Prematurely gray

What a difference a day—and a big-ass explosion—make. With fresh snow on the ground, the trails were in perfect condition for a ride with Jules and Maura on Saturday. The trails were clean, fresh and smooth. Everything a fat-bike owner could hope for at the end of March.

Saturday's trails were as clean as a Mormon's language,
but as fun as free pass to Porn World.

But then Mount Redoubt erupted again, and this time the wind was blowing our way. By the time I finished my post-ride shower, the neighborhood looked foggy and my white, snow-covered yard was turning gray as a fine ash fell. As eruptions continued, my hopes for another ride on Sunday faded.

My wife tagged our back deck with graffiti Saturday night.
This is why I don't let her have spray paint.

Fortunately, the wind shifted and Redoubt took a break. By Sunday afternoon, the air quality was good and so were the trails, which were largely abandoned. The grit ruined conditions for skiers, but seemed to improve traction for bike riders. There were only a few signs of fresh tire tracks, so most people seemed to be laying low. Too bad for them.

I knew it. My ash looks big.

I cruised solo and did a bit of walking when my singletrack explorations didn't work out the way I'd planned. But I saw some pockets of FNBP that I usually miss, and found an oddity or two.

A charming fixer-upper, if you can still get a mortgage
and never want a date.

At this rate, I don't mind clinging to winter a bit longer. Not that I have a choice. Because tonight's forecast calls for snow.

And this week's forecast calls for more Pugsley.

Goodbye, winter

I rode the Hillside with a couple of friends
Wednesday night, and trail conditions
are fading fast as the days get warmer.

Unless we get another cold snap,
winter riding is on its
last legs. It's time to brave
a few weeks of sloppy commutes
until the road bikes come out.

In honor of spring, I'm posting a couple
of photos from last weekend—my little way
of rolling up the carpet on another
winter and another Frigid Bits season.

Jules runs Rio's fattie through Spenard.

Snuffin' the burn barrel one last time.

Thanks to everyone who shared a beer
around the glowing barrel this winter.

I'm proud to stand around looking homeless
with each and every one of you.

Nobody cares

I rolled up to a traffic light on my way home tonight, and spent a couple of moments chatting with a lean, somewhat-older guy about the warm weather and the slushy spring conditions. Actually, I was the one who mentioned the slop—he was smiling and happy to be riding on a 40-degree afternoon instead of a 5-degree morning.

As the light turned green and he rolled out onto Dimond Boulevard, I noticed the sticker on his dirt-covered rear fender: "Nobody Cares That You Singlespeed."

That sticker had me smiling for about a mile. I've never cared for the haughty attitude that seems to be common among SS riders, and this guy—with his skinny-studded cross bike, orange safety vest and mirrored ski goggles—clearly didn't have time for anyone's silly pretensions.

I thought about asking him to pull over so I could shoot a quick picture of his sticker, but I couldn't. By the time I crossed Dimond, he had already opened a gap on me.

Couldn't have been too hard. I was on a singlespeed.

Same as it ever was

The coveted Lingerie Jaune is headed to off-season storage

The 2008/09 Frigid Bits season ended where it began last Halloween, only this time no one was dressed as a brownie-starved human tampon, and we didn’t use the scavenger-hunt format that sent us all crashing into a gay bar one night in October.

Saturday night’s burn barrel fiesta was just as much fun as the first, especially after our lost rider showed up. We might have gone looking for her if someone had bothered to notice she was missing before the beer was opened. (It’s not that we don’t care, Kathy. It’s just that we have so much confidence in your survival and route-finding skills. And we really like beer.)

It’s time for the annual thanks to Rio for making the whole thing happen. If he didn’t round us up once in a while to ride bikes and drink beer, we’d all be left to ... well, ride bikes and drink beer, but without a pile of people to do it with, and without our glowing shrine.

This season’s history.

How long until next winter?

Gangsta Monkee
(You're right, Rio. It's shocking.)

Jules, the Fatback spokesmodel.

