I pedal my bike to Taco Bell and back; along the way, I see many amazing sights, including a polar bear that passed by

I got up this morning, went online, checked my bank balance and saw that it was $79.85. So I decided that I might as well go to Taco Bell for lunch. Lavina had driven off to Anchorage in the red Escape to get an ultrasound of our new grandchild. Margie and Kalib went with her. I needed exercise, so I pedaled my bike the four-and-a-half miles to Taco Bell.

Along the way, near the west edge of Wasilla Lake, I saw this guy carrying the front wheel of a bike. He studied me with great suspicion. "Hello," I said. He said nothing. So much for The Brotherhood of the Bikers.

I should get a check next week. Hopefully early.

My whole career has been like this. I would not advise anybody to be a freelance photographer/writer, unless you have no choice, like me, because that is just what you are and nothing can be done about it.

In that case, I hope you have more business sense than I do. I have been in business for myself for over a quarter of a century and I haven't learned a damn thing about business.

I wonder how it is that I have lasted so long? Raised a family? Supported how many cats, how many dogs, how many schools of tropical fish? Most freelance photographers don't last long at all and those who do tend to have business sense that I lack and a willingness to do work of a nature that I won't do for any fee - if you try to hire me to do that kind work my mind goes foggy and I freeze up inside.

It's not because I lack the talent.

It's something else, something that I feel, and I can't get past it.

And now I ride around on a bicycle, shooting blurry, pocket-camera pictures and I put them in a blog that costs me $8.00 a month to maintain and grosses me not one cent, distracts me from tasks that could put money in my pocket, and all the time I somehow think that prosperity will yet come to me.

Someday, perhaps soon, the realities that I have managed to avoid for nearly three decades will explode upon me and wipe me out. That would be okay, if I could find a warm place with power and internet where I could sit down, put my books together, and blog.

I don't think Margie would be very happy about it, though. She's been through a great deal, to stand by her ever dreaming, roving, restless, husband who does not know how to make money. She's done it without complaint. She does not deserve to go through something like that, too.

Otherwise, I don't think I would care at all, as long as I could work on my books, do my blog and find a few dollars to go to Taco Bell, now and then.

But here's the thing: at all points in my career, whenever it has appeared that I am absolutely done for, something has materialized to keep me going - and it has always been something that I like to do. I have taken some enormous risks, but something has always happened.

Will I be saved once again? We will see.

Isn' this ridiculous? Just awhile ago, these mountains were bright, white, and snowy and they were supposed to do nothing but get snowier and snowier and stay that way into next summer. When we first moved up here, national cross country ski teams would come up from the Lower 48 every October to train at Hatcher Pass, because, they said, it was the one cross country ski area in the country where good, deep, snow was assured this time of year.

But look at it!!!

This, by the way, is the view from the seat of my bicycle as I pedal past Wasilla Lake. If it looks to you like the picture was taken near sundown, no, this is what noon-hour light looks like around here this time of year. This "sunset at noon" look will intensify over the next couple of months.

And here I am, pedaling into Taco Bell.

Two of the strangers with whom I ate lunch.

Just as this worker stepped out for a smoke break, I climbed onto my bike and began to pedal away. "Wow!" she exclaimed, "this shopping cart sure traveled far!" Target is maybe 200 yards from Taco Bell.

Many amazing things happen in this town.

As I pedaled past McDonald's, I was pretty impressed to read the sign and learn that "the world's best crew works here." 

There are hundreds of millions of crews on this earth, perhaps even a billion or more. Why would the best one in the world choose to work at McDonald's?

I did not even stop at the Post Office, but kept going. This guy stepped in front of me as I pedaled toward the corner. If we had collided, it would have been okay, because we could have went straight in to see the chiropractor.

Sometimes, you see an excellent photo in front of you, but you just can't get it, no matter how hard you try. This is an example. I had just turned off Wasilla's Main Street, which is not at all what a certain rouge-clad rogue has cracked it up to be, and was pedaling toward Lucille Street when suddenly I became aware that a polar bear had just rolled by me. Yes - a polar bear that had once roamed the Arctic ice but was now stuffed and lying in a pallet on a flat wagon towed by a pickup truck.

I had put my pocket camera back into my pocket and by the time I could pull it out again, the polar bear had gone too far past for me to get any kind of picture. Even though I knew I could not catch the truck, I began to pedal my bike as fast as I could. Way up ahead, the light turned red. The pickup truck stopped. There was so much distance between us that I knew that I could not get to it before the light turned green again, but if a polar bear can roll past you, something else might happen to delay its progress, so I pedaled like I was Lance Armstrong.

