There is so much to catch up on and so much to rattle on about. I’m finally getting back into the swing of my normal schedule, the house is getting less cluttered by the day, and the crispness is in the air everywhere here in Alaska.

…

Most importantly, I did get married on July 31^st to the lovely Becky! Everything seemed to go perfectly and everyone seemed to have a great time. If something went wrong I either didn’t notice it or our guests didn’t notice it. Perfect. I did almost overdose on pictures with the photographer (though I was more than happy to take as many pictures as possible with family and friends), but that is the price you pay to get a nice album of memorable pictures. The photographer’s pictures are here and my flickr account is full of even more.

Everything has been completed, we’re back in Alaska, the bills have been all paid, and the thank you letters will soon be tackled. Life should be calm and back to normal in time for Christmas.

…

Through the high times and the low times I never waver in my love for horror comics --the scarier or campier the better. Bring them all on. Given my preference for pre code horror, I am well versed in the EC books, yet always aware that the majority of the other horror comics of the early 1950’s will be forever beyond my grasp, largely due to unavailability and price. Well, thanks to The Horrors of It All blog that has all changed. It’s just simply wonderful that he is sharing his considerable collection of rare comics. Great stuff and worth checking in on every few days.

…

Wayne always has something interesting to write about, but I call your attention to his recent entries because he has decided to perfectly describe a strange southside journey from a few years back that we took together (along with Scott). We attempted one more peek into the Marquette Park of a passing time to see if kicking the tires of 69^th street yielded any Lithuanian mumblings.

Also, he has decided to scribble a bit about my grandparent’s old neighborhood. I spent a lot of time at the intersection of 63^rd and California.

…

The honeymoon was a blast.

If you tackle any shipwreck tours or museums in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, expect to hear Gordon Lightfoot’s The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. A lot. And then a few more times for good measure. We spent a night in Munising, MI and took a 3 shipwreck tour in a glass bottom boat, leaving us at the final wreck with a 20 minute ride back to port. “We’ll just put on some music for the nice ride back.” Yep, you know it. We chuckled because we had already been singing it randomly in the car the previous few days.

Our drive from Munising to St. Ignace was fairly short, so a side trip was in order to the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum in Paradise, MI. We banked on a fun trip and a money shot of the Edmund Fitzgerald’s bell. When we pulled into Paradise (a one horse town if there ever was one) we were annoyed to see that we had to drive another 10 miles north. The side trip better had pay off. After 10 minutes of twisting through the forest we came upon a completely packed, large parking. Our excitement level was way up. Every exhibit, film, and building that housed some of the museum had the song playing. And those exhibits and films were fascinating. When the song would end, there would be 5 minutes of ambient music, which would be followed by the song again. Repeat. Very funny. Ultimately, stops like this on a vacation become the unexpected jewels in your trip.

Mackinac Island was just beautiful and amazing. We rented bikes and it was just … Please go if you can.

Aside from the horror comics, I can always be counted on to geek out on Hemingway anything. So our trip through Michigan had to include a stop in Horton Bay, the place Hemingway spent many summers in his youth as well as the location he wrote about in many of his early Nick Adams stories. We stopped in the almost unmodified general store, snapped a picture of the family cottage on Walloon Lake, and poked our heads into the Red Fox Inn bookstore. Holy cow, the Red Fox Inn was a trip. Historically, it had been a place to get a room and eat a chicken dinner, which Hemingway did almost a century ago. Today it’s a bookstore, though one housed in an interior shell where one can tell that the walls, layout, and furnishings have not changed beyond a coat of paint in the last 80 years. Bookstores have bookshelves lining the walls, but in this case you’ll find tables everywhere with stacked, organized Hemingway books. The place is organized in a way, but at a glance it is sort of a permanent, indoor garage sale. But I was all in, man. The place reeks of what you would hope to find and the owner certainly had the knowledge of all things Hemingway and Horton Bay. His grandfather owned the place and spent a fair amount of time teaching young Ernest how to fish the specific creeks in the area. This guy is the guy you want to talk with when you wander into one of these places. He also was a pretty odd bird, had a very strange way about him, and had a bit of an odor. Becky is infinitely friendlier than me to almost everyone, and she was a little off about him. However, he was extremely polite, helpful, and willing to talk. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to really buy a Horton Bay Hemingway cap, but I decided that I’d surely regret it if I passed so I jumped on that, along with a few postcards that he kindly postmarked with a Horton Bay USPS stamp. Very cool.

As he rang me up I asked if he would mind if I took a picture of the interior of his place. “No problem,” he replied as he quickly scooted to the middle of the room and plopped himself into a rocking chair I didn’t even know was sitting there. I wanted a plain interior picture, but this is what I was getting. Fair enough.

After some chit chat about where we were from he, like most people, had some random questions about Alaska.

“How bad is the winter?”

“A bit colder than the north woods, but much longer.”

“Ah, I can’t make it through the winters up here any more. I have to get out.”

“Arizona?”

“Nah. I head to the Philippines for the entire winter.”

Quickly, what are you thinking? Correct. Americans do not travel there to do things that are legal in America. My money is on things with individuals under 18.

…

I finished my first triathlon this past Sunday. It was a spring length and I enjoyed it much more than I expected. I may not enter any longer triathlons, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself in a sprint triathlon again.

I cannot wait for Cyclocross season. As we won the road lottery in Denali for mid September, we’ll be camping there in a few weeks. So much great stuff to do and see before the snow flies.

Please stop saying you are from Chicago

The more distance between the midwest and me, the quicker I'll jerk my head if somebody asks if I'm from Chicago. I was at the gym Saturday wearing a Konerko shirt.

"Are you from Chicago."

"Yeah. Are you?" I warmly responded. Man, Chicagoans way up here in Alaska? Cool.

"Yep. I grew up there." He looks like he's around my age within 5 years.

"Me too. Which part?"

"The North West side."

"Ah, cool. I don't know those neighborhoods as well."

"Yeah, Arlington Heights originally. Then Elmhurst."

"Ah."

"What about you?"

"I grew up by Midway airport."

"Oh, so Tinley Park then." It wasn't a question.

I made some good hearted correction, politely reiterating that I grew up in Chicago. I should relax, given that I have a few general rules. If you're within a few hours of Chicago, say you are either from Chicago or the Chicago area. If you're a days drive away, just saying Chicago will cover it. This situation falls into the latter. However, I really don't like people telling me I'm from Tinley.

It’s an exhausting experience. Dipnetting is a 24 hour minimum time and work commitment, and it’s worth every bit of it. Even though after 2 washings my clothes still smell like salmon. Even though my half cab vans shoes were on their last leg anyway, they now reek of salmon and are headed for the trash a little sooner. My watch band is starting to smell like leather again, though just barely. The boat had a cumulative limit of 155 Red Salmon, and we met that limit easily. It was a glorious blur of slime, sunburn, clubbing, and Alaska.

My condo complex has a tight parking lot (for a truck and boat trailer), so I carried my dipnet, cooler, and backpack across the street to the huge Baptist church parking lot at 4 am. Around 4:15 R picked me up and off we went. As we headed down the Turnagain Arm the haze of the forest fires that dot the Kenai Peninsula and interior were unmistakable. You could smell a hint of those remote fires when we made a pit stop at Turnagain Pass. By 8 am we were chipping over the waves of the Kasilof River and approaching the mouth, glimpsing the wide open ocean in front of us. We would work small laps of 10 minutes each as we trolled with the current into the ocean before motoring back into the river. The plan was simple, and the limit was 155. And it needed to be met.

People littered the shoreline with their purchased, modified, or completely home fabricated dipnets outstretched into the ocean as the water lapped into their chest waders. Their vehicles and tents dotted the ridge behind them. The Kasilof had been open for dipnetting for over a week already.

“Alright guys, drop your nets in, “ R announced.

