Sneaker winter

As depressing as the current weather track is, I gotta say, this winter has been a bit of a sneaker.
So far, I’ve safely logged far more ski hours than fat bike hours.
Maybe it’s partly because I over-cooked myself this year on the bike, maybe it was getting a fall trip down south that satiated my desire to ride for a while, but I’m glad that winter riding has been limited.
In the grand scheme of things, this winter blows; but, maybe in the way that last summer was a sneaker for riding, this one is the same for skiing, especially in comparison to 2014.
Access is for sure worse than it’s ever been in the Kenai Mountains, but the skiing above 2,000’ feet in Turnagain has actually been better than this year than it’s been since the big winter of 11-12 (at least until as-of-late).
The 12-13 early season was thin and faceted, top to bottom, in Turnagain, and literally non-existent in Hatcher. Last year, I only skied Turnagain once before early February. On the flip side, Hatcher had plenty of snow last year, but kept going in and out due to freeze/thaw events, not to mention, it’s a difficult place to ski during storm events.
So, by the numbers, BC ski days logged, November 1-Jan 4:
13-14 – 10 days;
14-15 – 19 days.
The other aspect of this subjective equation, “objective days” – or high-quality days. I’d define these as days where I skied, or attempted to ski, something that actually felt like real skiing, not just chasing after laps. Up to this point last year, I’d attempted and completed 2 objectives, Gold Cord Peak and Pinnacle. Both were fantastic skis.
This year, I’ve skied three objective days: Basketball couloir, the nameless Idaho face (Potato Peak?), and Government north face.
While none of these holds a candle to Pinnacle, they still felt really good, and are on the books. Really important here though, since we’ve had ample opportunity to do laps days, I felt much better on all three of those days this year than I did last year on Pinnacle or Gold Cord, where I had only skied in marginal conditions two times prior. Finally, I haven’t been nearly as stressed out about conditions or avi concerns.
One thing that for sure sucks this year: the complete lack of skinny skiing. While this is more of a mid-week activity for me, I’ve put in fewer days this year on skate or classic skis than I did by Thanksgiving in any of the previous three years!

Where will this winter go from here?

My guess, it’s unlikely to recover.
Amateur meteorologist hat, on.
Right now there are three main factors all ganging up to ensure we don’t ski much in the second half of this winter: anomalously high sea surface temps in the north east Pacific (7 degrees centigrade in the north Gulf), a powerful eastern Pacific blocking pattern that extends along the entire west coast of North America, and a weak El Nino pattern.
This exact pattern set up for the winter of 2002-2003, and it never relented. Rain and warm temperatures persisted throughout that winter season, and rarely did any cold air seep down from the Arctic in the second half of the winter. 
Big picture, is it the end of winter forever in SCAK? Probably not. Two years ago our snow shovels and thermometers were taking a beating, and in 2008 and 2010, winter took the lead and carried right over into summer. I’d say we’re on the wrong end of the decadal cycle. Unfortunately, it’s hard to get psyched that mountain bike season will start earlier or that next year could be better, knowing this one is more than likely toast.
In some ways, that’s a nice analogy for the past weekend. In some senses, it was really nice: warm temps, good company, and firm trails made for very pleasant rides. On the other hand, as enjoyable as riding was, I really didn’t want to be riding, I wanted to be skiing.

Yep, those are shorts, in January. I can't say I was wearing short too, but Phil rides hard!

A quick stop to appreciate the weak, but bright, winter sun.

I went to check out the Haesler-Norris Trails in Houston on Sunday after seeing a recent post from Tim, hoping to find slightly more winter-like conditions. I was not disappointed. The trails were firm, fast, and offered lots of traction and no need for studs.

A big sign at the entrance to Zero Lake Rd warned of logging operations. Ah...getting run down by these rigs...just like back home. This was the only rig I saw though, and I like the slogan on the side: "Got Wood?"

The trails offered a little of everything, from spruce tunnels, birch glades, recently logged sections, wide open swamps, and narrow twisty corridors.

It almost felt like a throw back to when I lived in Soldotna and would escape the deep cold or dangerous avi conditions by going to Homer to skinny ski. In this case, I was fleeing north in search of winter riding. I'll be back.

Build Some Base

Fall is training for winter. It's on a weird plan, too much upper body; the mountains are built up in the alpine, thin and wimpy down low.
Warm and wet is good this time of year though. The layers are making friends with each other and ganging up on the alders. Mid-elevations are smooshed down nicely compared to the past two seasons, and despite gray bird conditions this weekend, the consolidated maritime snow skied great, even in the milky alpine.

Pics: talk!

More action in Seattle Creek on Friday with Kellen and Aaron.

