Alaskan Pack Fodder

I've ridden the trainer eight days straight, the last two being double workouts. Usually I go for six days and then take a rest day, but this week I just kept going. I had stuff to work through, stress to eliminate. I just kept cranking away every chance I got. There is a fragile balance there. If I push it too hard, it all backfires and things spiral downwards into a very dark place. Perspective is lost and any chance of a positive outcome is lost. Last spring I cooked myself on the trainer, so when I had the opportunity to actually ride on pavement I had no motivation. A couple of weeks of unmotivated grinding and then a handful of sporadic rides was my total for the whole summer. I got dropped every time I rode with other people. That lack of enthusiasm bled into just about everything I did. Sure, I would rally for a project or other short-term endeavor, but it was only a momentary respite from the swirling toilet bowl I'd made of my life. It wasn't just the overtraining

Yeah, I skipped last week. Your refund is in the mail. To be honest, I didn't feel like blogging. I didn't feel like doing much of anything. I was hit with some devastating news that left me curled up in a fetal ball. Isolated and alone, stuck in the middle of a wildlife preserve in southwest Alaska, there was nothing I could do about it. I fell apart. Then I got on the trainer and started riding. Every day I got up and put one foot in front of the other and tried to dig myself out of the hole. I reflected a lot. I avoided plundering the sites beer stash, given my current state. I did the work I'm paid to do, but not to the level I aspire to. I'm a mess. I don't know if I'm going to blog much for a while. Sorry. I have a lot to work through and posting it for the world to see is not my style. That's not what this blog is about. We'll see where this all leads when we get there.

Tomorrow I leave for Cold Bay. Yeah, I'm spending the holidays in a cozy place named Cold Bay. In addition to being a one-man site, the local area is locked down really tight. If I talk to more than one person in-person during my stay, I'll be surprised. It's not that I'm the most social person normally, but even Grumpy McGrumpyface can look forward to an occasional, heartfelt "'sup?" So I guess I'll be spending a lot of time on the trainer, grinding myself down further and peaking just in time for... mid-winter. Yeah, sounds like a great idea. I mean, winning sprints in Watopia and earning green jerseys that expire in an hour is pretty much the height of glory in the pandemic era. I think. I don't get out much these days. I'd much rather be home with my family. After three years being away for the major holidays, it's starting to lose its charm. I don't miss the decorations and lights and parties and traditional stuff that hasn't b

When I hit that nice, round Chronic Training Load (CTL) number on Training Peaks, I thought it was a nice place to stop. I set up my workouts to start easing off a bit, to prevent burnout. For a few days I actually stuck with the plan, and then the numbers started climbing again. Maybe it was a sprint-friendly course or a group on Zwift that drove me to push the boundaries a bit. At any rate, a new, beautiful, round number was staring me in the face and I couldn't resist. The last week of the trip I pushed it a bit harder, and I passed the number on Friday. Then I kept going, fearing it would drop below the magic number on my next rest day (which is kinda the point of not riding). I added a little padding on Saturday and Sunday, and was rewarded with the kind of fatigue that comes extended, pointless flogging of oneself. I've never been a huge fan of stairs, but when you need a nap, 5 Hour Energy, and a pep talk to make it up a single flight of stairs, you know you've overd

This is my 983rd blog post. Sound like a lot? I guess it is. Certainly others have written far more with greater skill. Still, for a guy who varied from a post every month or so to one almost every day to the current twice a week deal, it's a lot of bullshit clogging up the internet. In 17 more posts I'll be at a nice, round 1,000 posts. I'm not sure what I'll do then. Probably keep on going until I don't feel like doing it anymore. It's been a struggle at times, but eventually it just became more or less a habit. Riding a bike is pretty much like that. Once you get going, you just tend to keep moving. Once you stop, it gets harder to overcome inertia and start again. Since I see this as a more or less positive exercise, I figure I'll keep going.  It's certainly more intellectually stimulating than cruising Facebook or online shopping. It's a time when I can focus and expand on a small thought. Some stay small and go nowhere, while a select few actua