As the distance between me and the polar bear closed, I began to think that I had a chance - but then, while I was still out of range for a good picture, the light turned green. The truck took off. Knowing it was hopeless but determined to try anyway, I raised my camera and, still pedaling as hard as I could, shot this frame. Then the polar bear was gone. If you know what you are looking for, you can bearly make it out, wrapped in the orange pad.

I could have made such a good picture, if only that light had stayed red for 15 more seconds. Even 10. I think with even just five more seconds, I could have got something.

As I neared home, I passed this guy jogging with his dog. "Now you decide to run!" he shouted at the dog, immediately after I shot this frame with my pocket camera.

Later, Margie got home and picked me up for coffee. It was nice to have her drive - nice that she could drive. We passed this lady and this little boy. If I had saw them sooner, I would have rolled the window down, but we came up over a rise and I had to turn on my pocket camera and work fast, just to get a chance to shoot one frame through the window as Margie shot past. I decided to go for impressionism.

It was extremely difficult, and it wasn't a polar bear, but I did it.

And if I had been driving, it was one of those situations where I would have just sighed, because there would have been no way I could have got the image.

Sometimes, I wish Margie would drive all the time, so that I could concentrate on taking pictures. But she seldom wants to.

I expect to win a Pulitzer for this picture.

I don't see why not. It is the best picture anybody has ever taken on this earth, in this spot, at this time and I'm the one who did it.

When we got home, Lavina and Kalib were about to leave on a walk.

As for cocoon mode, I am just giving up.

I will still try to restrain myself a bit, to limit my blogging time a little more than I did tonight, to do enough just to hold the cyberspace until the day comes that I can really go at this blog the way I want to - but I give up on cocoon mode.

Russia, as seen from Alaska: Ten views, including one through a living room window and another from a front porch

While roaming my computer, I came upon a shoot that I did in Little Diomede in late March, 2005. As one resident of my hometown managed to turn the very real truth that you can see Russia from Alaska into a national joke, I decided to run this series of photos that I took in Alaska, with Russia in the background.

View #1: Flying into Little Diomede, Alaska, from Nome. The smaller island in front is Little Diomede. The larger island in the back is Big Diomede, Russia.

View #2: Russia through the wind screen. The pilot banks hard to avoid flying into Russian airspace, as that would upset the Russians.

View #3: Russia as seen from the Iñupiat village of Little Diomede, where a polar bear skin hangs to dry.

View #4: Russia, as seen from a front porch in Little Diomede.

View #5: Russia, behind a sled dog tethered to Alaska.

View # 6: Orville Ahkinga Sr. looks out his Little Diomede window toward Russia.

You can't even see Russia in this picture, but where are these kids headed to? Could it be Russia? They would only have to travel about two-and-a-half miles.

View #7: The kids head off to Russia. No! I jokes! The Russians don't allow that. When you are on Little Diomede, you can look at Russia, but not touch Russia. There are military men stationed there to make certain that you don't and they will detain you if you try.

The kids are going to catch a plane that will take them to a basketball tournament down in Gambell on St. Lawrence Island - another Alaskan community from which I have photographed mountains that stand in Russia. In Gambell, the day must be very clear to see those Russian mountains, as they are 40 miles away.

In 1994, I flew to Russia in a North Slope Borough helicopter. Our route was Barrow-Nome-Gambell-Providenyia. After that, although our pilot had cleared us to fly to other places, Russian officials changed their minds and made us leave the helicopter on the ground. So we flew around in a Russian helicopter that was, essentially, a big, flying, bus.

Perhaps, one day, I will recount that trip here. It was amazing and caused me to fall in love with Russia, or at least the far east tip of the country. Everywhere I go, I seem to fall in love with the place, but I always come back to my first love - Alaska.

By the way, there is no permanent airstrip at Little Diomede, which rises sharply from the water. This is the ice of the Bering Strait.

The weather here often gets so bad that planes do not come in for days, even weeks. After the ice starts to seriously melt, the planes will not come at all.

In the summer time, the weather and waters are treacherous, making it very risky to try to come in with a float plane. There is sporadic helicopter service, weather permitting.

View #8: Returning home from the maternity ward of the Alaska Native Medical Center in Anchorage, Jamie Ahkinga places a hand over little Marcus Kobe Okpealuk, the baby that she now keeps sheltered under her Parka. While in Anchorage she also went shopping at Wal-Mart with the man who holds her hand, Lane Okpealuk, father of Marcus.

View #9: Standing on the Bering Strait, waiting to fly to Nome.

View #10: Freight is taken off the plane and luggage loaded on, with Russia looming in the background.

