I spoke briefly with Becky that Wednesday night in Fort Nelson, BC. She worried that we wouldn’t make it to Anchorage by a decent time Friday afternoon, and therefore nullify our plans for food and beer at Humpy’s at 5pm. She had slept in Fort Nelson and drove the next day to Whitehorse(590 miles), which was a full day. Hmmm. We wanted to hit Tok, AK (970 miles) – a very lofty goal. Pulling a trailer over 2 lane mountain passes gave us an average speed of 45 mph. We decided to drive through the night until we had to sleep, find a turn off, and then close our eyes. We were gaining lots of daylight everyday so that was a benefit. Also, once we crossed into Alaska we gained an hour. The table was set.

Up at 5 am, we quickly destroyed as much as possible of the waffle continental breakfast and were driving at 6am. We were told that Whitehorse would take 10 - 12 hours by the guy at the gas station. We planned on 12 considering our stop at the Liard hot springs.

At various gas stations and rest stops we had been seeing a Tacoma with a blue tarp in the bed and Alabama plates. It would be ahead of us and then behind us, all the way through Alberta and British Columbia. Keeping track of this truck pulled us eagerly through the roads and towns along the way. We first saw them outside of their truck as they grab the obligatory photo in front of the Dawson Creek Alcan sign. 2 guys and 1 girl – maybe a year or 3 past college graduation. Every town would have us looking for “’Bama” and their blue tarp. As we pulled into the hot springs parking lot we joked about seeing them. Pow, there is the Tacoma! We chatted them up in the spring itself. They had plans for Tok as well, knowing that they were probably going to sleep in their truck somewhere. Turns out they left Alabama Sunday morning – the same day we left Indiana. We felt a little lazy about that, but then again they had no trailer. We wished them luck and pledged to see them in Tok, as they surely would arrive first.

The Liard River Hot Springs Provincial Park is so worth the time to stop and chat with whomever happens to be there soaking away. We talked with a guy heading up to work on a Halibut charter in Seward, AK and a Texan heading back to his summer place in Wasilla, AK after having bought a truck in Texas to drive up. He was sleeping in it as well, though not shooting for Tok (he’s smart). Getting back in the car after a 30 minute soak was very tough and we soon found our journey getting groggy. After some coffee at the next fillup we were back on the attack. The Sirens had not won, yet. We had only tasted the Lotus, avoiding become full fledged Lotus Eaters.

We eventually made it to Whitehorse at the 12 hour mark and began scanning the strip for gas. “There they are!” Alabama was gassing up and we knew we had to gas up there as well. We chewed the rag again, exchanging hopes for Tok and the sweet release of eventually seeing Anchorage in our front windows. A car was filling next to us with Ontario plates and many bumper stickers, the main one being “Use less, conserve more.” She was chatting with a friend while pumping her gas, during which she neglected to see that she overfilled her tank and had about 2 gallons on the cement before she noticed it. She ran in, talked to the kid behind the counter, and it was quickly accessed that the amount spilled was not a huge red flag. Greg joked with the attendant after she left about her bumper sticker, concluding with, “And she’s from Ontario. What do you expect?” Neither of us knows what this means, but we do know they are an uppity province at times, it seemed funny, and whatever – we’re from Chicago so eat it. Chuckles finished, the road called.

The Yukon is truly where the wildlife comes out at dusk – black bear, brown bear, sheep, buffalo, wolves, moose, fox, etc. The wolf was truly the surprise of the bunch. We watched an animal cross up ahead from a small horse farm in the right to the brush on the left. I though it was a caribou with its head bent over when we first spotted it, but as we grew closer it was obviously a wolf. After slowing down and staring off the left, we met him eye to eye as he stood 20 yards away – much bigger and stronger than I would have expected. So cool.

I also cannot explain how unique and frustrating the permafrost is. The way it thaws and freezes over the years plays havoc with the road in ways you would need to see to believe. The 2 lane ribbon stretches out into the Yukon dusk and it endlessly and subtly bobs up and down, forcing the trailer and hitch to bump the entire way. I’m told that over time it may bend your truck frame, explaining why some trucks in Alaska and the Yukon have permanently bent frames that appear crooked as they drive towards you. My truck made it just fine and still moves in the direction you point it.

I was riding shotgun all day, devouring the Milepost and guiding Greg, whom was content to do all of the driving. Around midnight we found ourselves fighting sleep. Heading straight into the perpetual sun down didn’t help either, having long passed the beauty of the enormous and frozen Kluane Lake. According to the Milepost Beaver Creek, YT had a few hotels and was only 30 miles from Alaska, so that was the goal. If we could get a room, great. If not, we could park there and close our eyes. I’m sure there were rooms available, but at 12:30 am in the Yukon you cannot expect to find anything open. At all of the gas stations along the way we would ask for advice on where the next gas station was and how far it was to Tok, Whitehorse, etc. We knew what the book said but also wanted to know what actual people on the road said. Also, there was probably a genuine need to connect with other human beings outside of our truck. The common theme was to not expect fuel or services beyond 8 or 9 pm. Keep in mind that almost no gas pumps in the Yukon or northern BC take credit cards – you flip up the handle, pump away, and then head inside to settle up. So driving late into the night is limited more by fuel than sleep. So, no services are open in Beaver Creek as we expected. We found a gas station with a large parking lot, parked in the gravel on the side of its lot with the truck pointing up a slight incline (Greg knows how to park properly to sleep in a car – Chicago’s finest), and promptly leaned back, glancing at the clock to see it turn to 1 am.

At 4 am I awoke to a chilly 35 degree temperature and the same dusk we went to sleep in. An arctic fox still in white dashed across the road towards us. Greg stirred, felt chilly, and started the truck. We both left the idling truck to stretch, see our breath, and take a leak only to see one of the happiest sites in a long while. The Alabama Tundra was parked in the other side of the lot! How we passed them is beyond me, but they must have been dozing as well and looking for a pull off. I’d like to think they chose this sport after seeing our rig. We flirted with the idea of a note or something on their truck, but quickly decided against accidentally startling them and giving them a heart attack. Off we went, beaming and laughing about ‘Bama.

The truck kept us warm and around 4:45 am we saw the border. I had always heard that at this point in the trip you want to kiss the American soil, and I can assure you it is true. It took about 2 minutes to hand over the passports, answer a few questions, and have our passports returned. “Welcome to America” Yes sir! And thanks for the time change as well. 3:45 am now.

About 10 miles in is a chance at gas but it turns out the pumps were off, even though they did take credit cards. We didn’t have enough gas to hit Tok but that was no problem. We had been carrying 15 gallons of fuel over 3 gas cans so we simply poured 5 gallons in. Perfect.

Tok at 7 am gave us the perfect time to call Becky in Anchorage, already midway through her morning ritual. Yep, we’ll be in Anchorage around noon. After gas in Glenallen, AK we bombed for Anchorage. The weather was now in the 50’s, coffee was in our bellies, and our moods soared as Wasilla and Anchorage loomed.

What followed was a blur of meeting Becky for the storage keys, realizing that we smelt like ass after finding ourselves in the company of clean people, filling the storage unit, returning the trailer, showering/scraping off the road and filth, and finally having a few beers at 3pm while we calmly awaited Becky’s return from work. By 5 we were at Humpy’s eating Halibut, burgers, and pasta. After plenty of socializing with Becky’s friends and family we tramped around downtown a bit before passing out around midnight.

No major mechanical problems befell my 2003 Ranger. I did gain a slight pock mark in my windshield from some gravel on the Alaska Highway. No crack yet, but that will probably happen. Everybody up here has a cracked windshield though. I was told by numerous people that this makes me an Alaskan now. Everything made it safely and here I sit working at my new job.

Victory indeed!

After paying way too much for dinner and the smoking room, we awoke at 5 am determined to leave Calgary, Edmonton and the rest of urban Alberta behind. Give us the wilderness and open road we yearned. Due to Greg’s Hilton card we triggered a free breakfast with our stay, so we lined up for that the minute it opened at 6 am. The Hilton Garden Inn does not have a continental breakfast, but rather a full buffet. Classy, and once again we planned on eating back some of our room rate, which is not classy. We sat down and were given small, laminated menus along with a felt pen. The items on the menu had underscores next to them. “Just write down the amount of each item you’d like and I’ll get it for you.” We read the instructions, which were fairly clear: ‘if you’d like 4 pancakes or pieces of French toast, mark 4. If you’d just like a full serving mark 1. If you’d like the ingredient in your omelet just check it.’ After a few moments we gave him our pre school worksheets and he questioned, “You marked 3 for French Toast. 1 means 4 slices from 2 pieces of toast.” No animosity came from us as we had accepted that Canada so far had rubbed us a little diagonally. Maybe it was us, though I now feel it was Alberta “Oh, 1 order then.” The instructions aside, the breakfast was delicious and we found ourselves outside of the city limits around 7am.