Three nets went in, and in about 2 seconds I had a nice 10lb salmon twisting and flopping in my net. After pulling him in and fidgeting with the net he twisted further and further in, I finally extracted him, cut his gill, and threw the bleeding fish into an empty cooler. I needed to get faster at the whole process, and most importantly find a way to avoid the endless tangling of the fish in the net.

After another half dozen fish I stumbled onto a few keys. I noticed that the majority of the time when you pull a netted fish in, the fish was not excessively tangled. The tangling seemed to increase exponentially as the fish flopped around in the boat. Ergo, close the window of opportunity for the fish by clubbing him as quickly and concisely as possible. A few whacks usually will do the job, but it often merely stuns. You are looking for the death rattle – the rapid lateral vibration down the fish that quickly descends into relaxation. At my top speed I had the net out of the water about 2 minutes while processing a fish. Not bad. Searching for the death rattle is the morbid key.

I never had 2 fish in my net at once, though everyone else did. At 2pm the dirty yellow notepad we had been marking our fish on tallied us up to 155, so off we sped up river looking for a smooth patch of water to anchor up in and get down to business.

As we loaded the coolers to the shore and began the task of clipping the rear fins off of each fish (so they could never be sold commercially) I realized just how filthy we had become. Scales and dried slime speckled our cheeks, blood and scales soaked our thighs, and I noticed the now permanent stain of blood on my fatigues where I had been wiping the gill cutting knife. We rinsed the coolers, gave the fish a quick swish in the river, and loaded back up, leaving a pile of fins on the bank behind us. We’re lucky we didn’t encounter a bear, particularly because nobody was packing.

Off we roared to Seward for processing tables and filleting. While this may have added 60 miles to our day, the ability to leave all of the carcasses in one place and simply drive back to Anchorage with filets is priceless. The filth and smell of our clothing and bodies only stewed further.

I walked into my place at 12:30 am, left a pile of rank clothing right inside the doorway, and jetted upstairs for the shower. At noon the next day I drove to Chugiak to finish sealing the fish in vacuum bags, ending a total of 24 hours worth of work and traveling to catch and process 155 Sockeye Salmon. My freezer has over 50 of them right now, so there will be no heart disease for me this coming year.

My clothes still have a faint whiff of salmon and I never thought I would be so eager to repeatedly witness a death rattle. Alaska is a wonderful, unique place.

I can feel the wedding coming closer, but I am mainly interested in the honeymoon, particularly the drive and tour through the Upper Penninsula of Michigan. Becky and I have been singing improvised, faithful, and comical variations of the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. I am too young to have any degree of connection to the historical event itself, but it is a catchy song and plenty good as well.

I want to get the biggest bang possible out of the trip, hopefully by absorbing tidbits of information that will add some new angle to the scenery. When I travel around Alaska I am constantly struck by the notion that this is the Last Frontier. It truly is. While people have certainly walked and lived in the vastness of Alaska for thousands of years, it is very easy to view it all as a world with dew still on it. It’s a safe bet to make. If what you are looking at does not have a structure or road on it, it probably never has had one. The trees are not second growth. It’s mint condition so to speak. In Wisconsin, particularly in the south half of the state, I was constantly trying to imagine what it all looked like before the dairy farms sliced it all into postage stamps. This is not some moral judgment -- far from it. It’s just apples and oranges, and I love both. I suspect this cavern will narrow as I read more of Alaskan history, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to place Alaska in a unique earthly prism of largely untouched country.

As I think of the beautiful drive ahead of us through the UP, Michigan, and the Lake Michigan side of Wisconsin, I want to know what happened in those places before we drove through. Where did Hemingway fish and camp? What about all of those Lake Superior shipwrecks? What did they mine there?

I’ve never read The Song of Hiawatha and I plan on doing that before the trip (or at least denting it).

I should yet again reread Hemingway’s Nick Adams Stories, though Becky has never read them. Maybe I can read them aloud to pass the time on our long drives? They seem perfectly suited to that. I cannot wait to tool around Walloon Lake and squint to envision the water and trees as they were a hundred years ago.

C’mon honeymoon.

I caught a bit of an Alaskan tan (read: sunburn) last Sunday on the Kenai River while fishing for king salmon. It was so warm you could have fished in a t shirt, which is a rare treat when fishing on a glacier fed river in Alaska. That was very pleasant, but catching zero salmon was not. We did see almost uncountable numbers of mature and immature bald eagles. Summer is here.

…

I’ve been told by other married men that the gleaming hope in the stress of the wedding process is planning and focusing on the upcoming honeymoon (the “golden parachute” is the exact term I heard). You must thread the eye of the needle and steer towards that trip. In our case the reservations on Mackinac are confirmed, the shipwreck tours on Lake Superior are paid for, and my dad’s Silverado is all but gassed up for our leisurely drive through the northwoods of Wisconsin and Michigan.

I’ve made no secret of my fascination and interest in the northwoods of Wisconsin and Minnesota, though I do not completely understand it. Maybe it was simply the largest, reachable wilderness I knew of from my bungalow on the south side? Perhaps that led to a deeper resonance in Hemingway’s Nick Adams stories as well as the Hemingway biographies I devoured? I suspect all of that, coupled with a desire to scoot away from Chicago, led me to Alaska, though I still have an unending soft spot for ‘up north’. Pondering this golden parachute always has me digging out my Bob Dylan “Nashville Skyline” LP and endless playing ‘Girl from North Country.’ I understand it is probably about England, but I like to think of it being about Minnesota or Wisconsin, considering Bob grew up in Duluth. Regardless, Johnny Cash sings on the track and it’s terrific.

We are now just under 2 months from the big day and things are getting busier and busier, but things are also undeniably getting crossed off the list and progress is evident everywhere. The feeling of motion is unavoidable.

I had my suit taken in and it now fits perfectly. I already have a spiffy red tie so now I only need to have the suit pressed and cleaned.

The second bedroom now has a brand new queen bed for guests and the furniture is organized fairly well. Nothing special, but it’s clean and orderly. My folks will be all set on their visit in 2 weeks.

In general, the entire townhouse looks terrific. I put in bookshelves along the triangular wall on the third floor and they really make excellent use of the space. Also, it eliminates the need for a large and heavy bookcase that we really have no room for as it is. And the shelves are modular. Perfect. I should probably retake all of the pictures of the townhouse and put those on flickr.

All of the invites went in the mail yesterday. That is a fair amount of work now marked as done.

The days are long and our spring has been very pleasant. It has already been warmer than the entire last summer. I’ve been getting in a lot of biking via commuting and taking advantage of the 11:30pm sunsets. Far North Bicentennial Park is about a mile away and has a long, paved road through the forest and up the mountain that is a hefty climb. I can usually stay in the saddle the first few climbs, but after that I need to stand and muscle the bike up with my torso. I see moose almost everyday on that road, and very few cars.

It’s time to put my head down again and start sprinting towards the wedding.

10 pm Sunday night I noticed two high school kids rapidly pouring baseline chalk into what must be a senior week prank. Fair enough.

Using my Literature Degree

While digging through some old boxes and placing paperbacks on shelves I came across a handful of Endless Quest and Choose Your Own Adventure books. As a kid I always leaned towards the CYOA books rather than Hardy Boys books, though I have been trying to trudge slowly through the Hardy Books these past few years. I don’t know why, but that’s how it shook out. Maybe the spinner racks at the Chicago Public Library on 63rd street had a shinier display of CYOA books? I can’t remember the Hardy Boys books on display anywhere prominent, and also don’t recall anybody in my life pushing the Hardy Boys books on me. My parents saw me reading CYOA, so they pushed it (my father also read a few out of the piles I would take out every few weeks). I enjoyed those days and library trips a great deal.

I remember owning a few CYOA books, probably from the recurring Troll book orders at good old St Nicks. I didn’t own many, but after all these years the small number has dwindled to a single, perfect choice – The Abominable Snowman. It was a decent adventure, and it consistently fed my random interest in all things Bigfoot. It’s a fun book.