Tomorrow another hitch at a remote site is coming to an end. When I'm home, there are all sorts of things that compete for my time. In the field, I have working, eating, sleeping, watching TV, surfing the web, and riding the trainer. That's it. After a while, the only one I want to do anymore is sleeping. The rest slowly grind me down mentally and physically. I'm at the point where I'm pedaling harder and not seeing the same results. That's a sure sign of burnout, so I've been pretty much coasting the last couple weeks. Do just enough not to lose significant ground, and wait for the legs to come back around. It's taking a while, but one thing I've had plenty of here is time. I miss my wife and kids and dogs and bed and... everything. I feel like a stranger when I return, as their lives have gone on while mine has been more or less suspended in time. It takes a while to get up to speed, to feel like I belong. Then it's back again to the grinding wheel

I had it all planned out. A week of easy rides to slowly back myself from the edge and allow me to capitalize on the gains of the last three months. But staring me in the face was that number. That nice, round number. So, I stuck with the plan. Sort of. I rode easy. Easier than I had since my first, limping days back on the bike months ago. Then I'd sprint and immediately regret it. Then I'd ride easy for longer than I should. So, instead of my chronic training load dropping back to a sustainable level, it crept up. The nice round number was surpassed, and all I got for the milestone was tired. So, I guess I'm going to try this again. Riding easy on a trainer is not a lot of fun for me. Actually riding really hard isn't all that much fun for me either. But when I really think about it, waking up with a persistent ache that I have to carry the entire day like a backpack full of lead weights probably sucks the most. And that's where I am. Falling apart. All is not los

I was recently banned from The Paceline forums  for two weks.The moderators were 100% justified in their actions, and I would have done the same thing when I moderated forums when confronted with such behavior. When I clicked on the link for the forums, it read: You have been banned for the following reason: derailing thread - lance thread. Date the ban will be lifted: 12-12-2020, 06:00 AM Yep, I was banned for a couple posts on a thread about Lance Armstrong, which started with a link to a clickbait CyclingNews article where Johan  Bruyneel says Lance would have been the best of his generation 'with or without doping'. Magazines have been trotting out these sorts of stories for years during the off-season because they generate traffic from both sides of the divide. A couple things: Lance has never done anything to me personally or to anyone I know. I do believe cycling (and the world in general) is better off without Lance Armstrong. Sorry, he's a doper (like most of his

The last couple days I've been cruising various websites, looking longingly at things I haven't been attracted to in decades. For some reason, maybe hormonal, I've been drawn into this pattern that can have no positive outcome. I started looking at guitars. I think it started with an article I ran across about Epiphone coming out with a limited-edition '59 Les Paul model. Now, I was always more of a Fender guy because of the neck shape and sound, but I always could appreciate a classic Les Paul. The Telecaster I purchased when I was 13 with over a year's savings (and which I still own) is very similar to a Les Paul. Bound body, sunburst finish, rosewood neck... It was my most prized possession for a very long time until one day I decided to stop playing. It was no longer fun.  Sure, I tried to buy my enthusiasm back with various purchases.  High school was over and college had shown me that I wasn't made for that world.  So, like most guys who used to be in a ba

I decided to back off. Really, I was starting to feel cooked and knew I was overdue for a week or three in cruise mode. Back off a little and see what I can sustain. With no real goals in the future thanks to work and the pandemic, it's all just guesswork at the moment. Then I noticed I was only a little bit away from a nice, satisfyingly round number. It's a number I'd hit more than a few times before, although usually I try not to hit it in November because it makes no sense for me to hit it so far from... well... anything . Hitting it this early in the winter just means I'm looking at a crash if I'm not careful. That would set me back to square one. Still, it's so close. The logical side of me says it's just a number of no particular significance. The obsessive compulsive side of me says it signifies achievement and completion. I have an idea which side is going to win this argument, and I don't really want to deal with the aftermath. It's so clos

  A couple days before I was scheduled to leave for my current hitch, my left ear started ringing. Then the headaches started. Then it felt like someone was driving an icepick through my eardrum. Naturally I was a bit concerned with this development so close to a trip which involved me flying in a small plane for a few hours. I went to the ER and they said I didn't have an infection of any kind, but it was simply a blocked  eustachian tube. It would likely go away on its own and they sent me off with some Afrin. Well, three weeks later and it hasn't gone away completely. It's better, and sometimes I have no symptoms, but they always come back. Mainly extra pressure, ringing, or hearing issues. If I'm on top of it and take my handful of medicine, flush my sinuses before bed with an improvised neti pot, and sleep on my right side so the fluid can drain, I seem to have fewer issues. Problem is, I can't take Afrin every day, and my allergy medicine has a tendency to bac