I had heard that passing directly through Edmonton was a recipe for disaster – poor signage, etc. I kind of wanted to get a picture with Wayne, but we opted for a crafty bypass that was in the Milepost. Everything went well and soon we were northwest of Edmonton without even a glimpse of its downtown. This day was going much better than the previous one and Canada looked prettier every minute.

Fort Nelson, BC was the goal that night and we reached it around 8:30 pm.

We did not stop for gas here, foolishly filling up 10 miles earlier.
I immediately regretted that fillup as we rumbled by the Sasquath Crossing.

As I walked in to pay at another place I met Greg walking out, having used the bathroom. “Cover your mouth because the guy in there has tuberculosis.” Sure enough, he endlessly coughed and spit phlegm before he paused to cough on my swiped Visa. His coughing went away when he lit up a smoke as I signed the slip.

As we got closer to BC the scenery got much denser and beautiful and our eyes went on moose alert. We saw a few munching on leaves near the tree line, but that was boring in hindsight. Across the 4 lane highway we saw a southbound pick-up truck emblazoned with official looking decals. It seemed like a county truck. Behind it was about 6 feet of rope tied to the hitch on one end while the other side was tied around the neck of a dead moose. The truck looked like it was moving about 45 mph. We can only theorize as to what was really going on. Maybe the animal was roadkill and getting gamey and the county had to dispose of it. Rather than lift the thing up and handle it he decided to just handle the head before dragging it down a back road? If so, why not just roll it into the ditch? I’m sure I’ll never know just I am also sure I’ll never forget it.

We stopped for the terrific, obligatory picture at the start of the Alaska Highway in Dawson Creek, BC (still in my camera). Greg kept unknowingly adding a Chicago possessive “s” to the name, asking often “how many miles to Dawson’s Creek.” He may also have been thinking of the show. We’ll never know where Pacey and Chicago met in his brain on this account.

When we checked in to the Super 8 in Ft. Nelson we were told they had a government employee rate, but that it was only for Canadian government employees. “Oh, I’m Chicago police.” She thought that was pretty cool and put in the government rate anyway. We then chatted a bit about how her sister is training for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and how she had to go down to Vancouver, and what a far drive it is, etc. She was very friendly and we quickly were formulating a new opinion about Canada. She kept hiking up her pants constantly throughout the entire 10 minute conversation. We didn’t know what to do with that. Mark it down as a little memory from the trip. Fort Nelson courting rituals? There would be a continental breakfast the next day with a build your own waffle area. We had yet another chance to eat back our hotel $.

Canada is great, but Alberta is a dud.

We awoke at 6am in Montana and devoured the Hampton Inn’s hot breakfast. The Mitchell Hampton had the eggs and English muffin concoction and the Billings location simply went for waffles – good, large waffles though. They went down easily and bananas were once again stowed away in the cab.

We rolled out at 7am right out on to the frontage road along 90 with the plan of getting on 87 and heading for Lewistown, eventually Great Falls. You could sense some rush hour traffic on the roads, though nothing to worry about. I believe we made it about 2 blocks before traffic ground to a halt. An accident? No. Arrest? No. Road damage/ truck cargo spillage? No. Police activity? It sure looked like it. We glimpsed lights flashing ahead, coming across the highway overpass. Some police cars were parked and a few crawled along the side of the oncoming lanes. Soon a group of people appeared in matching sweatshirts, walking somewhat briskly towards us, surrounded by the police cars. This is 7 am, on a weekday, on a main artery. We’re all clogged and frustrated and trying to divine just what is going on. Soon a plastic, lit torch is revealed through the doddering fleet of black sweatshirts and police escorts. As they grew closer it becomes obvious it’s for the Special Olympics (side story: My late aunt in Northern Wisconsin many years ago received a cold call asking for Special Olympics donations. Her knee jerk response: “No. I don’t care who the hell wins any of those games. Why should I give?”). This produced much swearing from our vehicle. Can’t they do that at another time or another part of the city or down some parallel street that isn’t the main drag? That would be best for everybody. Oh, and the overpass incline tired some people so they were resting on the curbs while the escort paused. Seriously, a different road at a different time. So after our 30 minutes of Chicago traffic memories relived we caught 87 and promptly smiled and beamed as the Montana you always read about rolled out in front of us. It was still a little brown and not as mountainous as western Montana, but the hills, valleys, and scattered pines made it beautiful.

Arriving in the town of Lewistown randomly gave me 4 Sprint bars so off we went calling our parents and giving updates trailed with “ … but I don’t know how long the signal will last.” I gave Becky an update on our progress and she questioned why we weren’t farther along. “The Special Olympics,” I replied plainly and let linger before explaining further.

It is a long, plain drive from Great Falls to the border. That sentence explained all you need to know.

God Bless the Canadians. They have given us Corner Gas and All Buttoned Up. However, they have not given us adequate signage, at least not in Sweet Grass, MT. Approaching the customs stalls we found the far left lane open with a sign stating “autos” and the far right lane open with a sign stating “trucks.” The middle 5 lanes were closed and had icons showing mobile homes, recreational trailers, etc. We had a Ranger with a trailer. What would your lane guess be? The state of Wisconsin made me buy truck plates. A trailer and truck does not make a car. Ergo, truck lane. There were commercial and mobile homes in it as well, so we felt we had made the right choice. Right when you get to the booth you see a smaller sign, visible only when you are that close, that explains “this lane only for commercial trucks.” We pull up to the booth for our sarcasm: “I hope you’re hauling commercial.” The Chicago attitude begins to kick in to match him: “No. You don’t have that on a sign back there. So where do we go?” After a few moments of silence as we attempt to calm down we are told to go to the commercial lot on the right, take this ticket, and go inside. Great. 45 minutes and 3 different officials later we are all squared away and told to look over towards the counter in the center of the room. We are pointed towards a small box with 2 Canadian flags sticking out of it. We see it. “Go press that button. It will give you a pass to get your vehicle out of the commercial lanes.” Nobody is manning this machine, nobody is watching it, and it is most certainly in the public area. That would have saved us 45 minutes if we knew we needed to come inside to push a button in order to drive my trailer full of whatever legally into their country. All in all it could have been longer and we were on our way so no real complaints.

About 30 miles into Alberta we heard a little “ping” and discovered that we then had no turn signals. We pulled over and went straight for the fuse box, finding the popped 15 amp fuse right in the hazard flashers slot. Of course, we had no spares. After digging through the book and deciding that the 20a one in the radio slot would do just fine we were off on our way. We ended up in Lethbridge, AB at the Canadian Tire store stocking up on 15a and 20a fuses along with a plastic fuse puller (I might not always be able to dig out my needle nose pliers). More time wasted.

The plan of sleeping in a hotel beyond Edmonton was gone thanks to the torch, improper signage, and the fuses. Calgary loomed on the horizon and according to the Hampton Inn book we snagged in Billings, 2 locations awaited.

We made it to the Hampton Inn around 8pm and only wanted to eat and sleep and put this day in the past. They’re full, but the place next door is not. Ok, but they only have suites available. “Why is it so full here in Calgary on a Tuesday night? The Flames aren’t in the playoffs anymore.” “Well, it’s always full here during the week.” Huh? Why? We ended up at the Hilton Garden Inn with the final available room, a smoking room. Off we went to Chili’s with plans of getting up at 5 to get quickly beyond Calgary and Edmonton. The scenery was calling us.

So far, Canada, not so good.

I believe we woke up in Mitchell, SD around 6 and attacked the hot continental breakfast by 7. Attacked is the precise description. It’s pretty much a standard continental breakfast with a single hot item – scrambled eggs and cheese on a English muffin. It’s the sort of concoction a bachelor would create. Not the tastiest thing (or the freshest) but we put down several. Being middle class means always finding a way to stretch a free breakfast into a full stomach well into the afternoon. It’s also what makes you figure on eating back some of your room rate, therefore “winning” as my father and I joke about. For example in a related way, if an event is charging for parking and you end up parking close by for free to the given event, you have “won.” Life it seems is an endless string of wins (“we ate back at least $20 at breakfast”) and losses (“they screwed me on parking yesterday. I had to pay”) out of which the south side polack gets ahead. It’s silly when I write it down, but it certainly makes sense in my mind.

We hit the road at 7:30 and made it off the main road towards Mt. Rushmore around noon. Mt. Rushmore is about 35 miles outside of Rapid City and involves some pretty steep roads. Very steep indeed. The descent into Keystone, SD found us on a 9%+ grade going through single lane construction. I believe Greg gained some grey hairs from that gauntlet. 10 minutes later when we parked at the monument the brakes smelled distinctly strong in the air. I dared Greg a $1 to touch the rotor but he turned me down. I got close with my finger but the heat from 2 inches away was warning enough.