Not sharing his soup.

Cody and I headed to Tincan on Saturday. Viz was in and out and there were a lot of familiar faces on the mountain. Perfect place to be.

The gliders from November are turning into perfect pillows.

Too stormy down south, and alas too slushy to ride the upper portion of Middle Fork.

Perfect tack lower down though and great lighting.

What Are You Going to be for Halloween?

I’m gonna be a snow skier.
Yup, with Canadian Thanksgiving out of the way, it’s just about looking like November out there.
In the meantime, it’s not really so bad in those mountains.

Climbing above the clouds riding Abbott Ballfields to Glen Alps and back Wednesday night.

I met up with Rachel and Kyle for a planned one-and-done pre-turkey lap on Sunburst on Thursday morning.
We had sunny skies, no wind, and pretty nice snow off the top.
Unfortunately, some idiot forgot to put the memory card back in his camera, so no photos.

With gray skies and a chance for new snow on Friday, Cody, Joe, and I headed up to Seattle Ridge.

Here’s a fact: when we finally got up to the first bench and went to skinning mode, Cody and I kind of let Joe ride it out on the struggle bus behind us.
Joe usually gets up Seattle Ridge in a couple minutes via sled, and we knew he didn’t usually skin for his turns, but we assumed he had skinned at least a few times before.
You know how sometimes your friends think they’re being helpful offering you advice: “don’t use your poles so much,” “use your poles more,” “get through your kick turn faster,” “don’t try and go too fast”…and all you really want to do is just struggle on your own without Captain Obvious’ commentary and pitying stare.
Ya, so Cody and I, we think we’re being nice, giving Joe some space.
We get to the top of a selected run in Main Bowl, and Joe catches up just a few minutes later, and informs us that was his first skin, ever, and it wasn’t so bad…
Legendary on Joe’s part though.
We proceeded to knock out a couple runs in some gullies and trees in the stale boot-top snow.

Joe discovering the joyous freedom of the hills unhindered by mechanized snow transport, unleashed his inner-butterfly spirit child...or is just stoked for the first run of the day.

Maybe favorite picture from the whole weekend.

After a lot of thought I've decided to sell my snowmachine. Yep. I'll take $500 cash. It's pretty much good to go, just needs a ski, belt, track, motor, a couple other odds and ends, and a lot of WD-40. A shovel would be good too. Only serious inquiries please.

Photo: C.G.

Photo: C.G.

Photo J.E.

Cody checks the spacing between trees for conformity.

Photo: J.E.

 

Saturday, I stayed in town and caught a nice leg-refreshing spin with Phil. The snow was coming down hard while we rode, and I was reminded of why I prefer a classic or skate ski instead of a fat bike in soft conditions, but hopefully those activities will come soon enough.

Sunday was forecasted to be partly clouds, or partly sun, and for sure busy.

Cody, Joe, and I were joined by Aaron, and we headed back to Seattle. We climbed into the part that was not sunny, and for sure cloudy: solid white. We hit the ridge, and the skinner went south toward Triangle. We wanted to go north. The ridge is easy enough to navigate even when you can’t see up from down, but I pulled out the p-cord and practiced my rhythmic gymnastics. It proved its worth within 25 feet when we hit the first wind lip.
We located the trees at the top of Junior’s Bowl and Cody lead the charge into the white room.
It was sweet!
The wind had loaded the trees and gullies with knee deep, unconsolidated, cold snow. In the steeper slots we pushed a good deal of slow-moving fresh slough.
We hit the base of our buried skinner in Main Bowl, re-broke it, and lapped the gully for the rest of the day.
At one point I lead the group in a circle looking for another patch of trees.
Group: Dante, we just went in a big circle.
Dante: No we didn't.
Group: Yes. We did.
Dante: OK, maybe we did.
Cody: Want to look at the GPS.
Dante: NO! OK, maybe...damnit.
The exit wasn’t bad, we broke above the cloud layer and charged down the main face of Seattle Ridge. In the hemlocks it was sweet, but definitely more peppery farther down. We also helped mow down the grass and pushki, and were able to ski a couple hundred feet lower than on Friday with only a minor scuff or two to the bases.

End of the world?

Viz = 75 feet?

Joe used to sing for the hit boy band 98 degrees in the late 90s. (Photo: C.G.)

Aaron attempts the fabled telekinesis turn off an invisible wind lip.

Precious moments.

Emerging back into the light late in the day (Photo C.G.)

Photo: J.E.

Photo A.H.

When we could finally see what the snow we were skiing looked like...

...we realized it was pretty awesome!

Oh ya, we got snow in town again. So, November has started.