When you're a new cyclist, progress comes quickly and relatively easy. It may not feel that way, but the initial gains are significant. Unless stopped by injury, illness, boredom, or life itself, the sky's the limit during the early days. Eventually the curve starts to flatten out a bit, so you buy some speed in the form of a new bike or start riding with somebody just a tad faster than you are. Another bump up the performance ladder. Soon the body adapts to this as well, and you're faced with more stagnation, so you find a fast group ride or start racing or buy some really awesome wheels. Anything to go faster and farther and better.  At a certain point you might start actually training instead of just riding around. The upward trend continues, now with charts and metrics to back up the sensations. Problem is, sooner or later you're going to hit another ceiling. Maybe it's genetics, but if you're anything like me it's just mostly poor life choices. I know e

The last couple days I've felt "off" on the bike. No snap in sprints, no sustained power, no real drive to push it... A rest day didn't help. A couple easier days didn't help. I am properly cooked, which was what I've been working towards the last couple months. That sort of progress just isn't sustainable. At a certain point, you hit the ceiling. The only real question is how hard you're going to bounce off the ceiling. Are you going to spiral out of control and crash, or are you going to recover and push the ceiling up a bit more? Right now I'm in a somewhat good place to control the rebound. The only obstacle is my own tendency to start hammering away once I feel a little good. With a little planning, I might be able to milk my current level of fitness for a few months before the next crash. Then another bounce or two and I'm rolling into pavement season with something resembling form, only much weaker. To be honest, I just want to be motiva

This weekend it seemed like half the country was celebrating the dawn of a new golden age and half the country believed the world was coming to an end. They're all wrong. ____________________________________________________________________________ Thus began the long, wordy post I just deleted. The internet doesn't need any more commentary on the election, and my opinion really won't sway the discourse one way or another. My fingers are worn to nubs unfollowing people on Facebook. People on both sides of the political chasm. Some of them cyclists. Some of them family. I just can't deal with the cacophony anymore. I think a lot of people are that way. I think most people are decent when you get right down to it, and agree far more than they disagree when meeting face to face in a civil setting. Unfortunately, civil settings are in short supply these days. People would rather draw lines and dig in their heels than listen to another side of a given issue. It's sad. I s

For a guy prone to dark moods, I like good lighting. At home in my trainer dungeon, I have the overhead florescent lights, a couple LED shop lights, and a small SAD light (which never did much for me emotionally). They're all on when I'm on the trainer, partially because the bikes and bike components hanging from the ceiling reduce the impact of any single light, but also because I really like bright rooms. At the radar sites, some genius decided to paint the walls in the rooms with a flat color that absorbs 90% of all light. In winter along the Chukchi Sea it can get pretty dark, so this is not a great feature during the seasons when the mind tends to veer towards the homicidal. One of the first things I do when I move into a room is start adding lamps. The more, the brighter, the better. I'll pull off lamp shades to make them put out more light. I'll replace the bulbs with the highest wattage I can get away with. Anything to brighten my little world. It helps. It'

  I've done this enough times that you'd think I'd have it all figured out by now. You'd be wrong. I began setting up my bike the night I arrived, in preparation for the next day's workout. Furniture was moved around and all of the components were positioned so that I could roll right out of bed and be sweating in no time. Except I wasn't. I woke up and dutifully donned my kit, then fired up the computer. I logged onto Zwift and immediately was confronted with a 30 minute update, which eventually grew to 45 minutes as the internet connection slowed. I usually update my computer as much as possible while at home to avoid this, but this time around I plain forgot. No matter, I'll just pull out my Garmin to track the workout and watch an old Eddy Merckx movie. As I spun my crank backwards to wake up the power meter, the drivetrain sounded funny. I quickly checked the alignment of the drivetrain, only to discover I had routed the chain through the rear derailleu

