For our nineth anniverary, our friend Alan invited my husband Jon & me to join him on a short river trip. Just a day trip with pretty straight-forward logistics: Pack up two inflatable kayaks and three bikes plus gear and drive from Anchorage to Portage. Where Portage creek crossed under the Seward Highway, we stashed & locked our bikes and helmets in the brush out of view of the highway. We would use those to get back to the car.
We then drove to Portage Lake visitor center and parked under the bridge that goes to the first tunnel enroute to Whittier. Inflated the kayaks - Jon & I would share the double - donned our equipment, rain pants, pfds. Packed food & beers, etc. It's been awhile since I've been in a boat, but each time I'm in one I enjoy being on the water so much it makes me wish I didn't have to drive somewhere to get to these conditions.
Alan gave us lessons on how to use the kayaks in the creek since we've only been in them in open water. We started by paddling upstream into the corner of the lake that's open to kayaks and canoes. Caught a glimps of part of the glacier before heading to the creek.
So, I think I know how to maneuver the boat and Jon thinks he does too, but we end up out of sync with Alan trying to shout a tip over the sounds of our voices and my paddle splashing the water since I'm not placing it far enough into the water. "An anniversary challenge," I say to Jon. And it is a challenge. To not get frustrated with Jon; to operate this equipment without frustrating him; to laugh when one of us does something wrong and realize we'll get it figured out. For Jon to not get annoyed when I splash him.
Alan offered perspective by telling us that the person in the front understands the maneuvering from where they sit (behind the pivot point of the kayak), while the person in the back understands it from in front of the pivot. To understand the other person's perspective, it would take switching positions. Walk a mile in my shoes; paddle for a while from the front of the boat. Nine years is a milestone. I hope we can continue appreciating each others' persepectives even if we can never really stand in each others' shoes.
I thank Alan, who was our best man 9 years ago, for the gifts he continues to give to us. I can't stand in his shoes either.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
Spring commuting
Break-up is in full swing on the snow trails in Anchorage.
Unless you get to the snow in the early morning, it's now too soft to ride. And if you get there early, it's sure to be bumpy.
Biking in to work yesterday, Sunday, I was surprised that I didn't have to get off my bike to push it across a short stretch of trail. Instead I rode about a quarter mile on the frozen, bumpy trail.
On the way home in the early evening, I had to get off and push. Pushing through soft snow is like pushing your bike in sand. I commented to my partner, "this is why you'll never see me do the Susitna 100!" I'm impressed with the dedication of people who do that 100-mile winter race and the Ultrasport (350 miles), but I don't think I'd want to do either of them because of all that pushing.
You know we're heading toward spring because last week I began riding without studded tires. I pulled out the 29-er and will be biking on that beast until my route is clear and swept - then I'll ride the road bike to work.
My goal this year is to commute to work more - a good goal; I just need to be dedicated and organized enough to get those miles in. We'll see how I do. In case you didn't notice, last week we hit the hundredth day of the year, so I'd better park the car more and start riding toward my goal.
Unless you get to the snow in the early morning, it's now too soft to ride. And if you get there early, it's sure to be bumpy.
Biking in to work yesterday, Sunday, I was surprised that I didn't have to get off my bike to push it across a short stretch of trail. Instead I rode about a quarter mile on the frozen, bumpy trail.
On the way home in the early evening, I had to get off and push. Pushing through soft snow is like pushing your bike in sand. I commented to my partner, "this is why you'll never see me do the Susitna 100!" I'm impressed with the dedication of people who do that 100-mile winter race and the Ultrasport (350 miles), but I don't think I'd want to do either of them because of all that pushing.
You know we're heading toward spring because last week I began riding without studded tires. I pulled out the 29-er and will be biking on that beast until my route is clear and swept - then I'll ride the road bike to work.
My goal this year is to commute to work more - a good goal; I just need to be dedicated and organized enough to get those miles in. We'll see how I do. In case you didn't notice, last week we hit the hundredth day of the year, so I'd better park the car more and start riding toward my goal.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
porcupine and blue dot trail
I went out this morning for a ride in the park. The snow trails are still mostly hard-packed in the woods, but where the sun has hit them for the last few days, they're showing some signs of rot.
I was riding along on one of the wider trails when I came up behind a porcupine as it wobbled down the trail. It didn't look back at me but continued up the trail as I waited, then followed for a few yards. Then it left the trail to tuck itself behind a spruce tree. Its clawed feet didn't even leave tracks on the snow. The color of the quills ranged from dark brown to the color of straw. I could see why it's so easy for these guys to blend into the plants in the park. I made a clicking noise and the porcupine fluffed up its quills, making it look bigger as it held its ground.