The Chick Who Rips is a chick with an attitude.

Kathy. She's alive! ALIVE!

Can I Still Pledge Delta?

The next time someone give you a hard time for going out on a winter ride at the expense of some trivial responsibility you’ve shoved to the back burner, just tell them you’re doing research for a class.

It's not such a crazy idea, because if you happened to be a student at the Kuskokwim campus of the University of Alaska Fairbanks, you would now be eligible to register for RECR 193, Winter Cycling. It’s a survey course put together by Martin Leonard III, who teaches at UAF when he’s not out riding his snow bike.

Course Description
RECR 193 is a survey of winter bicycling in Alaska. Topics covered include: Alaskan Winter Cycling Roots & History; Performance & Off-season Training; Bike Design, Performance & Construction; Expedition Readiness and Wheel Building. Practicum will include in-region day-rides and bike-building opportunities for all students. Upon completion, students will have a better understanding of the new levels of fitness and the safe enjoyment of the out-of-doors that this growing winter sport can provide.

Course Goals
* Exposure to some of the unique bicycling history in Alaska
* Understand the roots of Snow Biking and the Development of 'Fat Bikes' in Alaska
* Develop a broader knowledge base regarding ultralight camping and self-propelled travel
* Understand critical design and construction components for winter bicycles
* Develop basic mechanic skills and confidence through hands-on bike shop experience
* Review off-season training tools and performance
* Recognize and practice safe wilderness travel etiquette

Sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than trigonometry.

Classic

Another Speedway shot from EndoRando, this time of me,
with Steve R. close behind.

Today's ride was everything a great mountain-bike ride should be: I started alone, then found and rode fun trails I hadn't even known existed; I ran into several friends and shared various parts of the ride with them until we all peeled off to go our separate ways; and then I pedaled, exhausted, back to my car.

It doesn't get any better than that. Unless you count the perfect, sunny weather; a good pre-ride meal and trail snacks that kept my energy level high; and having no time constraints because my wife and daughter were busy without me. I went out to ride two hours, but stayed for three and a half because I was having too much fun to stop.

March riding is always the best of the winter season, and some of the best of the entire year.

But today, it was freakin' sublime.

Miles o' smiles

"Happy, happy
Put it in the ground
Where the flowers grow"
—"Shiny Happy People," REM

I shot this photo of my friend Kathy riding Queen Bee Loop last night. When I got home and moved it from the camera into my laptop, I thought two things: First, she'd look hotter in a helmet, and second, it's really fun to look at people who have smiles on their faces while they're riding bikes.

Not that I get much experience with that, given the bird-flippin' fetish that most of my friends' indulge on a regular basis. But sometimes, I manage to capture them in moments of happiness instead of fits of frustration. So, to end the week on a uplifting note, I decided to sift through a few photos from the past month and pay tribute to the Happy People:

Jules

The Monkee

H

Maura

Amber

Go ride a bike this weekend. It'll make you smile.

Sweetness

I had to borrow a copy of this photo by my friend EndoRando, because it's sharper and sunnier than anything I've shot on Speedway recently. The late winter conditions are so good right now, it would be crazy to not ride, especially if you have the advantage of a fat bike when the trails turn soft on warm days.

One of the great things about winter riding is the metamorphosis that trails undergo when snow falls. Roots and rocks disappear, angles and lines change, traction comes and goes. Having access to the same trails in summer and winter is like getting a two-for-one deal.

Some trails are more fun to ride in winter, especially those with summertime mudholes, barely passable creeks and swamps that turn into pure, white sweetness during the darker months. Hell, there are trails I ride all winter than I rarely even see from June through September.

Now that there's some light stretching into the evening, warmer weather won't be far behind. And when it comes, the winter trails will dissolve into a horrendous goo that'll leave mountain bikers in the purgatory of springtime for six weeks or so.

Get some. While it's still good.