I still have about 10 Endless Quest books though, mainly as a half hearted byproduct of my collection of 1st and 2nd AD&D collection. I am no completist when it comes to Endless Quest books, but I do enjoy them and snag them whenever I find a missing one. Like most things that trigger a kid’s interest, I loved the artwork and descriptive titles. I bought Lair of the Lich and Tower of Darkness at Trost Hobby on 63rd street and read them cover to cover. A year later, in 8th grade, we had a new student that I became friends with -- red headed Larry Tucker. Since Larry missed Confirmation in 7th grade, they lumped him in with current 7th graders, which essentially meant that although he was Confirmed in the spring, he missed out on a party and any surrounding brouhaha. Larry got the shaft, at least in terms of presents. For reasons lost to time and silliness, his parents wouldn’t let him play D&D, so his borrowing those 2 books during school hours was the most D&D he was going to get (at least until he got to high school or older, upon which he probably wouldn’t care at all). Ergo, Happy Confirmation, Larry – enjoy the books as a gift. Larry moved away before high school and life went on. In my mid 20’s I saw those two books staring me down at Paperback Trading in Chicago Ridge and I snatched them up, along with a few others, trying yet again to reach a bit back into my youth.

Now here in Alaska, being well aware of how great Title Wave books is, I have been bitten by the bug to poke into the kids section and ferret out some CYOA and Endless Quest entries. I grabbed some cool CYOA’s, but not the exact ones I really want ed (Ghost Hunter, Mystery of Chimney Rock, Horror of High Ridge, Mountain Survival, Vampire Express, etc.). Unfortunately, most CYOA on ebay is in large lots and goes for more $ than I would expect. I did grab a cool Endless Quest book – The Endless Catacombs. Neat name, and an intriguing cover, which is all I need to flick the switch on the kid in me. I’ll keep checking Title Wave and those missing titles will start cropping up.





All reading is inherently good, correct? Even the stuff that fails to stretch the muscles I built up in college Lit courses? It makes my imagination spin. How is that poor woman going to escape from that crystal tomb?

Today we voted for Mayor to handle Mark Begich's departure. I vote at the grade school a block from my house, and today I was there at 7 am right when the doors opened. In November at the same time the line snaked down all the halls inside the school, but today there were 6 of us. Even though the mayoral candidates are less than stunning, there are plenty of bond issues to decide.

So, after spending 2 minutes voting I walked back to my truck but had to take a longer, indirect arc to it. I never needed to make an effort to walk around 2 Moose in the parking lot when voting in Chicago or Madison.

So I gave up on seeing it in a theater and opted for a rental of Slumdog on Friday. After finding it at the second Blockbuster I checked, we settled in for the latter 2/3 of the film Friday night. It was, very good. No complaints at all, but the soaring accolades escape me. When I think of the best pictures of a given year, I tend to try and answer a simple question: Will I want to watch this in 5 years for a wonderful reminiscence (Fargo) or some additional insight (Unforgiven)? I think Slumdog gave me just enough in a single viewing.

I had a bug to finally catch up with Little Children so I grabbed that at Blockbuster as well. Wow, was this completely overwhelming and impressive. It was everything American Beauty hinted at, but never achieved. What an excellent movie. I will eagerly watch this one again down the road.

After 2 very enjoyable flicks, I ruined it all on Sunday. I went to the cheap show for Last House on the Left (horror flicks should be viewed cheaply at the second run theater). Worthless. To put that comment in perspective, I saw Friday the 13th at the same dollar show and loved it. I'm a cheap date for horror at the dollar show, and this let me down.

It’s not spring yet (or even that close), but I’m doing my best to act like it. It was a few degrees above freezing on Saturday and the sun was fairly bright, so I decided to throw the new tires I had purchased a few months ago onto my cross bike. It felt very warm outside (maybe I am getting acclimated?). I followed that up with the installation of a new Open Pro wheel for my Orbea, still happy to be standing outside, even though the trails are still fairly icy and not ready for riding. Break up will come sooner than I expect though, and both bikes are now ready.

...

I’m never going to see Slumdog Millionaire, at least probably not in a theatre. Smaller films take the slow boat up here to Alaska, which is fine. While the western media was fawning at the feet of Slumdog we simply had to wait for our chance to experience it -- something we eagerly awaited. Bear Tooth Theatre is a great venue for second run films, smaller flicks, and great food. About 2 months ago they advertised that Slumdog was coming in March and we happily decided to pass on the full price theatres that had it and enjoy it at Bear Tooth. The food there is excellent and it’s a great place to watch a movie. We watched it come and go from the February first run screens and drove down to Bear Tooth Saturday night at 7:20 for a 7:50 showing only to discover that it was already sold out. Ouch. Bear Tooth is a popular place, but this was a little busier than usual. Hey, the movie is a hit and has a lot of buzz. Along the drive we started to realize that while we had hung around the house all day doing many small, vital weekend tasks, we completely missed the ash that descended onto Anchorage that afternoon. About 25% of the people we drove by or observed waiting in line for the ‘Dog were wearing masks. Once you keyed it on the larger snow mounds the glazing of black ash became obvious. Even though we busted out on the movie, we got a quick, fun tour of Anchorage post volcano. Slumdog is also playing at the other normal discount theatre (sans brew and view option) so that became the Sunday plan.

We showed up early and eager for the 3:20 showing, easily found seats in the large auditorium, and watched the first 40 minutes of a very enjoyable film. Then the film itself broke.

“Folks, we should have it fixed in 5 – 10 minutes”

Time passes.

“It should be fixed soon. At the end please see the manager for complimentary passes. Thanks.”

Time passes. Some people leave.

“It should be another 5 or 10 minutes.”

We were pot committed at this point. We also figured that the people leaving would guarantee the film getting fixed in mere seconds after they left the building.

Time passes.

“Sorry, but we’re just going to hand out passes.”

The lights click on and we wonder if we have a chance at seeing this thing in the theatre. I liked the first third though. Maybe next weekend?

I noticed another chip in my windshield the other day, though thankfully it and its 2 other friends (from the drive up the Alaska highway) have not blossomed into a spiderweb of cracks...yet. It is a very common occurrence up here -- I'm lucky to have made it thus far to be honest. It didn’t cause more than a shrug for me when I identified it on my windshield though. Add a point in the Alaska column.

I have hip waders in the back of my truck almost all the time. Point, Alaska. I also have an empty 5 gallon gas can in the truck bed as well. I’m almost at the end of my first Alaskan winter and I survived with a smile on my face.

So I guess I have enough points to be on my way. I don’t say “snow machine” yet, but I rattle on seamlessly about “termination dust” and personal bear and moose encounters.

There is always somebody around with more winters in their life and a longer beard to tell me I’m a city slicker and I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. Just give me some more time – I’m still in training.

Apparently it is the first day of spring, but it was 0 when I walked out to start my truck at 6:45 am this morning. Thankfully I have a block heater, which is worth its weight in gold. That engine starts like it's 60 degrees outside if that sucker has been plugged in all night.

...

I think I am slowly becoming more Alaskan as the days click by. Listening to the news on the radio this morning I noticed a report about March Madness and the results of U-Conn, but I only heard and understood "Yukon." My brain began skimming ahead to the Yukon river, Fort Yukon, and the Yukon Territory. Do they have a basketball team up there? I wonder what their Salmon run is like? I should plan a camping and fishing trip there this summer. Oh yeah, University of Connecticut -- the lower 48. In a small way, I've lost track of the world.

Aside from going to work and saving like a good little ant, how does one pay for a wedding? By gambling of course! We’ve got 4 tickets for the Nenana Ice Classic and several crossed fingers.

Call it whatever you want, it’s still the Sears tower. And it remains Comiskey Park as well.

