Santa Claus Half Marathon, Musk Ox, and The Kiddie Pool

Pie. My new race day breakfast of champions. Since I didn't have time to find any Lucky Charms, this would have to do.

Thanks Brenna! I still have cravings for your pie. Come make more!

Rachel and I planned to race this one together, not quite willing to commit to any goal time. My plan was to beat my current PR on the course (1:51:12), but when I learned everything was different about the race, including the course, I gave up that idea too.

Jane L. photo.

We start out at a comfortable clip, a little bit on the easy side given our competitive nature. Neither of us is able to run a truly easy run with a bib number pinned to our shirts. By mile three, the sun is beating down on us and I knew I'd have to slow myself down a little. I'm going to overheat at a race in Alaska, I tell Rachel. We both find this entirely too amusing.  Thankfully, Rachel agrees, because one of her knees was bugging her. Apparently bushwhacking down a mountainside the day before a race isn't the best taper strategy because we're both really sore.

Mile three feels AWESOME! :) Rachel's photo.

Now realizing that we've sabotaged our race, we shift to vacation running mode. We're still not running easy, but the amount of selfies taken on the trail increase exponentially. I feel myself settling in just as Rachel falls off behind me. She stops to walk, stretching out her left leg, and begins again. From about mile eight, we'll walk-run our way through to the end. Since this race was my idea and I promised to stay with her, I do, even though she's practically begging me to go on without her and beat my Santa Claus PR. Nope, nope, nope.

Mile 9, not feelin' fine. Rachel C. photo.

I accidentally lose Rachel again at mile 12 and turn around to see her walking again. I see Jane about ten seconds behind her. The course pulls up alongside Chena Lake as we head for the finish. Just as we pass the thirteenth Santa Claus mile marker, Jane is right alongside us. She looks like she's fading and for a moment, I think how cool it is that all three of us will finish together. Then she takes off in a full sprint, leaving both me and Rachel as if we're standing still.

Thank you Brenna for capturing this shot! It still makes me laugh!

Rachel and I sprint to stay with her, all three of us laughing hysterically, but she's too quick. We cross the line hand in hand in our cute matching club jerseys. Finishing in 1:53:38, a surprise considering how much we slowed the last five miles. Somehow we still manage to place in our age groups and snag our souvenir medal. 

 I convince Rachel that another soak in a freezing cold body of water will help her legs recover. She smiles to hide a grimace as we stand there in what is still the coldest lake I've ever been in.

Rachel C. photo.

Thankfully, my favorite part about the Santa Claus Half remains intact: the post-race BBQ.

On our way back to Jane's, we spend entirely too much time getting distracted visiting the musk ox, reindeer, yarn shop, and Hot Licks before we go back. By that time, we're all ready for a nap.

This guy was such a ham.

Musk Ox are much more shy than reindeer.

A second wind hits later that evening and we decide a trip to the hot springs sounds wonderful. Instead of the serene adult (18+ only) rock pond I remember, it's like spring break in Cancun complete with drunk people jumping off the high rocks and old guys paying entirely too much attention to our group of three cute hiker girls. We aren't impressed by the atmosphere and retreat to the hot tub reserved for people under eighteen where there, ironically enough, everyone is perfectly well behaved and relaxing comfortably.

By the time our heads hit the pillow, it's well after two o'clock. Hopefully Sunday will be more relaxed, I'm beat.

Alaskan Ron Jeremy, Blueberries, and Bushwhacking

Just as we've packed up after lunch, rain begins to fall. Such is summertime in the Alaska Range. Sigh. We decide that sitting in the warm and dry car looking out on the gloomy mountains is preferable to beginning our backpacking trip so we point the car south and head for the Denali Highway.

Used to driving fast on the desert highways of Utah, Brenna pilots our car as it volleys to and fro over frost heaves. She slows to maintain control once I mention that flying off one of those on a curve might flip us. Some unexpected bumps still manage to catch her by surprise and I'm pretty sure we were airborne for at least half a second in a few places. Yikes.

We stop periodically to take photographs, shiver in the swift wind, and then return to the car. When we spot a sign advertising a restaurant, cabins, and local flavor, we're sold. Walking into the building is like going back in time. A man, who we quickly took to calling the Alaskan Ron Jeremy because of the striking resemblance to the porn star, seats us at a table near the window. As he heats up coffee and water for powdered hot cocoa, he makes small talk, telling us a story about how a woman came in the other day asking for a mocha and he had no idea what it was.

