TONY KNOWLES
My legs are entirely too long for this bike. I'm on neighbor Angela's bike, sailing along the Coastal Trail atop of a yellow bike, mountains shimmering in the distance. "You know, if you go out on these mud fields, you can get stuck and then the tide comes in and you'll drown" Joe yells from the front of our bike brigade. Great. I haven't ridden a bike in God-knows-how-long and I'm struggling to stay upright. I feel like a child on a tricycle. I am a walker. I walk. I will walk for 10 hours before I ride a bike for 10 minutes on hazardous roads and paths where everyone else is going far too fast for their own good.*
The only thing Joe loves more than riding his bike is group bike rides. He leads the way as I wobble behind; his roommate Rosey and friend Andy are behind. I really wish that I was last, because I can sense that I probably also look like a child on a tricycle. But then if I'm last, no one will know if I lose control and fall onto the mud fields, sufficiently ending my life, ruining Angela's bike, and worse, spoiling Joe's favorite activity.
*May be an exaggeration.
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SOUTH ADDITION
I gently rock back and forth on the hammock. I look up at the blue sky; the beautiful weather had everyone outside. I watch as tiny planes circle above me. I like to picture them flying over the ocean and through the glaciers, off on some crazy adventure for the day. I look over to the fire pit which we utilized the previous night. There, I bombarded Joe's friend Andy with a 1,000 questions. He should know better than to escape those kinds of things when you choose to live in Barrow, the northernmost community in the United States. He's a seal biologist, but he gladly shows me a picture on his phone with him and a sedated polar bear. "We're just now at the point where the sun never sets" he told me. I am utterly fascinated and blown away at the same time that this is still the same country, the same nation and government as Tennessee.. just far more interesting.
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ANC, 3.30AM
"But seriously, I need to talk about this."
"Should we talk now or talk in the morning? It's 3:30."
"But the sun's coming up, it must be morning."
"That's a good point. But we are pretty drunk."
"Also good point."
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NATIVE CUISINE
I'm only feeling a little guilty, and my guess is because I've got Christmas carols stuck in my head. It has only spanned a few days from our venture to the reindeer farm, and now I'm eating one. Granted I don't think it's the same one that I fed, but I am feeling the full circle of a life of a reindeer.
It smells like a brat. I am asked three times if I wanted spicy (I say no, but I think I still end up with a spicy one) and I douse it in mustard. I'm not sure what I'm expecting; I surmise it will taste exactly like the cook-out brats that I always eat during family BBQs, but I have a feeling this isn't going to be like Johnsonville.
I take a bite. It's definitely done. As in, it's definitely cooked, but it doesn't quite taste like that. It's rough and chewy, and so damn spicy. But I paid $6 for the thing, I might as well continue to see if I like it. It's like I have to chew for 30 seconds before I can swallow. Is that how long it usually takes? I don't think so, but now I'm unsure and annoyed by the fact that I probably eat too fast. But I can't even finish this thing, it'll take me an hour! And Jesus, 6 bucks. I gotta keep going. I feel like I'm on Fear Factor. I get at least 75% of the way done and I can hear Joe Rogan calling time in my ear.
I believe this will be my last reindeer I eat, and suddenly I'm feeling a lot less guilty.
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SUNSET ON ANC AT 22:01
"I've never actually been out this far on this bea-SHIIITTTTTT". We both bounce out of quick sinking mud. Joe escapes unscathed, my left boot however, was not as lucky. We walk the beach at Turnagain where we can see a tiny Anchorage skyline from across the bay. Joe is feeling guilty about my shoe. I can feel my sock slowly filling with mud, sand, and rocks from the Gulf of Alaska, (on my way to the airport after I had carefully packed up all my things, I might add). Yet the air was fresh and the temperature was perfect. The sun, my celestial companion during my time in AK, shined to give the whole state a golden light that lasted for hours. How was this a time to be annoyed?
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LAKE HOOD
"Can we drive through, just one more time?" It's my last few hours in AK, and I'm trying to make it last as long as possible. Besides all the myriad of things that happened just before I left Nashville, I hate going to that place and calling it home. Joe obliges and drives me back around the road that encircles the lake.
Lake Hood: it's a semi-eerie place located out towards the airport. It's not too big of a lake, or maybe it just seems that way when it's littered with seaplanes. Despite the fact that's it's almost 11, the sun is still bright, and I can't seem to tear my eyes away from the mountains. "We don't have mountains in Nashville".
There are quite a few planes scattered about with big FOR SALE signs draped upon them. It's taking me a lot not to break down in tears; the only thing that seems to help is my daydream of buying that plane and becoming an explorer of mountains, glaciers, and sea. I could fly to Barrow and stay at the Top of World Hotel and spot polar bears out on the Arctic Ocean. I could fly to Gates of the Arctic National Park, a land area that spans larger than the country of Belgium of pure, untouched wilderness. I could fly to the Aleutian Islands and dip my toes in the Bering Sea. I could fly to Nome and celebrate the Iditarod. I could fly to Juneau and sit by the bay and look for whales. It's quite the dream, but it never hurts to think about whatever takes me away from the life that I know and start anew in the Last Frontier.
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