Early risers

This is not what a can of bear spray should look like at the end of a ride. Muddy, yes, but it shouldn't be covered in snow. I'm probably in a very small minority of people already packing (spicy) heat on the Hillside, but with two bears spotted roaming the area a week or so ago, it seems silly to leave this stuff among all the debris on my workbench.

The bears have probably already crawled back in their dens and dozed off for a few more weeks after figuring out that snacks are still few and far between, but who knows?

I don't really mind the early risers, as long as they keep to themselves. I see them as harbingers of spring. If the seasons stay on track, we're only five or six weeks away from the first road-bike ride of the year.

Time to start thinking about new tires.

Fatties on film

Carl hard at work.

Carl, the man behind IndieAK films, has been schleppin' his camera through all kinds of weather this season while working on an upcoming documentary on winter riding in Alaska. He's capturing the fun, hard work, joy and misery of turning the cranks through darkness, snow and sub-zero cold so that the zaniness can be shared with the world. I'm confident the final product will be very cool.

In the meantime, he threw together a quick little film on the recent Susitna 100 that captures many elements of that event, and whets the appetites of Anchorage riders eager to see Fat Bike (working title) when it's finished. Trust me, this is worth 3 minutes of your day.

Susitna 100 from indieAK films on Vimeo.

Evolution

Artifact documented during a scientific
(post-ride) examination of the Long Branch Saloon.

Early humans used pieces of coal to decorate the walls of caves in which they slept, cooked and raised their offspring. Their drawings documented hunts, harvests, and migrations.

Modern humans not so far removed from their cave-dwelling ancestors use ink-filled pens to decorate the walls of rooms where they urinate. These primitive illustrations typically represent a fascination with genitalia, or present allegations of homoerotic exploits by heterosexual members of the same tribe.

On occasion, these displays of social interaction in the form of sophomoric teasing reveal unintended ironies. Unbeknownst to the primitive artist, maybe his drinking buddy Steve really does like guys; perhaps your mother really does like to ... well, nevermind.

And maybe J.R. would ride his way to a better future on a Stingray instead of a Harley.

Let’s hope so. Evolution is a beautiful thing.

Powder Pugs

Nearly 8 inches of snow fell in Anchorage on Saturday. And we weren't alone. Friends around the country were posting Facebook updates mentioning snow. News sites were full of stories about snow in the southern states, and a storm bearing down on New York City.

The funny thing is, most of the comments were in the form of complaints, and the news stories were somewhat alarmist. It was like snow is a bad thing. And that ain't necessarily so.

I guess we're just lucky in Alaska. The snow was dry, fluffy powder—perfect for fat tires. And then the sun came out.

So, if you're reading viewing these photos while stranded in an airport, or after a hellish drive home from work on a road littered with fender-benders ... well, sorry.

(Not really)

Honk (loudly) if you love singletrack

The second round of the Far North Bicentennial Park Trails Improvement Plan will be unveiled Monday night at 6:20 p.m. at the Campbell Creek Science Center. Every mountain biker in Anchorage should be there, particularly if you want to see Phase II of the Singletrack Advocates project on the Hillside to be completed.

Unless mountain bikers show up and speak up, our right to build trails in FNBP could disappear. No joke.

For more information, read this. Then attend the meeting.

Please.

Cycling simian

Rare photograph of a boreal bike monkee
in its natural habitat.

mon*kee (noun): medium-size primate that typically
found in or among trees. The subspecies
boreal bike monkee has been known to thrive
in captivity if housed with a suitable mate, stimulated
with wheeled playthings and fed a diet heavy
on fermented grains. Nocturnal activity is common.

“I didn’t know it was about to turn!”

This is Julie. Julie writes a blog and climbs frozen waterfalls. She’s the demon who pulled me and Huber into last summer’s Soggy Bottom Sufferfest, and the saint who lives with the Bike Monkee.

She’s also a great person to ride bikes with because she’s cheerful even when things turn to suckage, and after hearing me grumble about missing a photo recently, she actually offered to go back and re-ride the same section of trail. I was so shocked that I declined her offer. I immediately regretted doing so, because I missed a good shot and the opportunity to encourage such offers in the future.

