I write this on the occasion of what may very well be my last few hours in the Large State Of Alaska. It feels like it might be, anyway or at least the last time I come up here on someone else's dime. I've traveled here for the fifth time this year and I am typing this in the cafe of the Kenai Safeway while I wait for my plane to Anchorage. It seems as appropriate a place to part with this land mass as any. I've come in here mostly to get distilled water for my CPAP machine and quarters for laundry, but also groceries, terrible ready-made meals at the deli, and candy bars. This time, I decided to buy an iced latte at the sort-of "Seattle's Best" sort-of coffee bar, and the young sideburned tweaker who took my order made the drink in a paper cup, like an animal. An animal, I tell you!
What have I learned on my many journeys? Alaska is a place for desperate people, living desperate lives, with guns. Alaska is a place for moose, not knowing they are living desperate lives and getting hit by pickup trucks, when not being shot by guns. Alaska is a spectacularly gorgeous place, with oil, and the oil is quickly running out. I read today that the state is grappling with budget cuts and low revenue from the dwindling oil leases, and the populace has taken a particularly self-serving approach to these problems that defies all political labels: we want our Permanent Fund Dividend checks every year, and we don't want to pay higher taxes! So, socialism and conservatism, as it suits them. This is completely understandable. As I mentioned, they are desperate. And they ALL have guns, so they will probably get both of these things, at least until all the oil runs out, and then they certainly won't get one of them.
I've also learned, or rather re-learned, that small cars and snow don't mix. I'm not sure why it never occurred to me to get an SUV on this trip, but I didn't. I suppose it was an altruistic attempt to save the French conglomerate I work for a few euros, but frankly, and Frankly, fuck them. The excellent AirBnB I've been staying at has one disadvantage, that being the driveway that sits perched on a precipice off a sloping unpaved road. This is normally negotiable when not covered by feet of snow, but this morning, this was not the case. As I backed out with my Nissan Sentra, a car that should definitely be banned in this state and probably most others, it slid to the left and almost caused me to plummet the six feet off a terrace down to the parking area below. I tried going in reverse but could not due to a) gravity and b) said feet of snow. Forward was a non-starter, although at least the car itself did start. I called Avis to send me a tow truck, and the tower (and his wife, dog, and almost definitely, his gun) extricated me from my arctic predicament. On past trips, I've slid into snow banks with a Toyota Corrolla and Nissan Altima. Next time, if there is one, I shall heed Denis Leary's many warnings and go American.
I have two hours until the plane departs for Anchorage. The local commuter airline has changed names from Era to Ravn (they dropped the 'e' to save money, undoubtedly). The trip to Anchorage is 20 minutes of what it must have felt like shortly after the Wright brothers incorporated. The pilots do everything themselves except load the luggage. I do enjoy seeing them turn for home with the nose pointed down, and you can see the runway lights through the cockpit window. It's one of the only thrilling things left in air travel, an industry that has removed all romanticism from flying and checked it to the final destination of "Never Again".
Well, that shall be it. I need to gas up the rental car and sit slack-jawed in the Kenai airport for a couple more hours. May we meet again under more auspicious circumstances, Land Of The Midnight Sun!
What have I learned on my many journeys? Alaska is a place for desperate people, living desperate lives, with guns. Alaska is a place for moose, not knowing they are living desperate lives and getting hit by pickup trucks, when not being shot by guns. Alaska is a spectacularly gorgeous place, with oil, and the oil is quickly running out. I read today that the state is grappling with budget cuts and low revenue from the dwindling oil leases, and the populace has taken a particularly self-serving approach to these problems that defies all political labels: we want our Permanent Fund Dividend checks every year, and we don't want to pay higher taxes! So, socialism and conservatism, as it suits them. This is completely understandable. As I mentioned, they are desperate. And they ALL have guns, so they will probably get both of these things, at least until all the oil runs out, and then they certainly won't get one of them.
I've also learned, or rather re-learned, that small cars and snow don't mix. I'm not sure why it never occurred to me to get an SUV on this trip, but I didn't. I suppose it was an altruistic attempt to save the French conglomerate I work for a few euros, but frankly, and Frankly, fuck them. The excellent AirBnB I've been staying at has one disadvantage, that being the driveway that sits perched on a precipice off a sloping unpaved road. This is normally negotiable when not covered by feet of snow, but this morning, this was not the case. As I backed out with my Nissan Sentra, a car that should definitely be banned in this state and probably most others, it slid to the left and almost caused me to plummet the six feet off a terrace down to the parking area below. I tried going in reverse but could not due to a) gravity and b) said feet of snow. Forward was a non-starter, although at least the car itself did start. I called Avis to send me a tow truck, and the tower (and his wife, dog, and almost definitely, his gun) extricated me from my arctic predicament. On past trips, I've slid into snow banks with a Toyota Corrolla and Nissan Altima. Next time, if there is one, I shall heed Denis Leary's many warnings and go American.
I have two hours until the plane departs for Anchorage. The local commuter airline has changed names from Era to Ravn (they dropped the 'e' to save money, undoubtedly). The trip to Anchorage is 20 minutes of what it must have felt like shortly after the Wright brothers incorporated. The pilots do everything themselves except load the luggage. I do enjoy seeing them turn for home with the nose pointed down, and you can see the runway lights through the cockpit window. It's one of the only thrilling things left in air travel, an industry that has removed all romanticism from flying and checked it to the final destination of "Never Again".
Well, that shall be it. I need to gas up the rental car and sit slack-jawed in the Kenai airport for a couple more hours. May we meet again under more auspicious circumstances, Land Of The Midnight Sun!