Joy

When the weather Gods cooperate in Alaska, it's silly not to heed the call.  On Friday, I saw the weekend forecast calling for bright blue skies, low temps in the upper 20's and highs in the lower 50's. These are the perfect conditions for a spring hike up the Pioneer Ridge Trail.  The key is to leave early enough and be fast enough that it is frozen on the way up and only slightly muddy on the way down, but also make a departure time reasonable enough that getting out of bed isn't impossible. Once I found a willing friend, I knew exactly how I wanted to spend my Sunday morning.

We started out at 6:00 on frozen ground and eased our way up through the forested switchbacks. By the time we hit 1800 ft of elevation and a little over a mile of hiking, we needed hiking spikes to grip into the hard ice packed trail.

In the winter, the first picnic table (2,200 ft.) is usually the turnaround point, so it wasn't surprising that the trail between the two picnic tables was a mixture of moose tracks, post holes and old snowshoe tracks in a variety of steep, uphill directions. It was a deep snow year and the trail markers kind of disappeared through this section of trail, but having done this trail before it wasn't a matter of being lost just a matter of the easiest path to get past the alders and willows.

The above treeline, snow blown ridgeline at 2.800 feet was a welcome sight.

Black bear prints in fresh snow

The trail signs were easily visible and the trail itself was rocky and exposed in several areas on the eastern side where the wind and sun hit, while the western part of the ridgeline collected the snow and cornices had formed. Just as I was getting back into a comfortable hike, I spotted the fresh prints of a small black bear. An uneasy feeling and dread creep over me. Gone are the days where bears sleep peacefully. We followed the tracks "just to have a peak" and thankfully only saw the numerous mountains, a gravely glacial river, and the Knik Glacier.

Then the never ending hike continued - calf straining and heart pounding, but there's the constant views of scenic mountains and down below, thousands of feet is the familiar landscape of home to keep my mind occupied as my keep legs moving.  At last, it's one last hump to the top of the ridgeline and finally, the valley is 5,360 feet below.  It's pure joy.

South Pioneer and North Pioneer Peak in the background.

And, the joy is only sweeter as we turn around and make our way downhill!

There's This and That!

Friday, April 10, 2020

A week ago Friday, I put on my cross-country skis, barely survived the hard crusty snow out the back door down to the Knik River for an excellent spring ski. A week later the switch has flipped. The right combination of wind and warm temperatures melted most of the snow. By Saturday, it became full on spring, complete with water and mud and it was the first road bike ride of the season.

By early afternoon the temperatures were near 60 degrees and it seemed like most of the valley had outdoor thoughts on their mind.  It was nice to pass so many families walking, fellow cyclists, and runners on the bike path that begins about 6 miles from our house and continues for miles past Palmer, Wasilla, Big Lake, Houston, and slightly beyond.  We are fortunate to have this recreational opportunity so close to home.  This was the thought that rolled through my mind as I peddled my way past snow covered peaks and glacier views.

Lazy Mountain and Matanuska Peak from the Palmer Golf Course

With this, comes that . . . . and by that I mean JUNK! Mostly I try to ignore it, but with no leaves on the trees, it's impossible.  On the 14 miles between our house and Palmer, most people live on 1-3 acre parcels and it seems almost everyone has "that neighbor."  Some are fortunate not to have them next door, but one doesn't need to drive very far down the road before encountering the visual pollution that neighbor shares with the entire world.  

Our neighbor's pile of junk!

The pile of junk usually entails a vintage car, or two, or three with the windows broken and a couple tires missing.  If you look closer, an old appliance, bed frames, mattresses, TV, couch, trampoline, scrap building materials, and household garbage are likely culprits to be found in there as well. Some of that mess might make sense if there wasn't a solid waste facility, junkyards willing to tow vehicles, curbside garbage pick-up, or friends with a truck to help out, but all are available here.

So, that leaves miles and minutes on the bike to wonder and ponder the juxtaposition of this and that!
 

Lazy Wednesday Friends, Not Quite!

Looking down Lazy Mountain trail - April 15

There's an annual mountain running race in the Matanuska Valley called, "The Crazy Lazy." It's held near the end of March just as the sun is starting to extend over the horizon for a decent amount of daylight and the snow is turning slushy. It rightfully earns it's name.  The race entails a steep two mile trail with 3,000 feet of climbing to the top of Lazy Mountain, then descends down another path and finishes on a slightly uphill single track to make an elongated triangle of about 6 miles. Each year, I think about racing it, but usually I can come up with some reason why I won't be on the list of participants. The best and what most people simply nod their head and agree to is, "Who wants to be hurt racing down Lazy before summer even begins?"

Contrary to what the above statement might imply, I enjoy climbing Lazy Mountain and racing, but putting the two in the same sentence makes me breathless instantly, so I avoided doing so.  Enter August 2019 where I met the Lazy Wednesday friends on a Sunday hike. They invited me to join them at 6:00 a.m. to hike Lazy.

