend with my friend Jo-Ann. It was a leisurely ride with plenty of breaks to snack, hang out in the sun and look at the wildflowers. This past weekend, I did the ride with Jon.

Rain was spitting as we drove to the trailhead. I wore knickers and started the ride with a jacket layered over a wool baselayer and jersey. I brought other warm gear as well. The descent at the beginning of the ride chilled me but I knew I'd warm up when I started to climb. A few switchbacks later and I was looking at my first unobstructed view up the valley. Clouds hung low in the mid-afternoon. Sprinkles dotted my riding glasses. These are conditions we expect later in the season, such as during the Soggy, rather than on the first weekend of July. I guess I've been spoiled the last couple of years...

Feeling pretty good!

Jon and I continued toward the pass, through creek crossings that ran deep and cold with spring runoff. Across snow fields that reached down from the high slopes into the valley. Through splattering mud; through rock fields. We passed some hikers and a couple dogs. The trail climbed and dipped, then climbed some more as we made our way up to the first pass. Wind blew, cooling us, so we didn't hang around for very long. We met two cyclists who gave us a trail report: It would get better when we got onto the other trail. First, there would be more snow to cross.

We pedaled between two small lakes nestled in the bottom of the valley. Last year, according to Jon, the lake water was warm enough for a swim. This year, our toes were chilled from the snowfields and creek crossings. My thoughts turned to the sauna in Hope...

May I just say that the cycling bolero is a wonderful
little invention? Sleeves that also cover the shoulders.
I was mighty happy I brought this - and it takes up so little room!

About 20 miles to go...
Jon, why are the fenders still in the car?

We turned north onto Resurrection Trail, where a thin, slick layer of mud on a relatively new section of trail made the turning climb a bit of a challenge. Then we pedaled more of the rolling trail to Resurrection Pass, with a tailwind to help us along. After a sandwich break, we continued north where we met our friend, Art, who would shuttle our car back to his cabin in Hope. He was completely dry with nary a speck of mud on his legs!

Splash!
Wearing nearly everything I packed, even my ear band!

I kept thinking about the conditions. About my condition. Whether, during the race, I'll be able to get to Hope before darkness falls. I thought about how much time it will take each rider to pedal her leg; how much time it will take me. I admit, I'm not that fast. I normally ride at a comfortable pace; not overly slow or particularly fast on the climbs. But I don't give up either. Considering there were a few places - not many - where I had to dismount and walk; a few stops for photos or snacks, or to remove or add a layer of clothing; I still did the ride in under six hours. It's a month out and I know I can pick up my pace just a bit. I'll be able to ride more of the trail which will be clear of snow; I won't stop to chat. To be on the safe side, I'll carry a headlight. I'll hope for not too much rain in the days leading up to the race.

I now feel more mentally prepared for the trail than I did a week ago, but knowing I'll have to train in order to ramp it up even a little just goes counter to my personality. I don't have a racer's drive. I'm more inclined to stop and gaze at flowers and the views than at a heart-rate monitor. And while I love mountain biking, I'm not in it just to see how fast I can go. On Saturday, I remembered once again why I love to ride here: because biking can take me to some of the most beautiful places on the Kenai: the wide-open high areas of Resurrection and Devil's passes. I could hang out there all day. But in a race, that's not quite the idea. For this ride, I'll have to push myself and save the viewing for another day.

Looking southwest on the Resurrection
Trail, just after Devil's Pass junction.