Leaving Homer this past Friday, I was happy my car was fixed and set my course for Seward...with a few little stops first of course. The first stop was a ten-mile detour to a small, isolated village called Nikolaevsk. Here, a traditional sect of the Russian Orthodox Church called the Old Believers thrive. They separated from the mainstream Russian Orthodox Church in the 1600s, fled Russia after the Communist take-over and eventually made their way to Alaska's Kenai Peninsula, where they settled in several communities, Nikolaevsk being the most prominent one. They aren't like the Amish who shun technology, but they still hold on to traditional beliefs, and they don't appreciate anyone photographing their gorgeous church unless you ask permission first.
After my little stint there, I returned to Anchor Point (a town roughly 15 miles north of Homer) to indulge in lunch at the Blue Bus. Evidently, it's changed in the last five years, because now it's an actual restaurant instead of meals being cooked and served from the blue bus outside (according to my Lonely Planet guidebook anyway). Nevertheless, my burrito-in-a-boat was pretty tasty and the atmosphere was relaxing, with locals chatting about issues of the day, such as how assanine the Westboro Baptist Church is.
After lunch, I continued northbound to Ninilchik (where the main onslaught of the car issues took shape) to visit the old village and its Russian Orthodox Church, since I wasn't able to my first time through due to car issues. This church and its cemetery, being tourist attractions, can be photographed without permission. Although not as impressive as the one in Nikolaevsk, it stands on top of a hill overlooking the town and makes for a quaint walk to visit the grounds.
Alright, so I'm falling a bit behind on the time and decided to gun it for Seward. I was pretty excited to try my luck at pitching the tent successfully and to go on a ranger-led hike up to see Exit Glacier. The beautiful mountains around, good music streaming from my Zune when low and behold I begin having problems accelerating. I had to literally slam down the accelerator to get any speed, and when I slowed down even for a bit, my engine shut off. I was lucky to be able to coast into a bed-and-breakfast off of the highway, where I preceded to restart the engine. It started up, but the instant I pressed on the accelerator, it shut off. How may sun-sized F bombs can one drop in a trip?
Luckily, I was just outside of the town of Cooper Landing, and a gentleman there by the name of Ken was able to tow my car to his shop. Ken originally assumed it was the timing chain in the engine that went out. He asked me how many miles roughly the car had, I told around 165,000, he subsequently asked the last time we had the timing chain replaced, I said never to my knowledge and that helped to reaffirm his prediction. We get to his shop, I gave him my phone number and car key and proceeded to head down the highway a bit to a nearby hotel. Closed. I walked the other way, whipped out my guidebook for the listings of recommended hotels and B&Bs in the area and called a few of them. One of them was opened but they weren't currently hosting due to an ill family member and the other one was a Princess-ran lodge, so obviously being outside of the cruise season, it's closed.
So, I sat for a while, not knowing at all what to do, and still not feeling confident enough to grab my camping gear and attempt to set up camp without having my car to fall back on. I walked back to Ken's shop and asked for a quick ride through town to check for open hotels. He suggested we head back to the Sunrise Inn and Cafe (where he picked me up from). I said okay, so we drove the ten minute drive back and I stayed there for the night. It just so happened I was gonna stop off at their cafe on my to Seward, because they use quirky and witty names for some of their menu items. That usually translates to weird for me, which means I must check it out. Sure enough, Pig Vomit Omelete was one of the selections. It featured a lot of pork products and cheese, and even features a disclaimer about how bad it is for your heart. I decided to pass on that selection, though, and went with an eggs benedict over a sausage patty which was amazing nonetheless. It didn't have a quirky or witty name, though.
By this time, the realization of possibly cutting my losses was real. But I wanted to hear what Ken had to say before making that kind of a decision. He called me later that evening and told me he was wrong on his original diagnosis, and that he now thought it was one of the coils. Unfortunately, he didn't have the tools on hand to effectively check that out, so he suggested trying a former GM dealership in Soldotna, a town modeled after the typical Lower-48 town rather than harboring a rustic Alaskan feel. I called them the next morning, sure enough they still repaird old GM cars (as long as it didn't pre-date 1930; a little humor was needed). I called Ken and asked if he could tow me to the dealership and he said he could. So, I ate lunch at the cafe, Ken arrived and we were on our way.
On route, we chatted about my time in Skagway, his experiences of living in Alaska for many years (including a lengthy discussion about the bear issues in the area) and dove a little into politics. He's like many Americans; angry with the government. Although he does slant towards the conservative side of the spectrum, we all know Americans of all political ideologies are upset. It should be our one unifying purpose but instead our own politics get in the way because we all have different ideas as to how to fix the issues of our day. But even in Alaska, seemingly so far from the bulk of the problems, is still feeling them, whether its the frustration of its populous or the lower numbers of tourists visiting.
Arriving in Soldotna, we found the dealership. Being a Saturday, their service department was closed for the weekend but their sales department was still open, and they knew I would be arriving. So, after filling out a little paperwork and dropping the keys off, Ken drove me to the Diamond M Ranch Resort, about 5-and-a-half miles to the west of Soldotna. There, I decided to camp out, and what do ya know, I can pitch a damn tent now! I was pretty stoked, which was a much needed boost of energy considering the trip has been seemingly dominated by car problems. The ranch didn't start out as a megaplex for guests to crash at. It was a simple, family-run ranch. However, in this part of Alaska, one thing that makes up for the uninspiring towns of Soldotna and Kenai is the fishing. It is here where some of the largest king salmon to ever be caught are found. Fisherman and tourists by the truck loads flood this area during the salmon run, forcing the Kenai River to its knees, giving up its fertile supply to the hunters. Over the years, many fisherman asked to camp out on the family's ranch and they agreed. So they decided to go the extra distance and turn the ranch into a large complex designed for guests to stay, whether it be in one of their cabins, an RV spot or pitching a tent on a nearby hill.