I leave today for five or so weeks. In the COVID era, I try not to get too deep into specifics. I'm not overjoyed about leaving, but I make more money at the radar sites than I do on my bike. I'm even less pleased that I rode outside exactly zero days in the past month. Rain, cold, and online school kept me on the trainer instead of on pavement. Most years I would have ridden outside anyway, but without a base of outside riding and the built-up tolerance for wet and cold, I bailed. I couldn't afford to drive my immunity down and get sick. Even an unusual sniffle would have set off alarm bells, and 'Rona testing would have been required. Maybe quarantine. Maybe I would learn that I wasn't in fact negative, but just asymptomatic. Then, just like the President, I would be invincible. I would still be out a ton of money, so I rode the trainer. I wanted to ride outside. I'm facing a long, dark winter inside. I wanted to feel the thrill and fear of a long, technical d

I haven't done a field test in forever to test my functional threshold power (FTP). Without a real training plan or any specific goals, I haven't seen the need. Instead, I just picked a number to set my FTP at in Training Peaks. When I get a notification from the website, I up the number and adjust my ranges. It's probably on the low side currently, but it's in the ballpark.  It's also nowhere near where it once was. I'm not the same rider. The decrease in power is more than a little disheartening, but I have to be realistic. It's what I earned. Age, injuries, and life have taken their toll, but it really comes down to the work. I fell off the wagon and onto the couch more times than I care to admit.  It's quite possible that I could be as strong, if not stronger than I was when I was 40, if I only stayed faithful to a training plan. But that wouldn't be me. Once I achieved a goal, I lost focus and chased things that sabotaged my long-term progress.

It's one thing to resolve to be a better person. It's quite another to actually be a better peson. Better is relative, of course. Better than what? When you're the social equivalent of Ebola, the bar isn't set very high. I could certainly do the bare minimum, but that wouldn't result in the transformation I'm looking for. I need the kind of change you see on home renovation shows where they strip a house back to the timbers and re-imagine it as something with an open floor plan and the like. Take a sledgehammer to the drywall and see how much asbestos is hidden back there. If I want these changes to stick, I need to make them achievable and sustainable. Little things repeated like a mantra until they become automatic. It's really no different than making a cycling training plan, except this one actually matters. Do the work until it isn't work anymore, until you actually feel "wrong" for not doing it. I'm not sure, at age 50, that such chan

I’m back in Anchorage now. Within a few hours of landing, I got hit with an announcement that kinda turned my world upside down. I’m still processing it and what it may or may not mean for my future. For an idiot with a blog, I’m not huge on sharing intimate details of my life that don’t involve saddle sores, so let’s just leave it at that.  Why bring it up only to refuse to provide all of the juicy details? Well, let’s just assume any lapses in posting are probably related to the current situation. As I have aged, my self-perception of superiority has been replaced with the acknowledgment that at my core I’m a deeply flawed human being. No matter how well I do something, someone else does it better.  Often I can do better, but don’t. I’m self-destructively egocentric, which sabotages effective prioritization of the elements of my life. I’m pretty much the stereotypical mediocre recreational roadie.  So, my guts are knotted up and the future is a great unknown. In this regard I am in g

I was almost giddy as I did some administrative tasks that morning. I chatted with one of the mechanics. The reason for this unusually good mood? It was my work last day before I got on a plane for home. Then the phone rang. It took me a minute before what the raspy voice on the other end was telling me. Flu-like symptoms. A test. Can't travel until cleared. Fuck. The email traffic started rolling in confirming what I already knew. I wasn't going anywhere. The rest of the day wasn't quite so cheery. I mean, I get it. I've been delayed by the raging pandemic before and know how it ruins plans. I'd rather be delayed a week or so than for someone to bring the 'rona to the radar site, where medical help is limited to what expired medicine you find laying around, what you brought from home, or a medivac that could take a week to come in. Nope, I'd rather not risk that sort of thing. I can't really complain, even if I still do. I'm making money. I'm fe

