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.