Combat fishing takes place in this part of Alaska, and isn't as gruesome as it sounds. You don't have Liu Kang or Sub-Zero fighting to get the biggest fish. There are no fatalities due to specialized maneuvers involving hooks through the eyes, crushing the opponent with a large salmon, or bears randomly coming out and mauling folks. No no, this is a (for the most part) a bloodless competition for folks with similar interests to engage in sportsman-like fishing. According to my guide book, the only rules are don't take another fisherman's spot and shout "Fish on" when you have a bite so your neighbors can reel in their lines and move, allowing you room to nab your catch. Oh yes, and don't bitchslap your fellow man with the fish you just caught unless they deserve it.
Outside of the salmon run, this area is a place where boredom can fester very quickly. While there are worst places than Soldotna to be stuck with car trouble (the Alcan), there are also far better ones (i.e. Homer). One of the nice things about the ranch is it's located about halfway between Soldotna and the City of Kenai, and both, if one is willing to make a day's excursion out of it, can be walked to from the ranch. Having a bike would make the journey go by a bit faster. Kenai is really no different; another uninspired town choked with corporate entities, except Kenai has an old section of town and a beach (yes, a beach) that harbors nice views of Mt. Redoubt across the Cook Inlet. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to visit those two places. While in Kenai, I went to their resident Wal-Mart and picked up a pair of hunter's wool socks and some fleece gloves to help my little feet and hands stay warm at night (my feet froze pretty good the first night camping out; figured it was a good idea to solve that problem). It's dropped to the uppers 20s both nights I've camped and due to my sleeping bag and layers of clothing I've kept reasonably warm (a chill every now and then emerges).
And here I am, waiting for the call that will decide the fate of my car. Will the cost of these next round of repairs justify getting it patched up, and then risking the drive home? Or, do I cut my losses and leave it here, making Soldotna its final resting place?
Monday, October 11, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
Too Hot on the Freezing Kenai
As much as I wish this was referring to women, it ain't.
The journey down to Alaska's Kenai Peninsula has been a mixed bag of extremes. On the one hand, you have some of the most beautiful scenery in the entire state at your finger tips, sprinkled with eccentric towns just waiting for you to accept their offerings of peace, adventure, and great food. On the other hand, my car evidently hasn't seen it this way. The Wankavador, a vehicle that's been with me since my latter high school days, is finally showing signs of age and fatigue.
I have been fortunate enough to have been blessed with the opportunity to embark on one of the most coveted roadtrips in North America, as well as to live Alaska. Not many folks can truly say they've done both of these things, especially at once. So with an epic adventure is bound to have its share of misadventures. The first batch of trouble was waaaaay back in Texas in April when, only one hour west of San Antonio, I came within feet of being annihilated by a doe. I violently swerved out of its way at a good 70 mph and did a 720 off the interstate. Even though this was in the Texas Hill Country, thank God it wasn't in an area of drop offs. I'm sure this didn't do anything good for the car, but of course, a bit shaken, I continued on my way and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. In Seattle, when I realized I left my cameras on the roof of my car when leaving the hotel, I busted the left CV joint ball bearing doing a vicious U-turn to head back and look for them. In Skagway, my fuel pump failed, and eventually that was replaced. And now, what I hope is the grand finale of car trouble, at least for the remainder of this adventure.
In Anchorage, I first noticed the coolant light came on. It's been a while since we've put coolant in the tank so I figured, hey, it's indeed low and added more. Seemed to have solved that little problem, right? It comes on a bit later, but I then assumed the aging electrical system was just being finicky (which does happen), so I thought nothing of it. I kept an eye on the gauge, seemed to be doing alright, no problems. Leaving Anchorage for the Kenai to its south, still no issues to be had...until I reached the town of Ninilchik, my final destination that evening. After discovering its hostel and all but one of its campgrounds were closed for the season, I found the remaining open campground and noticed a lot of smoke coming from the engine. By now, I pretty much assumed something was a bit out of the ordinary. However, first thing was first: setting up camp, because it was getting dark very quickly....yeah, that didn't go too well either, since I don't have much experience setting up tents (but hey, I THINK I can do it now....). Frustrated, I decided to crunch into the front seat of the car and drift off to sleep. I will admit, though, by enveloping myself in a comforter, zipping up my jacket and wearing gloves, it wasn't that uncomfortable temperature wise. I had my nice little pocket of warmth that I was enjoying, but of course, being crunched into the front seat didn't add any comfort value. But hey, it was free and it was a bear-less adventure, and that's really what counts, right?
First chance I got in the morning, I called home to ask my dad to inform him what was wrong and to ask for an opinion on a course of action (yes, the obvious answer would be to get into a shop, but the decision was either to limp back to Anchorage or press on to Homer). Dad took Mom to a doctor's appointment, wouldn't be back for two-three hours. Son of a bitch. Well, back to sleep as best as I could! Dad called me back about two hours later, suggested to take the car back to Anchorage. However, I knew I was only about thirty or so miles from Homer, so I checked to see if they had an auto shop that could check out my vehicle. Yayz, they DID!!!!!!!!!!!! So, I limped off down the Sterling Highway, stopping four times to dump water into the coolant tank to cool off a feverish radiator. If only more cow bell could be the prescription for this fever....
An hour and a half later, I crawled into Homer, population over 5,000, a town with a strong counterculture presence, minimal impact from corporate America and the end of the Kenai's road system from the north. The art scene here is thriving and has several great galleries to visit with amazing artwork of all mediums mainly from local artists (although a few from around Alaska are also featured). More on that later.