The monument itself is awe inspiring. Just attempting to grasp how one goes about even creating and sculpting such a thing is plenty to chew on for me. Hearing all of the foreign languages and different American accents in the air was also fascinating and beyond what I expected. I always assumed Rapid City, SD was a little off the beaten path for a foreign family’s American odyssey. I guess not. Cool.

On we drive praying for Great Falls, MT, but as the afternoon waned we ended up settling for an 8pm Billings, MT hotel. I’m told that downtown Billings is a cool town, but peripheral Billings certainly is not. We drove by the refineries and stopped at yet another Hampton Inn (the breakfast now had a perpetual target on its back so to speak). After some Outback hamburgers and a blooming onion we dragged our bloated guts back to the room. We were a little behind our schedule and had also found that our stomachs were shrinking due to the long days of coffee, granola bars, and water. We sadly left some of the blooming onion on the table. But, our plans now had us getting up at 5am to hit the breakfast at 6am in time for a 630 am pull out.

I'm going to attempt to break these entries into daily postings for each day the trip, but I have a feeling that might be too much to chew. We shall see.

May 2nd was a Friday in Madison whereupon a wonderful night of metal occurred courtesy of Jason, Lora, Eric, and a plethora of Madison's bike community. Jason provided the venue and turntables, Lora the delicious food, and Eric the black, doom, and thrash vinyl. After a viewing of Heavy Metal Parking Lot and Fubar, the records were spun and a good time was had by all. Chatting about Lost, metal, bikes, roller derby, bikes, and "3" was a blast and it made it very hard to leave Madison. I think I made it home around 1:30 am, promptly mopped my apartment, threw some stuff out, and then made it to bed around 3 am (thankfully the truck had been packed before the metal began). I feared sleeping in way past the 7:30 am wake up time, but I was so nervous and eager to hit the road that it was oddly not a problem. I pulled out of Madison around 8:30 and made it to the southside of Chicago around noon, droning and driving to Eric's terrific doom laced compilation cdr's. The afternoon descended into a blur of a 63rd street Torta with steak for the road, picking up 5' x 8' trailer in Crown Point, IN, loading my life into it within a short, single hour, and finally showering before a delicious lasagna dinner from chef Mom. It was delicious without a doubt, even more so given that we knew it would be our last decent meal for a week, minimum.

The plan was to make it to Rapid City, SD by Sunday night, though this was based primarily on Tater's 75+ mph estimates that he usually maintains in his trailerless Yukon. 2000lbs attached to my Ranger will probably not get over 75mph easily, at least not without filleting my miles per gallon averages. We decided to keep it at 65mph for the trip which yielded 15mpg on flat roads and 12-13mpg on mountainous terrain. I did discover a great tidbit in the fact that the IRS will allow you to deduct your move (minus food) for a new job. Yep, the gas, trailer, hotels, and first month of storage space is all tax deductible as long as I am moving for a new job, which I am. Great news to have. We ended up leaving Indiana around 7:30 am on Sunday, stopped for lunch in Minnesota just past La Crosse, WI, and grabbed a hotel in Mitchell, SD. Driving that trailer is so easy. I'll admit it was a bit of a question mark for me and gave me a little bit of concern, but aside from backing it into tight spots and getting it up to 65mph, you never know you're pulling it.

At the end of the first night we found ourselves a few hours behind schedule, but with a reasonable room that included a hot continental breakfast we considered ourselves right on track. Not having to stop for breakfast was perfect. We were already packing our own lunches and snacks so getting a freebie breakfast (with bananas smuggled into the truck) made the day that much faster and economical. We knew we would be grabbing a sit down dinner after we found a hotel so we let that dinner be a goal and guiding light for our day.

Tired and with a belly full of Ruby Tuesday I blogged a single line about Mitchell, SD before crashing out and heading for a 6am wake up. Glancing at the map is very daunting. Great Falls, Edmonton, Fort Nelson, Whitehorse, Tok, and Anchorage are still so far away.

Victory!

Sleeping in the truck for a few hours in Beaver Creek, YT was chilly and uncomfortable, but we pulled in to Anchorage at noon on Friday. I'm unloaded and set but still living out of suitcases. Certainly there will more later but it is nice to be done driving.

Billings, MT

Kind of a dirty town, but beautiful scenery. Soooo many antelope.

Night one. Mitchell, South Dakota

We're off...

As busy as things are expectedly becoming, I still need to find the time to blog a bit and stay excited for this huge move. I have examined my piles of stuff, packed stuff, and jettisoned stuff. I can now happily conclude that it will all fit. That was always a concern, but I believe it is licked. There may even be extra room. Probably not, but I know it will all definitely fit.

The route is being sketched out as logically as can be at this point. I’m trying very hard to be flexible, though I’m certain my plan will change drastically once we get 100 miles into the trip. After loading the trailer on Saturday the 3rd in Indiana, we’ll set off in the early morning of the 4th out of Rensselaer, IN, bombing north through Madison and LaCrosse, WI (Home of the world’s largest six pack). The goal is to get to Rapid City, SD that night, which is about 15 hours. It’s doable, especially considering that we’ll be on 4 lane roads with speed limits of 70 mph. That is really the only firmly planned day. We need to get up bright and early in South Dakota on Monday and see Mount Rushmore before tearing off into Wyoming and Montana.

Monday night it would be nice to get to Calgary, but that might be pushing it. Lethbridge is more reasonable. As I’ve become a bit of a Corner Gas fan lately it would have been nice to drive through Rouleau, Saskatchewan, but time and gas $ dictate staying in the US through Montana. I suspect Alberta looks enough like Dog River to give us a chuckle though. All the days after that will be ad hoc. The Milepost will guide us towards gas and hotels and helps us make the choices as to how much further we can push it before we end up sleeping in the truck in what will certainly be chilly Canadian nights.

Tater has pulled a boat all over the midwest and driven many, many miles at all hours of the night throughout his days and travels, so I’m certain we’ll collectively be able to push some long days and nights if we feel like it. In our Boy Scout days we drove all night to the boundary waters several times, and in our adult lives we’ve driven long days and nights to get our canoes and tents to the trails and fish of the north woods of Wisconsin and Minnesota. We’ve trained for this trip since our youth so to speak. If we need to push through most of a night, so be it. I really doubt that though. I’ve negotiated a start day of May 16th at my new gig so driving reasonable distances with beds to sleep in each night is going to happen. The old plan of killing ourselves just to get to Anchorage by Thursday is now happily extinct.

Getting to Anchorage on Friday will give us the chance to not arrive too zombie-like. We’ll unpack my life into some public storage, dump off the trailer, and hopefully head to Humpy’s for some Alaskan Amber and Halibut and Chips. I suspect Becky will be amazed and fearful at how ravenous 2 Chicago Polacks can be.

Aside from Mount Rushmore there aren’t too many specific sites for us to hit. There are hot springs right along the Alaskan highway in the Yukon, so that will be a mandatory stop. Cameras will be out at all times for the wildlife I’m told frequently wanders across the Alcan. I’m also quite certain that the local population along the highway will get us chuckling and mocking as we travel along buying liters of fuel with toonies. Like all good friendships, we’ll probably descend into our own little world where everything else is funny and ripe for ridicule. I know the reality is that the 2 southsiders are out of place in Canada, but we will sing a song of being the only sane, cool ones in a world of maple leafs. Unfair and childish for sure.

Only 2 weeks!

The pain cave beckons.

Everything is winding down, the boxes are getting packed, and things are finding their way to ebay, Half Price Books, or St Vincent's on Williamson. May 3rd is the go date. A job has been secured, a trailer rented, and excitement is really setting in.

I finally got my chest touched up by Ben at Deluxe Tattoo last week. I needed it since the summer of 2005, but always put it off because Chicago was so close. Well, that will end very soon so it's time to get on these sorts of things. I asked for an additional star along with the touch up on the sparrow. No charge, even on the new ink, and he threw me a shirt as well. Great experience.

Only 3.5 weeks till I'll finally answer the call to great white north.

Embracing the Inevitable

One Way. May 4th.

Lair of the Minotaur are legit, yet tongue in cheek at the same time.

Borne back ceaselessly into the past

Lora and took a nice field trip to Chicago last Saturday where tattoos were had by all. A quick trip in and then we scurried back safely over the border back to cheese country, dreaming of Mountain Dew and Miller Lite all the way. I always wanted something old school on the rear of my calf, and have always liked sacred hearts. But sacred hearts are a bit ubiquitous, which isn't necessarily a problem. You don't see as many Immaculate Hearts, so now one more is out there. It is full of scabs right now but soon will look clean and bright. There is a bit too much blood on the photo above so a better picture will need to come soon. Addictive as ever, as soon as the inking was done I felt the need to plan the next tattoo. Alas, Kim is far away and therefore so is my sleeve.

