Black Coach

I've been noodling with this model and base for a long while, perhaps a bit too long. I'd pick at it a bit, adjust a few highlights, and then scratch my head with more basing ideas. It was time to call it done and move on.

I am very pleased with a great deal of it, and satisfied with the rest. I had ideas for a more elaborate base, but decided to stay within the dimensions that would be legal on the playing table. If I had to do it all again, I'm sure I'd do a much better job, which is fine. I'll take that knowledge and confidence into my next model.

Alaskan Commuting

Once the snow melts, I am quickly back on commuting by bike here in Anchorage (winter commuting is a little tough as the trails are constantly groomed for Nordic skiing). It takes me about 25-30 minutes to cover the 6 miles, though I like to leave a fair amount of buffer time these days. I have a daily meeting with my east coast team scheduled for 7 am, so being late is really not an option. I leave at 6 am, arrive at 6:30, and find myself dressed and ready by 6:45. Easy. I allot buffer time in there for fixing flats, and also keep the phone numbers for my meeting on hand so if need be I can have my conference call on the bike trail. Adapt and overcome they say.

I have a healthy fear of the untimely, commuting flat. When I picture Archer Ave. in Chicago, aside from the wondrous litany of late night burrito joints, I see the littered line of locations where I sat in the early morning or late night fixing flats on a curb as people speaking English, Polish or Spanish drifted by me.

... 35th Street, California, Damen, Austin, Narraganset, Ashland, Throop, Lock ...

But those were my UIC days when there existed flexibility in being 10 minutes late for work. I'm in the real world now, and showing up on time for work and meetings is a given. So I have 20 minutes of fixing a flat time budgeted in to the ride.

But this is Alaska, and glass and other road debris is not as common as it is in Chicago. However, the large moose in the middle of the trail this morning is common. It wouldn't move even though several people less than 10 yards away were heckling it. It just stood there and chewed leaves as moose only have 2 gears: park and full speed ahead. This cow was in park, probably for 30 minutes at least. So I doubled backed, jumped onto a busy street, and hustled down a more congested alternate route. I made it here at 6:45 am, taking advantage of the moose detour time budgeted in.

There was a recent bear attack at the park closest to my place. I usually commute to work by bike at 6 am, though not through that specific park. I do travel along a stream that will have salmon in it fairly soon. Carpe Diem.

***

I really still cannot believe the Blackhawks have won the cup. Perhaps if I still lived in Chicago I could be more thoroughly convinced. I just never thought this day would come. I attended so many games over the last 10 years and watched a weak team plod around against much better teams (often the Pronger captained Blues) and always thought that after Bill Wirtz eventually passed on we would still have a generation of slog until a winner could emerge. I never expected it to happen so soon, in a such a dominating fashion, and with such an inspiring sense of team unity. The whole team is just a joy to observe.

I don't put too much stock in mystical sports rituals like wearing a certain type of sock on game day or putting a specific leg in your baseball pants first, though I know many pros do care about such things. I believe Michael Jordan always had to have North Carolina shorts under his Bulls uniform. But I'm watching at home, so who cares if I have that extra ounce of confidence when the game starts. However, once your team is in the finals, out comes the chanting and shaking of chicken bones.

While the White Sox were getting torn up by the Orioles in 1983 , I sat nervously in our bungalow's front room and rooted along. My father told me I should wear my White Sox cap since we were watching the game. The whole family and city were nuts for the Winning Ugly Sox. For whatever reason, I couldn't stand having that cap tight on my head for the duration of the game so I fidgeted with it and removed it. I remember distinctly watching Julio Cruz get moved over to third base with no outs, only to be stranded. I swear this happened twice. Each time my father told me to keep my cap on, only to have to keep reminding me to put it back on as I fidgeted it off as the inning dragged on. They never were able to just get Julio home. Frustrating. Each time the inning ended my father burned another brand upon my brain, "You should have kept your cap on. Julio would have scored." We joked about it, but here I am blogging about it 27 years later.

I have a Blackhawks sweater with Probert on the back above the towering "24". I wear it when skating around in the winter, largely because it's incredibly comfortable and fits perfectly with hockey gloves. I also dug him as a player, so I skate around like a nerd with his jersey. You would think I would have been wearing that sucker all over Anchorage for the last 2 months. Incorrect. I wore it the day of the first game against Vancouver, only to watch the Hawks get torn up like a minor league team. Was this the end of the cup run? Is it my fault? I'm not taking any chances. In Chicago most potential sporting victories are snatched away cruelly and forever -- Cubs 1984, Sox 1983, Bears 1984, Bears post 1985, etc. (I'm sure Cub fans could sing a dirge about all the pain they've dealt with, and to that I say good for them. ) So I sat and watched nervously as the Hawks slowly thundered to the finals, yet I still only murmured that they might win the cup while keenly hiding away my jersey. They won on Wednesday, and out came the jersey on Thursday night. I can exhale now and plan on wearing it often.

It is just so wonderful to watch Pronger lose and get rocked into the boards after witnessing his Blues teams tear up the Hawks all those years.

Sorry, Julio. At least I learned from my 27 year old mistake.

I never thought this day would come

Thank you, Captain Serious!

What a difference 30 days makes!

One thing I often wrestle with is how much the biography of an artist matters when it comes to appreciating their work. In most cases it doesn't matter at all. The words on the page are what they are and nothing more. In many cases, the story behind the creation of those words is fascinating (Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and very much Kerouac).

I saw a very good movie about Joe Strummer a few years ago and one of the new facts I absorbed is that Joe was a bit of a hippy/bohemian before he ended up in the Clash. He had a tight group of friends and everyone was pretty mellow and communal. He ended up taking a very aggressive turn in personality when he got involved in punk , even somewhat shunning former close friends that were still flying that bohemian flag. It's screams scene jumper, though I'm sure a more passionate Strummer fan could explain it away as an personal evolution, a need to finally express what he always felt, or the fire of his politics burning brighter. There may be truth in those arguments, but in the end he seems clearly a scene jumper, and one that made an effort to turn his back on old friends, which is the real rub for me. I have a real hard time with people that refuse to at least acknowledge that all the things they chose and did not choose in life have aggregated to the person they are today. Everyone wants to remember the cool stuff they got into before everyone else knew it was cool, yet they are reluctant to admit that they took some boring turns into mediocrity or pop culture. It's a pet peeve for me.

I still love the Clash and Joe Strummer will always be the man. Some of the optimistic leftist politics on their records are woefully dated, but I still love those records. Adding in the Strummer biography blemishes won't change that conclusion either.