I pulled into the auto center, a small, Napa auto part-affiliate on the southside of Homer, roughly halfway between the main town and the Homer Spit (a thin strip of land jutting out into Kachemak Bay that looks like a loogie; one of the major tourist zones of the town). I gave the mechanic my keys and he told me he would call me later that day to let me know what the problem was. Afterwards, I sold out and ate breakfast at McDonalds (I usually hate eating at national chains when traveling but an occasional exception is warranted). For shame. When I drowned my sorrows in sausage fat and hash brown grease, I decided to make best of the situation and walk into town to check it out. I didn't indulge in any of the sights or shops the first day, but the walk was nice and it gave me a little time to relax. I noticed some great little cafes and art galleries on Pioneer St. One cafe in particular featured large, colorful tea cups on top of the front entrance. One serves bee pollen in smoothies for an extra 50 cents. Another is draped with Americana decorations in its interior. Indeed, an eccentric and fun little town.
After my late morning/early afternoon stroll, the subject of lodging became a priority. I had previously decided to visit Homer before the car trouble, and I was gonna rough it out and camp along the Homer Spit. Unfortunately, my gear was in the car, the Spit's campsites were several miles away and closed, and the youth hostel in town was closed for the winter (which is a common occurrence). The nearest lodging was the Beluga Lake Lodge, a higher-end motel that offers decent views of town, part of Beluga Lake and has its own restaurant and bar. Well, there goes that budget trip idea. Luckily, due to it being the off-season, I got a room for a relatively decent price, but $85 is $85. Times that number by three, and here's why:
I visited the auto shop close to their closing time to see if they had found out what was wrong with my car. The diagnosis was a warped coolant housing and a failed power steering pump. They were shocked at how badly it was leaking coolant and damned surprise I was able to get the car down to them. I've noticed throughout my adventure, there have been a lot of "you were damn lucky" moments. Somebody up above must love me a lot. They told me the approximate cost, said there was a good chance they could have it all done by noon Thursday (being today) and it would be all gravy. Roughly $750 with labor. Yes, I know, I got off easy (considering where I am and the what the problems were), but again, $750 is $750, and it doesn't erase the frustration of the situation. I let my hotel know of the situation, informed them that despite their required check-out time of 11 AM that I had to stay until about 1 PM. I called the shop today around 12:15, they told me it would be 3ish before the car would be done. *sigh*. Yep, had to let the hotel know I wouldn't be checking out 'till 4, they informed me there would be a $25 late check out fee, frustration level increases to a 4 out of 5. 4 PM rolls around, I check out, the hotel was nice enough to wave that late fee, frustration level decreases to a 3 out of 5.
With my overfull backpack and tent strapped to my back and my toiletries bag and Lonely Planet Alaska guidebook in hand, I walked the several blocks down to the auto shop. Car should be ready in a few minutes? No problem. It's only 4:30, if I can get out by 5 I can make it up to Ninilchik and make a second attempt at battling my tent with plenty of time before the sun sleeps for the night. 5 rolls around, nothing. 5:30 rolls around...."Yeah...your left front ball bearing is badly damaged to the point where it will essentially destroy that axle if not replaced." Insert a sun-sized F bomb....here. Frustration level: 10 out of 5. If I had left tonight, I wouldn't even be able to make it back to Anchorage, they predicted. I relented. And I knew who's fault that problem was. And, here I am. My third night in Homer, car repair bill roughly $1,000 alone, and only eight days into the trip. Yes, my friends, the big picture is that I need to get home safely. Yes, my friends, considering this is Alaska, I got pretty lucky on both the costs and that the problems could have been much worse. But once again, my friends, allow me to be frustrated at the situation without being reminded of "the big picture". I'll look back on it in a day or two and gladly accept it as part of this grand adventure...okay, maybe in three days...or maybe when I successfully transverse the Alcan (Alaska Highway) back to its terminus in Dawson Creek without incident, but either way, it'll pass. But most likely a day or two is all that will be needed.
Homer is a really cool town, and I did take advantage of the situation to explore some of what this quirky place has to offer, but I think I'm gonna end this blog here. I'll save my impressions on Homer for the next blog, which will hopefully be strictly positive with a dash of playful cynicism and sarcasm for good measure. Good night, my friends, sleep well and hopefully the next blog will be recorded from a location other than Homer.
The journey down to Alaska's Kenai Peninsula has been a mixed bag of extremes. On the one hand, you have some of the most beautiful scenery in the entire state at your finger tips, sprinkled with eccentric towns just waiting for you to accept their offerings of peace, adventure, and great food. On the other hand, my car evidently hasn't seen it this way. The Wankavador, a vehicle that's been with me since my latter high school days, is finally showing signs of age and fatigue.
I have been fortunate enough to have been blessed with the opportunity to embark on one of the most coveted roadtrips in North America, as well as to live Alaska. Not many folks can truly say they've done both of these things, especially at once. So with an epic adventure is bound to have its share of misadventures. The first batch of trouble was waaaaay back in Texas in April when, only one hour west of San Antonio, I came within feet of being annihilated by a doe. I violently swerved out of its way at a good 70 mph and did a 720 off the interstate. Even though this was in the Texas Hill Country, thank God it wasn't in an area of drop offs. I'm sure this didn't do anything good for the car, but of course, a bit shaken, I continued on my way and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. In Seattle, when I realized I left my cameras on the roof of my car when leaving the hotel, I busted the left CV joint ball bearing doing a vicious U-turn to head back and look for them. In Skagway, my fuel pump failed, and eventually that was replaced. And now, what I hope is the grand finale of car trouble, at least for the remainder of this adventure.
