Outdoors/Adventure

Through icy Anchorage, a fun fat-tire bike ride

One of my favorite parts of the weekend is not setting the alarm. I love waking up when I want and setting out to do exactly what I want -- on my own schedule, all day. It takes something big for me to commit to being someplace on time on a weekend morning -- perhaps a race, or as was the case this past weekend, an organized winter bike ride.

Back when it was a little snowier I signed up for the Winter City Ride, a 30- and 50-kilometer bike through Anchorage. I signed up for the 30-K, about 20 miles.

In what way did this sound like fun, you might ask? What was so appealing about riding a bike through Anchorage's notoriously unpredictable weather, probably freezing my butt off and dealing with a bunch of strangers who are much better bikers?

I was wondering the same thing when I woke up the morning of the event. I came very close to bailing, and actually would have if not for the kindness of a stranger. But now I'm glad I got to do it. Here's why.

When it’s icy, use studs

The roads became a mess of ice and slush puddles this weekend in the rain and 40-degree weather. When the roads get that way, the trails around Anchorage are even more unpredictable. Will they be hard packed ice? Will they have massive puddles? Soft, sand-like snow? Or will there be stretches of barren pavement?

The answer is yes, but I didn't know this when my alarm went off Sunday morning. I just got up and grudgingly pulled all of my bike stuff together. Helmet and backpack, check. Raincoat, rain pants, and synthetic layers underneath, check. I wore a little less than I thought I needed and stashed the rest in my pack, figuring I'd get warm quickly on the bike. I wore my brightest colors -- pink and purple -- and brought some clip on lights.

I showed up at the Trek Store of Anchorage, off Benson Boulevard, at 9 a.m. and was almost surprised to see volunteers setting up, given the conditions outside. I shouldn't have been surprised because the organizers are winter cyclists, some of Anchorage's hardiest people. The event was organized by Alaska Randonneurs, a group committed to "long-distance, unsupported, non-competitive, endurance cycling in Alaska" according to their website. Doing the ride cost $20 with the proceeds going to support Bike Anchorage, an organization dedicated to making Anchorage more bike friendly.

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I drank some of the coffee and ate some cookies provided, which got me closer to feeling in the biking spirit, but there was one small problem: I didn't have a bike.

Trek Anchorage rents fat tire bikes for $75 per day, and I'd reserved one. But it was icy, not snowy, and a bike without metal studs wasn't really going to work.

I wandered back toward the coffee and cookies, and sighed aloud that I wouldn't be doing the ride. One of the volunteers suddenly looked excited. She explained that she didn't really want to do the ride because she hadn't been feeling well. She took me outside and showed me her bike, offering to loan it to me.

It had studded tires. Plus she was exactly my height, so I didn't even need to adjust the seat. After many "really, are you sure?"s we exchanged phone numbers, I hopped on and started at exactly at 10 a.m. in a brightly dressed line of 44 cyclists, heading down the icy and slushy C Street bike path. In Alaska. In February.

Why the ride was great

Cyclists have a bit of a reputation for being snobby. Many bike shops I've been to, I walk away ticked off that I spent time and money at a place where the person helping me was an aloof jerk. I know this isn't fair, but when I think about cyclists, this is the kind of person often comes to mind.

In contrast, every person I met during the ride, from the people working at the Trek store, to the volunteers, to the other cyclists was nice. People were inquisitive, friendly, and helpful. Couple that feeling of community along with the point of the ride, experiencing how easy it could be to commute all winter in Anchorage on a bicycle, and it was a terrific ride. The low point was getting outside. After that, it was fun.

Kevin Turinsky, the found and director of Alaska Randonneurs, told me later that this sense of camaraderie is an integral part of randonnee-style of biking, which is defined as having a set course that must be completed within specified time limits. It's not a race, though, and part of the appeal is both the sense of self-sufficiency and community. "Randonneur" is French for "ramble" and this is the spirit in which the rides are organized. The cyclists I met were not, as I had feared, a snobby crew of people. "We've had people show up in cotton sweats with duct tape on their ankles riding 29ers, riding 200-K. It's not pretty, but they had a good time. It was a major challenge. That embodies the spirit of Randonneuring. It's getting it done, (having) the determination to go out and challenge yourself and have an adventure."

The Alaska Randonneurs, an all volunteer organization, have been organizing rides such as this one since 1998. It is not a membership organization.

"We keep it simple so people can just show up to ride interesting, beautiful, and challenging routes," Turinsky wrote in an e-mail. "Randonneuring in Alaska [is] growing like crazy, especially with women and younger riders. It's all about adventure, challenge, and camaraderie. Globally, randonneuring is one of the fastest growing segments of recreational bicycling." There is no specification for the kind of bike needed. "If it rolls and is human-powered, you can ride it on a randonnee!"

Turinsky described organizing rides and seeing an important connection between Alaska Randonneurs' recreational rides and Bike Anchorage's advocacy to make Anchorage a safer place to cycle, Of the randonnee style of biking, Turinsky said, "It is recreational but it has a real transportation component. That started my interest in bicycle advocacy. I grew up in this town, I've seen this town change, and the roads can be so uncivil out there. I'm a driver, I own two cars." He laughed, "I've owned a lot of cars. So it's no war against cars or anything like that, it's just matter of fact. So I saw an opportunity for the Alaska Randonneurs to participate in this by way of supporting our local bike advocate."

Trip broken down leg by leg

Our itinerary, along with a map that was shared prior to the event, clearly broke the route down leg-by-leg, even pointing out hills. Our route took us along the C Street bike path, onto the Campbell Creek Trail, up alongside University Lake and then Russian Jack to Mountain View, and then along the Ship Creek trail back downtown. We had checkpoints along the way to ensure we were not shortcutting the course.

I didn't know the route already, which is part of the reason I signed up for the ride. I'd memorize some of the steps and then stop to check for the next set of directions. I met new people at each stop.

Was it slushy? Yes. I almost skidded a few times riding through deep snow, and even got off the bike a couple times to push. There were several deep, long puddles where I just hoped the studs were hanging on to the ice underwater as I cruised slowly along.

That said, it was fabulous to get outside instead of staying in (which would have been my default), meet new people, and experience something different than what I normally do for winter exercise. No doubt, I'm still a tourist of winter city biking, and have enormous respect for those who bike year round. The thing about this ride was I didn't feel like a tourist.

I love experiences that make me feel at home but still surprised by my city. Despite weather that was unseasonable and depressing, participating in the Winter City Ride made me feel like I had sneakily done something cool anyway. I also discovered a community of people who feel the same way.

Alaska Randonneurs --- alaskarandonneurs.org/

Bike Anchorage --- bikeanchorage.org/

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Trek Bicycle Store Anchorage --- trekstorealaska.com/

Alli Harvey lives, works and plays in Anchorage.

Alli Harvey

Alli Harvey lives in Palmer and plays in Southcentral Alaska.

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