hope

Our friends have a quiet little cabin in Hope. Out back is an even smaller guest cabin where we sometimes stay. Their place is a couple miles from the Resurrection Trail, a great backcountry ride (or hike). Jon and I drove out of town on Wednesday afternoon, the hottest day of the year - the thermometer finally bumped above 70 degrees.

My ambitious thoughts of getting down there and maybe doing a short ride before dinner soon turned into both of us melting in lounge chairs on a sunny deck, soaking up the rays and a beer. Reading. That was sweat rolling down my back.

For our three-day holiday we were prepared to bike, hike and lounge around. There was lots of lounging. Kind of like this dog waiting for its owner at the Seaview.

One highlight of our trip:
I saw a black bear on Resurrection Trail. I decided to turn around before Jon and he continued on to the Pass. Riding back toward the cabin, I took my time, looked at the wildflowers as they colored the meadows and the sides of the trail. Through an old burn area, blackened stumps fueled my imagination as my gaze swept the surroundings. I started to sing. It was Folsom Prison Blues.

Nearing the ponds, I slowed. That's when I saw the black furry head pop up from behind the low trees across the water. The ears seemed a bit high, but it couldn't be anything else. I tried to keep my eyes on it as I pulled out my camera to snap a photo in time before it ducked back down and out of view. All I got was the landscape. Back on the bike, I started talking and whooping, hoping it would get the message. When I saw two hikers starting up the steep hill, I'll admit, I felt a little safer having a little company again.

we're not alone

I ride there. So many of us ride there. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a group. So when I found out this morning that a young teenage girl participating in a 24-hour bike race was mauled by a brown bear on a local trail, I was horrified. I know some of the young racers and their parents. I've also encountered bears on or near this trail. I've stopped in my tracks to see which direction a black bear was going to step.

Just a few weeks ago some runners were charged by a brown bear less than a mile from where this morning's attack occurred. A few days later I saw the warning sign when I went riding and certainly biked with heightened awareness. But I didn't turn around. I always believe I know what I'm getting myself into. We all do, otherwise we'd never venture out.

Now the ranters on the local newspaper website are pointing fingers, placing blame for what happened. It's the parents; it's the bike club; it's the city; it's fish and game. Come on! It's wildlife. It's nature. It's habitat. It's Alaska. Are you going to sit indoors or go hike or bike? Are you going to not fish on the Russian River because of a mauling there a couple years ago?

This hits so close to home, and not just geographically. Anchorage's biking community is tightly connected. My friend was the first person to arrive at the scene to help this young girl. He has training in first response. I'm sure it was very hard for him because he's known the young cyclist since he coached her in skiing when she was only six years old. He expects nightmares (and I'm sure she will experience them as well).

But he's not going to stop biking these trails. Most of us won't stop. Maybe I'll call a friend next time I want to go on a ride, though probably not. My main fear right now isn't as much the bear; it's that a vigilante will decide to go "hiking" one day in Bicentennial Park just to check things out, bringing his powerful gun for "protection." I won't be surprised to find out the bear has been killed this way, in "defense of life or property," as our laws allow. I just hope no one else gets hurt by either man or bear.

not much here

Have you known anyone who talks incessantly, even if they have nothing new or insightful to say? They may start to ramble and even become incoherent... well, that may involve a little imbibing I suppose. You just want to stop them before they embarrass themselves.

The web allows any one of us to blather on via keyboard. Fortunately, we can just click away from a site and spare ourselves reading through someone's manifesto. Or we can sink more time into it and wonder where the hour went.

I'm wrapping up a week of trying to go daily. Trying, because it didn't quite work out that way. Yesterday, I worked on a post. But I didn't have anything insightful and coherent to say... note to self: maybe hold off on the red until you're done editing... I was a little disappointed and momentarily thought I could complete something this morning on my day off. But no. If you got nothing, you got nothing. (Besides, I'm still trying to read The Odyssey which is quite enjoyable.)

Thus, the experiment ends with a sigh and realization. I could have relied on posting photos on the days that I couldn't make something work, but that feels like cheating. The idea is writing. Writing, for me, involves lots of editing. That's the part that makes it all work. Yet the editing takes time. So, best to skip a day than to post something lame. Now, back to the weekly-ish, whenever I feel I have something to day.

