Beat and I are in the midst of a power outage that has lasted 26 hours and counting. There was a bright crack of lightning followed by a thunder boom, and then the lights clicked off. I had just — seriously, seconds earlier — closed out of my remote desktop to finish my shift with the Anchorage Daily News, so at least the timing was good. The outage was small — pretty much confined to my neighborhood — and it appears Xcel is in no hurry to fix it. They’re holding us hostage with overly optimistic estimated restoration times that they continue to bump back every 2 or 3 hours by another 2 or 3 hours, just because they can.
By morning we realized we were going to lose the contents of our refrigerator if we kept relying on Xcel’s lies. We’ve been talking about purchasing a backup generator since the start of Covid but have dragged our feet on that bit of prepper equipment. The prospect of deducting about $300 worth of groceries from the cost of a generator finally prompted Beat to make an emergency run to Home Depot. With that, we can power our fridge, charge up our laptops, keep our modem online, and make an occasional splurge on something like the toaster oven (the microwave proved a no-go.) But we’re still sitting in the dark, and we still have no water (we have a well and a cistern pump, so we need electricity to send water to the house.) We’ve been scooping water out of our recently-refilled (thanks rain!) backyard pond to flush the toilets.
I have been documenting the saga with photographs:
When the power went out at 7:48 p.m. Thursday evening, Beat was relaxing in his favorite spot in the house, the massage chair. He’s in that thing nearly every night and it has proved to be a worthwhile investment. When the power blipped out, the chair was fully reclined and gripping his body in a tight caress that feels more like a vice when the mechanics stop moving. He thrashed and struggled to extract himself, causing enough ruckus that I rushed into the room to see if he had fallen off something. He refused my help, so I just enjoyed the entertainment of watching my husband struggle to free himself from the jaws of a luxury chair.
At 6:22 p.m. Friday evening, the power was still out but luckily our food wasn’t spoiled (thanks generator.) And between the two of us we own about eight camp stoves, so there are plenty of options for cooking. I did need to purchase water to boil the pasta … water is an increasingly scarce commodity if our power doesn’t return soon.
At 8:48 p.m., Beat pulled an extension cable from the generator to his massage chair so he can continue his nightly ritual. I hope the generator doesn’t run out of gas while he’s in that thing!
While Beat was out purchasing the generator this morning, I indulged in social media surfing over a warm can of sparkling water (I couldn’t think of a way to make my usual half-caf coffee.) A few photos posted from Banff, Canada, were my first reminders that today was the start of the 2023 Tour Divide. I was shocked at my ignorance — the Tour Divide used to be something so deeply ingrained in my psyche that it had become part of my personality. And now, I’m so removed from the event and apparently, most of the people still involved that I forgot all about it.
The Tour Divide is a 2,800-mile self-supported mountain bike race from Banff, Alberta to the Mexican border. I raced it successfully in 2009 and DNF’d with pneumonia in 2015. I haven’t been back. I still think about returning (at least, I did until I apparently forgot all about the event.) But my asthma — badly exacerbated by summer allergies and wildfire smoke sensitivities — will probably put it forever out of my reach. And that’s okay. It’s good to move on to new things. I admit that I’m still figuring out what those “things” might be.
It’s funny that on this day that marked the start of the Tour Divide, I would receive a call from my friend Eszter, with whom I’m connected because of the Tour Divide. In 2009 I set an admittedly soft standard for the women’s record on the course, which she came out and crushed in 2012. (The record has since been crushed again by Lael Wilcox.) Eszter’s parents live in Boulder. She’s in town for the weekend and invited me to join her on a short run. I agreed although I felt intimidated — Eszter remains a much stronger athlete than I am at my best, and I’ve been a wheezy mess on the struggle bus since pollen season kicked into high gear. But she was kind and didn’t push the pace. We jogged and hiked and had fun catching up on the way up Mount Sanitas.
We managed to get ourselves moderately lost even though I am a 7-year Boulder local and Eszter grew up here. Even if we were both new to this, as Eszter noted, it “takes a special kind of talent” to get lost on these trails. Or, a desire for an urban jungle adventure with the added excitement of poison ivy and potential hidden rattlesnakes.
The excitement continued on the reasonably exposed summit ridge when a 30% chance of isolated thunderstorms moved overhead and sent a white bolt within a half mile of us (based on the two-second count before thunder and the standard equation of five seconds per mile of distance.) Eszter was in a take-it-or-leave-it mood and seemed eager to continue. I mean, we were less than five minutes from the summit, and it’s not like both of us have bagged this unimpressive summit dozens of times (oh wait, we have.) But I was scared and had no hint of summit fever, so we turned around. (In Eszter’s defense, she did not have summit fever either. The short way home was on the other side of the mountain.) Still, I was glad we turned around. Loud rumbles and white flashes continued to chase us all the way back to town, where a car-rattling bolt and a brief downpour opened up just as I was driving away.
Honestly, Eszter and I don’t see each other that often, but there’s often some kind of zany adventure involved when we do. Must be the spirit of the Tour Divide watching over us.
After our little adventure, I went to my gym so I could take a shower. I justified the visit with a half-hour session of upper-body weight lifting, so I was feeling pleased with myself. I continued to mull over the Tour Divide — the topic came up frequently during our run. There are a number of things I’m eager to write about on that topic — the race’s history, my involvement, and the book I wrote about it. So perhaps look for those posts coming up if you are interested.
Meanwhile, please send angry e-mails to Xcel so they turn our power back on. It’s so dark, so very dark, and those distant lightning flashes are looking more menacing on this second night without light.
This reminds me of how I found your writing in 2008, looking for a real life account of what day to day life was after avalanches took out power in Juneau. Life seemed simpler back then in some ways....funny how still, modern life hinges on cheap convenient energy....still enjoying your reflections of life and change!.... 15 years later :)
In case you're interested and didn't know, Josh Ibbett is doing daily updates on the 2023 Tour Divide:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cxBsk2rsM_o