I didn't want to bug it too long so took off to continue my ride. That's the second time this winter I've seen one of our more elusive critters and not had a camera on me (the other one was a lynx), but it was nice just to watch it for awhile.
I had planned to just stay on some wider trails but at an intersection with a little singletrack, I stopped to check out the bike tracks. Hmm, I thought, it's the Blue Dot Trail. Named for the blue dots painted on the trees, Blue Dot in the summer is a bumpy, rooty, twisty little knot of trail. I've not spent much time on it because it gets pretty wet & slippery. But today, it was just what I wanted.
The packed snow was only about a foot wide so riding or stepping off the trail would mean sinking almost to my knees into the soft snow. After almost biffing, I lowered the pressure in my tires to get a bit better control. The tires on my snowcat rims held the trail as I wound around spruce trees and crossed the mushing trails several times. One or two bikers had been on the trail before me but I didn't run into anyone at all.
Now that it's warming up, I'm sorry I didn't ride more this winter - I allow too much to get in the way. It makes me wish that this micro-season of sunshine and warmer days with still-hard snow trails would last just a bit longer. Sure I want to get onto the dirt, but it's a long pause between the snow season and the day the trails are declared "open" for biking on the dirt. I'll pull out the road bike in the interim, but I'll be thinking about riding on the Blue Dot Trail for awhile.
I was riding along on one of the wider trails when I came up behind a porcupine as it wobbled down the trail. It didn't look back at me but continued up the trail as I waited, then followed for a few yards. Then it left the trail to tuck itself behind a spruce tree. Its clawed feet didn't even leave tracks on the snow. The color of the quills ranged from dark brown to the color of straw. I could see why it's so easy for these guys to blend into the plants in the park. I made a clicking noise and the porcupine fluffed up its quills, making it look bigger as it held its ground.
I didn't want to bug it too long so took off to continue my ride. That's the second time this winter I've seen one of our more elusive critters and not had a camera on me (the other one was a lynx), but it was nice just to watch it for awhile.
I had planned to just stay on some wider trails but at an intersection with a little singletrack, I stopped to check out the bike tracks. Hmm, I thought, it's the Blue Dot Trail. Named for the blue dots painted on the trees, Blue Dot in the summer is a bumpy, rooty, twisty little knot of trail. I've not spent much time on it because it gets pretty wet & slippery. But today, it was just what I wanted.
The packed snow was only about a foot wide so riding or stepping off the trail would mean sinking almost to my knees into the soft snow. After almost biffing, I lowered the pressure in my tires to get a bit better control. The tires on my snowcat rims held the trail as I wound around spruce trees and crossed the mushing trails several times. One or two bikers had been on the trail before me but I didn't run into anyone at all.
Now that it's warming up, I'm sorry I didn't ride more this winter - I allow too much to get in the way. It makes me wish that this micro-season of sunshine and warmer days with still-hard snow trails would last just a bit longer. Sure I want to get onto the dirt, but it's a long pause between the snow season and the day the trails are declared "open" for biking on the dirt. I'll pull out the road bike in the interim, but I'll be thinking about riding on the Blue Dot Trail for awhile.
Monday, March 26, 2007
why am I here?
Hello, Bloggers & Lurkers -
This is kind of strange, putting in writing my view of this world in which I live.
I chose my name because of all my links to the bike community here in Alaska, but that is only one part of me. Here's what's been on my mind:
Two days ago was the 18th anniversary of the Exxon Valdez oil spill here in Alaska's Prince William Sound. I didn't even live here yet. I was still quietly living in the Midwest, maybe wondering if that was all there was to life, when the ship spilled barrels of oil on the place I'd never seen.
Only a handful of Alaska's school children were born when this happened. A child born on March 24, 1989, is now old enough to register for the draft. Think about it.
I hope in the coming months to give you an idea of what life is like in the big city in the Last Frontier.
Meanwhile, I've gotta go hug a tree... or a bunny, whichever I see first.
This is kind of strange, putting in writing my view of this world in which I live.
I chose my name because of all my links to the bike community here in Alaska, but that is only one part of me. Here's what's been on my mind:
Two days ago was the 18th anniversary of the Exxon Valdez oil spill here in Alaska's Prince William Sound. I didn't even live here yet. I was still quietly living in the Midwest, maybe wondering if that was all there was to life, when the ship spilled barrels of oil on the place I'd never seen.
Only a handful of Alaska's school children were born when this happened. A child born on March 24, 1989, is now old enough to register for the draft. Think about it.
I hope in the coming months to give you an idea of what life is like in the big city in the Last Frontier.
Meanwhile, I've gotta go hug a tree... or a bunny, whichever I see first.
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