In Anchorage, I first noticed the coolant light came on. It's been a while since we've put coolant in the tank so I figured, hey, it's indeed low and added more. Seemed to have solved that little problem, right? It comes on a bit later, but I then assumed the aging electrical system was just being finicky (which does happen), so I thought nothing of it. I kept an eye on the gauge, seemed to be doing alright, no problems. Leaving Anchorage for the Kenai to its south, still no issues to be had...until I reached the town of Ninilchik, my final destination that evening. After discovering its hostel and all but one of its campgrounds were closed for the season, I found the remaining open campground and noticed a lot of smoke coming from the engine. By now, I pretty much assumed something was a bit out of the ordinary. However, first thing was first: setting up camp, because it was getting dark very quickly....yeah, that didn't go too well either, since I don't have much experience setting up tents (but hey, I THINK I can do it now....). Frustrated, I decided to crunch into the front seat of the car and drift off to sleep. I will admit, though, by enveloping myself in a comforter, zipping up my jacket and wearing gloves, it wasn't that uncomfortable temperature wise. I had my nice little pocket of warmth that I was enjoying, but of course, being crunched into the front seat didn't add any comfort value. But hey, it was free and it was a bear-less adventure, and that's really what counts, right?
First chance I got in the morning, I called home to ask my dad to inform him what was wrong and to ask for an opinion on a course of action (yes, the obvious answer would be to get into a shop, but the decision was either to limp back to Anchorage or press on to Homer). Dad took Mom to a doctor's appointment, wouldn't be back for two-three hours. Son of a bitch. Well, back to sleep as best as I could! Dad called me back about two hours later, suggested to take the car back to Anchorage. However, I knew I was only about thirty or so miles from Homer, so I checked to see if they had an auto shop that could check out my vehicle. Yayz, they DID!!!!!!!!!!!! So, I limped off down the Sterling Highway, stopping four times to dump water into the coolant tank to cool off a feverish radiator. If only more cow bell could be the prescription for this fever....
An hour and a half later, I crawled into Homer, population over 5,000, a town with a strong counterculture presence, minimal impact from corporate America and the end of the Kenai's road system from the north. The art scene here is thriving and has several great galleries to visit with amazing artwork of all mediums mainly from local artists (although a few from around Alaska are also featured). More on that later.
I pulled into the auto center, a small, Napa auto part-affiliate on the southside of Homer, roughly halfway between the main town and the Homer Spit (a thin strip of land jutting out into Kachemak Bay that looks like a loogie; one of the major tourist zones of the town). I gave the mechanic my keys and he told me he would call me later that day to let me know what the problem was. Afterwards, I sold out and ate breakfast at McDonalds (I usually hate eating at national chains when traveling but an occasional exception is warranted). For shame. When I drowned my sorrows in sausage fat and hash brown grease, I decided to make best of the situation and walk into town to check it out. I didn't indulge in any of the sights or shops the first day, but the walk was nice and it gave me a little time to relax. I noticed some great little cafes and art galleries on Pioneer St. One cafe in particular featured large, colorful tea cups on top of the front entrance. One serves bee pollen in smoothies for an extra 50 cents. Another is draped with Americana decorations in its interior. Indeed, an eccentric and fun little town.
After my late morning/early afternoon stroll, the subject of lodging became a priority. I had previously decided to visit Homer before the car trouble, and I was gonna rough it out and camp along the Homer Spit. Unfortunately, my gear was in the car, the Spit's campsites were several miles away and closed, and the youth hostel in town was closed for the winter (which is a common occurrence). The nearest lodging was the Beluga Lake Lodge, a higher-end motel that offers decent views of town, part of Beluga Lake and has its own restaurant and bar. Well, there goes that budget trip idea. Luckily, due to it being the off-season, I got a room for a relatively decent price, but $85 is $85. Times that number by three, and here's why:
I visited the auto shop close to their closing time to see if they had found out what was wrong with my car. The diagnosis was a warped coolant housing and a failed power steering pump. They were shocked at how badly it was leaking coolant and damned surprise I was able to get the car down to them. I've noticed throughout my adventure, there have been a lot of "you were damn lucky" moments. Somebody up above must love me a lot. They told me the approximate cost, said there was a good chance they could have it all done by noon Thursday (being today) and it would be all gravy. Roughly $750 with labor. Yes, I know, I got off easy (considering where I am and the what the problems were), but again, $750 is $750, and it doesn't erase the frustration of the situation. I let my hotel know of the situation, informed them that despite their required check-out time of 11 AM that I had to stay until about 1 PM. I called the shop today around 12:15, they told me it would be 3ish before the car would be done. *sigh*. Yep, had to let the hotel know I wouldn't be checking out 'till 4, they informed me there would be a $25 late check out fee, frustration level increases to a 4 out of 5. 4 PM rolls around, I check out, the hotel was nice enough to wave that late fee, frustration level decreases to a 3 out of 5.