But perhaps this largely rests on how well you know the artist. Maybe if I was a long lost bohemian buddy of Joe's I'd never be able to stomach a Clash record.

I went to Brother Rice High School, a very good school without a doubt, though people beyond the south side of Chicago probably have never heard of it (unless you count John C. Reilly). It and the surrounding neighborhood are not looked at as artistic incubators, which is perfectly fine. Few places are. I honestly don't think any place in Chicago really fits the bill either. Maybe time is too much of a component (ie. Paris in the 1920's, Harlem in the 20's and 30's, New York hardcore in '88, etc.). I do know a bit about the Rice neck of the woods though, so I take any art that emerges from it seriously.

There is a bit of a hot potato writer out there these days that is a year older than me that went to Rice that is weaving a biographical tale of high school punk rock identity and all the exclusion, frustration, and angst that goes along with it. I knew who he was back then and had a class with him, though that is as deep as it went. I was into sxe hardcore, metal, and skateboarded as much as possible (swap out biking for skating and you're pretty close to where I'm at today). This is a precise cross pollination of subcultures. At that time, even one of these subcultures would place you in a minority, so much so that you always had a sense of the other dozen guys in the entire school that shared that interest. There weren't that many of us so you could always smell your own. There is nothing morally superior about these subculture cocktails, but suffice to say he was not in any of these little buckets. I'm assuming he got into punk after high school, which is great. It just drives me up a wall when he spins these stories of outlaw days in Mt Greenwood. Maybe he was a punk rocker in his walkman, but he kept it well hidden in his IOU sweaters and preppy friends. Eh, I digress. Many people find him a very good writer, so perhaps he is. I'm too close to the whole deal, so I will endlessly cry bullshit. I am well aware that the finger here really just needs to turn around to me and I need to write some good books. Fair enough.

So who is the bard of Mt. Greenwood and Brother Rice? I'd vote for John Powers. I had never read any of his books, but I recently barreled through The Last Catholic in America, Do Black Patent Leather Shoes Really Reflect Up?, and The Unoriginal Sinner and the Ice Cream God. They are amazing and charming snapshots of Catholicism and Chicago in the 60's. It's not Hemingway, but it is not trying to be. They were very satisfying and poignant. The Unoriginal Sinner is the gem by far, capturing perfectly the confusion and desire of college life in a blue collar world. Powers was always referenced here and there at Rice as a local boy done good, but I never made the effort to track down the actual texts. Silly of me. I have now and am all the better for it.

Here's to artists proudly standing for their backgrounds, however boring or bland they may seem through lens of our current mind's eye.

I'm always fascinated by all of the little things that make cities and regions the specific and interesting places they are.

Bubblers, Culver's, fried Cheese Curds, shooting prairie dogs, what a hoosier is, a gaper's block, beef sandwiches, publics, etc. It all makes life unique and helps hang some decoration on memories of times and places.

...

I was at the bank the other day opening a new account which had a $50 minimum deposit.

"Are you going to just deposit the minimum, sir?"

"Yeah, that's fine. I didn't get to the cash station so take it out of my checking account."

She glazed over at 'cash station.' Ah, I forgot that is a Chicago thing.

"Just take the $50 out of my checking."

...

Lost was starting soon and dinner remained a question mark, so we opted for the quick escape hatch of grilled cheese and soup. I remarked that as a kid we always had Mrs. Grass' chicken soup with our grilled cheese meals. I can't think of another soup we ever paired with it, which might explain why I have no affection for tomato soup and sandwich combos. Becky had never heard of the soup, the company that made it, or anything. I was a bit incredulous and remarked further that my parents still eat it like clockwork today. Is this a Chicago thing? I believe so, though it is available everywhere. I'll be buying some soon.

...

In some ways, I was spoiled in West Lawn and never knew it. I mentioned to Becky that Dove's was right down the street and she asked if it was the same Dove's name that is plastered across all those lovely chocolates and ice cream bars in the stores across America? Yep, that one. And the original was 3 blocks from our house.

And we went to it about once a year. I'm guessing it was because it would always be there and so would we so we'll go again next week/month. It's the same logic that kept me from ducking my head into the Field Museum or Art Institute more often. Dove's on Pulaski is long gone and we don't live next to Springfield Ave. anymore. But the Dover bars live on.

It's kind of a bi-weekly present, but with an ebay flavor. You know what is technically coming and you know the quantities, but you don't really know what it will all look like. It's exciting.

Last week was our first delivery from Full Circle Farms in Carnation, WA. We signed up for a small box of fruits and vegetables to be delivered bi-weekly and specified the certain types of produce we wanted to permanently exclude (mushrooms of course!, beets, etc.). You get an email midweek with your list of produce and you then have 4 days to make substitutions before it gets thrown on the plane the following week where it will be stacked in the lobby of the local Powerhouse Gym.

We usually eat fairly well, but this past week we have eaten better than ever -- delicious and extremely healthy. I also like that way it is already stretching our palates. For example, it looks like next week we will be receiving purple potatoes. They will certainly be new to me.

It does reify our living in Alaska, albeit in a small, charming way. We need to arrange to have our produce flown in.

...

It may be in the 50's during the day, but at 6am on my bike commute it's usually 32-34 degrees. It's bright and clear and I'm pedaling trough the quiet trails snatching a glance at a moose most mornings, so you'll hear no complaints from me.

I've been rereading portions of the 1st edition AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide and it is more of a remarkable text than I had remembered. It's fascinating, rich, and well worth revisiting. This was always one of my favorite little images from it.

And, here comes some slushy snow again.

The plan is to take more pictures of Eagle River on my bike rides as it melts and document the emerging happiness. The plan is on hold.

44 degrees is plenty comfortable for a bike ride. The roads and bike paths are full of melting snow and sloppy gravel from the road, but I'm out there riding again. No complaints. I went on my standard 30 mile round trip to Eagle River, a place that needs a little more melt. We'll get there.

I should have photographed it, though I know there will be other opportunities. It was just so beautiful. The Kalua pork was shredded into a pile of tender meat and juices that looked identical to what we had seen and copiously consumed in Kauai. It looked right. And after smelling it in the crock pot for 18 hours, it smelled right. In the end, it tasted completely right. It's a cheap and delicious way to grasp the islands. We'll be making this often, very often.

...

Spring is coming.

I dreamt of fishing along a beautiful river here in Alaska with some old Chicago friends. They were catching King Salmon and I remained casting away. I then hooked into a huge Musky and successfully landed him after a long fight. I held him up for a picture before releasing him. He was completely tattered and torn up from being in the river with the aggressive, spawning salmon. There are no Musky here in Alaska, but when thoughts of summer fishing populate the near future of my life it's hard to keep the Midwestern good times from shoehorning back in.