With warm coffee and cocoa in hand, we gaze through the window at the moody lake outside while we talk about our hike. Rachel told us that she probably repelled the two men who called us "delicious ladies" out on the trail this morning because she hadn't changed her underwear in three days. Just then, Alaskan Ron Jeremy returns. Of course.

He pauses and then sets down a plate of chocolate frosted brownies. "Here's a free treat. I guess I have a soft spot for you three cold ladies." We know he's heard about Rachel's dirty drawers, and decide her nickname for this trip based on this moment. But because I'm a lady, I probably shouldn't share further.

We're finishing up our treats when we overhear the conversation of two women who just walked into the restaurant. They spent the day picking blueberries. "Where do we go to pick berries?" Brenna asks, "I want to do that." At least that's the way I remember how we soon found ourselves crouched alongside the highway picking wild blueberries. Three gallons in one hour, we'd have plenty of berries for the remainder of our trip!

Yay! Rachel C. photo.

Spontaneous side trip now complete, we point the car north once again and make it to the night's adventure: Rainbow Ridge. Swollen from the recent rains, the small pond that marks the beginning of the trip is more of a river that flows through a culvert and under the road. Reluctant to get our shoes wet just steps from the car, we waste entirely too much time trying to skirt it. Eventually, we cross next to a small waterfall.

Then we go up. As is the case in most of the Alaska backpacking trips I've done, this one is a route, meaning there's no discernible trail. I try to explain that I always considered traveling five miles a day a good amount, but I don't think they believed me until we'd bushwhacked through a mile of alder and willow choked hillside in just about ninety minutes. By the time we reach the top of the first knob, we're soaking wet from our climb through the wet bushes. We spot a trail shelter built from stone and decide that's far enough. We set up camp, have a quick dinner, and head for bed. With the glacier hike, blueberries, and bushwhacking, we're exhausted.

The next morning, we pull a few blueberries from our bear can while setting up oatmeal for the day. I shamelessly add blueberries to my coffee oatmeal concoction, noting that the camping area we've chosen is already covered in blueberries. Oh well. Fresh blueberries forever!

Unplanned, all three of us showed up for the trip with varying shades of the same rain jacket, the Marmot Precip. "We look like we just stepped out of an REI."-Rachel.

Then comes the part I've been dreading: the descent. For as much as I hate climbing with a heavy pack, I hate going down even more.

Rachel shares my sentiment. Brenna S. photo.

I decide to take the lead and go down through the bushes instead of the tricky rocky ascent we used. We re-evaluate every few minutes to ensure we're not going to end up hanging over a cliff. After an hour of what can basically be described as rappelling down alder branches, we've arrived once again at the stream separating us from the car.

I know I've got fresh shoes waiting there for me, so I've got no qualms with fording the stream. Living in California with beautiful sunny mountains and trails has made me soft, I'm not afraid to admit it, and I'm ready to be warm and dry again. I choose a calm spot where the water appears to be just about a foot deep. I trudge in, quickly learning that what I thought was firm dirt is silty.

In comic fashion, I flail around as my feet get sucked into the mud. Brenna rushes in to pull me out without even thinking. Ever the hero, that one. Only she gets stuck too. Then Brenna falls over. Knowing she's got the car key (one of those key-less start fobs) in her pocket, she panics. I whip around to turn and help her up before we drown our key, but my feet are stuck. I fall over, now waist-deep in the water too. I toss my camera ashore and work on turning myself around. By the time I've broken myself free, Brenna is back on her feet.

Luckily, I'd chosen my hiking boots for the adventure instead of trail runners. I'm able to pull my feet out slowly without my shoes being sucked off. We're laughing hysterically in our own self-inflicted misfortune when Rachel asks if she should cross there too. Nooooo!! we echo in unison. We help Rachel find a place, one with visible boulders on the bottom, to cross without being sucked in. Once we're all safely back on terra firma, we waste no time stripping off our wet and muddy layers and wrapping ourselves in towels. Warm and cozy in the car, we spot an ever-growing pocket of blue sky on the horizon up ahead. Fairbanks! Sunshine! Civilization! Yay!

True friends let you hold a gear explosion on their front porch. Thanks Jane!