...

I often feel I was born too late, and that the things I love are not nearly modern enough for these times -- a bit of a Luddite. Yet, I pay the bills happily writing Java and Struts websites. Alea iacta est.

I have recently found myself back on a kick of horror and crime old time radio. If this at all interests you, we are truly living in a golden age. The shows are all out of copyright and fit into 6MB mp3 files that are all over the net for free. It is such a wealth of free happiness if it's your bag. I've found the Whistler and The Witch's Tale to be a blast and well written, while The Unexpected is a bit of a constant dud. I am amazed at how often the horror tales are filled with gore and grim endings where the villain gets no comeuppance. The connection to early 50's EC horror comics is clear and sharp, and you can sense the upcoming codes that would limit the negativity and darkness of those shows. I am a little surprised by the fact that these shows have less of a moral compass that what is on tv today. Interesting.

Looking at my timesheets at work, I notice that I haven't had a weekend off since the new year, which is annoying to say the least. This project is a beast and our deadlines are completely unrealistic, yet we soldier on. Therefore, everyday of the week is pretty much locked into my work schedule so I end up getting up around 6:30 regardless of the day. This happened today despite my best efforts to sleep in, so I decided to head to the 7am Tridentine Easter Service. Beautiful and powerful, and it is always great to hear Latin -- I could feel much of it coming back to me.

Listening to old time radio and attending Latin mass. Sounds like the 1930's, yet with expensive bikes and Doom metal playing.

I'd write a bit about Gary Gygax passing, but Scott already nailed it.

I have always been a huge fan of Mavic wheels. I'm not sure if this started from friendly recommendations or from how burly the Elites were on my Raleigh Prestige. Either way, I make an effort to keep buying these French wheels. The SL's were sweet, but the rear one developed cracks on the rim after about 10K miles, which is ok -- it still hurt as those wheels were very pricey. Late last summer I replaced it with the Elite above and man, did I get a bad penny. After about 300 miles I had to true the thing after every mellow 30 mile Paoli loop. What a dud. I had even marked the errant spoke with a sharpie because it was the chronic culprit. Today I received my wheel back from the Mavic warranty folks and they have completely rebuilt the wheel, with all new spokes nonetheless. Perfect. Those frogs are ok.

I ride my cross bike around town whenever possible and have found that my track bike never gets ridden. It has literally sat for about 6 months. Felt like a waste so I listed it on craigslist, a Milwaukee buyer arrived with some $, and off it went. It will get ridden now, which is the important thing, along with me owning slighter fewer things, which is always good. All bikes must get ridden otherwise they need to be candidates for homes where they will get ridden.

The new Vampire Count army is out and pictured above. Wonderful and better than ever. I really like that everything in the army is now undead. That will help the ghouls a great deal. New tactics....

Hills and Valleys

I really try and not become hooked on tv shows (“it steals my time and wastes what I’ve learned!”). The idea of structuring your week around tv is certainly true for many people and I don’t think there is anything inherently wrong with it, but I guess the problem creeps in when it ends up driving your week rather than fitting into your week. At any given time I have 3 or so can’t miss shows, which isn’t too bad. I really should dump the cable and just watch dvd’s but I’m not that strong and I love TCM too much. I am proudly hooked on Lost these days, but also somewhat ashamed of being unable to miss LA Ink. The soap opera element of LA Ink annoys me endlessly, but seeing Hannah and Kim from Chicago just kill it every week artistically, while also appearing far more personally balanced than the walking train wreck and LA stereotype Kat is, makes it well worth watching. The dichotomy between the worth of both shows was never clearer than last week when LA Ink moved to 9pm on Thursdays. I watched a ridiculously stellar episode of Lost at 8pm that involved very challenging scientific concepts and plot threads to be juggled before dovetailing into a truly worthwhile emotional payoff, only to click over to LA Ink and begin getting annoyed at the Kat silliness while feeling sad that Kim is in LA and will not be able to sleeve me. It is sort of like watching football or hockey – I get to swear at the tv whenever something dumb happens, which is often and enjoyable. It’s a guilty pleasure that I allow myself, though having it right after Lost reveals just how guilty it is.

---


Wow! Jill finished the Iditarod Invitational. 350 snow covered Alaskan miles on a Pugsley. That must truly be a case of your clothing and equipment being worth far more $ than your bike.

The Blues spanked the Hawks but the game was fun. High energy and very physical. A split second after the puck drop at the start of the game a fight broke out. Division rivalries are great.

I have no idea if it is indicative of a large or small turnout, but at 7:05am I was ballot #17, meaning that 16 people had voted in the previous 5 minutes. At least it was along my walk to work. It's nice not to detour in -3 degrees and windy.

The roads here have been particularly bad since Sunday's ice/snow storm. It seems like one of the following is true to some degree: Madison has decided that there is too much salt on the roads and has thus switched to gravel exclusively, they have run out of salt, or they have run out of salt and don't feel like paying a premium for more. I know that when it gets bitter cold salt is useless, but Sunday was in the 20's so salt was a decent choice. I vote for the last theory. I assume that the city feels like it only needs to limp through the storms at this point as they hope a melt, however minor, is just around the corner. Theoretically yes, but the 10 day is still solidly below 32. Hockey is going well, cycling not so much.


Anchorage averages 70 inches of snow, Madison 42 inches. The record for Madison was 76. We're in the mid 80's right now and counting. We might as well shoot for the hundo. Yep, it's milder in Anchorage.

I am 100% caught up on Lost and hopelessly hooked. I hadn't planned on this, but here I stand.

The Blackhawks are finally on tv tonight here as the play the Blue on VS. The Hawks are definitely having an exciting year, but pesky St. Louis always is annoying. I appreciate the St Louis pork steak, but Chicago wins the pizza battle hands down. And beef sandwiches.

Tom was completely correct. When renting Lost Season 3 dvds, even though you only get to take new releases home for 2 days, go ahead and rent 2 at a time. 8 episodes in 2 days is almost not enough.

How do people wait 7 days between these episodes?

My gym is, among many other great things, a place for serious Strongman competition training. The atlas stones, milk cans filled with cement, and log press are always available for training. Sunday morning there was a large group from upstate training hard on all of the equipment, bearded and grunting and yelling away as they timed each other on each event, trying their best to simulate actual competition. You could tell that they were serious, but that they also were not around such accurate training equipment back home – they were giddy in being able to use the exact stuff they would be using in competition. I’ve seen plenty of people train with coffee or Red Bull alongside them, but this crew was training with Mt Dew cans everywhere. On Wisconsin!, indeed. I’m sure the strongmen in IL aren’t training this hard.

Hockey Names

One of the many great things about hockey is the names -- saying them, memorizing the pronunciation, etc.

On the Blackhawks now:

Jonathan Toews -- 'taves'
Dustin Byfuglien -- 'buff-lin'
Nikolai Khabibulin -- 'hab-be-boo-lin'

And a fav from the past:
Lyle Odelein -- 'oh-de-line' -- not a tough one to pronounce, but fun to drawl out.

At least a foot it seems. Work closed at 1pm so I caught up on a movie from Turner Classic Movies (Wings of Eagles) and did some reading as well. Walking to work is great on days like these.

I resisted for years when it came to buying a cell phone. It seemed like some deep surrender. Silly. I’m a computer scientist but a Luddite of sorts. My phone started to crap out the other day and I went running to Sprint for a new one as fast as I could. Can’t live without it. Just like the cocaine monkey.

Madison is not Chicago, which is usually great for me, except for today. I miss Paczki day (along with Check Please!, Chi Tung, and beef sandwiches)

I finally developed 2 rolls of film and pushed them up to flickr. The link is to the right.
Geez, one roll had June photos on it.

Cognition Caps made me possibly the greatest cycling cap ever, and a winter one as well. Solid blue with an embroidered Alaskan flag. One of a kind, fits my bigger than most head, and the perfect design for me. Lyle and Kelly have really come through on this one.

I ended up with some nice Mountain Bike shoes at the swap. An excellent deal on a decent shoe. I am now ready for next fall’s cross season. The toe cages kept me from entering more than one race last fall, but that excuse is now gone. I just need to get used to SPD pedals so I don’t eat it on the barriers, though that will happen at some point anyway.

…

More and more things are leaving my little life via ebay, half price books, and St Vincent De Paul. Aside from making a little coin, I endlessly love watching things leave without a new thing replacing them. I’m not lining myself up for a monastery by any stretch, but it was fun to prune %20 from my record collection and feel like a little less of a hoarder. Sorting through the stacks of straight edge records mostly produces smiles and nods and thoughts about playing them asap. However, many records were bought because they were a measly $6 and somebody said they were good, or because it was so easy to get first pressings from Victory. I’m glad (and my pocketbook is also glad) that people want to check these records out, but I am amazed how many people in Europe are emailing me for shipping rates. Those kids are starved for mid 90’s hardcore.