There is still plenty of snow on the ground. I rode my bike to Stuckagain heights yesterday, which is a neighborhood up the hillside in East Anchorage. It was drizzling at our place when I left, but snowing at the top of the climb.

Spring is coming slowly.

The roads have been dry and dusty and it appeared that we were in a full scale melt of the remaining snow. This is probably still true, but not for the first half of today. I woke up to 33 degree temps and about 2 inches of wet snow everywhere. That snow will probably be gone by the end of the day, but it stands as an extended palm to Anchorage's burgeoning spring excitement. There is still 4-5 weeks left of high snow probability.

...


Driving down the Seward highway toward the bike shop on Saturday, I felt a piece of gravel ping off my shield. That is an Alaskan winter tradition to be sure. I had a few small chips in my windshield already, but no cracks. I chalked this up largely to avoiding the Glenn Highway on my daily commutes. Well, on my drive to work Monday morning my defroster found the little Saturday gravel ping and spawned a 10 inch crack across the bottom of my windshield.

I'm getting more Alaskan by the minute.

I really want to see this, though I have a feeling even the Bear Tooth theater may not get it. That's what dvd is for.

Alaska is a pretty clean place. The air is almost always excellent here in south central Alaska(though Fairbanks has large amounts of particulates in winter -- though not for the reasons most people would guess) and when you head off to fish, ride, hike, or camp you will mostly likely find beautiful, clean wilderness. Sadly, there is sometimes a random piece of litter to let you know that humanity made it to this little piece of heaven before you did. It stinks, but that's life. In general, Alaska is very clean. A great deal cleaner than Chicago, and a fair amount cleaner than Wisconsin (and Wisconsin is a pretty clean place). I'm beginning to split hairs here, but suffice to say -- Alaska is just about as clean and beautiful as you would expect.

However, as the snow melts each April we are confronted with our annual, dirty task -- cleaning up the trash. All along the roads a brutal amount of trash collects, waiting for volunteers to attack it within a few weeks in preparation for summer and the visitors it brings. It's kind of nasty to glance at, but it does make a cruel bit of sense. Think about it. All winter long random pieces of little trash find their way onto the roads, only to be plowed into the snow back . Our winter has no freeze/thaw cycles -- it only all melts once, and that is after about 5-6 months of snow. So you find a plethora of junk neatly assembled on the sides of the road, all ready for picking. It's kind of like getting the majority of the city's annual litter in a 2 week window.

Everyone is now starting to get in good mood as the snow melts a little more each day. The parking lots everywhere are turning into gravel and the trash is preening itself for the light of day. Soon trucks will come around and pick up all of the gravel and we'll get that litter taken care of. It's the annual eyesore before life explodes into green and seemingly endless daylight and we are all reminded yet again of why we all live here. Just a few more weeks...

This is the kind of thing that made the girls fawn in high school.

Great game.

The Warhammer Fantasy Battle tournament on Sunday was a blast. Honestly, as long as the sportsmanship is good, any game is fun. I missed the first game but played the last two, which is plenty. 2250 point WHFB games take a few hours just to get going.

I played the empire first and our artillery just pounded each other as we ever so slowly inched towards close combat. I got lucky as his cannon misfired and the crew was killed in the first round. In the end I won by a few hundred points and ended up with a draw. If we had another hour to play I suspect the game would have broke much stronger in a given direction -- a direction I am unsure of.

The second game was my umpteenth match against Andrew. Always fun and always good gameplay. His wood elves zipped left and right across the board and were always out of line of sight of my dwarfs and out of a flank shot from my bolt thrower. I made a few tactical mistakes early, but my Hammerers caused some Glade Guard to panic and I found some breathing room. After 2.5 hours he had taken 1800 points off my side of the table, but our differential was only 500 points, giving him a Marginal Victory. That's a lot of spilled blood just to get a MV.

So much fun.

...

After visiting Pearl Harbor I really want to build a USS Arizona plastic model kit. Revell makes one for around 20 bucks. I've built plenty of model cars and planes (and am building a Revell Fighting Falcon right now), but never a ship. Sign me up.

...

Though I play mostly table top wargames, I have a soft spot for old Dungeons and Dragons. I've played plenty of it throughout my life and have a pretty sizeable collection of the stuff. Lately I've had the bug to reread some of the older modules and rulebooks and have been having a lot of fun with Hackmaster stuff. I've been noodling through the Ghost of Lion Castle lately and then found myself standing in a games store in Honolulu, looking down on pile of Hackmaster stuff at 40% off. Done deal. I just get so much enjoyment out of reading older styled modules. It's such a cultural touchstone for me.

...

Facebook is nothing if not a grade school reunion generator, and good for that. While I have connected with a fair amount of St Nick's '89 Tigers over the last year or so, the reunion has only been mentioned as a good idea someday. It looks like an '88 reunion happened in Mt. Greenwood the other day. I recognized a lot of the people in those pictures. An '89 reunion would be a blast, and I mean that beyond the initial bald/fat checklist it would secretly be. I'd win the travel distance award for sure.

...

I took my cross bike into the shop for a new handbuilt rear wheel and a tune up. It needs some love after being shoved into a dirty corner soon after Cyclocross racing season ended. Spring is just around the corner!

Random Kauai

We had a condo, so our first day was a trip to Costco to load up for a handful of breakfasts and lunches cooked in our condo. It's a good approach to save money and time. We stocked up on snacks as well -- plenty of macadamian nuts, a locally grown pineapple, and oranges. I like oranges a lot and the warm, tropical atmosphere had me in the mood to eat a pile of them. So I quickly grabbed the 10 lb box, slid it in the cart, and watched Becky blink and smile, "That's all you. I don't really like them."

"No problem. I love them."

Well, it turns out 10lbs is a lot of oranges. We lost one to mold, and Becky ate a few. Otherwise, I at many oranges each day. Many.

At the airport we were told that any produce whatsoever cannot head back to lower 48, so there I sat slamming down 3 oranges before heading to our gate. There was nothing else was in my stomach.

Do the math. Even in the 30 minutes before boarding you can't go to the bathroom enough to diffuse those oranges. I inconvenienced the guy seated next to me more than a few times during the first half of that flight.

I will be hard pressed to not think of oranges when I think of Kauai. I still love oranges and need to buy some soon.

...

