Still Cold

Yes, I live in Fairbanks. I should not be complaining about the temperatures lately, as I moved here knowing it has the largest temperature range of any city of size in the world, from -66 to 99 degrees Fahrenheit, but this is ridiculous... the temperature at the Fairbanks airport has been above zero degrees Fahrenheit for a total of 33 hours since December 23rd. Now, we are to have yet another week of 20 & 40 below... not that it ever left. We set records in November for the numerous low temperatures and number of days in a row at them.

I really hate this cold.

I've learned this winter that I stop having fun at 20 or 25 below zero.
Any enjoyment at all seems to end at 25 or 30 below zero.

When I lived downstates, winter was my season. I actually hated summer. I almost always got out more in winter than the summer months. Now, the reverse is true, completely due to the extreme cold. I get out so little in the winter that I'm about ready to explode by the time summer rolls around, so then I'm really active. Three winters in a row, I haven't done a damn thing until at least mid-January, if not later. Last winter, I didn't even have 100 cumulative miles on my bike before doing the White Mountains 100 bike race. I went off-trail once, on snowshoes. This year has quite literally been too cold to do anything remote, out of town, away from the safety of a warm space.

But then again, it seems worse to sit inside and stop doing the things I love outdoors than to go out in 30 & 40+ below. Pick your poison.
I describe recreating in these temps as you can beat -20. You can stay warm. But you cannot beat -40. It will always win. You may never stop fighting it, though, because it could be the last time you're ever cold. That battle is neither fun nor enjoyable.

I'm ready for warmer temperatures... maybe permanently.

They say 'that which does not kill us makes us stronger.' But if it's not making me stronger, is it killing me?

Cold, Fun, & Suffering: A Progression

Alaska has been the coldest place in the world this past week, with Fairbanks at the heart of it all.
I rode my fatbike in to work on two of the coldest days, with the coldest temperature I'm aware of riding through being -49º F.
At 10 mph travel, that's a -66º F wind chill, if the air is calm. The bridge of my nose can attest to this. Call me stupid, and I might agree.

An hour and a half to go twelve miles, mostly on bike paths or trails, with a stop at the gas station just past half-way to get some coffee.
I know what everyone is thinking... why in the hell would I ride my bike twelve miles each way, to & from work in the -40s? My mom questioned me, too, and here's what I wrote to her in an e-mail...

Things are different up here (Alaska). Downstates, people would honestly think I'm a f***ing nut-job. Here, people just think what I'm doing is crazy, not me, personally. See the difference?
Anyone who lives in Alaska is exposed to the extremes, both in terms of the people and the conditions. Mushers do incredibly long runs in all weather imaginable, from minus-60s on the Yukon River, to 0F & blowing 50 mph on the Bering Sea coast. People have been skiing, biking, climbing, running, etc, in Alaska for ages and continue to do so. Plus, if you think about the Alaska Native historical & nomadic lifestyle, it makes us all seem like a bunch of wimps.

I like to push the line in some things I do, for, if nothing else, a way to test myself and in an attempt to, as my good friend described it to me once in terms of alpine climbing, 'make myself bulletproof.' If I take opportunities to practice, which is how I look at it, when I'm out on trips, it's not the end of the world if I'm uncomfortable for a while or experience 'poor' conditions. I'll be able to shrug it off easily and say, 'I've seen worse,' with a smile. Make yourself bulletproof to, hopefully, anything you could experience, both in regards to adventures for recreation and in life, too.

Underlying everything I do is the mantra of 'be smart.' Push the line and test yourself in both what you can handle and the skills you've built, but know the limits of what is realistic and what crosses the line as either dangerous or just stupid/detrimental to your health & well-being. Honestly, I was sweating on the ride home the second day, just a little bit, even though it was at least -35F. That means I have a little wiggle room/buffer/room to spare for riding in those conditions with the clothing system I used. If something goes wrong, I have warm mittens, two puff jackets, and puff pants to put on immediately. Plus, from experience, I know that pushing a bike warms you up SUPER fast.