It’s hard to come up with something to say about attending the Iditarod in Willow this past Sunday. The Saturday start in Anchorage that makes the newspapers is really a ceremonial start, and certainly has its place. However, the start in Willow on a frozen lake is the real start (they call it the restart). We trudged with our sled of wood and tailgating supplies to a patch in the middle of the lake and set up our operation. Soon our fired roared on top of the ice, though the clear, windless, sunny 20 degree weather was plenty comfortable. People were in a perpetually great mood, while walking around in every type of fur hat and gloves, along with the ubiquitous Bunny Boots. Simply a pure Alaskan party in every way. The crystallizing moment for me came right after we removed our stocking caps for the national anthem. We kept them removed as the loudspeaker crackled a perfect soprano of Alaska’s Flag, ultimately clapping and all rejoicing at the unique place and moment we were in. Alaskans really love Alaska – very few people here find themselves in the great white north by accident. The moment struck me as beautiful, crisp, and alive. I can’t find a recording of that moment on the internet yet, but these kids really nail it. It also helps that it is a really good song.

Eight stars of gold on a field of blue —

Alaska's flag. May it mean to you

The blue of the sea, the evening sky,

The mountain lakes, and the flow'rs nearby;

The gold of the early sourdough dreams,

The precious gold of the hills and streams;

The brilliant stars in the northern sky,

The "Bear" — the "Dipper" — and, shining high,

The great North Star with its steady light,

Over land and sea a beacon bright.

Alaska's flag — to Alaskans dear,

The simple flag of a last frontier.

Most of the time when I'm watching a food tv show that concentrates on a specific city or style of food (The history of pizza, Chicago, etc) and I personally know enough about the place to have an informed opinion, I end up annoyed and frustrated, which means I start talking to the magic box.

Why didn't they go to this place? What about that other, better place? Why do they immediately go to the tourist trap? Nobody that lives in Chicago goes there unless they are carting around visitors. I hate Gino's East. Giordano's is so much better for deep dish. My pockets hurt. I want my bottle.

After the whiny 5 year old takes a break, I usually end up getting sucked into the entire episode and wishing I was eating at Palermo's or Chi Tung. However, lately the tv programmers have been hitting home runs in my little culinary world. Anthony Bourdain's Chicago No Reservations was simply out of the park. He set the tone as one in opposition to the standard tourist slog.

Diners, Driveins and Dives visited Nick and Vito's on the southside of Chicago. I really do miss their pizza -- very thin and not greasy at all. It's almost like inhaling a cracker.

Man V. Food is my guilty pleasure in the lot. It's usually disgusting, but the host is pretty affable and his joie de vivre is exciting. His St Louis show had him attempting, and failing, to take down 5 milkshakes at Crown Candy. I've had the pleasure of eating their once, and I think I had either the monster blt or something smothered in chili. I do know that I had a chocolate shake, which was just perfection. The place was delicious and legit it every way possible. Maybe that is the root of my inability to avoid getting a shake every time I eat at the Snow City Cafe?

Everyone at my gig in Madison, WI knew I loved fishing, and that fishing along with camping and hiking was what drew me up here to the Great Land. So when the time came for a gracious and generous good bye from the Business Services department at my insurance company in Madison, I received a delicious cake with a large plastic Bass on top of it. As the cake was devoured over the course of the day, everyone decided that I needed to take the Bass with me, to maybe give it some degree of a tour across the ALCAN. I decided that the plan would be to photograph the Bass in as many places as possible to bookmark the long slog up the two lane ribbon into the wilderness before emerging in Anchorage. They chuckled and agreed it was a fun goal. For a reason I cannot remember, Greg's camera was nominated as the official Bass photographer. I had a nicer 35mm camera so I concentrated on the scenery and Greg gambled with out of focus, two handed Bass shots. His pictures made it into my email box today, so here is our meager attempt at a skewed parroting of the stolen and photographed garden gnome so often chattered about as urban legend. I believe the Bass met its end in an Anchorage landfill, successfully completing its journey.

Full set here

How do you train for a triathlon, even if it is a small one? 10 round trips in the pool, 12.2 miles on the bike, and finally a 3.1 mile jog. I'm leaning towards taking that on in Eagle River, AK May 31st. At the very least I'm training for it, and it's all about the journey rather than the destination, right?

I'm told by those that know that the transition from cycling to runnng is the real stumbling block. Moving from swimming to cycling is merely shifting from upper body muscles to leg muscles. You'll be huffing and puffing for sure, but you'll have those moments to let your shoulders recover. Also, cycling is my strong suit. 12 miles is a breeze. But the cycling to running transition involves moving from leg muscles to slightly different leg muscles, with plenty of overlap in the middle.

So on Saturday we head over to Elmendorf Air Force Base and I try to tear through 20 lengths as quickly as possible with no break between laps. I'm at about 17 minutes right now, which isn't too fast. After a few laps of freestyle I end up alternating breast and back strokes to best control my breathing. I'm hoping to get down to 14 minutes, which seems achievable.

Running 3.1 miles is actually pretty comfortable for me these days. Most days of the week I run at least that amount, though I only work on the cycling transition a few days a week. I'll pedal the trainer for 7 miles or so, get off and spend a minute to wipe it down, and then jump right on the treadmill for the 3 mile run. I usually walk 1/10 of a mile and then start into my jog. I can't wait for the snow to melt enough for me to ride outside and then turn around for a jog. Those will be the real miles. But for now I'll do my training on machines and keep building up my strength and endurance.

Do I train to exceed the distances? Or do I train to maximize my times at those set distances? I'm doing a little of both. I know this is an introductory level triathlon and I could survive it if I had to do it tomorrow, but I want to do it and walk away with a spring in my step and some gas in the tank. Also, all of this training is a great way to shake off any wedding planning stress or annoyances the given day gives me.

I'm a complete sucker for anything Hemingway related, especially if it sheds some new light on his body of work or biography. It just endlessly fascinates me. I feel that at times I see frequent glimpses of my life and experiences in his life and works -- particularly the Nick Adams stories. I happily do not have manic depression, but the stories of time spent in the North Woods of Michigan ring the bell of my summer days in Northen Wisconsin. The resonance continues into the themes he explores, and I just cannot get enough of good Hemingway scholarship and rereadings of the works themselves.

However, most new Hemingway media is a wash at best. This new film seems to be an exception to that though, as Hotchner's information should fuel a precise portrayal. Now who is playing whom?

...

I'm no fancy boy, but I have really become enamoured with a sharp Filson field bag I received as a Christmas gift from my uncle this year. I carry the thing to work everyday and look forward to hiking and fishing with it as soon as break up commences. Until his retirement a few years ago, he carried it all over the world for 15 years as his carry on luggage, so it is well broken in and also well traveled. Filson came into being to outfit the Alaskan Gold Rush over a century ago and they are still hand made in Seattle, so it is very appropriate that it comes to rest here in Anchorage. I'm sure I'll get a great deal of use out of it before it gets handed down yet again.

...

It looks like if I ride the Fireweed 200 mile race I'll be without personal car support, and thus without a ride back to Anchorage from Valdez. There are plenty of official rest stops with food and drink, but there is no official shuttle to get you back to the start. Hmmm. I'm looking into some carpooling options but the risk of being stranded in Valdez with only a ferry to take me to Whittier the next day is not something I'm completely comfortable with accepting (at Whittier I would have to ride 60 or so miles back to Anchorage). The 100 mile race option is an out and back loop, so that is a decent fall back plan. I really want to nail the 200 though.

What else can be said. Becky replied with a yes and I am completely happy and blessed. Late summer in America's Dairyland seems to be the plan.

I had read a long time ago that if you drank pickle juice before going to bed you were ensured to have crazy dreams. I believe I tried it a few times, but I cannot remember if anything came of it. I'm not a huge dreamer to begin with, so it might be an interesting experiment to recreate. If I even had a few dreams that night it might be enough evidence of the mystical juice at work.