Unbroken, Skarhead, and Victory picture disc comps? Sell ‘em all.

Alone in a Crowd 7”, GB 7” first pressing, Negative Approach LP, and Confront 7”? Not for all the tea in China, buddy.

A new problem is starting to crop up though. While searching ebay for a sense of what a given LP is worth, and more importantly if it’s even worth listing, I keep coming across random records I want. They are few, but man I really want them.

Mercyful Fate ‘s Live From the Depths of Hell, Straight Ahead, Negative Approach 7”, and Side by Side 7”.

It’s a short list and I do have a boot of the Straight Ahead record, but the itch remains for the original.

After working a handful of holiday weeks in a row and taking a random day off last week, this full work week is a killer. Almost over.

Tomorrow is the big bike swap here and I’m hoping for good luck. Two years ago I ended up with a pile of clothing for almost no $, while last year I snagged some lubricant at a cut rate and some Campy gloves and knee warmers for a fair price. That Campy stuff is never being given away, but at a lower price it can really be worth it. Without a doubt it is very well made, but I try and say that while avoiding the obvious Campy cult implications. No tattoo for me yet.

My family doesn’t eat crab that often. It’s expensive and fancy and before you know it you haven’t eaten any in years.

My parents remembered an all you can eat Snow Crab feast with another couple at Red Lobster some years ago, but all they were able to recall was that it was either when they were dating or soon after they were married. At the very least it was before I was born, so make that 32+ years ago. They focused on the fact that the staff would not take away the shells as to shame you into eating less, which did not work. Apparently they filled the table, looked obnoxious, and happily ate lbs of crab.

I think as a teenager we had a 1/2lb of King Crab as an appetizer somewhere, which isn’t much more than a taste between 3 people. Not a major event, but I do remember the taste.

All the more reason for my freezer’s liberation of its 20lbs of crab to be mentioned. For Christmas Eve 3 of us ate about 4.5 lbs of crab, which was impressive. I think being non-fancy Chicago Polacks helped. It was such a delicious treat that we just devoured it like savages. I should have photographed the pile of shells as a testament. The other 15 lbs is at my folks and they can do whatever they want with it, which will probably be to slowly eat it over the course of a year or more to best enjoy it and not get used to the taste too much, lest they develop and fancy tendencies. I hope to eat crab for a third time someday before another 15 years passes.

A pretty dull post I know, but all I can think about this week is how tasty it was.

Best Production Support Request Ever.

The headers accessed for all of our web pages when the print style sheet is used had an incorrect phone number for the company. Turns out it was a phone sex number. Modifying 20+ jsp pages has never been so fun.

A weekend always feels like an accomplishment when I take things to the thrift store and half price books to get rid of, and nothing new comes to take their place. That is an endless goal of mine: more going out than coming in. It is a losing battle though, but a good goal to have in mind. Exceptions are made, namely for small stacks of comic books each Wednesday and bikes that are endlessly, absolutely needed.

Anyone ever run across any Thomas Ligotti books? I recently read a graphic novel interpretation of some of his work and I have been duly impressed. People often refer to him as one of the best kept secrets in the last 20 years of horror. I really dug what I read and want to get the original prose, but his stuff seems to be strangely out of print, yet Dean Koontz is readily available. Blah.

A decent attempt

Didn't come up with 12 pictures, but I think it came out ok, and I did obey the 12 hour rule. It was certainly fun.

12:00pm, moving my cousin within Madison. It turns out that when it is 3 degrees out and you allow the lid of a grill to swing towards the ground (while carrying it on its back) the hinges will snap off like plastic. This was not my doing, but the grill and all its new individual pieces were moved in my truck nonetheless. Welding will be attempted, but a new grill is more likely.

1pm. Madison, west side. Notice the superior snow removal here. It was about 10 degrees by this time! Felt very comfortable.

3:30pm, within the move yet again. A very boring picture, but a memory of the hour long process to connect the dvd player to the tv. The tv is a huge first generation HD CRT, and is probably 150lbs at least. It barely fits in the entertainment center so there were many strained attempts to slide it out while someone furiously fiddled with the cables. The true problem was that the plugs on the rear of the tv kept coming loose so every time it gave us dvd audio and video it would cease doing so after we slid the behemoth back in. Boring picture, maddening memory.

6:30 pm and off the 70's and 80's themed party. I opted for tightrolled jeans. Sadly it was very easy to quickly produce a tightroll from memory.

9pm at the party. Homemade Bailey's(left) and Brandy Slush(right). Very Wisconsin.

11pm. The white elephant gift I received was a vintage, unused, mint boy scout canteen. Very nice.

12:45 am and time to head home from the party. Cold and snowy.

More than just some egotistical assertion that I feel the world would be better off knowing, I’m stating my intention to give the 12 hour photo project a shot this weekend in the simple hopes that I will be guilted into the responsibility of finishing it knowing that I had made that intention known out loud (so to speak). My weekend isn’t the busiest or most fascinating, but I will be bumming around town more than usual so it is as good a time as any to give the project a shot. The snow and ice here are quite charming so if nothing else the pictures will feel like December.

The always prolific Up In Alaska is on it.

The fair amount of snow and ice we had dumped on us Saturday forced me to linger around my apartment and get all kinds of little things done. Sadly no cycling occurred, but I did catch up on things here and there. I was forced again to confront how much stuff/crap I own. I wish I could get rid of piles and piles of it but that would be very difficult and it probably won’t happen anytime soon. Collecting comics and older AD&D stuff is by its very nature a practice in hoarding, which I ideally try to avoid. Aside from the collectable aspect of it, I have an extremely difficult time getting rid of something that can be read that I know I have enjoyed in the past and very well may enjoy in the future. Dumping comics and the like for meager dollars on ebay just cannot replace the possibility that I may find someone whom really would love to plow through runs and runs of DC titles. Eh, my kids can throw all that out after my funeral someday. I have no trouble jettisoning items here and there, but I have the toughest time getting rid of things that can be read. Makes sense to me, while the piles of long boxes tower higher and higher (as do the Lite boxes filled with fiction).

The main thing that happened Saturday was finishing my Lost season 2 dvds. I fell into that all too easy trap of just “starting” another episode with the theoretical plan of only watching 10 minutes, just to figure out which person’s back story we’ll be getting. That approach is a lie. I zipped through the last 6 episodes in no time and now eagerly await season 3. I have so many theories about what is what, what is being critiqued, which ideas are on trial (psychology), etc. I’m sure I’m very wrong about most of these things, but the ride is certainly enjoyable. A few years ago Wayne constantly pitched Lost to me with exciting and salivating gestures. I probably said something well intentioned about not wanting to take on a new show, that I felt that if I wasn’t on it from the beginning it was a futile move, and that the idea of a kooky desert island didn’t sound that interesting. Seeing that the show was successful enough to sustain a few seasons, along with the announcement that the creators do have a well defined goal and that the network has renewed the show to ensure its completion, was enough for me to spend the time to jump in. I feel gun shy about jumping on a new show without knowing it will be canned 2 months down the road, so more often than not I don’t jump. I end up watching much less tv this way and instead watch more dvds, which seems better for me. I much more appreciate being deliberate with my time rather than surfing into something. 108 minutes.

Not everything fits in a Chrome bag

I don’t dream as much as I would like. I daydream and let my mind wander a great deal when it comes to plans, hopes, and goals for the future, places, vacations, and the like. But I get very little activity when I am sleeping. I have always heard that chugging a glass of pickle juice immediately before bed produced some active dreams, but I can’t remember if it actually works, though I’m certain I tried it many years ago after Rodcore mentioned it to me. If it works, would it be a result of a lot of salt in your system? If that is the case, could a glass of saltwater do it as well? Or is it a magical density of something within a cucumber generated after it has been pickled, kind of like what crab apples do to moose if they are consumed after fermentation? I don’t know, but I’d like more than the bi weekly, random dream/nightmare.

When people came by my cube on the 16th they saw my suitcase and asked where I was heading. I answered that I was heading to Alaska over Thanksgiving week to beat the heat of Wisconsin. I had planned on some hiking, maybe skiing/snowboarding, and lots of Anchorage exploration. Frequent flyer miles made the trip very reasonable so I wasn’t too uptight about not skiing if the snow wasn’t perfect. Well, Anchorage didn’t have much snow but they had enough for the slopes to open up the 17th, only to see them closed mid week when the temps shot well above freezing, even hitting 45 one day. All the snow melted away and the slopes closed as avalanches become real possibilities. So yeah, I literally got away from the Wisconsin chill by heading to Anchorage.