So, now I know that I can comfortably(?) bike for at least two hours at -45F safely. Sure, depending on conditions and location, I might need a warm sleeping bag/tent/cabin/building to go in at the end, but in a different situation (not commuting to work), I would inevitably attack it differently. If I was biking a big route through a remote area, I'd make sure I didn't sweat and think ahead for everything imaginable.
In 2010, I volunteered on the White Mountains 100 bike/ski/foot race and patrolled the 100 mile route on snowmachine, helping at checkpoints & giving assistance to racers, if necessary, but mostly just making sure everyone was ok. I got a real good look at the route and idea of what it would be like to complete it. So, after oogling over the fatbike tracks for 100 miles, I went back the next weekend and did the route solo & unsupported on my 29er. That trip gave me a lot of confidence and understanding of how fast I can go for how long. In 2011, I felt fully prepared to enter the race, and ended up cutting 13 hours off my solo time, finishing in 16 hrs 15 min on my fatbike.

Photo by Ed Plumb, Nov 2011

I think this is a perfect example of the progression that everyone should do when attempting something extreme, in regards to their own viewpoint of their goals, interests, experience, etc. Start by exposing yourself to it a little bit, like biking at 0 or -20. Then step it up a little more, like commuting or camping in those same temps. Then, go big, once you have things figured out and are comfortable with it, if you so choose. I saw it, I tried it, I raced it. I even went out there hiking in summer this year. Now, I feel comfortable on that route in just about any conditions it could throw at me. It's all the first steps towards crazier sh*t, which is all relative and described in that manner from other, more conservative people's perspectives.

Ironically, Dave wrote similarly about this topic on his blog, this week. Please read, as his insights are noteworthy. One could also compare all this silly talk to the types of fun that alpinist Kelly Cordes wrote about a while ago.

It's important psychologically, if nothing else, to be able to get through a situation because you're seen worse, have overcome a bad situation or experience like it before, etc. All these things can completely destroy a person psychologically in the field, on a trip, or just in life. It can break you down and put you in a hole you can't climb out of alone, which is not a place I ever want to find myself, although it may be inevitable.

I tell myself, and believe, there is a point to everything like this I do, and for once, FINALLY, I may have just found my line of where the fun stops but my body keeps going. Possibly the limit of enjoyability (word?) and the continuation of capability. And, by God, does that make me happy. I've been looking for it for years.
______

For the record, please do not call me hardcore or anything of similar reference, as some people have recently. It irritates me, big time.
I'm just a dude who has an interest in doing this stuff and am just like so many other awesome people out there.
But, most importantly, there are too many people to list that have, do, and will experience far greater things and endure more pain & suffering than I have or ever will and it would be embarrassing to be referred to in terms of so many great adventurers of history & today:
HA, HS, BM, RR, RD, EP, EP, JO, LM, JL, AS, CC & here & here, too... the list goes on.
Maybe I want to be there, but I am not... yet :)

It's Back!

Winter is here and settling in for another seven months in Interior Alaska. The past few weeks have been crazy busy, preparing for the season and putting the final touches on some summer projects, including a spattering of good times thrown in the mix.

For five days last week, two friends and I headed up the Dalton Highway 350 miles to the North Slope for a caribou hunt, in hopes of filling our freezers with meat for the year. I had been watching the weather the week before and expected highs and lows of 35 & 10 F, with a discontinuous snow covering, just enough to pull sleds loaded with caribou meat.
Following a bachelor party for a long-time friend and co-worker on Saturday night, I slept and puked for the entire ten hour car ride to the north side of the Brooks Range. I am now very acquainted with the dips and frost heaves in the road and only was upright for about ten miles of it.
Nonetheless, the next morning, Monday, I was rip-roaring, ready to go and we hiked out five miles to get beyond the no firearm shooting corridor. We had already seen about 1,500 caribou and at five miles from the road, we dropped our gear, hiked up a low ridge, and saw a herd, which we stalked and took two cow caribou from.
After gutting, quartering, and dragging them back to our camp we set-up at 5.5 mi off the road, it was finally time for bed. The next morning, we essentially did the same thing: hiked up a ridge, saw some 'bou, stalked them, and took three from the large herd, including two nice bulls. Both the cow and bull I shot dropped in their tracks. My shot on the bull was 275 yards and I anchored him with a spine shot, followed by a double-lung to humanely finish him off.

Nick & I with my first bull caribou and second big game animal taken in Alaska. The cow caribou was the first.

The next two days were spent hauling the five hundred pounds of caribou meat back to the truck 6 miles away, on our backs and in our sleds. It was exhausting, but worth every drop of sweat.
More photos located here.

When we returned to Fairbanks is when the real work began, however, in cutting up and packaging all that meat. Two full days of a four to five man team and we're finally done, with over 100 lbs each in our freezers.

Also, snow greeted us in Fairbanks on our return to town. It's now a white world here and I hope it sticks.
That means time to start running the dogs and get the skis waxed and ready.
It's the best time of year!