I can say that crazy dreams come from reading Grant Morrison Doom Patrol comics (#19-53) before bed -- undeniably so. I don't know that these comics stand along side Watchmen as a stand alone graphic story for the ages, yet they are certainly not in place sitting next to superhero trades on the shelf. They stand alone in sheer weirdness, imagery, and mind bending themes. At first glance it may seem to be self parody, but it really is the core of what Grant does best. They are some of the greatest comics, period.The spooky yet welcome dreams of the Candlemaker and John Dandy (along with his floating heads) are something to really stew over.

It’s hard to get back in the swing of things. I was in Chicago/Indiana for a week and now I’m settled back in the deep freeze of South Central Alaska.

I could whine about how for the last 10+ days we have not broken 0 degrees, but people would chuckle and then remind me that I’m the one that dragged my life up here. Plugging my truck’s block heater in all night at -21 degrees helps it turn over like a champ and blow heat within 5 minutes. I’m surviving just fine, and with the weather going into the single digits if not the 20’s over this weekend, how could I complain?

I could rattle on and on about how the 5:45 train on Christmas Eve that was to take me to Rensselaer, IN was canceled at the last minute, forcing me onto a charter bus that drove around the block once before descending into 2 hours of failed door repairs, only to find myself in the Amtrak office at 9:30 pm being told that the door could not safely close, therefore we would be put up in a hotel in downtown Chicago before being put on the 5:45 pm train the next day (Christmas). After blowing in the Hail Mary call to my folks they ended up scooping me up to have me sitting at the kitchen table eating a delicious salami sandwich at 12:30 am. The story certainly has more detail and I’ve told it a fair amount of times, but I made it home for Christmas in the end so why belabor the emo whining?

It’s frigid here, but we’re gaining minutes of daylight every day. I fought Amtrak, but saw all my family and friends over the holidays. And I brought back my run of Grant Morrison Doom Patrol comics from Indiana to reread. Life is great.

I’m shooting for the Fireweed race this summer – the 200 mile portion to be exact. Thanks to J9son’s coaching help I should survive it. I’ve ridden 200 miles in 2 consecutive days before and I really want to see Valdez and that stretch of Alaska, so why not. I’m throwing my hat over the wall on this one.

I had my head down and I exhaled through the fleece liner at the top of my parka. By digging my chin into my chest I could get most of my face underneath the top of my jacket, leaving only my nose to contend with the -18 degree, windless air. I trudged forward through the snow towards Nancy Lake, staying warm by pulling the sled that contained the collapsible shanty, fishing poles, heater, beer, and other equipment. The lake was about 30 yards ahead and the trail was straight and flat. The rising sun was peaking over the trees in the noontime Alaska when I heard R shout my name.

“Chris! Chris!”

I stopped and quickly turned around, dropping the rope.

“Get over there,” he declared quickly as he pointed to my right.

I quickly trudged through some snow and turned around, not being too worried because R was standing still. Looking back in the direction I was heading, I was about to miss a large Moose cow by a few yards to my left. We both watched her for a minute as she studied us, steaming out white breath, before deciding to drift slowly leftward. We simply shrugged and smiled before starting again for the lake. I find that I am getting fairly unsurprised at finding Moose anywhere at anytime.

I wore three pairs of socks with my GoreTex hiking boots, and my toes were starting to feel the pain of -18. R had comfortable bunny boots like any respectable Alaska – I’ll need to get those very soon. The blinding sun broke over the trees and we both knew it would rise no higher in the sky this time of the year. The day was clear, windless, and Denali was out – a perfect day for ice fishing, even with the bitter cold. After selecting the place to shovel and set up the shanty we set to using the augur on the 2 feet of ice. Pulling a sled and drilling a hole in the ice easily makes one sweat in well below zero temps.

We settled into the shanty, turned the Mr. Heater on, started jigging with our Prince William Sound caught shrimp, and proceeded to catch 6 beautiful Rainbow Trout. The canvas wall on my side of the shanty faced the sun so I received a little extra heat, though by the time the heat buddy got going and our hot dogs started boiling we were happily fishing in sweatshirts with gloveless hands. Life is easy and simple and wonderful during these times trapped in a small canvas shanty alone on a frozen Alaska lake, drinking Rainier beer, toasting hot dog buns on a Mr. Heater, and listening to buzzing snowmachines on some far away section of the lake.

By the time 4pm rolled around the daylight was gone, the frost had returned to my side of the shanty, and we were back in our jackets, noting with sadness the progressively slushier beer. We packed it in, glimpsed at the setting sun and full rising moon, and smiled at a perfect Alaskan day.

New experiences

While cleaning up after dinner last night around 7pm I heard a creak on my wooden porch followed by a single thump on the door. My neighbor Deb usually is good for a quick flurry of raps with her knuckle, so I doubted it was her. However, I have not met many of my other neighbors yet so perhaps it was one of them. Or, maybe some kid did it on a dare. Lots of options.

Also, my Chicago brain told me it's probably something devious. No worries on that front because the door is dead bolted, thanks to my Chicago training. If I'm indoors, the doors should be dead bolted. Old habits die hard. Thankfully so in this case...

So I shrugged and walked over to the peep hole and peered through more interested than worried. On the other side of the peephole, staring directly at me -- our eyeballs 6 inches apart -- was a huge Moose. Wow! She sniffed at the door a bit, then proceeded to lick the snow and salt from my doorstep.

I immediately kicked into a "how do I get a picture" gear. The moose never strayed beyond 5 feet of my doorstep for at least 10 minutes, just chewing and licking away. I decided that if she moved far enough away I'd crack the door and snap a picture. However, there is a great deal to be said for leaving her alone. I see moose all the time and have plenty of decent photo opportunities. I stewed a bit on it.

She finally started drifted leftwards and I started to strongly consider digging out my camera. I'm glad I was torn about the issue and wasted time pondering it, because the calf then came out of the right of my vision, following its mother. Surprising the cow and finding myself between her and her calf would have been a poor situation to be in.

The cow Moose was huge and the calf was fairly big as well. I just settled in and peered through the small windows at the top of my door, happily being a voyeurist on my little piece of Alaska. They drifted on about 20 minutes later and picked a few trees clean of their remaining leaves.

Acta sanctorum, 1994-5

I have always been driven by and attracted to ritual. I guess I always knew that to be the case, though you never fully confront it until you turn your life upside down, move to a new place, and then realize that after a few months new rituals have been constructed and embraced. I suspect most people are this way in varying degrees.

These days I feel off if I'm not painting models (read: skeletons and vampires these days) during the 8pm hour and listening to When Radio Was on 590 am. I'm a bit of a radio addict (almost always not music) and listening to old radio shows while painting away under my skylight is just the perfect ritual to unwind with every night. Work, the gym, and dinner are all done. Maybe some laundry is clunking away and maybe I'll watch a little tv before bed, but the core of painting and unwinding at 8pm needs to happen.

Looking back at my high school and college days and summers I am immediately reminded that each night involved skating Walgreens on Archer, may it rest in peace. Every night, seemingly always "every" in memories (we never missed a night in that warm, foggy past), we took over the parking lot with tiny wheels, huge pants, pressure flips, ollie impossibles, and every other trend from early 90's skateboarding. Plan B boards skitted everywhere and noseslides where thrown down by everyone. Pete nailed the bigger, technical tricks, while the rest of us tore up the curbs and hips within our own skill levels. Everyone could stick noseslides forever on that long, filthy black curb. I can still see the black top rushing by my feet as I started runs towards the hip.

It's all torn up and a new Jewel these days, though I know video and photos exist in boxes somewhere in my storage space as testament to it's primitive days. Painting models and listening 1940's radio brought me immediately to the sad, warm, and joyful memories of a Chicago skate spot gone the way of dodo, though it remains forever in my mind's eye as a necessary ritual of my late teens and early 20's. We never got kicked out, we could skate anytime of the day, and Walgreens happily sold us all the Iced Tea we could drink. With the exception of a burly ledge or a staircase, it was a perfect skate spot. When people ask me about skating in Chicago and all of the great spots I must have haunted downtown, I shrug and just say I skated the Greenz on Archer and Austin.