There are chickens everywhere on Kauai. I cannot overstate this. They have no predators and along with the wild pigs number around 300,000. There are 60,000 people on the island and as you can imagine these chickens start screaming every morning around 5 am. After a few days it became kind of charming in the way a unique quirk about a foreign place is to the visitor. I suspect the moose have this effect on Alaskan visitors.

...

Kalua Pork is ridiculously delicious. I think I ate it at least 4 times. We purchased some of the red Hawaiin sea salt and will be trying to make it at home very soon. It seems easy enough.

...

I don't remember exactly what my expectations were regarding the perceived high points of the trip, but after leaving I cannot forget the Na Pali coast. It was beautiful and unique almost beyond words. Our dinner cruise brought us close to the shoreline and it was magnificent. I still think cruising down Turnagain arm is prettier, but this was stellar.

...

Hawaiian prices are pretty close to Alaskan prices, so we missed out on the sticker shock most people feel when they visit the islands. You do get hit with sales tax though, which is always an annoyance to us tax free Alaskans.

...

The USS Arizona memorial is extremely impressive. While waiting for our time to shuttle over to the memorial itself we watched the 15 minute film setting the stage for December 7th. Halfway through that flick I was ready to bomb Japan again, today. Within a few minutes the context and history of things crept back in and I was fine, but for a 20 second window I was ready to go.

...

It is now light to almost 9 pm here! It's time to get my bike to the shop for a tune up and get ready for the snow to melt next month. With any luck we won't get an early May snow dump.

And the trip to Kauai ends in the Anchorage parking lot on Monday night. I'll have more to chat about later, but for now I am left to readjust to snow and mountains. It is nice to be home, but maybe a little nicer to still be in Hawaii.

Loads of pictures here.

The Iditarod starts on Sunday and we'll be in Willow tailgating on a frozen lake at the official start. It's a beautiful event. You stand around a fire, whistle down a few reindeer dogs, glance at Denali (it was out last year), and listen to the state song of Alaska as mushers zip by every 5 - 10 minutes. Aside from hoping Lance Mackey pulls it off again (even though he won't smoking weed this time), I've tried to pick out a few underdogs to cheer for. They won't be winning the race, but they certainly can make a good run. I'm a fan of Zoya thanks to her interesting journey from Madison, WI to Alaska. Also, how can I not be a fan of the first Jamaican musher? Awesome. This has Cool Runnings 2 written all over it.

...

It's really hard to think of anything but Kauai. We leave on Monday.

...

As I get older I have to embrace being an adult more and more, which means getting excited about purchases that are not exciting. A Colnago road bike is exciting. So is a new Warhammer army. A new front loading washer and dryer should not be, though it is. Our dryer went the way of the dodo a few weeks ago and since it was part of a stacked washer and dryer combo, it was time to shop for both. We settled on independent units that stack quite nicely, sing songs when they are finished, and have controls more akin to a cd player than a churning old machine. It's all very exciting and we still get a big kick out of using it. We're silly about it.

What to give up for Lent? Religious implications aside, it's a good exercise to put yourself through. I'm not sure. It really crept up on me this year.

...

There is a Mordheim tournament in a few weeks. Man, I love that game, though I have historically been pretty bad/unlucky at it. From the beginning I played the Sisters of Sigmar largely because I liked the models a great deal and really enjoyed their back story. But man, I could never paint them to any degree of personal satisfaction. I just hated any paint job I gave them. At the time I was painting a lot of Vampire Counts, skeletons, Eldar ships for Battlefleet Gothic, and maybe a few Warhammer Quest models. Looking back I am moderately pleased with much of that painting, and some of it still garners compliments when they hit the table today. But in that time period those Sisters models were puzzles I just could not solve. Just a conundrum. I must have sprayed them primer white 3 times just to cover up my painting attempts and start anew. So here I stand today -- a much better painter staring down a Mordheim tournament in a few weeks. It's reasonable to paint the Sisters in a few weeks given that the color scheme will be very similar on each model. It's like a showdown with a high school bully from 1o years ago. I'm halfway through the bulk of the models and they are looking great. I feel like my time away from them was well spent, and my skills have much increased. 10 years ago I painted in a typical high light driven approach, whereas now I push towards blending with solid layering as my back stop.

I'm getting to the point where I am not pleased with sloppily painted models, so I just can't rush things. I'm not an amazing painter, but I know when I am painting at my best and when I am cutting corners. My dwarf army will not be painted within the next month to any degree of quality, but the Mordheim models could be. I'll target the achievable goal.

Now if I can just get better at the game itself!

...

I usually attend spin class at least twice a week on Elmendorf AFB. The class is usually taught by active or retired military. It's a good class and the music is always whatever the teacher wants it to be. One guy is techno, the other 80's cock rock, and another loves 70's soul and early Michael Jackson. That class always ends with Thriller. Cool. However, this past Saturday we found ourselves sprinting to The Village People's "In the Navy." And I thought it was odd pedaling last month to Def Leppard. Maybe it's a snide jab to a different branch of the armed forces? I know good natured sniping is common.

So that's it. I finally finished all of the Homicide:Life on the Street dvds. I don't even want to count the number of discs/episodes/hours, but there were 7 seasons (5 of which were full seasons) and a tv movie. I had spread this task over several years, but it still feels exhausting to be done. And extremely satisfying. What an amazing show, and what a moving coda. The movie finale was just perfection. I'm not physically ready to start watching the Wire yet, but mentally I am prepared. I'm ready for more Baltimore. It looks like a strange permutation of Chicago's Canaryville smashed into old Bronzeville, with an occasional trip to Hyde Park.

...

In all my years of fishing I have never run into a game warden. Before moving up here I assumed that Alaskan game enforcement was certainly less than in Wisconsin. It's a bigger country, game is more plentiful, etc. Wrong, very wrong. Upon settling in here I immediately heard many tales of strict enforcement and commando tactics.

Case in point, a friend was fishing with people for King Salmon on a river after having been flown in. There was no one around for miles.

As a side note, once you catch a King Salmon in Alaska you cannot fish for King Salmon again that day. You cannot fish for fun in the same water. Your line is now dry so just drink your beer and watch your friends fish. Those are the rules.

One of the friends caught his King and was bored watching his friends fish. He figured that being in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness after being flown in made it reasonable to keep fishing. Maybe he has the hot pole and he can help his friends limit out? Makes sense. Out of the trees comes 2 wardens, "Why are you still fishing when you caught your King 10 minutes ago?" Bang. $250.