"Every Wednesday, all year round, to the top?" I wasn't sure if I spoke those words out loud, but I sure was thinking them. Casually I asked, but secretly wondering if I had a way out without sounding like a wimp. "And when are you back to the parking lot?"  Before 8:00 and yes they confirmed, it was a round trip, on the two mile trail up, and year-round they hiked. While calculating their pace and intensity, I spun through my rolodex excuse file and said, "Sounds like fun, but I have cyclocross races every Saturday until mid-October and I don't want to wear out my legs."

For my abilities, I wasn't exactly telling them lies. I had climbed Lazy enough to learn what fitness was needed to do what they did.  While I could do it that quickly when I'm in good shape, I didn't hike that hard normally or weekly and probably only hiked that hard two or three times a year when I happen to be feeling good and the trail conditions were just right. Furthermore, those early morning exercise days disappeared when the boys graduated from high school. I hadn't woken up on a school day before 7:30 in years.  Their friendly reply, "join us then" silently beckoned me as the weeks went by.

October - First Lazy Morning Run

In October, the vibrating and buzzing sound of my phone alarm on the bedside stand at 5:15 a.m. awakened me and nervously I wondered what kind of commitment have I gotten myself into this winter. It will be like I'm racing Lazy Mountain every week.

Two cups of coffee and a peanut-butter sandwich later, I'm standing in the parking lot with my headlamp taking up my position at the back of the pack, because I hate feeling like I'm holding others back. Soon I realized if I don't talk much on the way up, I can mostly keep up.

A few hours later, I'm rushing through the door at school, hiking gear on, clean clothes in bag, red faced and soaked in sweat. The first time this happened the ladies in the front office looked at me with the strangest of expressions. I explained how I joined up with a group of ladies who are fast, they made me work hard, and surprisingly, I loved every minute of it.

Fall turned into winter and winter into spring.  Go figure. . . . just this morning, there I was in the parking lot with no flashlight even needed for the first time.  I've concluded: these Lazy Wednesday friends are a group of dedicated Crazies, who I can't help but follow up the mountain each week!

Resurrected Blog Amid Covid-19

Not a track to be seen in the driveway!

An Easter Sunday trip to the cabin, west of Big Lake sparked the idea.  It had been forever since I posted anything on my blogger. The reasons could include any of the following: taking continuing education classes, training for a running race, writing burnout, traveling outside the state much of the summer, or the usual excuse - no time.

Ever since flying home after spring break, it has been an adjustment to find normal. Like the rest of the world, Covid-19 realities and uncertainties have reached Alaska. While I'm happy to be healthy, my usual routines aren't the same. I'm fortunate to be working as a teacher, but doing so from home. Some of my regular exercise partners have bailed, or maybe I bailed on them! Then, there's the wondering and worrying, "When will we see our kids, parents, and extended family members, who all live in the "Lower 48?" Whether it was the trip to the cabin and all its memories or the realization that I'm kind of stuck in Alaska for awhile, I thought why not resurrect "Life and Adventures in the Last Frontier" to occupy my mind and free time these days.

The middle of February was the last time we were at the cabin and it was only to shovel the roof.  We found ourselves going there less often over the years. The snowmachines weren't running, fat biking in the cold wasn't much fun, and there was a series of burglaries. Anything that thieves could carry out disappeared including our wood stove. In the end, a weekend at the cabin became more of hassle than fun. 

Enter Covid-19 and social distancing practices and suddenly a cabin on 21 acres has much more appeal. Soon the truck was loaded with a snowblower, brats were in a bag and an extra shovel was thrown in back the truck. We were off to enjoy Easter Sunday.  

Whenever we pull up, I always get this antsy, nervous feeling to see how the cabin has fared in our absence.  I stepped over the plowed berm and instantly my leg dropped, crotch deep into snow.  There was no shortage of snow!  I soon learned if I avoided the old moose track and I stepped lightly I could walk at least 10-15 steps on the hard crust before I fell in again.  While I made my way to the cabin, Bryant took on the arduous task of snowblowing a real path. 

Seeing nothing amiss in the cabin, I proceeded to gather wood for a campfire. This was no small task given the large volume of snow blocking the wood stash and the need to carry it a 100 feet across the fragile crusted surface to the firepit, which is now buried 3 feet down, somewhere?  I guesstimated accurately and hit a rock the first try.  Before too long, I had a hole dug and fire blazing.

In the meantime, Bryant managed to wrestle the blower 3/4 of the way up the drive.  Where at this point, he needed my help to soften the snow in front of it due to increased snow depth and the slight uphill angle of the path.  

While he finished blowing snow himself, I crawled back into the woodshed for another load of wood, cut us some hotdog sticks, and settled in to roasting a brat. Shortly thereafter,
Bryant joined me.

We were probably sitting about five minutes when it started to drizzle. But being good Alaskans, we sat there unfazed and watched the cheddar cheese melt from the brat into the fire.