Rituals change and give way to new commitments and circumstances. A few years later Scott and I skate Sportmart on 95th and Cicero every Monday night for a few years. 9-11pm was the basic schedule.

I look back a bit misty eyed and my parking lot haunting youth, though I wouldn't have it any other way. Warhammer models point me directly to pressure flips, 360 flips, and the glory of skate videos on youtube.

Here is Blind Skateboard's "Tim and Henry's Pack of Lies" -- a great signpost of that time. I watched it dozens of times and heard the music in my ears as I put together my runs back then. It has chukka boots and EMB and everything!

Last Saturday was either an interesting odyssey or a fool's errand. Take your pick.
A coworker invited us out for a day of late season rainbow trout fishing. The temps were expected to be in the 20's at best, though you never know. We were headed down to the Kenai River on the (correctly name) Kenai peninsula. It's about a 2 hour drive from Anchorage. You drive south and then up through the Turnagain pass before you find yourself descending into the world famous Kenai fishing grounds. Being on the other side of the mountains means the weather could easily be completely different from Anchorage. It was supposed to be clear so we loaded up the truck and picked up the boat at J's folks' house. Due to a few weeks of freezing and thawing there was now about 100+ lbs of ice in the bottom of the drift boat. We chipped at it a bit but only had a little luck.

After deciding on letting the road bumps buckle the ice a bit for an easier chipping at the river, we set off late in the morning down the Turnagain arm. J had been out 2 weekends earlier and had taken the mountain pass around 6am, finding black ice that sent the his truck and trailer sliding across the road sideways in the Alaskan pre dawn. The road was empty and they recovered well, but it was a heart stopper for the fishermen that day. J wanted a few hours of daylight to beat down on the pass so we had a running chance at some safe travels.

As we zipped down the arm past Indian, AK and then Girdwood, AK we soon were driving into some flurries. They appeared to be just trickling over the Chugach mountains to the east. We turned south and headed for the Turnagain pass. The light snow swirled across the road and did not appear to accumulate as we barreled through it at 60 mph. The sun made all the difference and after safely navigating the pass we ended up at Skilak Lake with a temperature of almost 30. Not bad.

There were definite fractures through the plate of ice lining the bottom of the boat so we began chipping in earnest. We had better results than before but it was still slow going. We decided to chip out the net and the anchor rope and simply leave the rest.

After about 30 minutes of chipping and loading we stood together, swallowed the sandwiches along with a few handfuls of chips, and set off for the river. Skilak Lake is very large and a beautiful glacier fed blue green color. The lake was fairly calm. We needed to cross it and sneak into the river itself where we would get on those rainbows. Off we went with J at the tiller. I've been in some nasty waves with a fully loaded canoe so I know fairly well what the tolerance is for a canoe. For a drift boat -- I have no idea. I trust my captain. He completes this lake to river crossing at least 4 -5 times every month. We were soon in 3 foot rolling waves and they were starting to splash into the boat. J cut it hard to the starboard and we broke a few big ones. He quickly announced that he didn't feel comfortable, especially with 100 lbs of ice weighing down the center of the boat. No arguments were had from any of us. There were not many fisherman out that day so the chances of getting help if something terrible happened were not imminent. Also, once you're floating in the glacier fed, even if you have a life jacket, you only have 10- 15 minutes before hypothermia will take over. You're done. So we trusted J and headed back in, having experienced Skilak Lake for 10 minutes.

You can't really blame anything or anyone for that kind of outcome. It stinks, but it's the chance you take fishing in extreme wilderness under cold temperatures. If we had any tinge of stupidity bobbing around in our minds, that was soon shuttled out in favor of laughter. The group that put in their drift boat moments before us was also unloading their aborted trip at shore. They were loaded up for an overnight camping trip on the river. After being in the water 5 minutes they were now rapidly unloading their boat. We asked if they saw us and the waves and decided to bag it. "No, we forgot to the put the plug in the boat. Do you have a spare?" No, and we held our smirks. These are the types of people that die in the Alaskan wilderness every year to mere shrugs from Alaskans and horror from out of staters. We are the ones that don't fall in the lake and don't make the papers.

After a chuckle or two and a recognition of the building whitecaps on the lake, we happily packed it in and drove away. We tried to fish from the shore a few miles up the road at Dot's fishing camp, but 'ol Dot wouldn't let us walk across his property to wet a line, even if we paid him the $5 to park. Thanks, jerk. We cruised back north dejected, but comfortable in our decision to respect Alaska. I'm local now and I can fish this lake in May. The fish will happily wait.

Wow

Walking through the store yesterday I saw a woman shopping and pushing her cart with her 2 toddlers. I glanced at her hair first and thought, "That looks like a way grown out chelsea." Then I glanced down at her Skrewdriver sweatshirt. Didn't expect that. Good plan, lady.

It was a pretty big shock to see that Dennis Savard was fired as the Blackhawk’s head coach only 4 games into the season, but by replacing him with Quenneville it is hard to see the maneuver as anything but an upgrade. I was used to watching coach Quenneville across the Hawk bench while tapping on Blues shoulders to send them in for shifts where they would most likely score against my Hawks. Times change and the Hawks seem to be a younger, stronger team then the Blues. But that’s all on paper so far, but I faith that the hawks will sneak into the playoffs this year.

…

A decent photo update, finally.

…

Winter is here. We do hover in the mid 30’s during the day, but it’s into the 20’s every night. The small amount of snow we have left may just melt before we say goodbye to these lovely mid day 30’s temps for good. Regardless, in a few weeks the snow will start accumulating and I’ll be playing hockey before I know it.

This Saturday I’ll be fly fishing for rainbow trout on the Kenai River. The temps will probably be in the teens, but the trout get nice and plump after feasting on salmon eggs this time of the year -- so you bundle up and hope for that enormous, once in a lifetime rainbow. Unlike salmon fishing, there is no way we’ll be taking a fish home. The trout are catch and release only so a beautiful picture will have to be enough (if we are so lucky). It’s a world class stretch of river and this is the way it will stay that way. I’m digging the Alaskan approach to the cold – ignore it and just do what you want to do. It’s infectious.

…

My Vampire Counts army is coming along nicely, and should be glued and ready for the November 1^st Warhammer tournament. I’m not too accustomed to fielding 3500 point armies so I don’t expect to get very far, but any play is good. Having just finished painting some crypt ghouls, I’m feeling in fine form and can’t to play weekly and continue to paint nightly.

…

I did finish Dennis Lehane’s “The Given Day” and felt a very flat emotion upon the final page. I love his prose and this book is no exception, though the great characters and situations just don’t pay off in the end. I understand Sam Raimi has purchased the rights to it, so perhaps the movie will come across stronger. The previous 2 Lehane adaptations were so strong (Mystic River and Gone, Baby, Gone) that maybe buying this property was a knee jerk reaction rather than a response to the work itself. For a 700 page book, I found it all consuming and a very fast read, which makes it even stranger to end up feeling flat at the end.

It snowed and rained a fair amount of Sunday, but it was above 32 degrees so all that water was more charming than annoying. However, it was below 32 over night so driving to work at 6:45 meant driving on icy roads. There were quite a few ditch divers and a few stuck on median by UAA. Fall is just about over.

Tuesday morning I awoke to 2 slushy inches of snow, which was infinitely safer than glare ice. No 4wd this day.

It had all melted by noon and we are again in the high 30's, though that will change soon. It'll begin stacking steadily by Halloween...

...

I have a fair amount of things to blog about but I have been awaiting development on 3 rolls of film. After stopping by Walmart yesterday to drop them off I was confronted by a chicken scratch sign: "No make CD now." Ok, I'll happily not give you my film and just run by Sam's Club on the weekend.

