Summer plans are shaping into focus and I'm attempting to carve my plans and goals into that time of seemingly endless sunlight. It might not be bright and sunny, but it will not be dark.

TODO:
Halibut fishing (the freezer only has 3 lbs of filets left!)
Crow Pass Trail
 Eagle River Triathlon?
Fireweed bike race?

The last 2 need planning and specific gym goals.  Given that we just received a bunch of snow, cross country skiing is back in prime form, so cycling specific training is at hand yet again.

This has been a brutally, worthless winter. It started out with minimal snow followed by -15 temps for several weeks. I don't mind the cold, but we were stuck with too little snow to get out on skis and enjoy the trails. So we waited.

Finally it warmed up and good snow came. I was able to xc ski for 2 weeks before we ended up with 5 days of 40 degree temps. So now the snow is back down to its non-fun level.

There still has been no new snow and we are facing a weekend of rain. It's just odd. The temperatures have been plenty cold for a legit Alaskan winter, but the snow has not come.

Running on the treadmill everyday is not enough to keep my legs where I want them for the 2013 bike season.

Yes, I know I own a bike trainer. I have never enjoyed it, and there is just isn't enough room for it in our townhouse while an 18 month old Henry tears around.

C'mon snow.

As with most models I paint or build, I always know I could do it better if I had another shot. I'd like to think I get a bit better each time, whether it's learning a new trick or finding a perfect way to blend a specific color.

The F-15 below has many miles on it. I purchased it in middle school because it was one of my favorite planes. I was building quite a few models back then and was decent at it. However, I knew I wasn't good enough to do the F-15 justice yet, so I wisely shelved it. Plastic will last just fine.

Due to a variety of reasons, it followed me from Chicago, to a barn in Indiana, to Madison, and eventually to Anchorage. I knew I did not want to throw it away, so it sat happily in a box with several other unbuilt model planes. I knew I'd build them all some day (plastic lasts). After building a F-4  and hanging it in my son's room, I quickly realized the kid needs more planes to point and smile at, so out came the F-15.

I like a lot of it, cringe at a few places I was sloppy, but in the end couldn't he happier because my son loves it flying just below the top of his ceiling. Not bad for a 25 year old kit.



Yes, I know that it is assembled to sit in the hangar, not up in the air.

I really wish we could finally get some snow. Granted, there is about 6 inches of snow that has been lingering for 7 weeks, but it's not enough to ski on . And the -10 temps are getting old. Please, come on snow!

My favorite new bumper sticker around town:

Alaska is full. Try the Yukon.

While slowly urging my Orbea up all 2000 feet of steep Hiland Road, I passed two men clearing some brush next to a driveway. I was standing on the bike and huffing and puffing as I ground the pedals in a slow circle. They caught my eye because they were wearing kilts. Yes, kilts. They smiled at me and one offered this perfect sentence in an American accent:

Our labors are no easier nor worse than yours, so we wish you well on your climb.

That is the coolest thing I've been told in a long time.

Alaskan Alleycat

To the best of my knowledge, there are no alleycat bike races here in Alaska. I've heard of cute little scavenger hunts amongst some hipster circles, but it seems that all racing here is legal and organized. I've never placed very well in alleycats, though I have participated in my fair share in Chicago and Madison. I loved them all but with a family and a mortgage these days the thrill of burning red lights indiscriminately just to get to the pbr a little quicker does not have the allure it once had. I burn my red lights with a little more tact. The goal is now to get a good ride in and get to work safely.

If I designed an alleycat up here, I suspect it would be like my Saturday last week -- ride 24 miles out to Chugiak, pound a Clif Bar, change into Carhartts, work on the septic drainage field for the rest of the day, have dinner, work a bit more, and finally pedal the 24 miles home at 9pm. I arrived home at 10:30 pm with just as much blaring sunlight as when I left earlier that day. I was certainly a bit tired, but you just can't waste warm, long, sunny days up here.

The timing was really perfect. Becky and Henry were back in Wisconsin and I was in the midst of 14 days of bachelorhood. My job sent me to Juneau for a day to chat with the client and enjoy some of the best weather Southeast Alaska could hope for all year -- 70's and sunny. There were only 2 cruise ships in town so the amount of "tourons" (tourists + morons) was reasonable, though they did dominate the downtown -- newlyweds and nearly-deads they say. Our meeting went well and quickly so we had some free time to cruise around all 44 miles of Juneau's road system.