With my overfull backpack and tent strapped to my back and my toiletries bag and Lonely Planet Alaska guidebook in hand, I walked the several blocks down to the auto shop. Car should be ready in a few minutes? No problem. It's only 4:30, if I can get out by 5 I can make it up to Ninilchik and make a second attempt at battling my tent with plenty of time before the sun sleeps for the night. 5 rolls around, nothing. 5:30 rolls around...."Yeah...your left front ball bearing is badly damaged to the point where it will essentially destroy that axle if not replaced." Insert a sun-sized F bomb....here. Frustration level: 10 out of 5. If I had left tonight, I wouldn't even be able to make it back to Anchorage, they predicted. I relented. And I knew who's fault that problem was. And, here I am. My third night in Homer, car repair bill roughly $1,000 alone, and only eight days into the trip. Yes, my friends, the big picture is that I need to get home safely. Yes, my friends, considering this is Alaska, I got pretty lucky on both the costs and that the problems could have been much worse. But once again, my friends, allow me to be frustrated at the situation without being reminded of "the big picture". I'll look back on it in a day or two and gladly accept it as part of this grand adventure...okay, maybe in three days...or maybe when I successfully transverse the Alcan (Alaska Highway) back to its terminus in Dawson Creek without incident, but either way, it'll pass. But most likely a day or two is all that will be needed.
Homer is a really cool town, and I did take advantage of the situation to explore some of what this quirky place has to offer, but I think I'm gonna end this blog here. I'll save my impressions on Homer for the next blog, which will hopefully be strictly positive with a dash of playful cynicism and sarcasm for good measure. Good night, my friends, sleep well and hopefully the next blog will be recorded from a location other than Homer.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
The Interior Motive
I departed Skagway at 4:30 a.m. this past Thursday, hoping to make the two hour drive north to Whitehorse without hitting a moose and/or bear. After getting my oil change, I treated myself to a McDonald's sausage mcmuffin with egg meal before departing the westbound Alcan, past the soaring peaks of Kluane disappearing under a turbulent cloud blanket. To wake up to 6,000 ft peaks is amazing in itself, but to gaze upon mountains dwarfing Skagway's natural skyline is breathtaking. The dynamic shades of gentle snow with jagged browns towering over Haines Junction like Goliath over David roared through the heavens, and I could only keep looking as I ventured westbound through the southwest Yukon. For lunch, I found a quaint spot overlooking Kluane Lake, where I popped open a can of Chef Boyarde ravioli, whipped out a fork and contently devoured the can's contents while simply peering into the soul of Kluane and its small herd of ducks.
And then the highway veered from the peaks as they transformed into Wrangell-St. Elias National Park (featuring the U.S.'s second largest peak, Mt. St. Elias) upon crossing into Alaska's massive interior. I began to experience exceptional fatigue at this point, which in turn generates inhibitions about, well, most things. Unsure about the itinerary as it stood, I knew that by going to Anchorage first then swinging up to Fairbanks, I stood a large chance of missing out on the Kenai Peninsula and only seeing Alaska's two largest cities (and weather permitting, crossing the Arctic Circle). Only twenty miles before the Tok cut-off, where I was originally headed, I changed the itinerary to what I felt would allow a more fulfilling experience. To Fairbanks it was, another four hours racing down the Alaska Highway at 70 mph, passing by another set of brilliant peaks with a heavier and heavier dose of subarctic peace. As Fairbanks neared, that painter in the sky, our glorious Creator, began washing the peaceful subarctic landscape with shades of brilliant orange over Fall's temporary flame of radiance.
The entire idea of the return journey is to truly travel, to experience an adventure beyond the boundaries of my comfort zone. Frugality and saving money are bonuses to this. I experienced rapid growth in Skagway, and that continues on with this journey. Can I truly execute a massive roadtrip as flexible as I'm hoping while experiencing destinations for what they are and still walk through the front doors of my suburban S.A. home with a little cash to spoil? The first day was no indication of this, having blown $80 on a room at an Extended Stay. However, the campgrounds were either full or closed, as was the youth hostel in town. And I did switch up the plan within 50 miles of my original final destination that day. So flexibility was in play, and, it was probably better I had a cozy room to my walled self to help recuperate from a fifteen-hour day.
And so Fairbanks disappeared with little gained, but I knew I made the right decision. So early the next morning, I ate the complimentary breakfast consisting of two bagels and cream cheese, watched Mike Huckabee talk about bass guitars on Fox News, checked out and journeyed into the freezing Alaska air. The ignition turned, the car awoke from its slumber, a little "Supermassive Blackhole" by Muse to start off the day's massive music selection, and southbound I went. It became apparent, though, I wasn't fully in the right frame of mind. Heading southbound down the George Parks Highway, I somehow got this idea I was heading west instead of south, mentally KOed by a sign saying "Leaving Fairbanks and North Pole Borough (North Pole is a town about 11 miles to the west of Fairbanks)". "OMFG, I'M GOING THE WRONG WAY! F#$%%^%G MISLEADING SIGNS!" was about the jist of what I was both thinking and saying to any spirits or renegade hobos who happened to be in my car. Two of them jumped out immediately, and one looked like he needed to change his pants as he skidded along the asphalt.
I turned around, passed by a restaurant with the name "Dick" in it, and then realized I was going the right way the entire time. DUHUR! Imagine the DUHUR if I had driven all the way back to Fairbanks and realized it then. After giving myself a round of idiot applause, my mental compass reseted itself and I was on my way in the correct direction once again. Muse went into Kasey Chambers which went into Social Distortion and, approaching Denali National Park, into the few Beastie Boys songs I've grown to like. There's really nothing like having "Sabotage" blaring through your car as your cruising 70 mph next to the national park harboring The Great One. Standing over 20,000 ft tall, Mount McKinley proudly towers over its sidekicks in the Alaskan Range, and prides itself as the apex of mountain height in North America. Large enough to create its own weather system, it wraps itself in layers of clouds more often than letting it all hang out. It's humble enough to not let it all hang out most of the time because that could very well make its sidekicks develop unnecessary cases of Napoleon Complexes.
