;) :)

      With such a combination, one COULD NOT POSSIBLY go wrong. . . .

       :) ;)

      This is the central fire place, at the Barnes 'n Noble, on Mehar Avenue [in Fairbanks].

      (At 35 to 45 below, there is nary a better place to be. . . .)

       :) :) ;) ;)

      Ah, the memories. . . .

      Apparently, I am now, a paleonlogist.  :) ;)

      I dug the above up, whilst digging/searching for a sewage system vent.  (. . .)

      It's hard to come up with a "caption," for the following pic.  No really—it is.  (!!) I just had to take it, and post, it, though. . . .

       :) :)

      "That's not a knife—now this is a knife!"

      Now this is a snowblower.  (!!) It like, hooks onto the PTO (power take off) of, like, a tractor, 'n stuff:

      Wow.

      Now this is one tough bee.  He is in a bucket, perched atop a bottle of DEET.  Extraordinary. Robert pointed out earlier, that these are Italian honey bees—and thus a transplant, to Alaska, 'n stuff.

      One wonders, how they fare the winter. . . .

      I didn't know–exactly–where to put this—but with the mention of the honey bee(s), I imagine this is as good a place as any: The Squirrel.

      As we were working, there was this squirrel, that seemed to be becoming more and more tame.  (Truth be told, on a scale longer than that: Jennifer said he was becoming tame(r), months before we got there.)

      I found him a really friendly squirrel—as we moved things around, he would sort of follow along beside me, darting through hidden "tunnels," with astonishing speed.  He would always run off, when Robert got close.  Robert described the squirrel as "pure evil," "bent on doing nasty, destructive things" (I think I'm paraphrasing, on that last bit. . . .).  (Somehow, he [the squirrel] just knew (that Robert meant him harm).)

      Things sort of "came to a head," when I caught the squirrel, trying to steal an entire bag of chips.  I told him he couldn't have that, and took it away from him.  Then I told him, that he could have two—and tossed them to him.  I marveled, that I was throwing something at a wild animal—and he wasn't running away.

      Well, from there, things got . . . even more interesting.  Next thing I know, I am reading a book, and the squirrel comes up and parks himself—between my feet.  (!!) There he was, munching away.  I look down at him, and say: "You do realize—that you're a wild animal and I'm (I'm paraphrasing here.) a member of–arguably–the most predatory species on the planet?!"

      He just looked up at me, "Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. (And his eyes said) CHIPS??"

      As I mentioned above, Jennifer said he was getting–progressively–more tame, but nothing like that.

I just seem to be be like that, somehow.  (. . .)

      All good things. . . .

      All too soon, it was time for me to leave.  So, I started driving out.  I took a video, of parts of this (I'm still working on it.)  I hope to link that video, to this page, and "soon. . . ."

      10/13/18 Saturday –And her she is.  (!!)

Doin' It Like Pruitt Used to Do It—ABORT! ABORT!

      Things went remarkably smoothly—the Brat flipped over 130,000 miles.

Wow.

      The Canadian Customs official was thorough, polite, professional—and even completely reasonable.  (It's not the Canadian ones you have to watch out for.)  The two gas stations, before the border (which I was kinda' counting on—ALWAYS buy American gas, when ya' can; Canadian gas prices are . . . YE-AH. . . .), were both closed.  One, it seemed, due to it being some American Holdiday—July 4th; the other . . . seemed to be closed, for good.  I can't IMAGINE why—the business: location! Location! LOCATION!!!! An-y-ways. . . .

      I needed gas.  First thing, in Canada, I could REALLY stand to find was some gas.  And the credit card, I was counting on, to get me through Canada (though THOROUGHLY assured, by their (I'm guessing) minimum wage phone service assitant, that it WOULD) . . . didn't work.  So, I paid with cash ("We don't accept an exchange rate, sir."  Grrrr.)—and headed back to phone range, of my cell (i.e. Fairbanks—almost 500 miles away. . . .).

      So, back through American Customs (The dude was really cool—he commiserated, with my inability to get phone service—and said that I "only" had to go up the road, to Tok. . . .).  Well, the cell phone didn't work in Tok, either (different "zone," or some such)—so, back to Fairbanks. . . .

      Amazingly, I ran into Robert, with "The Archelon."  "How did you find me?—there are lots of these trucks."  And tried to lend me the cash, to get through Canada.  My conscience, wouldn't let me accept.. . .

      So . . . on to Fairbanks. En route, I encountered an "automotive phenomenon," that was totally new on me.  I stopped at a rest area (by Alaskan standards—and yes, I used the "ravine latrine" (M*A*S*H. . . .)).  I checked all the tires' pressure(s), the oil, the transmission fluid—all looked good.  However, when I got behind the wheel, I turned the key and . . . "Wrrunk."  You have GOT to be kidding me!!  There was a long lot, and I was getting ready to push the Brat along, drop the clutch, and use momentum to get things started—but I first looked under the hood.

      There, I found something, I had never seen before.  Breaking along that long lot, had caused the battery to slide forward (There was nothing securing it.), collide with the unibody, and knock the negative terminal off.  I reconnected it, and "VRROOM!"  Up to this point, I had been stopping and resting diligently.  However, at that point, I forgot all that—and determined to just forge right on through (over 200 miles).  (Yes, this was a LONNNNGG day. . . .  :p :P )

      Somewhere along the way, I attracted the attention, of "Alaska's finest."  They tailed me for a while, and then just roared away.  Good lads.