I was onto something Monday. I think the same old, same old was starting to get to me. Easy enough when you're riding the trainer. I doubled down on that by sticking to the same route for the last year. I knew every inch of it. Every sprint, every incline, everything. As soon as I saw the leaderboard for a given segment, I already knew if I was going to try. I just felt like I had a pretty good handle on where the edges were. Then today I tried a new route. I had no idea what was in front of me. I just gave everything I hit my best. I fell in with a group of four or five really strong riders and started rotating pulls. There was another rider in the group, and I knew he was deluded as I am about our relative abilities in a sprint. It was the way he closed gaps and hung back on the lead up to a sprint told me he was going to jump. My eyes narrowed a little. As we approached the sprint, he drifted back off the front and sat on my wheel. When the line came, he hit an aero boost and st

I used to have purpose. Every time I got on the bike, I knew why I was there. These days? Not so much. I wish I could blame it on a global pandemic or something, but the truth is I had been flailing for years. A string of injuries, over-training, under-training, not training, career change, weight gain... It all added up. I miss that competitive drive. It was what fueled me to lose weight, to grind through painful intervals, and to ride in weather most sane people avoided. I knew the other guys were out there too, putting themselves through the same pain and making the same sacrifices so they could mix it up on race day. Seems like a lot of effort for races few cared about, which resulted in more financial loss than gain. Some of us are just wired to pin on a number, toe the line, and then see how we measure up. Eventually that wiring short-circuits or the whole system is replaced with something else. It's not there was any glory involved. A win might get you a pair of socks or a b

After my close call with the canti Moots CX frame, I got to thinking. Always a dangerous thing for me, but maybe this time it will lead to something good. Never has before, but I have to stay positive. My Lynskey Urbano project has been languishing for too long. A few hours of wrenching would put it on the road, yet I never could muster the motivation to do it. Sure, I have had a mountain of projects and obligations during my precious time home, but somehow I always found time for a nap or some mindless TV. I could have been wrenching, but it never seemed to occur to me. I know why. in·er·tia.   / iˈnərSHə /    noun.   PHYSICS Learn to pronounce a property of matter by which it continues in its existing state of rest or uniform motion in a straight line, unless that state is changed by an external force. I was rolling along with it when I first got it, all exited and stuff about the possibilities, and then I ran into a brick wall and it sat. I can't remember exactly what happened (

I couldn't help myself. I bid on a Moots Psycho X frameset. I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, it had cantilever brakes, and I already have a Ritchey BreakAway CX with cantis. Not only that, but the Ritchey has never been on the road or trail, and was simply a travel trainer-only bike. I haven't lined up for a 'cross race since 2014, when I bulged a disc in my back during the first race of the season. Breaking ribs and losing skin was one thing, and I did that every year, but that was another level. I sold my 'cross bike and instead spent my cold, rainy fall days riding on the pavement.  I must admit sometimes I sorta miss the short, brutal races and the 'cross atmosphere. Changing out of muddy/soggy kit into to warm/dry clothes while my heart slowly stopped trying to burst through my ribcage like the monster from Alien  was the best part of the experience. Nothing like intense pain and discomfort to make you appreciate the little things. It would take most of t

I'm not much of a car collector anymore. I just see them as a way to get from point A to point B, and as long as they run reliably and fill the purpose they were intended for, I don't give them a second thought. My idea of fun is not going down to the dealership and seeing what new marvels they have. My Toyota Matrix is a base model from 2006, which was a replacement for the exact same car when that one was totaled. My plan is to drive it until it falls apart, which, judging by my current mileage, will be in about 20 years. I bought my late father-in-law's 2007 Honda Fit on a whim, mainly because it was mint, extremely bare-bones, had a manual transmission, and gets great gas mileage. Didn't really need it, and it really isn't going to save me a ton of money over my Matrix, but it's kinda fun to drive a stick again. My wife, however, likes new cars. She's been begging me forever to replace '11 Honda Pilot. I was hoping the Fit would quiet her yearnings f

It's been a while since I've made an effort to watch the Tour de France. After Floyd's miraculous ride and Lance's comeback, I pretty much lost interest. A bunch of years of Sky domination really didn't exactly draw me back in. I'd follow the results casually on various cycling websites, but actually sitting down and watching stage coverage end-to-end? Nah, a clip of an attack or wreck was about it. This year, mostly thanks to me being at a place that carries the right channel, I've watched the majority of the race. I delighted in the chaotic nature of this edition, with the rise of new powerhouses and plot twists nearly every day. It was like ASO finally figured out that their race was boring as crap and finally did something about it. See? There's a bright side of the pandemic after all.  

