Mormon missionaries ride bicycles

Two Mormon missionaries with their bicycles, spotted as I crossed through the intersection of the Palmer-Wasilla and Glenn Highways in Palmer. Other than what you see in the picture, I know nothing of them, yet I know them very well - better even than they do.

A former Mormon missionary shadow biking down Seldon Street in Wasilla. I know all about him, yet he is an enigma to me. I may never understand him at all.

Now... I must apologize. I have spent the past five or six hours dealing with one of those things that a man who is not a businessman yet is in business for himself must sometimes deal with, just like a real businessmen must - one of those things that he thinks he can do in half-an-hour and if he was a real business man could probably do in three sentences to his secretary, who would then take care of it in 15 minutes. The businessman who is is not a business man then winds up spending half a day and nearly $2000 to get done, an expense which will liklely yield him nothing and the particulars of which he does not understand at all but if he wants to stay in business he has to take the time and he has to spend the money.

So I am left with time to begin my long delayed Arctic series and it will have to start tomorrow.

Actually, the best thing to do would be to hold it for the online magazine I plan to start and not even worry about it all for now, but I promised that I would do it and there are people who have let me know they want to see it, so I will do it.

Hopefully, beginning tomorrow.

Now I must get back to work.

Except the sun is shining. It is wonderfully warm and I do not want to be inside at all.

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Just prior to the honoring of Katie John, I see a Marine Corp veteran of the Vietnam War stop at a red light

This is not what I intended to post today, but it is 12:22 AM and I just drove into my driveway in Wasilla after adding 1000 miles to my odometer over the weekend as I made my way to three ceremonies for Katie John - one in Tok, two in Fairbanks. All this driving and ceremony coverage immediately followed my two weeks in the Arctic, so I am feeling kind of sleepy right now.

What I decided to do, then, so that I could post something quick and then go to bed, was to grab the very first picture that I took today - or rather, yesterday, Sunday.

This is the first picture. I took it at the stoplight on University Avenue and Airport Drive in Fairbanks. I was driving to Sam's Sourdough Cafe to eat a breakfast of ham, eggs, hashbrowns and sourdough pancakes. It was a beautiful, sunny, warm day with temperatures that would rise into the mid-60's - an amazing thing to experience after two weeks spent largely on the Arctic ice, followed by a drive that had taken me through a snow storm and sub-freezing temperatures.

I wonder what this Marine's life story is? What kind of journey has he taken from there to here? I sure would like to know. If you ever see this, Marine, and care to share your story, just get ahold of me and I will help you tell it. If not, that's okay.

No pressure. No pressure at all.

After breakfast, I went straight to the site of the UAF graduation and very quickly found Katie John and then followed her through the process.

After I get some sleep, I will begin to piece together the story of the last three days and then post it Tuesday, probably in three to five parts. Then I will get back to the story of my most recent Arctic travels.

One bike and two dogs

The thing that I have noticed about my bike-riding this spring is that it has been taking me considerably longer to get back into pedaling shape than ever before. I have been going anywhere from a scant six to ten miles a day, but the day before yesterday I went 15 and then yesterday I was dragging all day.

I'm still dragging.

Of course, about half of that was against the wind - and uphill, too!

Still, I have to think it might be because I am finally hitting a point in life where I can truly feel the difference in age one year to the next. Then, too, the past winter was a draining one for me - so maybe it is the two combined: age and drain.

Yet, I think I am starting to get stronger; despite the fact that I am dragging, my endurance is on the increase.

And guess what?

When I park my bike after today's ride, I won't be biking anymore for awhile.

All the conditioning that I have been doing will go away.

I am about to go traveling again, that's why.

At this time tomorrow, I should be sitting in an airplane, flying over northwest Alaska, approaching my destination. I will be gone for anywhere from a week to 12 days and if it is 12, then I will return home just long enough to unpack my bags, wash my clothes and get on a jet going south.

But back to yesterday's bike ride:

I had barely begun when I came upon Tony, the hunter and author, and Taiga, the hunting dog, who knows how to retrieve a duck but can't write a single sentence.

I pedaled about ten miles. As I neared home, this dog suddenly appeared in front of me and like a bullet shot straight to my leg.

I know this dog. It acts tougher than it is. I am not afraid of it.

It could sure be unnerving to a biker who doesn't know it, muzzled though it be.

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Train rumbles by family; the bike ride: air dancer, church chicken offers free eggs, art and soul; the wood gatherers

When I walked into Family Restaurant for breakfast, there was a different lady handling the seating and she tried to seat me in the wrong place. I refused to go there, because if I had sat there and a train came by, I could not even have seen it.