Just minutes ago, she stood on the Bering Strait with Russia standing behind her. My time at Little Diomede was much too short and I wanted to go back. I imagined that the next winter or spring I might come and hang out for awhile, but it didn't work out that way. Now, where is that wealthy philanthropist that is going to drop half-a-mil or so on me so that I can do this blog right? So that I can hop off to places like Little Diomede at will? In my own airplane?

FOR HELL'S SAKE! PHILANTHROPIST! Patron! WHERE ARE YOU??????

The Railroad Condos - the most elegant, pleasant, exclusive neighborhood in all of Wasilla*

Not so long ago there was a big plot of vacant land by the railroad tracks across the Parks Highway from Wasilla Lake.

We all knew that such vacant land could not be allowed to stand. When we saw the contruction begin, we wondered what someone could be building, right by the railroad tracks and the highway.

Of course. A huge condominium complex. I am quite certain that it is the hugest in all of the Matanuska-Susitna Valley.

I actually took this picture on September 17, when I was riding my bicycle back from Kendall Ford, where I had dropped the Escape off for an oil change and routine maintenance. I didn't use the picture then, so I will use it now.

I wondered why anyone would want to live here and why it is that developers insist upon doing this kind of thing to Wasilla.

Have you ever driven down the Parks Highway through Wasilla?

Truly, it is an appalling sight. And it just keeps getting worse.

One of the most beautiful locations on earth, and this is what they do to it.

And then a few days ago, I passed by at the same time as the train and I understood - at least the part about why anyone would want to live here.

A straight line from our house to the railroad tracks is about 2.2 miles. Sometimes at night when I am lying in bed, not quite asleep, I hear the train clattering down the tracks. I hear the whistle blow. And I like the sound of it. It is pleasant, dreamy and soothing.

My mind drifts off to that train, and travels with it to far away places, even beyond the reach of the Alaska Railroad. I am a child again, hoping freight trains in Montana.

And that's from 2.2 miles away!

Think how much all that pleasant, dreamy, soothiness must be amplified when you are lying in bed and the train passes by just outside your window and the engineer blows the horn.

Maybe we will sell our house and move into these condos ourselves.

As long as I'm posting pictures from September 17, I might as well post this one, too. I took it immediately after I photographed the man driving by the Railroad Condos on his motorcycle. I liked the moment so much that I was tempted to pull off the bike trail, go a little closer, stop, get off the bike and practice some careful composition - but here's the thing - when you set out to see what kind of photos you can take with a pocket camera while pedaling a bicycle it destroys the whole project if you stop, get off the bike and carefully compose.

You can only do such a project while pedaling a bicycle.

It's kind of like being a quick-draw artist on horseback as opposed to a sharp-shooter lying prone on your belly with your rifle braced on a tripod.

So I photographed the motorcycle and the condos and then, still pedaling, swung my camera 180 degrees and photographed this scene, too.

Just like Clint Eastwood, swinging his Colts from atop the back of his mule.

And just ahead was this guy. It was the first time I ever saw a person who, instead of a human head, had two dogs growing out of his neck. Can you imagine what life is like for him, when he must walk upright and there is no table for him to support his dogshead on?

I never want to see such a sight again.

This picture was really hard for me to take, but I took it.

And here's a shot I took from my bicycle today. As you can see, the leaves are pretty much down now. As I noted yesterday, by this time last year the snow had set in for good.

But it was warm today. Really warm. The temperature rose into the 50's. Maybe it was a record. It felt like it. I was sweltering. All day long I sweltered. It made me wonder if it will ever snow again.

*I'm still officially in cocoon mode: it's just that I'm feeling really lazy and burned out tonight.

I attend the grand opening of the Metro Cafe, where Wasilla's mayor shows up with big scissors and a young girl gathers pennies to aid a classmate stricken by leukemia

As recent visitors to this blog know, I have been beginning all of my coffee breaks lately at the drive-through window of the Metro Cafe, built on Lucille Street where the dog wash used to be. On Saturday, Metro staged its grand opening and I stepped briefly out of cocoon mode to attend the event. As the guests gathered, this kid came scooting by on a skateboard.

Many owners of classic cars came and parked their vehicles in the church parking lot just across the street.

When I was young, I had a red Ford Mustang exactly like this one. I got it at a church bazaar, where I gave a lady a dime. She handed me a fishing pole, I dropped the line behind a screen that was supposed to a lake. I felt a tug, pulled it back up and there, hanging from my fishing line, was a nice little red Mustang.

It was a superb catch. I rolled it all over the house, out on the sidewalk and over hills of dirt, making engine noises as I did. As to this red Mustang, "Isn't it beautiful? Very clean!" this lady, JoAnne Kessler, a member of the Valley Cruisers, stated.