I've been playing around on eBay lately. With my down time no longer taken up with making sure the puppies don't pee on the rug and the never-ending list of projects, I surf the internet, and eventually I wind up at eBay. Let me be 100% honest- I don't another bike or any more bike parts. Yet I'm still searching through listings for bike frames. Narrow that down to disc brake frames. Narrow that further down to cyclocross frames. Drill right down to frames with quick-releases and a certain spacing. Why? Because I have a quick release disc wheelset sitting around. That's it. That's the whole justification. Even if I was in shape to race 'cross, I wouldn't. I run into trees and hurt myself when I race 'cross. I wouldn't ride the bike casually on gravel or whatever it is the kids are riding these days. I have a ti gravel project that has been languishing at 90% complete for years. Just have no interest. So yeah, an old wheelset is inspiring this stu

So far I've stuck to the plan. The plan isn't that hard or overly complex, so sticking to it has been made that much easier. Start slow. Don't overdo it. That's it. Every morning I get up and do an hour on the bike. I might go for a steady pace. I might go for a sprint. I might do something in between. At this point I keep it simple. One thing a workout. No intervals or that sort of stuff. Get the legs under yourself. It's September. The riding season is pretty much over for me. Sure, roadies back in Anchorage are still riding and will be until the snow falls. Me? Yesterday I stood on top of a mountain and saw Russia. Riding on pavement for the next month or so is pretty much off the table. When I get back, we'll see. I may not feel like it. I may have conflicting priorities. All I can do is focus on the here and now. That means facing my current reality and try to improve it. I'll probably never get back to where I was only a couple years ago, but maybe I&#

I jumped on the trainer this morning. No, that's a lie. I procrastinated a bunch, fiddling around and adjusting minor things before I finally threw. leg over the top tube. I had planned on doing a short ride last night after replacing the trainer flywheel bearings I munched last spring, but it took longer than I intended and I wanted to get a good night's sleep. Seemed like a valid excuse at the time. Anyway, I started pedaling, not expecting much. No surprises here. I couldn't maintain even an easy pace. The transition from road to trainer always takes me a while, but this was a magnitude or so worse. That tiny bit I rode this summer was reflected every time the cranks came around. OK, that's where I am. It will get better if I stick with it. Chances are, the next few workouts will show marked improvement, even if they will still reflect a serious lack of form. It's where I am. I guess I could get upset about the fact I probably had more power my first year of raci

  In my partial purge of junk from my house (some of that stuff I need ), I would periodically load up my trailer and make a trip to the dump to avoid the giant piles tippingover and flowing back into the house. My wife got into the spirit of things and started adding to the pile, which made it grow faster than I could haul it away. Then the rain came. I covered it as well as I could with tarps (because, Alaska), but Iknew it was only a matter of time before the rain seeped in and turned the boxes and bags into heavy mush. I needed to get this stuff gone. So, while the cold rain poured down my back, I toted the junk off, load by load. I could feel my body contract as I worked, but I knew I had to get it done before I left for the radar site. Yeah, I got sick. Normally, the sniffles are not a big thing, but in the age of the 'Rona, a runny nose is viewed as a serious threat. Run down the list of COVID-19 symptoms and you'll see a bunch that look like what you get with the common

  After almost three months of being home, it's time to head back out and make some money. My war chest is depleted, and sooner or later the bosses would figure out just how replaceable I am. Time to restock the supplies and sort out the gear. I pulled out the Pelican cases, which hadn't been touched since my last hitch, and tried to organize the mess. The bike cases will have to be started from scratch. I had stolen bits and pieces from the trainer bike's case, and months later I have no idea where anything is. I just look at everything with fresh eyes, culling the stuff I don't need and adding the stuff I do. More often than not, my editing skills leave a lot to be desired. I fly out Friday, and I feel like I'm leaving behind a lot of unfinished projects at home. There's never enough time, no matter how much time I have. I'll squander whatever you give me. The riding I wanted to do never happened. The good weather coincided with time-sucking chores, and th