I wasn’t sure about racing last night – it had been raining for about 2 days straight, there is a race planned for Saturday, and weeknights are tight to begin with – but after staying a little bit later at work and nailing a critical code fix, I decided to clear my head and open up my legs and lungs at Russian Jack Springs. The trail was as slick as could be and many more people ate it than had on last Saturday, though I dodged that bullet – this time. A test lap proved extremely helpful and I was intent on hammering down my form and commitment to atone for Saturday’s ride. On Saturday I was still hacking a bit from my cold of a week earlier, though I had felt completely recovered – you never really know until you try to run it in the red for an extended period. Maybe I had some jitters on Saturday as well. Who knows, but tonight I pushed it all into the past and dug in for an hour with the only goal being to know personally that I kept myself on the rivet the entire hour, numbers and standings be damned. It helped a great deal that 2 sections of the loop were on the paved path – however short these sections may have been, they yielded priceless moments of recovery. I sense that my results are better than last time, but I know I pushed much harder over the entire race and felt the cross bug burrow deeper under my skin. Crashing early, I slept the sleep of the dead and satisfied.

Some new flickr updates. Lots of pictures from the source. And a story in the paper.

Pain Cave

Between the rain and moving into my new place over the last 3 weeks I have not been on my bike much at all. I’ve been on the treadmill at the gym around 30 minutes a day so my cardio is fine, though it just doesn’t substitute for time in the saddle. It is fitness, and it all counts in the end. It will snow soon and there is no room for any scheming and angling to find the perfect convergence of schedule, fitness, and weather. Cross season is underway and that is what my Trek is for, so off to the race on Saturday I went. If I suck wind, so be it. If I eat it, so be it. I know I will have a great time. I accomplished all 3.

This stage was at a rectangular shaped park in downtown Anchorage. The entire length of the park is a slow to gradual hill across the short side of the rectangle, and the course ran across the incline several times. Think about it for a moment – you are constantly riding sideways along a hill, endless leaning and offsetting your weight in wet grass to find a way to maintain a straight, balanced bike. Very challenging and slippery, though over the course of the race some safe ruts emerged that I threw my confidence into them. Even on the sideways descents you had to lock into an offset posture to compensate for the hill. Also, whereas in Wisconsin there were a variety of classes to fit into, here in AK there is men’s open, which is 50 minutes and a lap. I’m not sure if this is a function of a different set of regulations or because of the smaller field. I suspect the latter. No problem at all for me. You get to ride longer, everybody rides together, and you naturally settle into your classifications over time. I like being able to always find somebody to work with and never feel like I’m all alone in a segment. It also keeps it from being an all day event. I love the Madison cross scene, but we just don’t have the bodies up here for that large of an event. Apples and oranges – I love them both.

This also had the burliest run ups I’ve experienced. You ran up a sheer wall of dirt on one occasion. Each step dug into the topsoil making an indentation, only to immediately fill in moments later – a very hearty and resilient burm. The staircase run up was epic, and after examining the park layout it made perfect sense to use it. At a glance it seems silly, but cross is nothing if not creative and painful. “You know that 25-30 step staircase over there, carry your bike up that each lap.” It reminded me of the stairmaster, and that is always heart warming.

They erroneously placed me in the Masters category and I think I did more laps then they recorded, but I’m right where I expected to be – exhausted and smiling. More pictures are here, and some in my camera awaiting development. Winter is coming, but not without a fight.

Done

The cable will get set up in a few days, but the vinyl is spinning and the painting area is set up. Music, books, painting, and cross racing twice a week now. No complaints. Take the tour.

“The world today is such a wicked thing”

Much progress has been made and the place is looking much, much better. I’m fighting the tail end of a cold, so I’ll be taking a pass on the first cross race tomorrow. I might pedal over though to check out how they race up here. I get the impression there is a staggered start of all classes so you find everyone racing together with the divisions worked out later. That makes sense considering the smaller pool of racers while also adding to the mix and fun on the course. At least you can always find somebody to work with or a wheel to catch. I’m looking forward to that on the 13th.

Kitchen and dining room set up? Check.

Stereo pumping out beautiful analog music? Check. Hearing side 2 of the self titled Black Sabbath LP crackling out of my speakers while watching the vinyl spin around was amazing (I believe that side of the LP has no songs – the side is a song).

Now I just need to get the painting area ready and my essentials are all checked off. Time for the digital camera to get to work.

I closed on my townhouse Thursday at 4pm and it almost went flawlessly, though in the end there is nothing to complain about seriously. The seller is currently in the Virgin Islands and lives out of state, so overnight Fedexing of the documents became an issue. It appeared likely that I would still close on time though due to the weekend the documents would not arrive in time to be recorded on Friday, so I wouldn’t get keys till Tuesday. At 3:30 pm my agent worked her magic and all was worked out. The seller’s documents would be in Alaska on Friday morning and I would be able to get in there that night. Perfect.

I’m still not completely moved in, but all of my stuff from storage and most of my stuff from Becky’s apartment is there, albeit some of it is still in dense piles. We decided wisely to take a break from moving on Monday and get some wild blueberries on the mountain side. You could literally pick all day long if you have the stamina. We have enough for a pie and maybe a little more.

As of last night my kitchen is almost completely set up and I may actually begin crashing there tonight. I’m still in a bit of a haze about it all, fighting a mild cold, and cross season starts Saturday. Once this all gets sorted out there will be many pictures. Honest.

Oh, and the fireweed is at the top.

I don’t know what is exactly about fishing in the ocean on a charter, but it really leaves you exhausted. I woke up clear and awake at 2:45 am and we pulled out of the driveway at 3:30 on the dot. Even with going to bed at 10:30 that is still a brutal start to the day. I had eaten a full dinner the night before and planned on eating a decent breakfast. I have never has full blown sea sickness before and didn’t want to start now. At the very least, having a stomach somewhat full of decent food is probably wise. Too much or too little seems like taunting the monster. We crept through Anchorage in darkness, watching random people wander around the Mountain View neighborhood as they tend to do. I believe we passed Bird Creek around 4:30 as a few glimpses of dawn started to peak over the Turnagain arm while there were probably half a dozen fishermen standing in the creek hoping for a Silver salmon yet undoubtedly catching a plethora of Pinks. I’m leery of bears there on a bright and sunny day with 50+ anglers about. Brave men, indeed, though if the fish are running and this is the time in your schedule you have to fish, then have at ‘em. In the past few weeks a strong and pervasive attitude has infecting everyone up here – winter is coming soon so get out there and pedal, fish, and hike now! Sleep is not an option. There will be plenty of that in a few months.

I believe I began dozing when we poked into the Kenai Peninsula, only to be awakened by the exclamation of ‘Bear!’ as we made it just beyond Moose Pass, AK. I shrugged off the fog and watched a 2 year old Black Bear scooting along the side of the rode in the near dawn light as we slowed and gazed. After a few moments he shot into the forest and we resumed our 65mph push towards Seward, AK.

I bought my ticket for the Seward Silver Derby for $10 at 6:30 am before lugging our gear down to the Grubstake to meet our captain. We were told that the captain Marv is “not an early riser”, so we thought nothing of watching the other boats zip out of the harbor while we walked up and down the docks, ogling other fishing vessels quietly docked for the day as 7:15 slowly passed. Two guys, a father and son from California, walked up the dock to the boat, completing the 6 that would be going out that day with ‘ol Marv. Marv walked up at 7:30 with a bag of dead herring and a thermos of coffee. He made a few jokes, advised our smallest fisherman to put on a life vest, and quickly started digging into his engine. He poured a little oil in, closed the engine, and gave us a quick speech before heading out for fuel. Why he can’t top off the boat the night before I do not know. I also do not know why we couldn’t have left around 6:30-6:45 like everybody else in Seward. Obviously, if we catch a lot of fish nobody will care anything about these complaints. I know a great deal needs to be done before taking a group out for a day, but it is nice as the client to see all of that hidden. Get there early, get your handshake and smile, and find yourself quickly booming off for Halibut. Then again, if the guy has been in business for a while and operates this way, he must be doing something right. I guessed that something was bringing back a lot of fish so I shrugged and happily accepted the terms.