And I must say, I did catch a glimpse of The Great One, shrouded in clouds like the norm. The mountain is a good 100 miles from the entrance of the park off the George Parks Highway, and unless the summer shuttle buses are running to take you to the various campgrounds along the sole 92-mile into the heart of the park, its either building your quads tenfold via bicycle, or simply driving further along the highway until you reach an area designated as the best spot to see Mount McKinley from afar. Hitchhiking also works, but please don't fall into a situation where you need to overnight in an outhouse. Oh yes, and when them summer buses stop running, most of the park's campgrounds go with them. Cold, desolate, lonely all describe Denali in the fall and winter, yet Denali (The Great One) is all one would have to answer to. And a stampeding moose.
So with Denali and it's namesake park in my rear view mirror, I drove those final miles into Anchorage, first reaching Wasilla. There was little indication of any love for Sarah Palin, and I'm sure anyone who asks a local about her would get slapped silly.
Anchorage, Alaska's premiere metropolis, boasts nearly half of the state's total population. It's birth in 1915 came to be due to the construction of the Alaska Railroad, and with it, a booming population, eventually snubbing out Juneau's monopoly on population, culture, and transportation. Juneau kept its capital status, Anchorage got pretty much everything else.
I relaxed the first night in Anchorage, had dinner at a Thai restaurant that could rival Skagway's Starfire for (possible) best Thai restaurant in Alaska, and the next day featured a short hike with Slim. He brought his friend's dog, Cooper, with us, and after a good 45-minute drive southbound on the Seward Highway and the "poopers cooper" jokes I was throwing out, we arrived at Bird Creek where we hiked part of one of the trails. We were stoked. Cooper, a blond lab, was stoked. So stoked he splashed through every puddle he could find. Yet, his running ahead of us was our first line of defense against any progressively hungry bears or temperamental moose that might have been in the area. I also had a bold can of bear spray and a full tank of gas to assist if needed. After a while, we stopped next to a sign post that had recently been used as a scratching post by a bear to have lunch. While we ate lunch, what did we find? Low and behold, it's berry-filled bear poop! And what was the reason that Cooper suddenly started barking in a fit of rage? We don't know for sure. Luckily for us, we didn't find out, because as I've mentioned before, being bear poop, or a moose's welcome mat, are not on my bucket list.
Due to the late start and incoming evening, we had to cut short the hike. But on the way back to Anchorage, Slim decided to do a little rock climbing right along the Seward Highway. Putting on his harness and hooking up his ropes, he began his ascent. But the ferocious winds roaring from Prince William Sound to the east, ripped along the Inlet and the highway, bombarding us with hypothermic torture while water, fired off from the Inlet, pierced exposed skin with heat-seeking accuracy. But despite nature's assault, Slim was able to safely propel down to the ground and we returned to Anchorage to dine at a Chinese restaurant which harbored a DeLorean right outside. I was going to check it to see if it had a functioning flux capacitor, but my hunger was simply too great. And it was cold. Slim was disappointed to find out this restaurant wasn't a buffet, but nevertheless, we stayed. Sure, I didn't gorge myself sick with three plates of stacked kung pao chicken with two tons of fried rice, but one plate of a seafood combo with veggies hit the spot and then some.
The next day originally had me visiting a museum, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to check out the play, The Seafarer, playing at Cyrano's Off-Center Playhouse, one of Anchorage's top theater venues. Set in Dublin on Christmas Eve, it deals with an alcoholic named Sharky who has recently moved in with his aging brother, Richard, after returning to Dublin from a job in another part of Ireland driving for a married couple. Sharky is determined to not drink despite his family and friends around him seemingly doing nothing but. As Christmas Eve rolls on, a man by the name of Mr. Lockhart arrives with one of Richard's friends. He's, by far, the most neatly dressed of the bunch but he harbors a very sinister secret: he's the devil, and he's come for a particular person's soul. I won't spoil anymore, but the play is a Christian allegory with a healthy dose of swearing and drunkenness to throw around. Really a fantastic play, and all of the actors did a wonderful job with their roles. They truly brought their characters to live, Irish accents and habits and all. Cyrano's Off-Center Playhouse is eccentric to the extreme, and that's why I like it. Sure, they'll put on the classic Shakespearean pieces, but they'll also put on ridiculous ones such as Batboy: The Musical. Who wouldn't want to see that? Before the play, though, I simply walked around downtown Anchorage, checking out the cityscape, the women, and of course, the eateries. Unfortunately, being a Sunday, or because they knew I was coming, all of the restaurants I saw were closed and I had to settle for the food court at a nearby mall. I could have saved money and allowed my heart to live another day by eating at the theater but since when have I ever done things efficiently? Back to my host's house it was, watched the Pelican Brief I did, and subsequently slept.
Destination: Kenai Peninsula. But not before I tried my luck at hiking/scrambling up Flattop Mountain. The first challenge was me getting my ass out of bed by 9 a.m. Mission failed. Pack the car in a quick and efficient manner. Half-passed. It was a little after noon before I arrived at the trailhead to Flattop Mountain, a very popular hike in the Anchorage area. Lonely Planet describes it as the stepping stone to mountaineering for the children of Anchorage. The first part of the hike is also part of a trail that loops back to the trailhead. This portion was cake; the trail was very wide and maintained and elevation change was gradual. The second part of the hike was another loop which looped back to its beginning, but this one was a bit more challenging; actual stairs made for a somewhat steep climb and the trail begins to narrow as you hike further up. Okay, so far so good. Both sections are pretty easy, both feature great views of Anchorage, the Coast Mountains, the Turnagain Arm and bear crap. Third time's the charm, right? If by charm one means a dangerous ascent and even more dangerous descent, then charm the pants off of me! The third and final portion consisted of switchbacks on a rocky, unmaintained trail. Not too bad, I dealt with those all the time on the trails around Skagway. However, the final ascent was literally a scramble for the summit. And I did it. I was scared to death about climbing down, but for the two minutes I was up on the summit, I felt accomplished. Now to stare the devil in the face as I began my descent. Now, the final part of this trail, as I said, was rocky; it was also narrow and one misstep met the end of your world as you know it. One area in particular was really bad coming down: you can imagine a very steep, narrow trail, right off the edge features hundreds of feet of bruising, bones breaking and brains oozing excitingly waiting for you. Try coming down on large, uneven, broken rock steps covered in iced-over moss. Dangerous to the max. But I did it. After getting back to the second level, I breathed a sigh of relief and accomplishment, and made sure I didn't have to change my undies. I didn't need to. Freezing my little fingers off, I walked a nearby half-mile loop that featured an overlook of Anchorage before jumping into my car, firing up that ignition and heading southbound to the Kenai Peninsula. It was there the adventure continued with new sights and challenges, ones that would alter the adventure itself.