Juneau is a beautiful town and I'd really like to get back there for a few more days and just drift around and soak it in. Hell, I'd even go on a cruise ship. Sometimes you just have to throw it all out the window, declare yourself a tourist, and not care what the annoyed locals (whom you will never see again) think.

I'm sure when I get back there will be nothing but rain. It would still probably come off as a pretty place.







More Juneau pictures here.

Finally, after an epic amount of time, the last remaining pile of snow melted on Sunday. We awoke to our shady deck finally bare. The shade did not help, but this is still a little late in the year to finally see wood everywhere out there.

All the bikes here now have new chains and tires and have been cleaned and tightened up. The trails are dry, clean, and exploding with riders and pedestrians. Time to start climbing the 2000 feet up Hiland road in Eagle River. I suspect there is still snow up there.

As I hike through the neighboring bog this time of the year I am reminded daily that cows are dropped calves any time now. The moose deserve some extra space this month.

Growing up, I never knew that Dressel's cake was a uniquely Chicago treat. I only knew that those frozen cakes appeared for my birthday every year. And I loved every one of them. They were not terribly fancy, but now that they are gone I really would like to have one. It looks like that will be possible as some wonderful soul has cracked the code.

...

Becky had knee surgery last week and everything went exactly as expected -- tears were fixed and soreness lingers. Henry and I spent quite a few hours cruising throughout the hospital, looking at the mountain views, and checking out the folks drifting about. Most of the folks are either employees or patients and it was a somewhat jarring experience. The last time I was in the hospital Becky was having Henry so my walks were mainly through the maternity ward, which is a place filled with happy people living on some degree of recently found energy. This time I saw almost every place except the maternity ward, and in general that is not as happy a  tour. I understand terrible health problems happen for a variety of reasons well beyond our control, but it sure looks like many are slow moving train wrecks due to atrocious eating and activity habits. Within a few minutes of settling on this thought, I decided to make an even better effort to be a healthy person. I feel that I do a pretty good job already, but there is always a little more to do. I'd like to live long and strong. 

...

Today in Anchorage was Bike To Work day and when I left my house at 6:30 it was 32 degrees. There was a noticeable surge in new riders using the trails and they all seemed to be dressed in one of two ways: ready to go ice fishing or freezing in their free 2012 BTW t-shirt.  Hopefully these folks are out on the trails next week with a simple fleece and some modest gloves.

The snow may be melting outside, but winter is not over for another month at least. It also seems that we get a dump of snow in early May every few years. The winter threat lingers. It's still perfect weather for crock pot projects and digging around in the freezer. I grabbed the frozen ham bone from Christmas and attempted one of my favorite soups -- split pea. I've always loved it, yet never made it in the crock pot. After some quick googling I had a well reviewed recipe and was off.



It was excellent!

In yet another step in my pursuit of Alaskana, I completed my Hunter's Safety course this past weekend. Most of it is self explanatory, though all extremely useful. Handling different weapons was also well worth the time. At the completion we shot a bit with .22's and needed to pass a very liberal accuracy threshold. Everyone completed it on the first try, which says something considering we could not use a rest. I was quite impressed at my shot clustering considering I was shooting from a kneeling posture. I'm sure I'll get better as practice increases.

I now need to take my time choosing the proper caliber and rifle for big game here in Alaska. Thankfully, the range has rifles for public use so determining the round that fits me will be relatively inexpensive. I'd like to buy one rifle and enjoy it for the next 40 years.

Finding time to hunt is the greater challenge. Aside from cycling races, fishing trips, and canoe trips, my year is fairly booked. The hope is that  next year I will be able to book a solid week of hunting after dabbling on a few weekends this fall.

There are infinite hunting options here in the great white north. I just need to live long and strong to take them all on.

We have had well over 100 inches of snow, and here we stand facing 2 more months of winter. We are on track to break coldest and snowiest winter records here in Anchorage, so let's just go for it. This means that we south central Alaskans need to trim some inches from our roofs. Technically, our roofs are rated for well more snow than we have, but does anyone want to prove it for 2 more months? Where is the prize in that? The condo association decided to pony up for some roof shoveling -- wise move.



If I have a single story house in the future,  I will probably shovel the roof myself. Watching these guys shovel our 3 story town homes, one is immediately struck by the use of harnesses. I'll tuck that fact away for the future. One annoying coda is the coke can one of the workers left on our roof. Keep it classy, guys.

Our deck sits along an outdoor closet that contains the hot water heater and boiler. Add it all up and you have a good place for a mouse to hide out. Occasionally we would see a certain mouse running across the snow covered deck. There is no way for it to get into our home, so it was a very charming thing to observe. It would often run and climb into our small gas grill, usually after we had grilled chicken or steak. He never came around after grilled fish though. I guess cow grease is infinitely tastier.