      I also saw a (bold as brass) coyote—and not less, than seven (!) moose.  In fact I almost hit two of them—mama and calf. . . .

      So, I–finally–pulled into Jennifer's place.  Now, Alaskan properties, are like big, sprawling, mansion estates—just without the mansions.  ( ;) ) So, I went to the library, and just lay (collapsed) down.  Jennifer didn't even know I was there.  The blankets, pillows, and [air] mattress were gone.  I didn't care.  I lay down; sleep didn't ask, it took.

      The only trouble was . . . that floor wasn't heated.  I got up, hours later—and seriously hypothermic.  I walked up the hill, and got the Brat started.  I ran the heat, but I kept sort of losing consciousness, and she kept drifting forward.  And I wasn't in good enough shape, to manuver her, until she was sideways (to the slight hill).

      At this point, I realized I was in serious trouble, and went and knocked on Jennifer's door.  She put me up, in an easy chair, with pillows and blankies.  I went from high suffering . . . to NIRVANA.  :) :) :) :)

      I had been getting up, at something like 5-5:30, every day, "up there"—but this day, I couldn't move, 'til around 11:30.

Only later, did it occur to me—that Jennifer may've saved my life.

      The irony—of surviving all those difficult conditions: automotive, driving, runaway wildlife, requiring lightning fast reflexes—and from fatigued, middle-aged nerves . . . and then, almost succumbing to something so innocuous (almost silly, in fact), was not lost one me. . . .

      Alaska can be like that.

      So, after ALL that, I bought a plane ticket—with the card, that now worked.  And after ALL that–whilst speaking to my Dad on the phone–he brought to my attention, that, we were in Alaska—and now had FREE TIME on our hands.  And thus we went from great struggles—to some of the happiest days of my life.

      RV AK:

      At one point, Jennifer and I were just staring out the door, at Alaska.  We started hearing this Jurassic Park-style "Whump-whump. Thump. Thump!"—and this moose, comes right into the yard.  Now, Alaskan moose . . . are HUGE.  Sometimes, they are soo big, they don't even look/seem real.

      This one, like most of them, was just hangin' out.  Jennifer said (and I may be paraphrasing. . . .), "You realize, the way their eyes work, they can see us, just fine."  So, we're like, hey, moose.  And the moose is like, hey, dude and dudette—totally unperturbed.  Then, slowly, she [I think], just wandered away. . . .

      Jennifer said, that she thought there was a moose in the area; I sensed nothing.

Just another day in Alaska.

       :) :)

      Jennifer noted, that these rays—looked like those, on a painting, [of a member] of [the] French Monarchy:

      Jennifer had, what I thought was a WONDERFUL idea—let's ride the pool cabana, down the Chena [River].  Now, the cabana, in the grand prize, from the 2005 Red Green River Regatta.  It turns out, it took 13 YEARS for the Red Green Regatta prize, to return to the Chena [River]—and Jennifer had dreamed, of floating down the Chena, all her life. . . .

      The craft, proved INCREDIBLY difficult, to inflate—why?  The craft had only been about once before—the "kids" had had it out, and I believe they were responsible, for the (at least) three tears/leaks, we found.  (I refer to undergrads as kids—it's not diminuitive, or patronizing, it's just that I'm, you know. . . .)  And how did we fix said leaks?! Well, "Spare the duct tape, spoil the job!"  :) :) :) :)

      Well, the trip, whilst something I will remember–and treasure–for the rest of my life, was a complete disaster.  We got caught up, on the same obstacle, as her Brother and I did, in the 2004 Red Green Regatta.  And, our craft kept . . . deflating.  It got so as I ran the pump (manually) continuously, but still the cabana, sunk lower, and lower, and. . . .  My phone ended up, below the level of the Chena (Ya'd think I'd'a learned, by now. . . .  (Methinks that too much of an . . . "inside joke"—so check out 25 Year Dream Turned Nightmare. . . .)  Eventually, we had to put in, to shore. . . .

      We had no idea where we were—or the reception we'd receive, if we were to approach others, 'n stuff.  (I actually (mentally) likened this, to English explorers, of Africa. . . .)  Turns out we were in a construction zone; one is not supposed to be in construction zones . . . ever.  So, we re-inflated the craft, and continued on.

      We made it almost to the Doggie Park.  Jennifer realized, it would be pointless to continue, and had us put in.  We were SOO tired, we just went to the Mayflower (now the AK) Buffet.  Only after an excellent nosh, didst we return, to the craft.

      I looked at the raft on the ground.  It looked–for all the world–like one of those "crash pads," stuntmen fall into.  I imagined, it would function the same . . . so, I pulled the plug, and just fell backwards onto it.

      Ladies, gentlemen–various transgendered beings–'t'was like the softest pillow, one could imagine. . . .  I just lay there, deflating and deflating. . . .  Finally, at one point, Jennifer said, you looked like you're encased in carbonite.

       :) :)

      I guess, that's about it.  I can't seem to remember much, at all, of the trip back (perhaps due to bone-rending fatigue. . . .)—except that I ended up, next to another farmer, and that my next-door nieghbor, rescued me (totally unplanned), from the trek, back from the bus station. . . .

      Wow. Adventure–true adventure–is all around us.  So just pick up your things—and GO!

"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for."

–John A. Shedd