And then the highway veered from the peaks as they transformed into Wrangell-St. Elias National Park (featuring the U.S.'s second largest peak, Mt. St. Elias) upon crossing into Alaska's massive interior. I began to experience exceptional fatigue at this point, which in turn generates inhibitions about, well, most things. Unsure about the itinerary as it stood, I knew that by going to Anchorage first then swinging up to Fairbanks, I stood a large chance of missing out on the Kenai Peninsula and only seeing Alaska's two largest cities (and weather permitting, crossing the Arctic Circle). Only twenty miles before the Tok cut-off, where I was originally headed, I changed the itinerary to what I felt would allow a more fulfilling experience. To Fairbanks it was, another four hours racing down the Alaska Highway at 70 mph, passing by another set of brilliant peaks with a heavier and heavier dose of subarctic peace. As Fairbanks neared, that painter in the sky, our glorious Creator, began washing the peaceful subarctic landscape with shades of brilliant orange over Fall's temporary flame of radiance.
The entire idea of the return journey is to truly travel, to experience an adventure beyond the boundaries of my comfort zone. Frugality and saving money are bonuses to this. I experienced rapid growth in Skagway, and that continues on with this journey. Can I truly execute a massive roadtrip as flexible as I'm hoping while experiencing destinations for what they are and still walk through the front doors of my suburban S.A. home with a little cash to spoil? The first day was no indication of this, having blown $80 on a room at an Extended Stay. However, the campgrounds were either full or closed, as was the youth hostel in town. And I did switch up the plan within 50 miles of my original final destination that day. So flexibility was in play, and, it was probably better I had a cozy room to my walled self to help recuperate from a fifteen-hour day.
And so Fairbanks disappeared with little gained, but I knew I made the right decision. So early the next morning, I ate the complimentary breakfast consisting of two bagels and cream cheese, watched Mike Huckabee talk about bass guitars on Fox News, checked out and journeyed into the freezing Alaska air. The ignition turned, the car awoke from its slumber, a little "Supermassive Blackhole" by Muse to start off the day's massive music selection, and southbound I went. It became apparent, though, I wasn't fully in the right frame of mind. Heading southbound down the George Parks Highway, I somehow got this idea I was heading west instead of south, mentally KOed by a sign saying "Leaving Fairbanks and North Pole Borough (North Pole is a town about 11 miles to the west of Fairbanks)". "OMFG, I'M GOING THE WRONG WAY! F#$%%^%G MISLEADING SIGNS!" was about the jist of what I was both thinking and saying to any spirits or renegade hobos who happened to be in my car. Two of them jumped out immediately, and one looked like he needed to change his pants as he skidded along the asphalt.
I turned around, passed by a restaurant with the name "Dick" in it, and then realized I was going the right way the entire time. DUHUR! Imagine the DUHUR if I had driven all the way back to Fairbanks and realized it then. After giving myself a round of idiot applause, my mental compass reseted itself and I was on my way in the correct direction once again. Muse went into Kasey Chambers which went into Social Distortion and, approaching Denali National Park, into the few Beastie Boys songs I've grown to like. There's really nothing like having "Sabotage" blaring through your car as your cruising 70 mph next to the national park harboring The Great One. Standing over 20,000 ft tall, Mount McKinley proudly towers over its sidekicks in the Alaskan Range, and prides itself as the apex of mountain height in North America. Large enough to create its own weather system, it wraps itself in layers of clouds more often than letting it all hang out. It's humble enough to not let it all hang out most of the time because that could very well make its sidekicks develop unnecessary cases of Napoleon Complexes.
And I must say, I did catch a glimpse of The Great One, shrouded in clouds like the norm. The mountain is a good 100 miles from the entrance of the park off the George Parks Highway, and unless the summer shuttle buses are running to take you to the various campgrounds along the sole 92-mile into the heart of the park, its either building your quads tenfold via bicycle, or simply driving further along the highway until you reach an area designated as the best spot to see Mount McKinley from afar. Hitchhiking also works, but please don't fall into a situation where you need to overnight in an outhouse. Oh yes, and when them summer buses stop running, most of the park's campgrounds go with them. Cold, desolate, lonely all describe Denali in the fall and winter, yet Denali (The Great One) is all one would have to answer to. And a stampeding moose.
So with Denali and it's namesake park in my rear view mirror, I drove those final miles into Anchorage, first reaching Wasilla. There was little indication of any love for Sarah Palin, and I'm sure anyone who asks a local about her would get slapped silly.
Anchorage, Alaska's premiere metropolis, boasts nearly half of the state's total population. It's birth in 1915 came to be due to the construction of the Alaska Railroad, and with it, a booming population, eventually snubbing out Juneau's monopoly on population, culture, and transportation. Juneau kept its capital status, Anchorage got pretty much everything else.