One Less Light

Every time I read or hear that a cyclist in Anchorage has been killed or seriously injured after a collision with a vehicle, I go through the same roller coaster.

I fear first it’s someone I know.

I’m angered secondly knowing that there’s a good chance the accident will receive little attention after the fact from the appropriate authorities or the legal system.

In every instance, I’ve been lucky to feel a brief moment of relief during this roller coaster, when I learned that the cyclist was not someone I knew; before I went back to feeling frustrated and angered.

This time, that wasn’t the case.

I can’t say I knew Jeff Dusenbury that well.

Except for racing, I only shared one actual ride with Jeff, but I wanted to say something about that ride, because I think it says a lot about him.

 

Ride Notes: 12/17/2013  

“Fantastic ride! Super cold, 10 to 15 below. Rode down to ballfields and met up with Cipi, Theo, and Dick. Randomly, Jeff rode through and joined us. Jeff and I were riding much faster so we took off. Stuck to the FNBP trails as they were the best packed in. Everything was great except brown bear, which was a little soft.”

The winter-edition of the Wednesday night group ride met up at the Abbott Ball Fields Trailhead on a Tuesday evening when temps were hanging out in the negative 10 to negative 15 range. It ended up being one of the coldest rides of the winter, but the woods were beautiful: every tree was coated heavily in feathery snow, and the trails were in excellent condition.

Given the temps, the ride got going rather hastily, as riders who had driven to the trail head poured out of their warm vehicles enmasse, and we all headed off into the night.

One of the things about riding at night, is that it’s nearly impossible to recognize others. Bike lights are blindingly bright, and no one likes getting high-beamed, so an effort is usually made to keep the lights pointed down and away, leaving people no more than darkened silhouettes against the inky blackness. It often takes a moment to figure out who is who.

In this particular group ride, it’s also not always clear who will show up, and friends often invite friends.

I had noticed a rider who jetted across the lot and joined us just as we rolled out that I did not recognize, but whoever he was, he was chatting and riding along, eventually working his way to the front of the line, and pushing the pace.

I still didn’t know him or recognize him after several minutes, but he seemed very comfortable in the group, and I assumed he must be friends with someone else.

As usual for this group, the ability levels of the participants ranged, but with the temps reaching for the low-end of the thermometer, stop-and-go pacing was getting uncomfortable, and this rider and I kept pulling well ahead. At some point as we chatted, I asked which one of us misfits he knew, and what he said next will forever stick in my mind.

“I was just coming out to ride on my own, and figured it’s so cold I wouldn’t see anyone out here tonight. Then I saw all you guys and I was like ‘These guys are awesome. It’s freezing out and they are still riding. I’m going to ride with them!’”

 

Jeff was riding at a clip I really enjoyed.

After one last re-group, we decided to tell the others that we were going to break-off and ride at our own pace. That suited the others well, as they were ready to loop to the trail head anyway, so off we went.

Jeff and I alternated between hammer pace and conversation.

At one point he made a sly attack, keeping a wheel-length in front of me and edging up the pace bit by bit until chatting was impossible, then pouring it on just a bit harder. I was happy to oblige, and made a pass, but he clung to my wheel for another 5 minutes before we finally turned it back down.

Even in the dark, I could feel him smiling as we slowed and caught our breath, laughing.

It turned out we had quite a bit in common. I realized that I actually did know him, although mostly only through association from mountain bike racing.

He did lots of road biking in the summer and enjoyed many of the same rides from Anchorage to points north and south, he got down to the Kenai to do long rides on the trails there when he could, and in the winter, shared a love for both XC skiing and snow biking.

He was pumped for the up-coming Frosty Bottom, and he talked at length about how much he loved this race, and the strategies he’d learned to survive a fat bike event that shared more in common with road bike racing. He assured me I’d love it if I did it.

Jeff wasn't just into pushing the pedal though, he could handle a bike. We decided to ride back down Brown Bear Trail, which promised to still be soft and challenging.

I had only been riding a winter bike for about a month at this point, and I was still figuring out the finer points of maintaining traction in constantly changing snow conditions. Jeff was happy to offer up helpful advice.

When I managed to clear a slippery bridge, he was cheering, a bike length behind.

Eventually we headed back toward the trail head, and I had to split off toward my house.

I never got to know Jeff all that well, certainly not as well as I might have liked. I have no doubt that we would have shared a lot of great rides together though, but that was just the person that he was. At his memorial service, hundreds attended. Many seemed to share the same general feeling, whether they knew him as a cyclist, friend, business partner, or just off the street.

The day Jeff was killed, he was riding to the same trail head to meet friends, but sadly, Jeff’s bright light will never pierce through the cold dark night ever again.