But I fear she’s learning bad habits from my less well-behaved friends, i.e. the finger flippers. As we I rode The Hive tonight, she couldn't flip me The Bird because she was too busy steering the Snow Ho, but she mugged it up with a tongue wag. Fortunately, such aberrant behavior was discouraged when she turned her attention back to the trail and realized that she was entering a tight, downhill switchback, prompting her make a quick adjustment before uttering the title of this post. I hope such a close call will motivate her to be a more disciplined model in the future.

Focus, Julie. Focus.

It’s all about my needs. What, you didn't know that?

XLVI

All of a sudden I’m overcome by a feelin’ of brief mortality
Cause I’m gettin’ on in the world,
comin’ up on forty-one years
Forty-one stony gray steps towards the grave
You know, the box awaits its grisly load

—The Rev. D. Wayne Love, “Woke Up This Morning”

Photo by Maura S.

The lyrics to that great song from Alabama 3’s brilliant Exile on Coldharbour Lane album rolled through my head for a minute or two on Saturday as I completed my 46th stony gray step. Not because I was feeling especially mortal, but because I have a tangential thought process that seems to dredge up my favorite songs at odd times.

A bike ride on your birthday is a nice way to not think about the box and its grisly load. Bright sunshine; trails that are firming up as the temperatures drop; three hours to ride and fun people to do it with ... that’s a damn good combination any day of the year.

So just like Rev. DeWayne as he cued up Pithecanthropus Erectus on his CD player, I pushed that remote button to sublimity and listened to the sweet, sculptural rhythms of fat tires on snowy singletrack.

And I made it to the top of that hill without a dab.

But I still got flipped off.

Travel, unplugged

A few weeks ago, I read a New York Times story about the pros and cons of airlines beginning to offer in-flight Internet access. One of the downsides, the reporter pointed out, is that business travelers will soon lose one of their favorite excuses for not reading e-mail: “Sorry, I was on a plane” will no longer satisfy someone who wants to know why you didn’t reply to a message before the end of the work day.

That all made sense, but what troubled me was that the article said commercial flights have been one of the last places on Earth where a person could escape cell phone calls and e-mail messages.

Really? A pressurized aluminum tube that hurtles through the air at 500 mph is one of the last places on Earth to avoid electronic communication? It’s a pretty sad statement if people believe that. Sure, maybe it’s the best you can do on a weekday while wearing a tie around your neck, but there are plenty of better places to enjoy some peace and quiet. Mountain bikers are luckier than New York Times reporters, because we already know that.

I hope no one ever figures out how equip a bike with some doodad that provides global Internet access.

Paging Ted Kaczynski

The friend of a friend recently brought this knife to a gunfight—aka the VaMoose 25—and found himself walking back to the parking lot before the ride on snowmachine trails really even started. It was completely the wrong bike for the conditions. Still, it was fun to see a such a relic.

For you youngsters, or people who have come to this sport in the past 16 or 17 years, what you’re seeing is a Stumpjumper Comp, circa 1989. And I’m pretty sure you’re looking at a whole pile of original parts. Early TIG-welded steel; toe clips; threaded headset; cantilever brakes; a metal frame pump; and, best of all ... Biopace chainrings. Seriously. They’re shark-toothed as shit, but still in action (sort of).

The guy who owns this thing seemed to still love it. Loyalty is a beautiful thing, But so is modern bike technology. I think this guy owes himself an upgrade.

Maybe after he buys a color TV and switches from vinyl to CDs ...

The revolution will not be motorized

I took a brief tour of the new downtown museum expansion the other day, and the architect said there will be bike racks and showers for employees. Those features are among several elements of the project that should improve the museum’s chances of getting LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) certification as a “green” building. I hope they help, and I’m happy to see project managers making an effort to accommodate bike commuters.

But while driving home, I wondered how many workers hear of the rare employers that offer such amenities, and then make the excuse that they can’t ride to work because their companies don’t offer showers or locker rooms. Let’s face it, Americans are masters at rationalizing laziness.