My friend Jane, who graciously offered us free rein over her guest room, shower, and laundry for the weekend, meets us to for lunch as we discuss how to finish out our day. Rachel and I have been itching for a run, our first on the trip and Brenna is anxious to transform our blueberries into pie. We divide and conquer.

Rachel and I hit my old neighborhood. As I point out the place where I used to live, we trace the four miles that I used as a speed workout. I ran four miles each week at an eight minute pace and remember it almost killing me. Indulging in this nostalgic milestone is fun, we chat our way through the run, averaging a 7:51/mi pace without a major effort. Since we had signed up for a half marathon the next morning, we decide that a quick ice bath in the Chena River would help recover our legs.

Brr!! Just as I remembered it! Rachel C. photo.

We arrive back at Jane's with dinner just as the pie is coming out of the oven. Perfect timing! We do a quick load of laundry, have dinner, and then it's off to bed. Santa Claus comes early tomorrow!

Brenna makes delicious pies! Brenna S. photo.

Gulkana Glacier

Low clouds hang down, shrouding the mountaintops in bright white light. For the moment, it's not raining, but the air is thick and small gusts of wind send a few wet drops onto my raincoat. Maybe someday I'll learn to trust dry skies in the Alaska Range, but today is not that day. I'm in full rain attire and plan to stay that way indefinitely.

Brenna fires up the stove while Rachel and I begin packing up the tent and organizing food for our hike. Since I've only packed one cup and a spoon on this trip, I have to decide whether I want oatmeal or coffee first. Brenna has already brewed up the coffee, so she fills up my cup and then suggests trying pouring my oatmeal inside, for maximum efficiency, she explains. The sugared instant oats mix with the bitter coffee as I take my first sip. The texture is a little strange at first, but it only takes half a second on my tongue to turn my world upside down. It's delicious! I will never eat my oatmeal separate again!

Soon enough we're all packed up and set out, leaving our car behind at camp. Since Alaska is mostly public land, it's not only acceptable to camp wherever you want most places, it's pretty common. On this particular bumpy gravel road leading out to the Gulkana Glacier, we are just one of several groups seeking solitude and a free place to rest our heads.

As we did the previous day, we begin by following a creek upstream into a narrowing valley. The road we drove in narrows until it disappears completely. There we find three pickup trucks with government plates and their drivers in army green. This part of the state is widely used for training exercises and I'm not at all surprised a few miles later when we encounter a dozen soldiers with heavy packs trudging on by us. They greet us politely, but their smiles fade quickly. They don't seem to be enjoying the hike quite as much as we are!

We cross a suspension bridge over the creek we've been following. I take my time, holding the cables tightly as I move one foot in front of the other. The rushing water down below disorients me and my balance wavers. I try to calm myself, noting that at least the broken boards have been replaced and there are no longer huge jumps to get over. I wonder why a bridge like this exists, but a few miles up, I catch a glimpse of the USGS river gauge nearby and assume that's the reason.

Cresting another pile of rocks as we climb higher into the glacial moraine, the glacier finally appears. Shrouded in fog, the gray ice walls blend into the landscape. Pops of color come not from the ice itself, but from the patches of dwarf fireweed growing in pockets of dirt on the rocks.

We follow Phelan Creek upstream until it disappears into the ice through a giant cavernous opening.

Rachel C. photo.

We take care to watch for rocks falling off the outside wall as we tuck beneath the icy overhang. Large pillars of ice have already calved from the ceiling so we hastily snap a few photos, listening for cracking ice, and then hoof it out quickly. Since I don't know enough about glacier travel in the summertime, I'm hesitant to press my luck.

For scale. Brenna S. photo.

Cave and Phelan Creek.

Munching on snacks, we take in the views of the whole glacier. Between the gloomy clouds and mountain saddle, it's obvious this glacier is much larger than it looks from where we are now.

One day I'd like to gather the right equipment for glacier travel, but for today, the views are more than sufficient.

Brenna and Rachel lead the way back as I turn to take photos as we pull away.

The return trip feels faster and easier than our trek out here. Before long, we're back at the car and it's lunchtime!  Below you'll find my favorite camping lunch: cheese, crackers, sausage, and Jiffy Pop.

Lunchtime. Brenna S. photo.

With about ten more hours of daylight remaining, we debate what to do next. When I mention there's a warm place for hot coffee on the Denali Highway, they agree that's where we should go next.