I obey the rules anyway, but still don't expect to get checked. Saturday we were ice fishing in Wasilla and out of the snow storm drifted a solo figure in all black with a definable gun belt bobbing along. We ended up chatting with the State Trooper for about 20 minutes, received some tips as to hot fishing on other lakes, and produced our licenses. The natural resources up here are a big deal, and their strict enforcement is fine with me.

This demonic moose was in our condo parking lot on and off last weekend. There are plenty of tracks near the trees just outside of our door so it seems that we're just missing this moose on our walks to the car or trash. I'll have another moose on my doorstep sooner or later.

I took a handful of pictures in Juneau as well last week. Our new camera is getting a workout.

All condolences to the family at the news of J.D. Salinger's passing.

Is it wrong that an almost immediate impulse in my mind was to wonder how soon we would finally see a handful of finished, yet unreleased works?

It's 36 in Juneau at 10:30 pm, which is a lot warmer than Anchorage was at noon earlier today (It was about 10 degrees in the blaring sun). Everything is dark here, but I'm told it will be very picturesque when the sun comes out tomorrow.

...

I never could stand Leno. I believe I tuned in once or twice a year if the guest was somebody I couldn't say no to, though all it did in the end was remind me how vanilla and unfunny he is. I can't stand him even more now and hope nobody tunes into the Tonight Show in March, though I'm sure enough people will.

I've always been much more fond of Letterman, even though in the last few years he's gotten a little too cranky. Still, he makes me laugh and he is the king of late night tv. So what of Conan? I figure the best plan is to find a place for him to do his show for 3-5 years before taking Letterman's spot. He deserves it and they certainly have a similar style of humor. That's how I'll lay it out when I'm king.

Looks like I'll be heading to Juneau for work the first part of next week. I've never been there so I'm very interested to check it out, although most of my time will be taken up chatting about J2EE, Flex, and LiveCycle.

Attack From a Forgotten World

I didn't see any of this, but we do live in the Muldoon area, which means we are the front lines of the Chugach alien assault.

Having grown up in Chicago, it seems I can always realize anew that I was plugged into yet another shared cultural experience. I love rambling on about the minutiae that fueled growing up in the midwest, Chicago, the south side, west lawn, marquette park, Brother Rice, etc. It's the charming cultural glue that transcends politics and jobs and responsibilities and all the other things that distract us endlessly into our own homes and lives. We need stories of the 63rd street Indian to crack a smile and forget the looming question marks of our future. Let's drift into the past.

When I think back to birthdays, I always hear either my grandmother or mother teasing that "Pretty soon you'll get to have Dressel's cake!" I had a whipped chocolate one every year, as did my mother, father, and grandmother for that matter. I just thought they were good cakes and hey, we like tasty chocolate cakes in my house. They were not terribly expensive or hard to find, so why didn't we just buy one every month or so for a treat? I wasn't smart enough to ask that question back then. They were Dressel's cakes and there would always be Dressel's cakes -- available and tasty. Well, sadly that is not true. I don't remember when they stopped appearing in our home, but I know they did stop. Here is the story.

The more I dwell on these Chicago experiences and institutions, the more I wonder if all of us little Chicago southsiders were just wooden soldiers marching along to beef sandwiches and vienna red hots.

...

Cross off another step on my path to true Alaskan status. No cabin or food cache yet, but I did sign up to receive my first (2009) PFD. Gimme, gimme, gimme!

Goals

We booked our 7 day trip for Kauai last week and we will on the plane the Monday after the Iditarod (March 8th) and home the following Monday.

The Warhammer Tournament at Brimfrost will be the weekend after we return and there will actually be some degree of points for a painted army. My strength is in painting rather than being a good general, so I now have my goal. 2 months, 2K worth of dwarfs. It's doable. Sprint through painting an army in the next 8 weeks and then run off to a tropical honeymoon. Go!

I'm getting a little more local everyday, thanks to buying some Bunny Boots on Saturday. They had my feet sweating at -16 while ice fishing.

As every winter really sets in, my movie watching spikes. I'm catching up on all the good stuff I missed while I was riding my bike, fishing, and getting married.

Everyone that saw (500) Days of Summer told me is was a warm, sweet, charming , and surprisingly deep and insightful story of love and relationships. I genuinely hold these people in high regard when it comes to movies. I was excited to see this at Blockbuster the other day and scooped it up without a pause. Usually I drift down the entire wall of new releases before deciding on a new flick to grab. Not this time. It was at the beginning of the alphabetized wall and I did not hesitate. After watching it, it was...ok. I enjoyed it, and the actors are very charming and perfectly cast. The movie has so much going for it and none of it is bad, though in the end it felt like a creatively organized flavor of a solid romantic comedy. I am told by those that recommended it that I am dead wrong on this. I wonder if I would have loved it much more if I wasn't married? Maybe if hipsters didn't grate on me as much as they sometimes do? Maybe I am just getting older and more cynical? I have always loved Say Anything... and probably always will, but man do I see the cracks in that when I watch it these days. Perhaps you need to see certain things at the right time in your life and just reconnect with those memories in order to enjoy subsequent viewings? I suspect many people would not love The Catcher in the Rye if they waited till their 30's to read it, though I read it in high school and always find those warm feelings drifting back each time I reread it. (500) Days of Summer is not bad, but not the great thesis on modern or hipster love. She doesn't like you. Get over it.

I initially thought Rushmore was a tight little masterpiece and The Royal Tenenbaums came up short, yet with a more audacious reach. I loved them both, but preferred Rushmore. I remember vividly seeing Rushmore on the mag mile in Chicago with Melissa, Jess, and the entire crew. We walked out of the movie giddy with the enjoyment of having seen something truly original and enjoyable. After a handful of Rushmore viewings quite a few years ago I sort of set the movie aside in my mind. It's great, let's let it happily sit in that trophy case. I kept digesting The Royal Tenenbaums and the layers of that onion expanded unceasingly. I was wrong. It had not failed in anything it reached for at all. Like Scorsese or Kubrick, Wes' work really needs a few screenings to unfold. We watched Rushmore again last night and while I still laughed non stop, I saw little cracks here and there. I always thought of Bottle Rocket as the learning experience that produced the perfection in Rushmore. Maybe they both were a big warm up for RT's? I still love Mr. Littlejeans.

I'm planning on seeing A Serious Man this weekend. That is supposed to be excellent. And World's Greatest Dad is on dvd now. Time to catch up.

Texting Fun

I don't often get random texts from unknown numbers, but when I do I try to play ball. Last night around 9:30 I received one from a 907 (Alaska) area code, couldn't find the name in Becky's phone, and therefore decided to respond. The whole back and forth took under 5 minutes.

?:Hey chris...r u and Becky in town for the holidays?