Before the big melt on Wednesday, Becky and I did some excellent hiking on Monday. The waterfall near the Eklutna River was beautiful, though I’m certain the picture will not do it justice. It is very hard to photograph a fairly narrow waterfall in the midst of snow covered trees and rocks. I gave it a shot though and hopefully those will get developed fairly soon (it is far too easy to just let the undeveloped rolls pile up on the shelf). I believe that roll started in my camera back in June. The Eagle River nature center is also the start of many trails (I’d really like to hike from there to Girdwood someday – a perfect one night backpacking trip). We opted for a short hike and took some excellent photos off of the observation deck. Underneath the large deck is a fast moving the stream that offers up a great top down view of salmon come summertime. Hiking in 20 degree, snow covered Alaska is very beautiful and fairly comfortable. I’m glad the melt came on Wednesday and not Sunday.

The Double Musky is ranked as one of the best restaurants in the country, and from the descriptions of people that have eaten there I wouldn’t deny it. We were told to get there early as they do not take reservations and a 2 hour wait is not uncommon, order a steak or something Cajun, and expect to pay plenty and not feel swindled in the slightest. So we found ourselves a little dressed up and heading to Girdwood for dinner Friday night, only to find a piece of paper in the window with magic marker stating “closed till 12/12.” The website had none of this information. I know it is a family place but the website is well designed and therefore presumably often updated. Nah. Very disappointing and strange. How are they not open given the impending start of the ski season at Alyeska right up the street? I would have expected them to take a vacation right before the snow came, but alas. So we went to Alyeska and had a very tasty, yet odd meal. We saw people getting fresh bread and inquired about our own.

“Oh, the bread isn’t very good. It gets stale right after it leaves the warmer so I figured you wouldn’t want any.”
“Well, we’d like to give it a try.”
“Oh, then I’ll bring some.”

Yeah, the bottom of the bread was a little too hard but it certainly was edible. Good meal (crab stuffed salmon for me – steak for Becky), but odd. Next time we’ll definitely have to call ahead to the Double Musky and make sure the drive is worthwhile.


More pictures will be coming soon, and there are certainly more tales to be told. I ended up walking off the red eye at O’hare Sunday morning with a box containing 20lbs of crab (fresh from Norton Sound) and an additional 15lbs of salmon and halibut. My balcony currently contains my ice trays and freezer packs as my freezer is now a perfect block of seafood. I should post a picture of this before the crab legs head to Indy for Christmas and get replaced by piles of venison on my trip back through Chicago. Endlessly… a block of meat.

Ahhhh, Alaska

sad stuff

As Into the Wild opened in Madison last Friday, I had a chance to catch up with it on Monday night. On a side note, the Sundance theatres are very fancy and a bit pricey. Good experience, but if a given movie was playing somewhere else I’d probably lean away from Sundance.

I’ve always been fascinated by Chris McCandless and had read the book in the Spring of 1999 before my first trip to Alaska that summer. I remember becoming completely enthralled in his story, while also seeing clearly the positives and negatives in his life. He lived gloriously according to his own driven id, while simultaneously, selfishly amputating his loved ones with no notice in the name of burying pain and promoting rebirth (I understand his home environment and parents’ flaws were magnified a bit for movie, but how could one really be sure? Even if they were that bad, his selfishness is still indictable). My mother read it as well and was a little frightened for my summer trip, but I assured her easily by reminding her that I had been to BWCA and numerous other high adventure places and had the knowledge to do just fine in Denali with a backpack.

I remember feeling (probably arrogantly to a degree) that I had perhaps a bit more outdoors experience than Chris, and certainly a greater sense of what was wise and unwise in entering a wilderness, particularly one as large and unforgiving as Alaska. I guess I have a healthy fear of the untamed wild, which Chris did not. This makes me pleased and sad. I admire that about him and find it fascinating, but also find it immensely foolish and unwise, and certainly nothing to emulate. It has been surmised that he essentially desired to commit suicide by walking out with the supplies he carried, and it’s hard to disagree. He wanted to disappear into the ether like Enid at the end of Ghost World (which I always read as a metaphorical and near physical suicide) and he got his wish, though we certainly know he intended to re-enter civilization and re-connect with friends and presumably family. Alaska plays for keeps though and while it is easily one of the most beautiful places on earth, it is extremely unforgiving. Alaska has taken many wide eyed adventurers and easily will continue to do so. There is a line in The Blair Witch Project that got a chuckle in the theatre where a character asserts that by merely walking in a straight line they would eventually run into a road, as America has been thoroughly sliced up as to make endless meandering impossible. True, but not so true in Alaska.

While the book loudly sung Chris’ infectious wanderlust and joie de vivre it always tempered it alongside the facts of his story and sobering comments from Alaskans as to the reality of many people from the same cut of the cloth that the Great Land endlessly claims for good. He made many mistakes that could have been easily foreseen – bring a map, more experience storing meat, location of the hand pulley down river from his aborted return route, etc. The film doesn’t really mention these things, but they are certainly there if you stare hard enough. In his attempt to cross the river and return to civilization and human contact he maddeningly confronts the raging river that was much smaller in the winter time. The film succeeded in this sequence so powerfully that I actually though he might make it even though I already knew the conclusion well (much in the same way United 93 fooled me into the possibility of a happy ending), but it neglected to show the audience the existence of a hand pulley less than a mile up river – a fact he would have known if he had brought a map. I see no benefit in insult to injury, but it is a useful fact, though one that probably violates the sainthood Sean Penn seems to ascribe to Chris. While the book loved Chris and clearly painted his warts, the movie seemed to barely mention his warts, yet always with clear justification for their existence. I’m sure Sean Penn will disagree with that statement (and maybe punch me over it), but it definitely came across that way.

Geez, I sound like I’m really bashing this movie. I hope that is not the case, as I loved it. The direction and story structure were excellent. Several shots so perfectly used the widescreen, particularly the opening shot. You could clearly visualize how small we are in relation to the wilderness. I believe strongly that there are aspects of Chris’ life worth emulating and celebrating and that his story is well worth telling. Some of it should be cautionary, even damned in the ultimate analysis. I don’t agree with any beatification though, and probably agree with most of what Alaskans conclude.

Up in Alaska is slightly on the other side of the issue, but I can’t say I disagree with her at all.

Here is a well written, concise Alaskan point of view from a somewhat doppelganger of Chris’.

Another Alaskan pov.

Ultimately, Alaska is that magnetic of a place. I wholeheartedly agree with Chris on that one.

Hal Holbrook practically stole the move when he appeared.

Cross last weekend was ridiculously fun. I'll certainly race again this season, though probably not until mid November. My schedule is a little tight, but I will hopefully race in some snow.

I seriously loved it. I didn't finish last and did better than I had expected. You never really know where your fitness is until you test it in an actual race (I don't know if alleycats count. I guess they do, but then again that is really up to the individual. I always backed off in them in the name of safety knowing that I had no shot at winning to begin with.). I know where my fitness is at Ford's Gym because the numbers on the iron never lie. Pedaling is another story. I was able to ride with a few groups and even pass a few people on the later laps. I suspect my strength is in holding a pace over time rather than turning it on early, late or in the middle. I'll get some shoes soon and give it another shot soon. Being in the pain cave never felt so fun.

It was a road weekend, which was a good choice given the weather.

No pies this week but Into the Wild is finally in Madison so I'll need to see that and satisfy my Alaska jones for the time being. Hopefully there will enough snow to ski up there at the end of November.

I can't wait for Cognition to come out with winter caps. Can they work the Alaska flag into a blue wool cap? We shall see.

I could plead laziness in this low posting frequency, but that would not be completely true (thankfully). I was in a cabin in St Germain, WI fishing for a week with my Dad. The plan was expressly hoping for many Walleye to come home in gallon sized ziplock bags, but as these things go there was not even a single Walleye caught. Lost lake is not very large (500 some odd acres) nor extremely deep, so it was perfect for our smaller boat. We had enough time and knowledge to work the lake properly but alas no Walleye. We did catch fish everyday, albeit smaller ones some days (Smallmouth, Northern, Musky, and even a large Crappie). I donated $20 at the Lac De Flambeau casino, my father won $21, and we both put a hurt on the prime rib buffet. What is it about the northwoods that means prime rib? I don’t know. We caught some fish on a quiet lake, slept in a cabin right on the lake, didn’t have to go to work, ate prime rib and fish fry, saw the full blown fall colors, and I read the Bell Jar. No complaints at all.

We did have a large, ripe apple tree next to our cabin so I went home with about 10lbs of apples. I’m not sure of the species, but they are edible and tasty. It’s probably not the tastiest apple pie in the world, but for a first try I think I did just fine. Melissa in Portland would be so proud of me. Coupled with the blueberry pie I made in July I am genuinely on a streak. A streak of what I do not know for sure, but suffice to say I suspect some tattoos might be needed to balance it out.