Spiders, Knotty Mosquitoes, and Castner Glacier

After breakfast and a visit with three of my favorite Fairbanksans, Oliver, Brittany and new baby Sonny, day one begins with all the usual preparation errands. We wander the aisles of Fred Meyer carefully tossing essentials in the cart. Staples like oatmeal fill the bulk of our cart, yet heavier luxuries such as chips, hummus, and carrots sneak in as well. Then it's onto the outdoor store.

My Fairbanks Special Spot

Foregoing curiosity about the newly opened REI, we descend upon the familiar: Beaver Sports. I head straight for the basement where all the running shoes are kept. In an effort to appear at least slightly less disgusting, I scrubbed my trail shoes clean for the plane ride. I didn't realize it until I arrived that by doing that, the small holes on the sides of my shoes became gaping ones that no longer provided support and that mud was literally holding my shoes together. Oops. And I had a half marathon to run on Saturday in which I didn't want to DNF because my shoes literally fell apart so I couldn't make do with my hiking boots.

My inner Goldilocks sneaks out as I try on practically every trail running shoe on the wall. I'm reluctant to abandon my beloved Brooks Cascadia but the current version already rubs in the wrong places and I haven't even left the store yet. Enter the Saucony Peregrine. I'm equally enamored by the wide toe box with enough cushion and tread to take on the muddy trails back home as I am by the pretty colors. I can't wait to go and get these beauties dirty!

When we finally depart Fairbanks, the day is half over. We make two quick stops. One is to liberate from our car the largest spider I've seen in awhile;

Rachel C. photo credit.

the other is Matt's only recommendation for the trip: Take them to the Knotty Shop. That giant knotty mosquito never gets old.

Not (knot?) even the 100% DEET is enough to keep this guy away!

It has been raining on and off all day when we reach our first hike: a trip out to the Castner Glacier. Since this particular glacier is vegetated, it's a little bit of a letdown as far as glaciers go, but when you're checking out your very first glacier, it's still pretty impressive. We set off on an old jeep road that parallels Castner Creek. The road quickly dwindles from two-track to singletrack to Choose Your Own Adventure.

We pick our way through the rocks and small shrubs as we head up the valley. A late day sunshine pokes its way through the clouds, complete with rainbow and incredible soft light. When the creek disappears into the earth, we know we've made it.

We giggle and take too many selfies next to what looks like a giant dirt mound. When our stomachs begin to rumble, we realize it's already almost nine o'clock.

The extended daylight tricking us into a late dinnertime will be a recurring theme on this trip. Time to head back and find a place to camp.

Rainbow Ridge! Don't worry, we'll be back for you, pretty mountain.

Dinnertime in the car because it's raining and we're wimps.

These two turned out to be amazing travel buddies. Rachel C. photo.

Where will tomorrow's adventure take us? Since our trip plans were more a grouping of possible ideas rather than an actual plan, we never were quite sure what the next day would bring. Hopefully drier skies.

Coming Home

My nose has been stuffed in a book for the last two hours, each word becoming more and more difficult to see. I debate turning on the overhead light, but am afraid to wake those near me. Just as the eye strain is beginning to give me a headache, I realize that the sky is growing lighter as if the sunset is reversing itself. The cabin grows lighter and lighter as the plane travels farther north to the land of midnight sun and sleepless, summertime mania.

As my excitement grows, I can no longer concentrate on my book and peer out of the window just in time to see the braided Tanana River stretch out across the emerald landscape down below. Even though my years since Fairbanks now outnumber those I lived there, Alaska's Golden Heart City still feels like home.

This is the third time I've returned, yet it's the first summertime one. Each visit churns a slurry of settled emotions and I often question whether I should return permanently. If visits at forty below do this to me, how will my heart feel about this quirky place after almost two weeks of glorious summertime?

Since Matt used up the remainder of his vacation time on his trip to Wisconsin in July, I traded him in for different adventure buddies and my first ever Ladies' Getaway Vacation. Both my running buddy Rachel and internet-turned-adventure-in-real-life buddy Brenna agreed to let me show them all my favorite places.

Used to traveling at Matt's fast pace and barely able to keep up, I offered one bit of warning before they fully committed: I don't do relaxed, sit-and-read-in-a-hammock vacations. Instead of being frightened away, both of them were excited by this. Perfect! Let the adventuring begin!