Since graduating from college 22 years ago, I’ve worked for five different companies, and only one provided exercise and shower facilities. That probably makes me lucky—I’d be willing to bet that the average working American has never had an employer provide any equipment or facilities to accommodate healthy lifestyles.

That’s no excuse for not riding to work.

And if you’re trying to use it as an excuse, you’re part of the problem.

Most companies aren’t proactive or imaginative enough to invest in long-term investments to encourage bike commuting where none exists. They look at a building full of people and see one or two bike commuters—if any—and wonder why they should spend money on a “nonexistent” issue.

American workers—including those who call themselves bicyclists but continue driving to work—need to suck it up and start a movement, one bike at a time. No more using excuses like, “Oh, I have to dress nice for my job,” or “what about my hair?” Toughen up, buttercup. Adapt a little bit, like the rest of us have done for years. And encourage others to do the same. It’s not that hard.

Tired of being ignored when you ask your employer for help? That’s because you’re numerically insignificant when the bean counters measure things like lower annual insurance claims and the reduced cost of providing employee parking.

You’re going to continue being rejected when groups of three or four people ask for new bike racks, indoor bike parking or showers.

You need a group of 20, or 40, or 60.

Get busy.

Far-flung Fingers

From Cold Bay, Alaska.

Usually, I require a bike
in these photos, but anyone
who lives in Cold Bay
deserves a break.
(Thanks, Amber, and all you loons in Cold Bay.)

A post about nothing

Foraker and Denali from Willow Swamp, 2/8/09

I've been spending my free time riding
instead of blogging.

But I'll come up with something soon. Probably.

The end.

Images from the VaMoose 25

At some point, I might have more to say
about the VaMoose event.
Tonight, I'm just tired.

Willow Swamp

Shelly. Somewhere out there.

Maura on the trail.

Klunkerz

One of the greatest things about the sport of mountain biking is how it got started: a bunch of people using old bikes to bomb down a mountain, just for fun. On the earliest competitive days, they might have done it for the beer, or the bag of weed, that awaited the first guy to reach the bottom of the hill.

It was simple, pure and unspoiled. It still is, when it’s done right. But mountain bikes—and mountain biking—have come a long way in three decades. People have made boatloads of money from the sport; it has been a medal event in the Olympics; and the bikes look nothing like those early pre-war Schwinns that first rolled down Mount Tam. Hell, when I stood at sales counter as the shop guy handed me the manuals for my full-suspension bike, my wife looked aghast and said, “I didn’t get that many manuals with my car!” So much for simplicity.

Sometimes, it’s good to be reminded of how it all started and what the soul of the sport was—and still is, in my opinion. That’s why I recently watched Klunkerz after Billy Savage, the producer and director, asked me if I wanted to have a look at his labor-of-love film about the rise and evolution of mountain biking. It’s full of old 8 mm footage of guys like Charlie Kelly, Joe Breeze, Gary Fisher and recent interviews with them, their friends, and other Marin County bike crews—such as the Morrow Dirt Club and Larkspur Canyon Gang, two groups whose contributions to early mountain biking are commonly overlooked—as they tell the stories in their own words.

Klunkerz is the best documentary I’ve ever seen on the birth of mountain biking. So much has been made over the years of guys like Fisher, Breeze and Tom Ritchey (and the debate over which of them “invented” the mountain bike) that it’s good to see a comprehensive account of the other key people who were part of the Marin County scene. Not to mention how much fun it is to watch those guys blasting down Mount Tam at warp speed, with minimal safety gear, on ancient bikes with bad brakes.

If you get your hands on a copy of this DVD—and I recommend clicking over to Klunkerz.com and ordering one—make a point of watching the bonus features on the disc, especially the short piece on John Finley Scott. Never heard of him? Most people haven’t, but he was traveling on his own homemade mountain bike 20 years before those guys in Marin, and later helped bankroll the first efforts to manufacture mountain bikes.