My first cyclocross race is tomorrow. Lord, have mercy. I now become initiated into the pain cave.

I have started Lost Season 1 dvds. I am so hooked.

What a busy weekend – one that I still need to recover from. Like many great times it developed quickly and out of the blue. Thursday night and into early Friday morning found plans for going to Chicago that night for Om at the Empty Bottle. We would be returning late that night. The show was terrific. Om feels like getting hit by a slow, trudging freight train. I really need to pick up some of their stuff. The abundance of hipsters at the show was strange though, something none of us could come up with an answer for. I was dropped off at 4:30 am to walk through the chilly, 40 degree Madison night to my apt.

Mid-morning Friday my boss offered me 2 Badger tickets for Saturday’s game – 11 am. How could I say no, even though I had already made plans for the Chicago trip. My Orbea was still in the shop so I might as well try doing something other than biking in my free time. I was up at 8:30 and we were walking towards the flowing tailgating parade by 9:15. I had a little tickle in the back of my throat, which I mainly ascribed to having no sleep and spending so much time in a smoky bar the night before. The game was excellent and all of the people that have told me that I needed to go to at least one game just to experience it were correct. I wonder what my college experience would have been like if I had attended a school with that component of student life. UIC has basketball, but in a city like Chicago it is so easy to disregard any non professional teams. If they hadn’t of canned the UIC hockey team I might have been on board with that. I believe I was the only one at Camp Randall not wearing red.

Still no Orbea come Saturday afternoon. They are in the process of drilling, yes drilling, out the bottom bracket. The word is that the crank and frame are in perfect condition, but still – drilling.

Come Sunday morning (after 10+ hours of sleep) the scratch in my throat is now a full blown cold. I watched the Bears, still had no road bike, and recovered from a busy weekend. I saw Bucky and now need to buy some Om records. No complaints.

No news here, but Hemingway endlessly fascinates, confounds, and challenges me. With any luck I’ll keep uncovering Hemingway factoids throughout my life, even though I try to avoid letting that happen. Call it a lifetime quest for knowledge I hope is never satisfied. Stay Hungry (as Twisted Sister has said).

I understand that he was challenged to write a story in 6 words, to prove his economical style at it’s most extreme.

For sale: baby shoes, never used.

It seemed for a moment that we were gaining ground, only to have the man ultimately shut us down yet again.

On Tuesday my coworker alerted me to a wonderful fact about the candy and chip vending machine downstairs. When you put a dime in, the display registered the .10 increment while also letting your dime drop into the coin return. I walked down with 2 dimes and came back with 2 candy bars and 2 dimes.

On Wednesday I walked down with a few dimes hoping to cash in yet again. The dime went through, the .10 was registered on the display, but the dime actually went into the machine without dropping into the return. Fair enough. I pushed the coin return button and watched while the display cleared to 0.00 and my dime stayed inside the machine. The same thing happened on Thursday to my coworker. He put in 7 dimes, realized the chips he wanted were .50, selected the chips, and promptly received the chips and no change.

The machine, it seems, is making up those lost dimes.

I first tried to ride through the old train tunnel on the Badger State Trail a few weeks ago but didn't bring a flashlight, so that failed. If you're assuming I figured on being hardcore enough to not need one, you would be correct. Well, the tunnel is about a 1/4 mile long and has a 15 degree curve in it halfway to it is not a simple as just heading towards the light. Armed successfully today with a headlight (thanks to the Tron door prizes), I made it through. Very fun and very unique. Oh, and yes, I also pictured the entrance to the Tomb of Horrors or The Lost Caverns of Tsojcanth when gazing upon it. My brain does work that way, and it does make me cool. Honest.

...


The Tron race was near perfect. It devilishly sent us into the maelstorm of Taste of Madison while also winding us through the Badger football traffic. Against all previous self promises, I rode more aggressively that I should have, though remain unscathed. To the older gentleman at Regent and Monroe that turned a bleached white when I just missed his hood, all apologizes. As many riders have said over the years in response to being called an asshole (usually rightly so) after some sort of intersection craziness, "It's a race, man." The after party is easily the best post race party I've attended. We savaged the chips, keg, Boca burgers, real burgers, and brats (yes brats. It's happily - eternally - Wisconsin even when racing). Thanks, Lyle.

I finally won a MOTAB trophy after many middle finishes and 2 DFL's. This time it involved a relay race with ThunderJet bikes. So much fun as always. Heading home with some hardware is even better.

It was so great to be in Chicago for 4/5 days for work training. The weather was pissy rain most days, although thankfully it abated when I needed to walk somewhere. I didn't gain any weight, which is a miracle considering I ate at Heaven on Seven twice, Francesca's, Giordano's, and Lao Sze Chuan. I believe they have each been on Check Please! -- maybe not Giordano's though. That is how I live and eat -- at the direction of Alpana. I still love Chicago, but every time I visit I realize that it is best as a place to visit for me.

Back in Madison now, listening to Electric Wizard, and heading to the Tron race in about 45 minutes. No trophy this time for sure, but a good is guaranteed.

In the mid 90’s when I was just out of High School I remember a conversation with a fellow hardcore kid about the lack of real metal available. Death metal had been great, but by 1995 it had hit a layover valley on its way to a more technical and stronger future. It was a tough time for metal in general (a transition period in hindsight), and most metalcore being played in VFW halls by sxe kids just wasn’t cutting it. Mercyful Fate had reformed, but that was more of a touring thrill than an excitement about new material. King Diamond had started to drift. Iron Maiden didn’t have Bruce anymore. Michale Graves was fronting some band. Times were tough. We both knew it would swing again to greater heights as unknown records would someday be released by bands more brutal and heavier than we could ever imagine. It would work itself out, but we sadly acknowledged that at that moment we stood in a desert of sorts. At that same moment we took a great deal of comfort in agreeing that Danzig proudly and solely was metal’s standard bearer. In the good times, bad times, and in between times, Glenn was there, man. Every 2-3 years another Danzig record would come out and it would be good. It was a gimme. We both talked about many records that evening but I always remember agreeing easily on the strength of the Killer Wolf upon parting.

Well, within a short year or so that BlackAcidDevil record was released. What a heart breaker. Glenn had let us all down. Granted, good metal soon came back around in numerous new splintered variations so it all worked out, though it was tough to take considering the throne we had placed Glenn’s output on. The subsequent records were better, but still horribly mediocre compared to what the Misfits, Samhain, and first 4 Danzig records showed us we could expect. I saw the Satan’s Child/Samhain Reunion tour and loved it -- completely satisfying and impressive. I had calmly given up on the possibility of any impressive studio output while still knowing that the live shows would deliver, kind of like Slayer.

All of this chatter leads me to just how impressive the Lost Tracks of Danzig is -- two discs of chronologically organized B-sides and unreleased tracks that are easily up to the quality of the first 4 records. Disc 1 is stellar and disc 2 is closer to lukewarm, though still highly listenable. I still doubt that Danzig has any brand new material worth getting excited about, but this is a killer release. Hey, the Killer Wolf is in his 50’s after all. Time is marching on for all of us.

After a recent trip home I grabbed all of 7” records (maybe 75 or so) and brought them up to Madison. Bringing all of my 12”s would be a little too brutal of an undertaking considering the size of my apt, but thankfully my 7”s don’t consumer as much space. Before moving away from Chicago a few years ago I did some legitimate pruning of my records, trying to ebay away everything that had absolutely no value to me. It seemed tough at the time but I can’t say that I miss any of the records I jettisoned. I do think back on the blue marble One Truth 12” by Strife that I unloaded, but every time I listen to a Strife song I remember that the band never really did it for me. I think I just liked the idea of a mint, gatefold lp on blue marble. I used to buy 7”s constantly at shows -- it’s so easy to just give anything a try for 3 measly bucks. It’s even easier to give something a try if you know it’s a limited color or pressing, never escaping the record nerd part of myself that knows that I could trade or sell it down the road and do just fine. I was never a speculator, but rather just aware of the market in place that would someday lead me to possibly getting the Negative Approach 7”, or Mercyful Fate’s Live From the Depths of Hell 12” (two unfulfilled quests so far).

So now I’m on a new project to listen to the entire collection again and find out what I’ve completely forgotten I own, what I used to love but now just cannot get into, and what I remember as mediocre that is now so much more than that. I was always a lukewarm Mouthpiece fan but their final 7” Face Tomorrow is really rubbing me the right way. I remember liking it better than the lp, but not this much. We’ll see what happens as more sxe goodies are reevaluated.

It has been hard to come up with more Alaska stories since the big ones have already been written. Perhaps this will drift into more tidbits than wide, expansive storytelling, but that will have to do.