After these past weeks of -17 temps he finally hit the wall. It seems that one climbing expedition into the grill resulted in a stuck tail, which spiraled into a frozen doom.

Chicago is inescapable. It finds you everywhere and reminds you that it is still part of your world, mostly in happy ways. I walked out to my truck to head off for some -18 degree xc skiing. Below is what I discovered in my parking lot. It's called dibs in Chicago, and John Kass knows all about it.



I don't know if I completely agree with saving a spot in Chicago by putting lawn furniture in the street, but I do get it. It's completely illegal, but if you put the effort into shoveling out that spot so perfectly and cleanly, it is hard to watch it snatched away by the next car cruising down the street. Parking is tough in many Chicago neighborhoods and hard work does entitle one to a degree. But here in my townhouse complex! The parking lot is rarely more than half full and it is plowed by a truck. Beyond brushing off your car after a snowstorm, the tenants have no work to do. It's why we pay condo dues. Maybe there is a Bears fan lurking somewhere nearby...

The chilling temperatures not withstanding, skiing was terrific. The tracks were fresh and frozen into near concrete. The creek steamed in the deep freeze.

I always get a chuckle out of inadvertently stumbling into a classy moment. It's interesting to try something new and not have built it up in your mind.

"Here, try this."
"It tastes ok. Not bad."
"It's Dom Perignon."
I wonder what my reaction would have been if I knew the champagne was coming from a $150 bottle.

After fishing in Homer last June I ended up with 20 lbs of King Salmon fillets from 4 different fish. I never examined them too closely, but after grilling a piece yesterday I was finally struck by the fact that one of the fish was a White King. It was definitely much  milder as I have since read, though I do prefer a traditional King. I'll probably pass on an "Ivory King" if I see it at an upscale restaurant, though it is very fun to know that I snagged one myself.

With such a snowy weekend and temperatures rising into the low teens, there was no choice but to get out and ski a bit. I have never skied in Kincaid Park even though it is acknowledged as the crown jewel of nordic skiing in town. It's the largest park and has a near infinite maze of trails. However, it is on the other (south) end of town. It's not a far drive, but it is so much easier to just drive 5 minutes and jump on the trails in my backyard. Well, Lesley (a recent family transplant from WI) lives on the southside so the lure of Kincaid was irresistible. We stayed on the mellow trails and sweated away for an hour or so in some heavy flakes, surrounded by quiet, still Alaskan woods. A perfect Saturday night.

On the Road

Revisiting old books is always a fascinating exercise, usually with mixed results if I approach it honestly. Much of the Kerouac I devoured in the mid 90's has not aged too well in my mind. I do love Maggie Cassidy more than ever thanks to a rereading a few months ago, but I had until now not reread On The Road. Problem solved.

I vividly remember reading it when I was 18 because Scott was reading it at the same time. We skated almost everyday at Walgreens on Archer and would quote pieces of text to each other.

"D'ere you go man, D'ere you go."

That is an effeminate car.

"We'll look for work mon yana."

We pushed each other to devour text each night so we could chat about it at the next night's session and not end up behind the other. It was a book club that existed in a parking lot with a view of waxed curbs and the sound of flat spotted wheels.

I remember loving the way the characters rambled in all directions without any concern for money, future, or any other degree of planning. Dean and Sal were living ids. I was focused on college and showing up to work at the theater on time. These characters moved while I felt like I was standing still, as I suspect most kids at that age feel that way. I hold no regrets as I knew that college and some money in the bank would create an opportunity for bigger life movements in a few years. I had my eyes a mile or two down the road, yet I was still enthralled by 'ol Dean and Sal sprinting off at the drop of the hat. It has never been in my top 10 of favorite books, though it's energy and warm memory always lived happily in my mind.

I was somewhat hesitant to give it another try as I had a legitimate fear about adding another old favorite to the list of things I cannot now fathom ever liking (Spaceballs, Top Gun). Better to let the past stay warm and a bit hazy. However, a movie adaptation is the works and I know I will get sucked into seeing it, so I'd best tune up my memory of the actual text. Do I still enjoy it?