So she relented and gave me a booth by the window that looks out at the railroad tracks.

Sure enough, a train went by.

Sometimes, you just have to stand up for your rights if you want to see the train.

Between breakfast and coffee break, I took a break for lunch and ate it in the backyard with Jim. The temperature was 45 degrees, very pleasant, and I shot a nice little picture story titled, "Lunch in the Backyard With Jim."

But I don't have time to edit, process, place and write about the pictures, so I will just move on to coffee-break time. Here I am, on my coffee break. I have already been to Metro and now I am pedaling on the bike path that parallels the Parks Highway.

This guy or gal is dancing and waving at me, trying to get me to come into a nearby store and buy clothes.

I refuse. 

I pedal on.

At the corner of Parks and Church, I come upon a gigantic chicken with the face of man waving a sign advertising free eggs. The chicken is Ned, and he says the eggs are being given away at the Lamb of God Church, about one more mile up the road.

He says there are a lot of people who can't afford to buy eggs during this Easter Season and the congregation at the Lamb of God wants these people to be able to celebrate Easter with eggs.

But even if you are rich and don't celebrate Easter, you can still stop and get free eggs. They do not do means testing at the Lamb of God.

At least, you could have got eggs yesterday. The egg giveaway is now over.

Ned told me to let everybody know that each Wednesday, the church puts on a noon feed for the poor. But it is not limited to the poor. Anyone can come and eat. So you are all invited. Yes, my Hindu family in India - you too. You come here and we can go together to eat at the Lamb of God - just like we get to eat at your temple if we want.

I gave myself an assignment to go to the Lamb of God one Wednesday and eat.

The problem is, it could easily be another month before I am in Wasilla on a Wednesday again and by then I will probably have forgotten that I gave myself such an assignment.

But if I see another chicken in the road giving away eggs, I will remember.

The lady who was with Ned. I believe she was his wife, but I didn't pry, so I can't be certain.

I could have pedaled on towards the Lamb of God, but I turned on Church and pointed my bike towards home. Soon, I came upon this bike path art.

I remember when Maureen Dowd, columnist of the New York Times was in Wasilla and she described my town as a tiny, bleak soulless place devoid of culture and sidewalks.

Well, as regular readers of this blog have probably figured out, Wasilla is not tiny at all. It sprawls. You could probably drop half or more of Manhattan Island into Wasilla. We don't have no sidewalks, all right, but we got bike paths and plenty of culture - just look at the fine art you can find right on a Wasilla bike path!

There is soul aplenty in that there art work.

A bit up Church, I found these people gathering firewood from a newly cleared lot. They spoke to each other in what sounded to be Russian. They were friendly enough and I was tempted to hang out and learn their life history, but they were busy, I had a huge amount of work waiting for me at home, work to keep me going into the wee hours of the next morning, when I would stop only because I was ready to drop.

So I held my questions for another time, another day, should I ever meet them again. I pedaled home and got back to work.

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My fairweather biking friend; off to a glacier to cook ice worms; cat on a stump

With the good weather that we have had lately, I've been out everyday at coffee break time riding bikes with Mr. Shadow.

He is good company, Mr. Shadow - but only in fair weather.

When the weather is bad, he tends to desert me.

Mr. Shadow: my fair weather friend.

So I bike to Metro Cafe and there I find short Carmen, being hugged by tall Sarah. Tall Sarah has come to say goodbye, because she is leaving for Skagway, where she will spend the summer on a glacier, cooking for people on tour.

She didn't say, but I believe Sarah will be cooking ice worms for her guests. Ice worms crawl around on the glaciers by the multi-millions. A cook can just step outside the cook tent, scoop them up, throw them into the vat and boil them up.

Put them in tomato sauce and they look just like spaghetti. So I think is what Sarah will do. She will cook the iceworms and then tell the guests that it is glacier spaghetti.

"Hey!" one of her guests will invariably shout, "This is the strangest damn spaghetti I have ever tasted! Tastes like worms!"

"Eat your damn spaghetti and quit whining!" Sarah will shout back.

The guest will eat it, too, but will mumble to himself, all the way through.

Back home, I hang out with Jim.

It seems odd to me that some people probably look at him and see just another cat. 

I look at Jim and see a friend. A close, close, friend who hangs out with me every day, from morning until night and then through the night - unless I am traveling of course.

Margie reports that he can hardly bear it when I am traveling.

When I return, he goes a bit insane. He jumps onto me, clambers all over me, jumps off, jumps on, clambers, jumps off... maybe 50 or 60 times.

Unlike Shadow, Jim is not a fair weather friend. He is an all weather friend.

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