Is it a coworker from my former job planning a New Years party? There are all kinds of people up here that have their families elsewhere. We are a sort of pack of strays up here so parties seem to develop more randomly. I did leave my number with former workers before my last day. Ok, my money is on party. We're in.

Me: Yep. We're here in Anchorage.

?:Cool. I have banana bread.

?:Sorry for the late txt. didn't realize the time in my baking frenzy!!

?:Oh and if u don't like b bread I have mini cheesecakes too.

No party, but man do I like cheesecake.

Me:They both sound very good. Cheesecake is a fav of mine though.

?:Cheesecake it is!!

At this point asking whom it is may be a little late. Cheesecake is coming, though I'm not sure from where or how I will get it. But cheesecake is coming. The details are an uptown problem.

I woke up today not sure where it could be coming from. Hmmm... At this point I don't have the guts to mail back. Let the ball stay in their court.

The doorbell rang at 3 pm and there stood my realtor from a year or so ago. She was great -- just beyond great. And she was now holding 2 cheesecakes. "I'm parked illegally so Merry Christmas!," she smiled and shuffled away. Perfect.

...

About 6 months ago I had some similar fun, albeit without cheesecake.

?: R u going to kerrys?

Me:Yep. For sure.

?: Kewl. When are you leaving?

Me: In a bit.

?:Who is this?

Me:Kris. Who is this?

?:Anna. How old r u?

Me:How old r u?

?:14

Game Over. Phone down. Becky and I stopped laughing and let those texts slip into the ether.

I liked my job here in Anchorage plenty, but work there was drying up. A few months ago they told us it would be wise to look for a new job while also promising to hold on to us as long as possible. They had every hope that something would happen and contracts would be signed guaranteeing work for another year at least. They also promised that if anyone was let go they would be given 30 days notice. Given the economy, that's a very ethical promise. It seems that the east coast branches are doing gangbusters, but the Alaska location (which started the company) is not doing as well. The DoD prefers to do business locally. I guess I can see that. Regardless, the last few months have seen a careful polishing of my resume, a hope that a contract might pop out of the ether, and a careful attitude about dollars being spent. And Hawaii was put on the back burner. Through a priceless recommendation and a few successful interviews I was able to land at a new gig doing the same software engineering I have always done, yet with clients local to the state. It's more stable and the future there looks much brighter. I am very thankful to have avoided an interruption in income and the honeymoon is being booked any day now. Given the economy, I anticipated being out of work a lot longer. I really dodged a bullet and I know I am much luckier than most these days. Sounds like I owe a few Novenas.

A funny epilogue is that after my final day at the old gig I attended the Christmas party that night at Sullivan's steakhouse. Today, the following Friday, I will be attending the new company's Christmas party. Do I know how to time it or what?

...

I bid on things on ebay all the time, mostly in a completely dismissive way. "If if stays this cheap and I win, then great. If the bidding increases, I lose." I lose all the time, and don't really care. I rarely win anything with this approach, an approach which is really more of a constant litmus test on the weekly price of Mordheim or Necromunda miniatures. Minimum bids do not stand, until this past week that is. I guess everyone is burned out on Christmas shopping because I ended up being on the hook for a pile of great stuff this past week.

Talisman game and Reaper expansion for half price? Check.
1980 Dungeons and Dragons Electronic game for $10? Sure.
Dungeonquest? Yep.
That random, hard to find AD&D solo adventure I had been hunting down? Gotcha.

All at great prices and sure to fill the random holes in my Dungeons and Dragons collection. But man did they all come at once. It's never bad to have gaming stuff show up in the mail like presents though.

I've never had pink eye, though I've seen it in plenty of other folks. Last Wednesday I woke up with one eye sealed shut with gunk and the other full of plenty of gunk as well. After rinsing it all down with a damp cloth I noticed that both eyes were completely bloodshot. The night before only one eye was mildly irritated -- this sucker moved fast. At work that morning I read about pink eye and most of what I read said that treatment mainly masks the symptoms and keeping your hands clean was really the key. You ride it out. So I had somewhat decided to just tough it out before I came upon the nagging fact that it could permanently damage your eye in rare cases. Fine, off to urgent care I went.

At a glance he looked in my eye and told me that I certainly had an infection, but also that it was not pink eye. So they tested me for everything under the winter season banner of possibilities. Negative on strep throat, H1N1, pink eye, etc. I walked out with a Rx for some antibiotic drops and a promise to come back for the results of the eye gunk culture in a week. The eye drops then zapped it within 24 hours.

Well, it looks like it was strep after all, though it never made it to my throat. A round of antibiotic pills should kill it for sure.

I always try to not touch my face when I'm at the gym, and I do often wash my hands after leaving the weight room. It has to have been from one of the plethora of people there that use the barbells.

I got off light -- Becky's the one that had swine flu. No complaints here.

...

Is Maui the best island to hang around for a week? Are any of the islands really bad? I doubt it. We'll be fulfilling a typical Alaskan lifestyle trait by heading "outside" to our 50th state this winter.

...

I am currently knee deep in the final 2 seasons of Homicide: Life on the Street. I had plowed through the first 4 back in Madison after getting my wisdom teeth yanked, then put the last few season sets aside just to avoid burning out. The years have passed and the snow is here and everytime I head to Blockbuster I think about grabbing the first season of The Wire. I've never seen it and I'm told it will change my life. I want in. However, the little voice in the back of my head keeps reminding me that I need to finish the other, precursor Baltimore cop show that I have already paid good money for. Fair enough. I love Homicide and I really see a lot of Chicago (and any other decaying, northern, industrial city) in its depiction of Charm City. Homicide may seem a necessary stop off on the journey to the Elysian Fields of The Wire, though it is a perfect destination all on its own.

Thanksgiving was a simple, happy affair in Chugiak, AK. Thanksgiving up here usually involves the Packers at 9am along with plenty of Rainier beer. We missed the Packer game this year due to our focus on the smoker puffing away in the yard. I brined 4 large salmon fillets with a very basic brine. It was my first attempt at brining so I didn't want to overcommit to too many fish. Also, I just don't have the fridge or garage space to really lay out numerous trays filled with marinating salmon. So it was a test run, accompanied by a plethora of Vitamin R. My measly 4 fillets ended up tasting delicious after a 10 hour smoke in 125 degree temperatures fed by cherry and alder chips. Next time I'll have to ramp for more volume. No worries. It's not so much that smoking is a big production that takes a great deal of labor, as much as smoking takes 8+ hours, therefore demanding you to be in the general area for the entire day.