Do yourself a favor and check out this film.

Afternoon delight

One of the oldest debates in bicycling is the issue of waving or saying hello when you meet oncoming riders, and whether it’s rude to brush someone off. I usually acknowledge other riders if they’re looking my way but, most of the time, I don’t take it personally if they stare ahead like a lobotomized goat.

However, there are certain times when it’s piss-poor form to give me the silent treatment. Like when I voluntarily give up the sweet spot in the middle of the trail, and take my fat bike into the soft powder so you can keep your skinny tires on the firm crown. As I churn through a few inches of new snow and say “how ya doin?’” it wouldn’t freakin’ kill ya to give me a nod, say “hi,” “thanks,” or even a simple grunt, if you happen to be miles into the House of Pain.

So that dumbass I met on my way home last night had better be ready to return my act of kindness, because the next time we meet, I’m holding my line. If he wants to play chicken he should bring his A game, because the Pugsley is Large and In Charge. That dude's goin’ down.

Speaking of going down, one of the new curiosities along my commuting route is a couple of people who seem to be meeting for morning and afternoon trysts near my office. Every day, there they are—their cars squeezed together in the darkest corner of a small parking lot, his vehicle temporarily abandoned, her engine running (and I’m not just talking about her SUV with the conveniently tinted windows if ya get my drift) to keep them toasty warm in the steamy glow of their love.

But seriously people, a parking lot? Every day? Often twice? Could you make it any more obvious that this is Lust on the Lam, and there’s probably a wife and/or husband who aren’t supposed to know?

Hey, I like to live and let live, but this is a tough economy and a guy can’t pass up a promising business opportunity. So all I need now is someone who's wondering why the ol’ ball and chain has been leaving early and coming home late on a regular basis for the past couple of weeks.

Sound like anyone you know?

Do they need to know where this promiscuous pair have made their little automotive love nest?

Well, I need a new set of 29er wheels for the Pugsley.

You do the math.

Warm, steamy fun on a frosty night

Fat bikes 'n' beer, a great combination

Saturday’s Frigid Bits ride was a lesson in optimism. After weeks of crappy conditions brought on by our mid-January thaw, winter returned on Friday with several inches of new snow. It was easy to think the trails would squirrelly with all that new powder.

But the beauty of a snowy Friday followed by a sunny Saturday is that tons of people got out and pack the trails for us. The temps were cold, the trails were firm, and the Frigid Bits Burn Barrel was glowing hot when we got back to the parking lot. The ride was fat-bike heaven, but still pretty good, even for the riders on skinnies.

The good ol’ Grill Meister was with us while he’s back in town for the Susitna 100, and there were several new faces in the crowd. A few of the regulars who couldn’t make the ride still managed to show up and look homeless with the rest of us as we stood around the barrel drinking beer until the bitter end. All was right with the world. OK, I guess not, but at least all was right with our tiny slice of it.

If you're a local rider, don’t let fresh snow glue you to the couch the next time it falls right before a Frigid Bits ride. Chances are, the trails will be fine (if not, you can sit on the back and let the fat bikes pave the way) and even if the trail conditions are rough, a hard ride and some beers by the fire are always better than a night in front of the tube.

Slippery? I have my Redoubts, missy.

Redoubt Volcano, 4/21/90
Photo by R. Clucas

Everyone in Anchorage this week is stocking up on respirators and whatever else you’re supposed to buy before a volcano erupts, because those smart-ashes over at AVO are telling us Redoubt is about to blow. This could be sort of cool if it waits until the weather clears, because we can easily see this sucker from right here in town.

Of course, it could also be a major pain in the ass, because volcanic ash is not very nice to things like computers, cars and airplanes. So as news of the impending eruption started spreading across the nation, one of my brothers sent me an e-mail asking what volcanic ash does to bicycles.

From what I understand, it’s so abrasive that it pretty much eats any moving parts it gets into, but I figure a couple of drivetrain components are cheaper than a new Toyota engine, so as long as it doesn’t get too bad, why not keep riding if I have to go somewhere (providing I can keep it out of my eyes and lungs)?