One thing about camping is that you end up with a lot of free time on your hands. Some people fill the hours with drinking or playing with their phones or watching TV or any number of activities they could just as easily do at home. Me? I usually look for things to make "better". That's a matter of opinion, I realize, because my "better" may be someone else's "ruined". Usually I try to limit my efforts to sticking to the original intent of whatever I'm working on, lest I pave over the wilderness. Most often it's a little brush clearing, trash removal, drainage improvement, or other minor thing to improve the site. Make it better for the next guy. Plus, it kills some of the time. I'm good for about four hours on the bike, another four poking at/staring into the fire, a couple eating, and then I get restless. When we camp at certain campgrounds with a lake, we drag the kayaks and canoe along. At South Rolly Lake, we try to grab a campsite

I get the impression Wanky doesn't much like RVs . He's currently doing a bike Tour up and down the Pacific Coast, and has not had the best experiences with them. For most of my life, I would have agreed with him. In some regards, I still do. My idea of camping used to be a sleeping bag and a shower curtain, a camping taco sleeping arrangement that was compact and light. If I wanted to go high-zoot, I'd bring along a small tent. Cooking was done over the fire. I had a bunch of cookstoves and gadgets, but I rarely used them. Mostly, I was bare-bones as fuck. Then I got married and had three small children. It rained every. single. time. we camped. A summer Southcentral Alaska rain usually means it's in the 40s or 50s, and camping kids drag all of the mud and wet into even the cleanest/driest of tents. Somebody gets sick. The wife gets irritable. The body doesn't respond well to sleeping on the ground next to a cold, soggy kid. Pretty soon, camping is something you us

I haven't been the best blogger as of late, Mostly, I haven't felt like it. I haven't been riding much, and there's only so much you can say about not riding your bike except it's a vicious cycle that drags you down and is difficult to get out of. I did manage a couple rides from Anchor Point. I wasn't going to bring the bike, since it needs serious attention and why bring it if it's just going to sit there? It really doesn't need another coat of bike rack road grime. At the last second, I threw it in the RV with a handful of kit. Know what I didn't pack? One of the approximately ten Garmins floating around the house. Oh well, turns out the pedals don't need a computer to turn. In retrospect, wearing a heartrate monitor was a bit pointless... I did some loops from Anchor Point to Homer, my most favoritest place in the world next to Newark, New Jersey. There are some nice climbs above Homer, although I discovered most of the descents into town are

I haven't ridden in a while. The day after we got back from Fairbanks, I noticed my fence was falling down. Given that there is a limited window for such work in Alaska, I threw myself into rebuilding it. A few days later I was a broken man, but the job was pretty much finished.  The wife loves Homer, AK for some nonsensical reason. I hate it for a thousand logical reasons. So, of course we packed the RV up and drove down to the Homer Spit to park in a gravel lot, crammed next to hundreds of drunk fishermen. It poured rain the whole time.I was tasked with getting up every morning at about 5:00AM and feeding and walking the dogs. In the rain. My body, abused by the fence project, locked up as I got soaked by the cold rain. I got sick. The bike was with me, but I did not feel like riding. So obviously my opinion of Homer took a complete 180 to the point that I'm looking at real estate in the area. Or not. Once I got home it was tie to clean out the garage, or at least dig a path

I have a habit of assigning nicknames to places, children, and pets, which may or may not reflect some aspect of their character or outward appearance. I probably do this because I am horrible with names, despite being a stable genius.    One day years ago I blanked on the name of a shopping center, and instead referred to it as the "crack whore mall." There was immediate understanding in the room, and many still use the name.     I named my daughter Stinkfish when she was a baby, swimming in a local pool. Over 12 years later, she's still Stinkfish. People like that one.    My son is Possum, but it never really stuck. Can't win them all.    My first dogs were Old Dan and Little Ann, named after the dogs in "Where the Red Fern Grows." If you haven't read it, or re-read it within the last year, you're a horrible, horrible person. Anyway, Ann sounded too much like Dan, so she became Baby Girl. Not incredibly creative, but the name followed her around fo