The conclusion is simple -- I need a smoker sooner rather than later in life (I suspect later is the probable choice, as the townhouse doesn't really allow smokers on our meager decks). Let's put that high on the 5 year plan.

Man V Food

I guess I am a fan of Man V. Food on the travel channel, though I don't feel like it. I always end up catching up with the episodes sooner or later, and I always end up disgusted at the end. Also, most of what he eats is not necessarily something I would like to eat. Why do I like it? My appetite for grease is long dormant. I guess I just enjoy the idea of a new city being explored down to the back room of a kitchen with some local chef. And it has been fun to watch the host noticeably plump up over the last year.

Well, the show that aired yesterday was in Alaska, so that made it all the more interesting. Oddly, they spent 66% of the show in Talkeetna. Cool town, but really? I had been to the breakfast place before, but I only bought some of their great bakery. Why didn't they show that? They have a very good bakery there. I haven't had the caribou burger at the other Talkeetna joint, but now I really want to do so. I'm not taking on that silly, huge burger that he did -- I'll just get a single, thanks.

He ended up at Humpy's right here in Anchorage. I'm not familiar with the challenge (it seems fairly new), but I am plenty familiar with Humpy's. I really dig the place, but for some reason Becky and I haven't made it there in a little while. I'm sure that will change now that the bug has been placed in our heads. I am not taking on the challenge though (It must cost over $100 -- 3 lbs of crab meat, plus everything else!?); I'll settle happily for the Bill's Way Halibut burger.

...

It was only -4 this morning! We're warming up.

It was -10 this morning when I started my truck, but happily the timer on my heating block did the trick. It kicked on at 3 am and warmed up the fluids for a safe start at 6:30. It's still flippin' cold though. The radio nob barely wants to turn, and this is just a warm up for the winter to come.

This morning I did pass a cycling commuter geared up with a light, studded tires, and lots of layers. Right on.

Once I arrived at work I spent the first hour chatting in the dark as the power was out for an hour. It is the last frontier after all.

The sun is out for the last few hours of daylight now and I can see the buildings and vehicles belching steam. It's almost time to leave for the gym in the 5 degree sunshine. We have almost 6 hours of daylight right now, and we ought to enjoy it because that number is retreating everyday.

...

Little Shoppe of Horrors is streaming tonight (and every Tuesday night) from 10pm to midnight (CST) in Madison, WI. Great show, great host. It's my Tuesday night destination.

Catching up

As of 8 days ago, we now have snow. There is only about 6-10 inches packed down so far, but the temperature is well below freezing so consider that snow a permanent base. This morning at 6:30 am I started my truck in -3 temps, but thanks to it being plugged in all night it turned over like a champ. I just need to dig out the timer so I can avoid having the block heater on all night. I'm told 3 hours is the golden number for maximum benefit in cold starts. It's only going to get colder this week.

...

I removed the seatpost and front wheel from my Orbea and placed the entire operation in the crawlspace. It's just not fun to have the whole bike in the dining room all winter. If I do get some riding in this winter it will be on the cyclocross bike anyway. Still, it is a sad note to sound. It is also a chance to hit the Elmendorf pool for lap swim a little more often. And the treadmill. I feel like I need to plan on the triathlon again, shave 10 minutes off my previous number, and power through the winter.

...

With the advent of freezing temperatures I have been painting more than ever lately. My Vampire Counts Black Coach is almost finished. I just need to base it properly and take some pictures. Gaming nights on Fridays are a reliable good time every week. Winter in Alaska is settling in.

...

Moon is a very cool movie.

...

I am pretty hooked on Scrabble on Facebook these days. Send a game request along, please!

Fred Meyer is the main grocery store up here (along with Safeway). It's an excellent grocery store that also has a the equivalent of a Kohl's and a good sporting goods store in it as well. Oh, and a good jewelry store. And my bank Alaska USA is inside as well. It really has everything, yet doesn't have an enormous footprint. And the prices and quality are very good. Everybody goes to Fred Meyer.

They have fabric shopping bags available for purchase ($1), though I think I ended up with some free ones thanks to a few coupons a year ago. The idea is to encourage their use over endless plastic bags, and to push this end they give you a nickel for ever bag you use in your purchase. Not a lot of money, but free money nonetheless.

Now, I can be a cheap bastard about many things -- in truth, about as many things as possible. However, I don't blink when it comes to special occasions, vacations, or bike parts. When it comes to most other things, I try to save money whenever possible. "Will this sale/coupon give me a little more money for Warhammer models, a comic book, or a nicer wheel for my bike?" Little things add up.

I like not wasting whenever possible also, so I'm all over the reusable bags. They're very durable as well. However, it seems that most cashiers make a concerted effort to not key them in when ringing you out. They want to make you verbally whine for your stinking nickel. In truth, I doubt they really care if they maneuvered Fred Meyer into an unexpected nickel profit. Yet it sure feels like they do. More times than not I have to remind them at the end that my $20 sale needs to be reduced by 15 cents. Sometimes they roll their eyes, but I quit caring about that a long time ago. If they want to encourage this good behavior, get consistent with the policy. If I'm going to eke out an extra trade paperback here or there, get on the ball. All those nickels add up to spokes and tires and handlebar tape. Their shame will not work on me.

Decisions

People up here are winterizing their boats and motor homes. In Mt. Greenwood Tom is draining his Harley and getting it ready for a long rest. I'm triaging my bikes and shuffling the needs and wants into a Spring '10 wish list.

The Trek cross bike has been through a war zone. It is 3 years old and has 3 years of racing in it, and most parts are still original. That is impressive, but also telling. It tells me that I should not sweat it that the frame is scratched everywhere, the rear wheel only stays true for about 20 minutes after it is adjusted, the shifting is suggestive at best, and the brakes are left to merely apply a general soft friction to the rims. The bike was a great deal, has served me well, and was actually welded and constructed in Waterloo, WI. That is cool. I wish it had a sharper paint job, but that is a small complaint. I really want a steel Lemond Poprad or a Gary Fisher Presidio, but how can I justify the jettisoning of a Wisconsin made friend that still has life left in it. I spin stories of putting it out to stud as a commuter, but I don't believe that is fair. It can stay filthy and maladjusted in my garage all winter and when the long days of April start to appear I'll take it down to Chain Reaction for an epic tuneup and a burly handbuilt rear DT Swiss wheel. I'll show the Trek some love and it will shine again next cross season. I still want a Wisconsin made steel cross bike (Lemond/Fisher) though.