But my wife’s co-workers who were here for the last ashfall in Anchorage have warned her that the ash is also slippery, so the hospital where they all work should expect to see more victims of falls.

Slippery? Really? The stuff is sort of like sand, isn’t it? The whole thing leaves me scratching my head.

What does one ride to an eruption? Studs, or Endomorphs?

Wish list in an economic wasteland

I recently returned from vacation determined to never again travel without an easily transportable bike. I already own a hard-shell case, but it’s not always practical to schlep a huge bike box, and there’s always the threat of nasty airline baggage fees.

A folding bike seemed like a possible sanity-saving solution for quick trips, but the very idea brought an onslaught of criticism from two riding buddies who insisted that a folder would obligate me to commit acts rarely performed by a straight man who's not incarcerated.

That led me back to the more-expensive idea of a Surly Travelers Check with its ingenious S&S couplers. But like most everyone else, I’ve spent the past three months watching my already-laughable financial portfolio waste away like a bulemic bimbo with a nose full of blow.

On top of that, I have a bad habit of reading the news every day, which hasn’t exactly been a confidence builder lately. Dropping a thousand bucks on a frame that would then soak up more money in the form of tasty components just doesn’t seem prudent right now. It’s enough to make a guy want to kick the teeth out of all the sub-prime lenders and derivative-selling financial con artists who put us in this swirling toilet bowl of an economy.

It’s unreasonable to whine about delaying a bike purchase. Unlike some people, I still have a job, and the value of the bikes in my house could feed a Third World family for a few years.

Still, it’s no fun being a responsible adult and delaying gratification.

Hasta la vista, baby

The Monkee gives Dubya the boot.

Mush, mon!

These are bleak days for winter bikers in Anchorage. Sure, the weather has finally turned cold again, but we’re still stuck with rotten ice and a shortage of snow left by those damned Pineapple Express winds.

The commuting conditions are fast—unless you have a deep pool of meltwater between home and your office—but most of the trails are in rough shape, and will stay that way until we get some new snow. The whole mess has reduced local riders to arguing online. The local forum has a long-running thread about whether the design of Chain Reaction’s new 9:ZERO:7 borrows too liberally from Speedway’s Fatback, with the counter-argument being that it’s pretty hard to build a bike that doesn’t look like another bike.

Of course, that argument keeps being interrupted by debates over things like PBR—which some people consider fit for human consumption (OK, that’s really just Dutch)—online censorship and whether the whole thing is too gay to begin with. It’s enough to drive a person batshit crazy, if he wasn’t already there from too much time on a stationary trainer.

So it was a refreshing distraction this afternoon when I read about Newton Marshall, the Jamaican dog-sled racer who plans to race in the Yukon Quest and is sponsored by Jimmy Buffett.

As I read about Marshall, I thought how strange it seemed that a guy from a Caribbean island would come to Alaska to race dogs. “Dang,” I said to myself. “That’d be like taking a bike to ride … uh … well, in Alaska. In the winter. I guess.”

I mean, seriously, where else could you ride a bike—which most of the world views as summertime transportation—that would be as weird as here? Winter cyclists should totally understand this guy.

I don’t usually follow mushing. I know people who do it, and it’s a sport with a work-to-fun ratio that’s freakishly out of balance. But this year I’ll be cheering for the Jamaican because he seems like a funhog, and he's got to be one tough dude to have made it this far.

After the Quest, maybe he’ll stick around and try some fat-bike rides. Who knows? Maybe if we showed him how much fun he could have without shoveling dog shit all week, he’d decide to stick around and train for next year's Invitational.

Technical difficulties

Thanks to the incompetent boobs at ACS—who can't upgrade a DSL account without hosing it up for 24 hours—and the non-English-speaking residents of Bangalore who provide router tech "support" for Linksys, I was offline for more than 24 hours.

Bicycles & Icicles will return will my anger calms.

1.20.09