Mount McKinley: A Summit Unbagged

'On March 11, 2011, two inexperienced Fairbanksans set off to walk from their car to the summit of Mount McKinley. Packed light to travel fast & far, the team snowshoed to 17 Camp at the base of the West Ridge, where they battled overflow & high winds. A depleted Nalgene-bottled oxygen supply and unconsolidated sugar-snow conditions forced the team to retreat without the glory of the summit.'

Brett Parks & I are just now going public with an attempt at the summit of Mount McKinley without a permit, flight in to the glacier, climbing registration, talking with rangers, etc.
I have to say our plan has possibly never before been attempted in winter: to snowshoe from the road to the summit & back in three days, sleeping at 17 Camp both nights. While we weren't able to make the summit due to the snow conditions, we did sleep at 17 Camp and had an awesome time, learning a lot in the process.

Here are the photos...

 

 

 

 









Did we fool you?!?!
We attempted the 4,000 ft Mount McKinley off the Steese Highway, northeast of Fairbanks!
Hence, the reason Alaskans call the real one Denali.  HA!!!

It's coming!

2-3 Weeks:  16, 18, & 20 inch Surly Pugsley fatbikes to start our fatbike rental business! Available for rental starting September 1st.
2-3 Months:  Snow & ice to start a long season of snowbiking, ice climbing, & backcountry ski trips! More glaciers & camping this year.

First winter training run

It's so hot in summer (yes, even in Fairbanks, AK), that I really don't like to run the dogs too much unless there's ample water for them to drink regularly and the temps are below 55 or 60 degrees. Usually, the only time the latter happens is after 11 pm or if it's cloudy and rainy. Otherwise, our semi-arid arctic desert climate produces some pretty scorching temps for thick-coated huskies and pale-skinned woodsmen.

I took Cooper, River, & Frostbite on the first training run of the summer for the upcoming winter season and although I only bike-jored them 3 miles, they were very hot at the end of the run and slurped up a ton of water. It was a good reminder for me of how important it is to give them plenty of breaks and find water on the trail.

If you read some of my Nomadic Ramblings, you'll see that this complaining about summertime weather is typical for me... it's summer solstice and I'm wishing for temps below freezing and snow. Excitement for the upcoming season happens every solstice, for both summer and winter.
I guess it's time to start planning winter trips...

Winter Gear

Imagine hiking in sub-zero windchills for ten miles, then post-holing three feet deep in snowshoes for three miles through the woods, to arrive at a camp site at dark and temps dropping to -15. You're exhausted, in need of calories and your warmest clothes, almost out of water, and need to set-up camp and melt snow for cooking and hydration. So, you do all this and as you light the stove, you realize the fuel pump isn't pressurizing because it's too cold. Uh-oh. That means the stove will barely work. This is where I said, 'Well, you can fix anything by sleeping with it,' in reference to cold weather camping and how most problems are associated with the extreme temperatures. A simple warming up will often fix it. Overnight in a sleeping bag is the method.
What did I learn from this? Pressurize your fuel bottle at home, before you leave for the trip and before you can have it in your sleeping bag the first night. If it doesn't pressurize more when you use it, at least it has some residual pressure from earlier, which it shouldn't have lost.

My old school MSR G Expedition stove has been proven to dominate its prodigy, the XGK. It roared, even at -35, and coupled well with my one gallon pot. For melting snow, size is everything. Although the G (or XGK) is the most reliable multi-fuel expedition stove on the market and has been to the summit of more high elevation mountains in the world than all other stoves combined, I might still opt for my MSR Dragonfly, as it uses the same burner, has a better stove-to-pot contact surface and support, and fits inside the one gallon pot, which the G does not, as it has a rigid fuel line (which I might look into replacing it with a flexible one). [Post-trip update: I made a mylar-covered bubble wrap cover to insulate the top of the pot, to increase heating efficiency as much as possible at extreme temps.]

The homemade GSI Fairshare mug food cozy helped cook 1,000 calories of Ramen, peanut butter, and sesame oil at 30 below. I cut the handle off for a sleeker profile and insulated it with mylar-covered bubble wrap. Also, bring a plastic/lexan spoon instead of titanium or aluminum so it doesn't freeze to your lips and tongue!