Yes, a great deal, though for very different reasons. As an adult with a child, I was extremely annoyed by the crass selfishness of the characters and the way they treated their families and responsibilities. I saw evidence in the text that the reader was intended to take a critical eye to Dean in this regard, though this evidence was rather lean. The energy of the book happily remains -- the pages just flat out zoom by. I was completely struck by Sal's loneliness, which is something I had not noticed to a great degree initially. Regardless of his difficulties to forge these bonds, the man is deeply searching for connections amongst men and women. I had always though of it as Dean's book, yet now I can only see Sal's stumbling hope of personal relationships.

I am now extremely interested to see which themes get emphasized in the flick. (How did I ever laugh at Spaceballs?)

One of the things I truly love in life is getting rid of stuff and not replacing it. Although unrealistic, I would love to have my life fit into a studio apartment. Any even braver goal would be to be able to fit my life into a suitcase and be able to hit the road like a character a hundred years ago that is heading west to the frontier or heading east to college. In either case that person is moving their life semi permanently and all they have is 4-5 changes of clothing.

It's a goal. Chiseling towards this goal finds me glancing at my bookshelves and stacks of cd's asking "Do I need that? Will I ever pick that up again?" It means that old music gets another spin and old loves get another look.

I have always loved Henry Rollins spoken word, whether live or on cd. Over the past few years I've found his material redundant and a bit predictable as the topics fall into one of three categories: attacking political straw men (one of my huge pet peeves in arguing a point), name dropping tales that are often humorous, and listing the most recent set of visited foreign countries. Foreign travel is almost always inherently good, though presenting it in a way to make you feel like a rube if you don't do it very often due to scheduling or money is annoying. I'm a sucker for a funny story about a famous person, but taken alongside his latest straw man political rant and  brow beating of the untraveled masses, the whole becomes more annoying than the charm of its parts. It's all the more annoying because he is obviously smarter than that. But what of his plethora of cd's from the late 80's through the mid 90's?

They're wonderful. You can easily hear a young man reaching for art in every story, thought, and poem he stumbles into. His stories are not about politics or travel, but about people and experiences that may or may not have political overtones. In short, they are striving for bigger things. If you tell a real and true story about an experience you have a chance at striking a universal chord that may well resonate years and years into the future. That's why people reread great books. If you rant about Bush or FoxNews, you'll get some cheers and immediately begin the sprint towards staleness as the months and years begin ticking away.

I don't care that I agree or disagree with his points of view, I care that he's getting boring. However, I am truly enjoying revisiting Sweatbox, Big Ugly Mouth, and Human Butt (these cd's are staying in my place for sure). Last week his website had a sale where all spoken word cd's and dvd's were going for $5. What a deal! For less than 30 bucks I could have had all the stuff my collection was missing. I took a pass.

Ships

I believe that if we listen closely, we can hear themes converging in our lives across given periods of time. I do not believe we are necessarily living in novels of sweeping meaning, but it is fair to say that there is more to it than just saying, "I've ridden my bike a lot lately, therefore this phase of my life is all about bikes." I'll be sticking by this theory, even though I probably have sat in too many Literature courses looking for links and connections across characters and author biographies. The theme this fall involves ships, great lakes, and looking outward.

As the fall begins I always begin itching for future trips which usually sends me flipping through large maps and sliding my fingertip across ink that reads the names of forests, lakes, and remote towns I have not yet visited. This time I dug out my Boundary Waters maps and traced the trips of the past while spinning tales to Becky and Henry of Bears, rapids, and northern pike. I settled into thoughts of lakes in that area I had not canoed across, portages I had not sweated through, and campsites I had not sat in while watching the sun set. I though of Lake Superior right next door and imagined the old days of copper and taconite oozing out of the Mesabi Iron Rage and the UP. There are infinite canoeing opportunities right here in Alaska and I plan on attempting them all, though I'd love to visit the Boundary Waters every summer as well.

When November 10th rolls around the flickering memories of Boundary Waters and Isle Royale crystallize into the phantom Edmund Fitzgerald endlessly lurching across the Lake Superior of my mind. Lightfoot's dirge endlessly feeds the imagination of that day. I picture myself back in Paradise, MI at the museum looking out at Whitefish Bay.

As much as I have always enjoyed Lovecraft, I confess to not loving all of the stories at the same time. Some stories I may never love (Charles Dexter), some I recently "got" (At the Mountains of Madness), and some others I will always love (Dunwich, Colour Out of Space, and The White Ship). Man, The White Ship may not be in the top tier for most Lovecraft fans, but for me it has always threaded a needle of wonder and eeriness with perfection. The mood of that lonely lighthouse looking out over the water puts me at Whitefish Point, and the mysteries and unknown worlds hover just out of reach as I think of the trips and desires out there beyond the maps and coastlines in front of me.