I found one of the few seats in the cabin and settled in as the diesel motor opened wide into Resurrection Bay. As 30 minutes passed and we approached the opening of the bay I studied the interactive map Marv had operating on his console and asked him how far we were heading. Marv pointed at a bay far south along the coast and from meager calculations I said, "another one and a half hours?" "Yep. Had some big Halibut there yesterday."

I have never felt fully blown seasickness before, but I've heard horror stories from many. I came pretty close in 8 foot waves on Lake Superior while headed for Isle Royale a few years ago, but I never went over the line. I take that as a good sign. It seems like the key is to avoid the smell of the burning diesel more than anything else. At the very least, that is one of the major factors one can control. It all seems like a crapshoot in the end though. We hit some big waves as we crept along the National Park and I preemptively put my head down. Aside from getting sick, I hate traveling hours with a diesel motor screaming. It's just boring for me. I like it for the 30 minutes we're leaving the harbor and the 30 minutes at the end when we can see the destination. I didn't feel sick but I was tired and bored so this was the plan of attack. By the time 2 hours had passed my stomach was a little uneasy, but I wasn't getting worse and I really wanted to catch fish so I decided to just muscle through it all.

As we worked for Halibut and I kept answering the "You look a little grey?" question with "I'm just a little tired" I started to get frustrated. I've caught Halibut before (it's easy) and everybody was catching them in front of me at the time, so why was I unable to get one on? I could feel them swallowing and chewing the bait all the way down there at 200 feet, but I could not get them to take the whole circle hook down. Eventually I reeled in a Skate that we promptly let go before landing a Halibut of my own. We were only 1 fish away from our limit so I was quickly handed a pole with a set hook on it and I reeled in the 25lb fish from the bottom of the ocean. Bam!, the captain locked everything up and we peeled out for the Silver Salmon grounds. We had taken about 2.5 hours to limit out on Halibut (2 a person -- 8 total for our group) and needed to really put the pedal down to get on those silvers. Marv looked at my grey face. "You'll feel better soon." The water was clear, I put my head down, Marv opened up the 'ol Grubstake, and I promptly dozed off.

When I awoke 30 minutes later I felt great, the water was calm, and I took the spring in my step to those silvers. After about an hour I limited out with 3 good sized fish (maybe 14-15lbs?), bringing our total up to 7. Not bad. Silvers fight like crazy and make my heart soar. Marv helped us get our limit and may have even cured my flaky stomach. Pictures are still in my camera, but they will be coming soon.

We ended up with 8 Halibut, 7 Silvers, and 2 Pink Salmon. I believe after they were cleaned we loaded up 100 lbs of meat into the coolers -- plenty for a long winter. I stumbled into the building in Anchorage around 11:15, crawled into the shower, and fell asleep at 12:30. 22 hours straight and loving it. I'll sleep more in December. The fish are out there now.

This has literally been the coldest summer on record here in Anchorage. Now, that doesn’t mean it’s been in the 40’s with occasional snowstorms on random days – it’s been in the high 50’s to the low 60’s most days. Attach that to most days being cloudy and a fair amount drizzle and you have a bit of a dud summer. Now, it being my first entire summer up here – I don’t know any better. It’s Alaska, I’m finally local, and I’m sort of running on perpetual adrenaline as long as there is fishing, cycling, and hiking to enjoy. There are occasionally glorious days, like this past Sunday.

We were off for fishing in Bird Creek at 8:30 am, but along the way we decided to drive 20 minutes past it and hit Ingram Creek instead. It has just as many Pink Salmon right now, though not as many people. If there were more reports of Silvers showing up at Bird Creek we wouldn’t have entertained the switch, but it was really more of a question of where we wanted to catch Pinks. Along the drive down Turnagain Arm we pulled over for a minute to watch a pod of about 9 Beluga Whales. If you glance past the white bumps cycling in and out of the water you’d easily miss it. Even in all of the wildlife Alaska allows to be readily seen, this was a bit of a lucky coup I understand -- a good start to the day.

We geared up at Ingram around 9:15 and began the 5 minute walk to the creek. As we approached the creek, making noise all along in the thick woods, we were struck with a strong scent of something rotten. We quickly winced before agreeing that it must be rotten fish on the bank, which is either a sign of some random dead fish or carcasses of fish the bears have left after feasting – either way it meant there are fish in the creek so we were happy. As we starting to wind through the dense forest towards the creek, slightly off the main trail, we came headlong into the source of the stench – a rotten yearling black bear. It looked dead almost a month. We examined it a bit and decided the skull was a bit too small and maggot infested to take for bleaching and display. Maybe it was clipped on the Seward Highway before wandering in the woods to die? Maybe it surprised some fisherman that were packing? We shrugged it off as it is Alaska and all and headed down to the river, though I snapped a picture on my phone while we passed. You are practically elbow to elbow on Bird Creek and fully live the combat fishing paradigm, but here on Ingram we were entirely alone. Glancing at the narrow braids of water we could immediately see enormous schools of fish. The clouds yielded to a blue sky and 65 degree sunlight and we proceeded to settle in to catching an obnoxious amount of fish. In 3 hours I caught about 35 Pink Salmon while also squeezing in a break and a hike down towards the ocean. My record was 6 fish caught on 6 casts in a row. Too bad Pinks taste bad, though they are plenty big and have a lot of fight. Even though we motored home towards Anchorage with nothing in the cooler, it was quite honestly a postcard/commercial day for Alaska.

My bid on a townhouse was accepted last night so I now enter a 3 week sprint to close on it. All should go smoothly, but I remain cautiously optimistic.

On the Coastal Trail last night I found a $20 bill and then a little later had to wait 10 minutes while a large bull moose just stood in the center of the trail eating leaves, before eventually meandered into the brush. It reminded of the Northern Exposure episode where Chris keeps finding gifts from a Caribou in the forest.

So, a very lucky day it seems.

Cross season is in about a month and I hope to take part. There looks to be about 6 races across a few weeks, which means weeknight races. Winter comes quick here so you have to get it in. Cross is so fun and the environment surrounding it is infectious so I suspect a compact season will only increase the intensity. So I’ve been more diligent in my daily riding, hoping to get my fitness a bit higher and my legs a little stronger.

My main route takes me from midtown Anchorage down the creekside path towards the ocean, where I turn left and head to the end of the Coastal Trail at Kincaid Park. 11 miles each way and no cars. Perfect to put your head down and set a strong pace, though you do need to be careful when snaking through the Frisbee golf course. It is far too easy to crash into the groups drifting across the path as they move towards the next hole. And then you have a few scrapes and walk away smelling like Patchouli from the collision.

I saw a few moose on the trail when I first started using the trail in mid May, but this past week has been en explosion of wildlife. I have always been told that the moose are always around, it’s just that when the trees get really full and green you cannot see them if they are even a few feet behind the tree line.

On Friday I came pedaling around a corner to see a large cow and calf lying in the grass, maybe 10 feet from the path. Beautiful to stumble into, and even better when added to the cow and 2 calves I saw on the way back. 5 moose isn’t bad. I guess it has the charm of seeing deer in Wisconsin, yet without the skittish response. Moose just sit there and chew on leaves, only really getting annoyed if you come too close or near their calf. Simple and very easy to enjoy and observe from a close distance without pressuring the animal. Saturday I saw 2 more moose and Sunday gave me 4 (2 calves). One on Saturday was a large male with full velvet. It’s hard to top seeing moose up close on your bike ride, but I did on Sunday. While tucked in on a downhill in Kincaid Park I passed 4 riders climbing the hill. They chatted with each other and pedaled smoothly. Just as I zipped by the last of them I saw a large black bear emerge from the brush on my left (which would have been to their immediate right) and hustle immediately further into the brush on the left, away from me. I went by at about 20 mph and he never considered me as he scooted away, but it did make my heart jump a bit. Very cool.