My Orbea road bike is entering the off season a little less wounded. It has that overall sloppy, loose feeling, which an April tuneup will happily fix. I don't think it needs the large influx of parts ($$$) that the Trek does though.

So I'll do my usual fall mail ordering of parts, tires, chains, and handlebar tape to take advantage of the year end sales. The snow has not fallen yet, but it will any day now. It's sad to see the bikes being put away for a nap, but unfortunately the trails in Anchorage are groomed for cross country skiiing (unlike the plowing and salting they receive in Chicago/Madison). Come April the bikes will emerge shinier and faster.

I’ve never been particularly fast in cross races, but I did have my fastest season this year. And, I have finished stronger in each subsequent race this season, which says something. It’s usually easier to finish higher earlier in the season when more new riders show up for the first exposures to the sport. At the end of the season you’re left with the people that are much more serious, and consequently much faster than me.

The race on Saturday was in a 55 degree rain (thanks, El Nino!) and had 3 long segments across the beach. By the start of the race, all of the practice laps had turned the beach into an enormous deep and long sandpit. It was brutal, but how could a cross race be any different?

I started off towards the rear and kept position for the first 25 minutes. As the race went on more and more people started to just dismount for 2 of the sandpits (the third pit was fairly firm). The main stretch of one pit was a cavern that was not even navigable on the first lap so I carried the bike through that one. The other pit was doable if you reached really deep and had your gear selected properly before you were in the pit. After those first 25 minutes I decided that I was not going to dismount for that pit, and quickly found myself passing a few people here and there in those moments. This was the last race of the year and the sand had already turned my bike into a grinding cement mixer, so I embraced the rain and mud and filth and tried to put all I had out there.

I picked off a few more riders on some of the flats and barriers and only was passed by the lead pack. I held my own in my little group. I came nowhere close to winning, but I finished the race on a personal high note – one that gives me a good deal to build on for next year.

I enjoy the book A Separate Peace, particularly the small kernels of wisdom it contains about social behavior. Phineas is fairly close to a perfect friend in many moments. I am thinking specifically about the scene where he jumps in the pool, swims all out, and finds that he has broken the school record. He and Gene are the only ones there and he has Gene promise that this record will remain a secret. They know, so who cares if anyone else does?

The results on the cross race had me only riding 6 laps, whereas all the people I passed were marked at 8 laps. I lost of lot of points in that slip up, and I know I counted 8 laps while I pedaled. So I’ll take a cue from Phineas and just keep that one in my pocket for myself. I know it may nullify my altruistic intentions by announcing that all here, but I don’t think too many people read this blog. Also, who wants to hear somebody whine about their race results so instead of finishing the bottom quarter of the field you can finish in the bottom third? Big deal.

It’s a great book, and now I want to reread it (again). And with some off season work 2010 can be an even stronger cycling season. Good plans all around.

A Cyclocross race has its own pattern and heartbeat. If you have a chance at winning(which I do not), the first lap is a high intensity chess match of positioning. If you get snaked or end up behind someone slow or crash prone, it is almost impossible to climb back up the field. The first lap is also almost completely adrenaline. You settle in actual breathing in the second lap. Given the pacing and tension in the first few laps as you angle for positions and attempt to settle into a sustainable pace, I end up with random songs or thoughts stuck in 5 second loops in my brain, not unlike a scratched lp or cd. Everything is immediate and quick and there is simply no room for thoughts or songs to develop beyond their main point or hook.

For the first 3 laps all I could think of was an endless loop of the refrain to Judas Priest's "Painkiller." I don't really love Priest, but they are catchy enough to give me a chuckle now and again. By the second half of the race I actually settled into complete thoughts, though I was still left with a need to rewatch "Heavy Metal Parking Lot" from 1986. It's simply amazing and frightening at the same time. Completely hilarious, and the Priest songs kind of rock. It is below across 2 youtube clips and totals 17 minutes.

The weather was not optimal, but it was not as bad as it could have been. It could have easily snowed. It varied between 37-47 degrees, was cloudy, and intermittently rained. While never terribly comfortable, it never became too uncomfortable to not leave the truck. The park was full blown orange and red, with the spruce the only green to be found.



The scorecard (in order):
2 Bull Moose
A single grizzly eating berries
A snowshoe hare.
A sow and a cub atop a mountain ridge digging furiously. Dirt and rock flitted through the air. The image was striking and crisp as it framed itself on the ridge with overcast clouds in the background.
Sheep everywhere, all the time.
A half dozen Ptarmigan in what seemed like their full white winter colors. This seemed a bit early, but maybe we just don't want to accept that Denali will be covered in snow within weeks.
A single wolf walking slowly in a small yellow clump of grass. After watching for a few moments in binoculars the other 3 bedded down wolves came into focus. 4 wolves!
2 large Bull Moose and a nearby Cow, which was wearing a collar of some sort. The bulls were very close to the road and quietly stood still as the shutters clicked away.



After a 10 hour round trip to Kantishna we were ready for dinner, a warm campfire, and a good night's sleep. Even though the chilly weather obscured the mountain and we did not see any of the seemingly ubiquitous Caribou, it was a beautiful day in the park and how disappointed can you be when you had the chance to observe wolves?

This coming weekend is a big one. A few months ago we won Denali road permits – Becky on Sunday the 20th and me on the 19th. Normally the single gravel road in Denali is accessible by National Park tour buses, thus avoiding the congestion and bumper to bumper traffic found in Yellowstone, particularly in places where animals are visible or close to the road. In Denali the bus ensures that the roads never become Michigan Avenue in Chicago. It’s a good system.

For a 4 day weekend every mid September the road opens up to public traffic, providing you have sent in your $10 entry fee and been luckily chosen. Last year Becky and I ended up donating our $20. Her brother quit trying a few years ago after only donating endlessly to our national parks service. This year is the big field trip. He’ll be hauling up the fifth wheel and we’ll drive up separately on Friday night to collectively set up camp at the Riley Creek campground. It looks like we will hit 50 degrees as a high this weekend, but late at night it will hover around 32. Thankfully the canvas tent has a potbelly stove in it, which I understand often makes it too hot. That’s a chance I’ll happily take. My nylon tent is making the trip and if need be I’ll use it, but I hope that doesn’t happen. I’ve camped before where we’ve found the previous night’s soup frozen solid in the morning, so I know I could handle 32 degrees, though I’m quite certain that I would rather not do so. Hey, the mosquitoes should be dead come dusk though.

Camping in Denali and being able to take our time snaking through the single gravel vein slicing its way across the vast tundra is a privilege. The snow has not flown yet and we must snatch our moments from autumn before it does.

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.