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.

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A decent photo update, finally.

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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.

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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...

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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.