Inside, I spotted this attractive trio and so sat down to ask what brought them out. It is Liane Nagata and her two daughters, Madeline and her older sister, whose name slips me at the moment. As it happened, in high school, Liane was the best friend of Carmen Starheim, who started the business with her husband Scot. Even back then, Liane says, Carmen worked hard at everything that she did.

I did not ask a question to the couple at right, as they looked quite absorbed and I did not wish to disturb them.

It would have been a better photograph, had I moved the camera a quarter inch to my right, but I didn't.

I asked many questions to this family, and had each of them give me their names. But hell. I don't remember the names, and I don't remember the questions or the answers to them. At the time, I was sure I would, just like I would have before I overstressed my brain for too many decades, but I don't.

I had either better start recording these things or writing them down.

They live in Wasilla, though, I remember that. This was their first stop at the Metro Cafe. They had watched it come up after the dog wash disappeared and had been curious. They had a good time and enjoyed the drinks and food.

At least I remembered that much.

They also thought the little Nash Metro car behind them was quite cute. That's one more thing I remembered.

Oh, yeah - they said they would be back.

Wasilla Mayor Verne Rupright roared in on his motorcycle, with a big pair of scissors strapped to the front.

BIG scissors. Perhaps he planned to do some budget cutting.

Madeline was smiling happily when she first showed me the pennies that she was carrying. I thought she had brought the pennies to spend, but I was wrong.

She was collecting them on behalf of a schoolmate at Sand Lake Elementary in Anchorage. Madeline's countenance grew sadder and sadder as she explained how her school mate had leukemia and that the little girl and her family needed money to be able to travel Outside for her treatment.

I hope she gathers lots of pennies and that all tears may be staunched.

The Metro Cafe.

This is Tank, traveling with his human Calvin Culverwell. Tank works in the Golf Shot in Wasilla. So, if you ever want to buy some clubs and balls but don't quite know what to get, go talk to Tank. And if you want a Coke talk to the lady, Loni Mrozik, Coca-Cola's local rep. Me, I prefer Pepsi.

The view from behind the counter.

This poor little girl spilled her drink. A man, who I think was her father, picked up her fallen cup and then disappeared. I hope he got her another one, but I can't say for certain.

The view from inside, looking outside, where a man looks inside.

The staff was busy taking orders from both the counter and the drive-through.

Scot, Mayor Rupright and Carmen use the big scissors to cut the ribbon. Afterwards, Scot and Carmen share a kiss.

I'm pretty sure that kiss had a coffee flavor to it.

Scot loves the old International Metro vans. He explains that he is the kind of person who is always building something and so is forever running back and forth to Home Depot. He found the Metro van to be the perfect vehicle to haul materials and equipment about.

Then, as he and Carmen were building their coffee house, it occurred to them that they could name it "The Metro Cafe," after the van, which would then become a rolling ad for their business.

The yellow, 1957 model had sat for decades near the Deshka Landing, where it had to be sawed away from the birch tree that had grown between the body and the rail before he could bring it here. He plans a full restoration. As for this turquoise 1939 model, he is going to cut the back of the body away and reshape it into a utility truck.

Carmen and her sister, Teresa, who lives in Anchorage, but came to help out just for the grand opening. I think Teresa should stay and help out everyday, but I have no say in the matter.

I'm just happy to have a good coffee shop within an easy bike ride from my house. Some days, perhaps, I might even walk here. Perhaps I will even bring my laptop, go inside, sip, type and eat pastries.

You can do that kind of thing at the Metro Cafe.

Now I must go back into Cocoon Mode.

Cocoon mode* - day 10: I see a babe in the Metro Cafe; I feel frustrated; lament for Mary

I am frustrated now. I took a series of photos this morning from my bicycle and another series this evening, of Kalib, and I would like to post both series in their entirety.

But I haven't the time. I am in Cocoon mode. Furthermore, I am exhausted.

So this one of this very cute baby who did not wave back at me will have to do. I am at the drive-through to the Metro Cafe, where I have just ordered two coffees, one for me and one for Margie, who stayed home.

It will still be hot when I deliver it to her.

Carmen tells me that the local classic car club will be coming to her grand opening Saturday, noon till 2:00, Lucille Street, just south of Spruce. So there should be some neat cars there.

Too bad Melanie and Charlie have gone to Portland. Charlie could bring his Oldsmobile Starfire and we could go in that, spill coffee on the upholstery and then dab it up with cinnamon rolls. Then we could eat the cinnamon rolls and reminisce about the good old days, when people drove about in Oldsmobile Starfires, dipping their donuts into their coffee as they listened to Peter, Paul, and Mary sing about little boys and dragons, flowers that go with soldiers to the graveyard, and jet planes that take you away even though you hate to go.

And now Mary is dead.

It just doesn't feel quite right. But then it never does, even though that is how it always goes. 

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.