I brought two methods of keeping water warm: a one liter Thermos and a Powerade bottle in a Sea-to-Summit neoprene skin inside an OR water bottle parka. The Thermos kept water warm far longer than the bottle parka combo, but the weight difference is huge (1 lb). If I wouldn't have had the Thermos, I would have had ice in a bottle by the time I got to drinking the second liter. Plus, when I did drink the water out of the Thermos, it was hot! That was quite a pick-me-up at -20, after hiking 12 miles.

Snowshoes were the only reasonable means of travel over the windswept crust covering the ridges on our route, as skis would have had little edging ability and very little grip. In most conditions, the snowshoes worked fine, but were way too heavy to walk so far in (Northern Lites would be better). When we got down to treeline, where the snow is deposited, we trudged for three miles as we post-holed three feet deep, while wearing the snowshoes.
What did I learn? There is not an all-around good method for going across and through snow. All means of snow travel have their drawbacks and one must have a variety of means to get through it all. Snowshoes were ok for the ridges, but skis would have been better (and faster!) in the deep snow. I think I might look into a more versatile ski system: boots I can walk long distances in and waxless skis with steel edges.

Knowing I'd have to strap many things to my backpack and have versatile attachment options that must work in extreme temperatures, I brought five ski straps along. They worked flawlessly doing everything from holding down my pants to prevent snow from getting inside my boots to keeping my snowshoes secure on my backpack and holding together my ski poles for supporting the shelter. Stronger than nylon webbing straps and no plastic buckle to break, plus they grip surfaces much better and never loosen.

One thing I'm on the fence with - the GoLite Shangri-La 3, pictured at left. I have nothing but great things to say about it, except that it's hard to stake out in completely unconsolidated sugar snow, which is pretty common in Alaska, especially the colder it gets. This is when it's even more important to have a shelter that's easy to set up. I might get a Stephenson's Warmlite 2R, as it just needs to be pulled tight from end to end, instead of on six corners!

White Mountains 100: Solo & Self-Supported

I did it.
100 miles in 29 hours, solo & self-supported.  Off the couch, no training.
First long wilderness, winter, and 100 mile ride.  No injuries, other than straining my thumb from shifting (problem fixed with recently installed grip shift). Crashed once. Pushed the bike about 10 miles (not bad), including about 5 miles of aufeis (overflow ice). Mostly good trail, outside of some mashed potato and sugar snow.
Lots of things ran through my mind.  Lots of ideas and things to write about...

I remembered at about mile 35 that next time I'll bring a spare tube.
A flat tire may have meant hitting the 'Help' button on my SPOT.  That's a one-time mistake.

Winter biking is awesome.  Skiing is fairly fast, but requires too much energy.  Hiking is easy, but way too slow.  You can't fully comprehend how much fun it is to ride in winter until you try it.

100 miles in a day is a long way, but completely reasonable. Yes, it was hard and, yes, it was long, but obviously, it wasn't unrealistic. Conditions were good, yet marginal. It was for sure the last weekend a person could realistically ride in the White Mountains and still have good snow (melting from warm temps). This trip has stemmed many ideas of what is possible (for me) on a bike, especially in winter and on a trail.

The 'bikepacking' aspect of the trip was really fun. I'm so used to backpacking and carrying everything I need for a trip that having it all on my bike and basically sitting down all day and pedaling seems idyllic. I'm an ultralight, fast hiker that likes to cover as much ground as possible in a given amount of time. 30 mile days are my goal. With biking, I can easily cover 60 miles in a day without even coming close to the amount of energy and strain on my body that hiking 30 miles would put me through. I think this trip has opened up a whole new view on my adventures and will change my eyes that I view topo maps with for quite some time.

While I truly enjoyed the long distance aspect of the trip, it was the time I completed it in that I am unsure about. Like I said, I love to do things fast and push myself. However, often times I'd rather push myself only moderately and 'take my time.' 100 miles in 29 hours... now I know that, with a little training, I can compete in winter races and that I am capable of reaching the big goals I set for myself. The latter being a monumental achievement, in the sense that I always dream big with my trips and this time, along with some others, I truly performed at the same level. That is a major confidence booster and motivational experience.
Did I enjoy biking 100 miles through the wilderness on a snowmachine trail and pushing my bike 10 miles? Yes.
Did I enjoy doing it solo & self-supported? Yes, in some ways, no, in others.
Did I learn a lot of things about myself, my bike & gear, and off-road biking? YES!
Will I attempt other long distances in the least amount of time possible? Yes.

Did I enjoy biking 100 miles in 29 hours by myself?
That is the question that stands yet, unanswered.

...and then it was over.