The 10 days in Alaska coupled with some random rain on weeknights when I returned has blunted my riding schedule a bit but it has been dry and hot these past 2 weeks so my mileage should be back up where it belongs. Not so good for sweet corn, but the lack of rain is great for cycling. This weekend looks rain free and my schedule is wide open for riding. With any luck my legs will be torn up by Sunday night.

My canoe trip was a mixed bag. I saw very few people and plenty of wildlife, easily caught several very large rainbow trout, had almost glass like lakes to paddle across in the strangely windless mid days -- yet I never felt the country was substantially different from the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota. I would rather have looked all around me and seen mountains landscaping the background. Not having officially marked campsites was also a mixed bag. You were allowed to camp anywhere and the maps had noted known campsites, but it would have been a bit nicer to simply declare some of them as official, improve them, and then make all others off limits as the forest reclaimed them. It works in Boundary Waters. Small complaints I guess. I did find out that America has 2 designated wilderness canoe areas, Boundary Waters in Minnesota and the Kenai Wildlife Refuge in the great Alaska. I’m now 2 for 2.

Paddling steadily around the numerous 90 degree turns on the Moose River, I encountered 2 moose (on separate occasions). It is something to come around a corner and find a huge moose standing in the middle of the narrow river just 30 yards away from you. Not enough time to grab my camera, but just enough time to make a little bit of noise and get the thing to move out of the way for me. I am endlessly amazed at just how big those animals are. Like a cow on stilts.

Big Flickr update

Another Tale From the Great White North…

I had always heard the phrase combat fishing here and there but never really thought about it. It always floated out of my mind just as quickly as it lit in. There is really no combat fishing to speak of in the Midwest. Smelting on the Chicago lakefront doesn’t really qualify. I’m told that during the Walleye run on the Wisconsin River it can get a little congested, but it’s really nothing to get that impressed by. Combat fishing in Alaska is a unique animal and something I never would have believed had I not seen it with my own eyes. The above picture is from Willow, right off the Deshka River (the King Salmon were running through). It was much, much worse on the Russian River (Red Salmon running through). While driving through the Kenai Peninsula we saw it in full force. Apparently the bears even come out in close proximity to the hundreds of fisherman – everyone present just wants fish.

In Wisconsin the fishing is rarely as good as it is in Alaska, but it’s almost always guaranteed that you can find a part of the lake or shoreline to nestle into to quietly fish, chit-chat, and simply enjoy the lake and outdoors. Now, Alaska is a very big place and there are uncountable places where you can fish alone, but when the salmon are running and you are within driving distance of Anchorage (half of the state’s population) you can bet you’ll be combat fishing.

I was a little put off by it myself, but if we had actually caught some King Salmon I’d probably not care at all. People are constantly getting their lines tangled with each other. Most of the time one person will reel all the way in and unhook the other line. I did this for a few people myself, but the glasshead that reeled in my line found it easier to simply cut my line with his knife and then smile. We were on a boat and he was on shore so there was enough distance to prohibit a shouting match, etc. I was pretty angry at first and then realized after taking a breath that tomorrow I’ll be waking up with a good job and education while he’ll still be a burned out meth head. Fine, you showed me up, dude. Have your laugh with your buddies. I’m assuming some strange class envy magically developed because we were in a boat and they stood on shore. I guess they were keeping it real and we were the Magnificent Ambersons or something of the like. Silly.

Faithfully

A Tale From the Great White North…


Skate videos always gave me songs to hear in my head as I attempted to put together my own runs. Certain songs still always appear in my mind visually along with the exact trick that was landed at that musical moment. Gangstarr and Mike Carroll are prime culprits.

Journey’s Greatest Hits is the hottest CD in my life right now. Driving back from a canoe trip in northern Wisconsin a few weeks ago found the CD played straight through from Tomahawk through Stevens Point. It’s perfect driving back to civilization music (We listened to Neil Young on the way up – perfect entering the woods music). That Sunday night “Don’t Stop Believing” became canonical again via The Sopranos. In Homer, Alaska a week later I found myself at 6:30 am waiting to get on my Halibut charter. Your limit is 2 per day and we went out for 2.5 hours into the ocean for this ugly as sin (yet delicious) fish – 6 of us in total. I guess we started fishing around 10 am and our captain told us we were on a shelf of kelp that had big fish on it, and that we wouldn’t get any hits for about 30 minutes, until our bait and chum bag fully announced our presence. About 20 minutes later one guy caught a 25 lb fish but threw it back. It was too early to limit out on small fish. Then right at that 30 minute mark another guy caught a 60 lber. Beautiful fish. The sun was shining and it was about 55 degrees out, but with the wind on the ocean sea it was a little chilly. I kept a jacket on during this and still had a shiver but the crew had simple sweatshirts on – locals. With the nice weather and our settling in on our fishing grounds, it was time for music, so decreed the captain. The Journey CD came on and the captain mumbled, “They always hit for Journey.” No shit. Soon I hooked my 73lb fish, fought it for almost 10 minutes to songs unknown in the middle of the CD. It wiggled and pulled on the drag, but ultimately the experience descended into pulling up a sewer cap from 45 feet. So much fun and truly an exhausting experience. As the day begun I fought the discomfort from a long ride in the ocean coupled with the smell and noise of a diesel engine. Along with the chill from the wind I was eager to see my mood change, and given that it took about an hour for me to catch a fish I was nervous about being skunked to say the least. After I saw that gaffed 73lb fish flopping around the rear of the boat I cannot explain how quickly my mood changed. The day then relaxed for me. If I caught another fish and capped my limit that would be great, but if not then 73lbs is a very nice fish, considering they bone out around 60%. After landing my halibut the captain told me personally that I had caught a nice fish. This was nice to hear since I, along with everyone on the boat, had very little sense of what a good day or fish would be. He probably tells that to all the shmucks that catch something. I was feeling pretty good about my catch (still am) but I was soon trumped. A guy from California caught a 100+ lb fish which he had the pleasure of fighting to “Don’t Stop Believing.” Lucky guy. Over the next few hours 2 more 100+ lb fish made it into the boat. When the fishing slowed down at that spot we headed over to deeper water where within 30 minutes we all limited out on 25lb fish. Much smaller that pulling up a 73lb sewer cap, but challenging in its own way due to that fact that those 25lbers live at 125 feet. So we headed back on our 3 hour ride with everyone in the boat catching their limit while also getting some much larger fish than usual. My fish was just a warm up for the boat in the end, but I sent 48 lbs of meat home so no complaints. Maybe next time I’ll get two 100 lbers.

It’s the easiest fishing I’ve ever done. You bait the circular hook, place a 2lb sinker a foot above it, and then lower the whole operation to the bottom of the sea, feel the plunk, and then reel in 2 feet of line. Place it in the rod holder and wait for the hit. Easy. Also, with circular hooks you don’t need to set the hooks. You just look around at the scenery, take some pictures, drink a coke, and then grab your pole when it bends in half. Easy. One of the first things we were told on the boat was that when the crew was dragging our fish into the boat we needed to grab the 2lb sinker and hold it for them. “That damn thing easily turns into a wrecking ball when we’re wrestling a fish.” He then pointed at his forehead, “It sucks. Trust me.”

Sadly, they did not shoot my fish. When the first 100lber got close enough to be seen the captain asked us to stand back while his crewman held the gaff nearby. “This could get active.” I saw the revolver in his hand and watched him silently load one bullet as his eyes stayed on the fish, still 10 feet out from the boat. As the fish was gaffed it was steadied next to the boat and then a single shot went right through its head. Even with that when it was hoisted into the boat it flopped around like a madman and the crewman that grew up in Montana straddled and kneeled over it like a bull and wrestled it to a momentary calm where he gave it a few wacks with a sizeable, rapidly produced varnished stick and settled it once and for all. My fish did not warrant the head shot and I do feel cheated by this. The other guys got to take home their shell casing.

I have no clue whether we had a typical day or a great day. It felt great to me, especially counting the weather (Sunny and over 50 in Homer is a gift). I heard the captain mention to another captain back at the dock when we returned to Homer that our day was epic. I’ll take that as fact rather than tourist cheerleading.

Epic indeed. Journey will always mean fishing in Alaska to me and the great strength it takes to pull up big fish from 45+ feet below.

I seldom fly so I have no litany of horror stories about airlines, but that may be changing (I’ve actually flown fewer than a dozen round trips in my life). I was informed via computer voicemail that my NWA flight for tomorrow was cancelled and that I had been placed on an 11am flight Friday morning. That is a 24 hour bump in under a day’s notice! I called and was told that the computer had made the bump and that I could be placed on a different Thursday flight. Fair enough, though I do now have to spend a 3 hour layover in Detroit. I’ll be in the last frontier Thursday night so all is well.

Piss on the Red Wings.