I relaxed the first night in Anchorage, had dinner at a Thai restaurant that could rival Skagway's Starfire for (possible) best Thai restaurant in Alaska, and the next day featured a short hike with Slim. He brought his friend's dog, Cooper, with us, and after a good 45-minute drive southbound on the Seward Highway and the "poopers cooper" jokes I was throwing out, we arrived at Bird Creek where we hiked part of one of the trails. We were stoked. Cooper, a blond lab, was stoked. So stoked he splashed through every puddle he could find. Yet, his running ahead of us was our first line of defense against any progressively hungry bears or temperamental moose that might have been in the area. I also had a bold can of bear spray and a full tank of gas to assist if needed. After a while, we stopped next to a sign post that had recently been used as a scratching post by a bear to have lunch. While we ate lunch, what did we find? Low and behold, it's berry-filled bear poop! And what was the reason that Cooper suddenly started barking in a fit of rage? We don't know for sure. Luckily for us, we didn't find out, because as I've mentioned before, being bear poop, or a moose's welcome mat, are not on my bucket list.
Due to the late start and incoming evening, we had to cut short the hike. But on the way back to Anchorage, Slim decided to do a little rock climbing right along the Seward Highway. Putting on his harness and hooking up his ropes, he began his ascent. But the ferocious winds roaring from Prince William Sound to the east, ripped along the Inlet and the highway, bombarding us with hypothermic torture while water, fired off from the Inlet, pierced exposed skin with heat-seeking accuracy. But despite nature's assault, Slim was able to safely propel down to the ground and we returned to Anchorage to dine at a Chinese restaurant which harbored a DeLorean right outside. I was going to check it to see if it had a functioning flux capacitor, but my hunger was simply too great. And it was cold. Slim was disappointed to find out this restaurant wasn't a buffet, but nevertheless, we stayed. Sure, I didn't gorge myself sick with three plates of stacked kung pao chicken with two tons of fried rice, but one plate of a seafood combo with veggies hit the spot and then some.
The next day originally had me visiting a museum, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to check out the play, The Seafarer, playing at Cyrano's Off-Center Playhouse, one of Anchorage's top theater venues. Set in Dublin on Christmas Eve, it deals with an alcoholic named Sharky who has recently moved in with his aging brother, Richard, after returning to Dublin from a job in another part of Ireland driving for a married couple. Sharky is determined to not drink despite his family and friends around him seemingly doing nothing but. As Christmas Eve rolls on, a man by the name of Mr. Lockhart arrives with one of Richard's friends. He's, by far, the most neatly dressed of the bunch but he harbors a very sinister secret: he's the devil, and he's come for a particular person's soul. I won't spoil anymore, but the play is a Christian allegory with a healthy dose of swearing and drunkenness to throw around. Really a fantastic play, and all of the actors did a wonderful job with their roles. They truly brought their characters to live, Irish accents and habits and all. Cyrano's Off-Center Playhouse is eccentric to the extreme, and that's why I like it. Sure, they'll put on the classic Shakespearean pieces, but they'll also put on ridiculous ones such as Batboy: The Musical. Who wouldn't want to see that? Before the play, though, I simply walked around downtown Anchorage, checking out the cityscape, the women, and of course, the eateries. Unfortunately, being a Sunday, or because they knew I was coming, all of the restaurants I saw were closed and I had to settle for the food court at a nearby mall. I could have saved money and allowed my heart to live another day by eating at the theater but since when have I ever done things efficiently? Back to my host's house it was, watched the Pelican Brief I did, and subsequently slept.
Destination: Kenai Peninsula. But not before I tried my luck at hiking/scrambling up Flattop Mountain. The first challenge was me getting my ass out of bed by 9 a.m. Mission failed. Pack the car in a quick and efficient manner. Half-passed. It was a little after noon before I arrived at the trailhead to Flattop Mountain, a very popular hike in the Anchorage area. Lonely Planet describes it as the stepping stone to mountaineering for the children of Anchorage. The first part of the hike is also part of a trail that loops back to the trailhead. This portion was cake; the trail was very wide and maintained and elevation change was gradual. The second part of the hike was another loop which looped back to its beginning, but this one was a bit more challenging; actual stairs made for a somewhat steep climb and the trail begins to narrow as you hike further up. Okay, so far so good. Both sections are pretty easy, both feature great views of Anchorage, the Coast Mountains, the Turnagain Arm and bear crap. Third time's the charm, right? If by charm one means a dangerous ascent and even more dangerous descent, then charm the pants off of me! The third and final portion consisted of switchbacks on a rocky, unmaintained trail. Not too bad, I dealt with those all the time on the trails around Skagway. However, the final ascent was literally a scramble for the summit. And I did it. I was scared to death about climbing down, but for the two minutes I was up on the summit, I felt accomplished. Now to stare the devil in the face as I began my descent. Now, the final part of this trail, as I said, was rocky; it was also narrow and one misstep met the end of your world as you know it. One area in particular was really bad coming down: you can imagine a very steep, narrow trail, right off the edge features hundreds of feet of bruising, bones breaking and brains oozing excitingly waiting for you. Try coming down on large, uneven, broken rock steps covered in iced-over moss. Dangerous to the max. But I did it. After getting back to the second level, I breathed a sigh of relief and accomplishment, and made sure I didn't have to change my undies. I didn't need to. Freezing my little fingers off, I walked a nearby half-mile loop that featured an overlook of Anchorage before jumping into my car, firing up that ignition and heading southbound to the Kenai Peninsula. It was there the adventure continued with new sights and challenges, ones that would alter the adventure itself.
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