But before we go:
I had a good ride this evening with the Divas. It included Brown Bear trail - still in awesome shape - and some other singletrack. I'll fess up now: I got a new bike this winter: a new full-suspension from Giant (same brand as my last one). It rides so sweetly on the trails - floats over things; handles well. Here's my new little trail buddy on Brown Bear last week. Subtle but powerful... remind you of anyone?*Thanks for reading.

*part of my difficulty with my late night posts is that I'm a Craig Ferguson fan. Listening to the monologue instead of doing my homework is quite the challenge.

cursed!

Yeah, just over two miles from home. Rear tire. Changed the tube. Biked home & got the car. Drove to work.
Dang!
Defeated again by the litterbug, drinking-while-driving people of Anchorage. They probably are the ones trying to run us off the roads or squish us like the annoying bugs of the traffic world we are. (I shake my fist at them and the behemoths they drive!)

OK - I feel a little better now. Ahem...

Here are some things I like:
This bridge on Black Bear Trail crosses a narrow stream. I love the quietness of it when I allow myself to stop and take a breather from a ride.


This web appeared one evening on our deck. Jon had to duck and step around it to get to the grill that evening. He tossed a mosquito into the web and the spider quickly wrapped it in silk for later. The next day the web was gone.

no backup plan

I imagine most people have experienced a moment when they're headed out the door, they look at something and think, "ah, I don't need that today. I'm fine with what I've got." Then, when they realize they want it, they can see just where it was when they closed the door and left. The image is imprinted in their brain.

As I rode to work this morning, I noticed that telltale softer ride that comes with a deflating tire. Pulled off the front wheel, found the glass, replaced the tube and started pumping. Regret #1 I had my most mini of mini pumps instead of my larger, faster Topeak Road Morph. Sigh...

After finally getting enough air in the tire to ride, I reinstalled the wheel, packed up my repair kit and stepped back onto the pavement, prepared to skip my pre-work errand and get to work on time. But the rear tire was flat now! Regret #2 I had no patches.

So, I did the only thing I could - I walked. I had time to think about how the Morph and the patches were at home, right at the top of the stairs where I load my pack for the ride. I also had time to be glad I was wearing my mountain shoes and it wasn't raining. I made it to the nearest pay phone, probably a mile or so away (yes, I'm one of those people who doesn't own a cell phone) at Lake Otis & Abbott. From there I learned that everyone else had biked in today and the shop truck was loaded with cardboard for the recycling center. I'd have to hoof it.

I made it almost to O'Malley Road when a horn honked. Zane had arrived at the shop and was sent on a rescue mission. We stuffed my bike into his tiny VW, handlebars hanging out the window and in just a few minutes arrived at the shop.

I've been noticing a lot of glass on the paths and roads. I see it every day. I have time to ponder it on my commutes - and even more time on the walk... Would there be less broken glass strewn on the paths if Alaska offered deposits on bottles? Five cents? What would it take to get people from throwing bottles out their car windows? If we put a value on it, will they stop throwing?

Truth-in-advertising disclaimer: Dear readers, I began this post on Monday night, but couldn't finish editing it until Tuesday morning. That's why you early birds didn't see it until late Tuesday a.m. The daily quest continues to challenge me.

bike love

Spencer is a new bike tech at the shop where I work. He's a university student, active with the school's bike club. A few of his friends had a hand in creating this work of love.

summer begins

a sign of summer
along with the longest day
includes the arrival of fish.
salmon return to the rivers of Alaska
and to our freezer

Jon went set-net fishing at Kasilof for two days with our good friends Lynn & Art. It's the second year for this harvest-style fishing for him. They use a boat to set the nets just off shore and haul them in when they have a load. He brought home his limit for our household.

This evening, after work, we spent just over an hour processing about half of them. Jon cut the fish into a few pieces, then rinsed the slime off each one. I wrapped and packed them with the vacuum sealer and stacked them in the freezer. We'll continue the task tomorrow and share some of the harvest with friends who don't fish.


That first taste of fresh grilled salmon marks the beginning of summer. Now it's time to start planning camping trips, bike rides out of town and sip a little red wine while enjoying the tender fish and the long, drawn out sunsets.