How I took my R&R - part 1, the car ride: two walkers; the angry good humor man four-wheeler and mountain; the motorcyclist

Today will be a three-post day. In post one, I mentioned my great need to take a little break, to do something physical under the open sky. I lamented that whatever it was, Margie would not be able to do it with me, as physical activities remain beyond her as a result of the two falls she took in 2009.

I decided that before I did whatever it was I was going to do, I should take Margie out, on a drive, so we could do at least one little thing together. Remember that, until last night, we had been apart for the five full days that she had stayed in town to babysit Jobe.

We started by going to lunch at Taco Del Mar, where we bought one burrito and one quesadilla and split them both in half. They make huge burritos at Taco Del Mar and half with half a quesadilla is plenty.

As we drove there, we passed these two walkers, who themselves had just passed Metro Cafe.

When we reached the stop-light at Lucille and the Parks Highway, this was the scene. No big deal, the good humor man had just exited a parking lot right on the corner and had no choice but to wait in this configuration until the light changed.

I was attracted to the ice cream illustrations on the side of his truck and hoped that I would get a chance to get a better photo of them.

Soon, the light changed and we were on our way to Taco Del Mar. This guy on a four-wheeler was traveling in the opposite direction.

As you can see, the man in the good humor van was directly in front of me. The left lane was full of cars. My only hope was if, at the next stoplight it worked out that the cars on the left all stopped ahead of him so that I could pull up alongside.

It looked like it might.

In fact, it did. He came to a stop, a gap opened up to his left, I pulled into it and then shot this snap as I rolled slowly past him. As you can see, he was talking on the phone. I then heard him shout angry and loud just after we passed, but I could not make out his words.

Apparently, it would seem, he was angry that I had taken the picture of his truck. But, hey! If you are going to drive around with pictures of ice cream, sundaes, shakes, malts and banana splits painted on the side of your truck, then you just have to understand that people are going to want to take pictures.

Here I was, giving him free advertising, and here he was, shouting at me.

Oh, well. One should not expect too much appreciation in this world for good deeds done.

After that, I steadfastly decided that I was not going to take anymore pictures - not because the good humor man had intimidated me - no, not at all - but because I have a big backlog of pictures from the last couple of days that I have yet to deal with and I just did not want to deal with anymore.

So I shoved my camera deep into my pocket, where I could not easily get at it.

I left it there while Margie I and ate. It remained there afterward, as we drove toward Palmer. I saw many potential pictures, but, what the hell. I had enough.

I can't photograph every damn thing I see.

Then, just before we reached Palmer, we saw a young man on a skateboard being pulled pulled by a sled dog.

And there was no way I could safely extract my camera in time to take the picture.

When we turned around to go back, I took my camera out of my pocket and got it ready, just in case we should again see the young man on the skateboard being pulled by the husky.

We didn't. But I did see this man in my rearview mirror.

Now he will be remembered for all time and eternity.

"That's the guy who pulled his motorcycle right up behind Bill Hess on that day that he failed to photograph the skateboarder back in 2010," a fellow by the name of Galp will say to his wife, sometime in the year of 201,424,899,212."

"Yes," Galphina will agree. "Too bad that he missed that sled dog and skateboard, but what a fortunate man this is, to have traveled behind him afterward."

As two boys pedal down Lucille bike trail a dog crosses the road; his people chase after; little kid on motor-bike nearly gets hit

It was a gorgeous, warm day - temperature 56 degrees farenheit - and as I drove down Lucille towards Metro, I felt the heat of the sun coming through the windows to toast up the interior of the loaner car. I wondered if perhaps it was time to get an icy frappe instead of a steaming Americano, but I wanted a muffin, too, so I stuck with the Americano.

Then, as I waited for a break in traffic so that I could turn out of the Metro driveway back onto Lucille, I saw these two kids coasting down the bike trail - looking oh so cool as they stood on the pegs that protrude out from their rear axles.

Traffic cleared and I pulled onto Lucille, just in time to see this dog break away from the couple who was walking it and dash across Lucille, toward the boys on the bikes. 

The couple then dashed across the road in pursuit of the dog.

The man then chased the dog past the next church down.

The dog dashed pass one of the biking boys who, apparently startled by the yelling and shouting, had stopped his bike.

The dog raced happily on. And I drove on. I saw the dog, the couple, and the kids on the bikes no more. 

And then I saw two little boys to the left of me, driving their little motor bikes where the bike trail goes. Motor vehicles are prohibited on the bike trail, so, apparently not wanting to break the law the boy in the lead, this boy, gunned his engine and shot across the road to the dirt trail on the other side.

By his nervous glance and body language, I could see the second boy did not want to be left behind and, even though it was too dangerous to do, was trying to decide to cross as well.

I moved my right foot off the gas pedal and brought it lightly to the brake. Sure enough, the second boy decided to go for it. I had to hit my brake, hard, to keep from hitting him.

I then drove on. I ate my cranberry muffin and sipped my Americano.

I then cut across to Church Road, where I saw this couple walking.

As readers returning in great anticipation from yesterday's post have undoubtedly noted, I had planned something else for today, but this just popped up, it was quick and easy to do, I have been going like crazy and just got a huge project, the budget for which I depleted about two months ago - to press last night, the day is beautiful, I am burned out, and I just want to find some way to get out and enjoy that beauty.

I wish Margie could join me, but she still cannot do anything physical and I must get out under the open sky today and do something physical.

I still have not decided what. A long, long, bike ride would be good, but I am still not in shape for a long, long, bike ride.

The places that I like to hike will be a slushy mess, so I am ruling that out.

I must do something, though.

What?

As I enjoy a good breakfast at Family, two women die just down the road; I meet a friend of Cheech and Chong who witnessed the aftermath

Once again, I had to do it. I got up, the house was empty, the dishes were dirty, and I did not want to sit in the cold air that still permeated the house, there to eat oatmeal alone, so I got into the car and drove to Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant. Connie was again my waitress, so I showed her the Moment in Time picture on my iPhone as it appears in this blog, then she brought my ham and eggs-over-easy and I began to eat.

It was superb - from the hashbrowns cooked just right to the ham dipped in the runny egg yolk. A bit after 9:00 AM, I looked up from my food, saw this scene, thought it worth a click and shot it.

What I did not know, what none of us gathered there at Family Restaurant yet knew, was that just up the road, a silver Chrysler Pacifica had crossed the suicide turn lane all the way into oncoming traffic and had struck a Tahoe head-on. The woman who had been driving the Pacifica was already dead and the one driving the Tahoe soon would be.

Just as she and the other Family waitresses always do, Connie waited until I finished the main course and then she brought me my two slices of 12-grain toast, each cut in half. One at a time, I spread strawberry jam over the halves and then ate very slowly, stopping frequently to take a sip of coffee. I wanted to savor every bite, every sip, every moment of it.

Then, feeling pleasant and satisfied, I got up, paid my bill, climbed into my car, turned right on the Parks Highway and then came home via Church Road. I arrived with much to do, but feeling good.

I would have felt completely differently, had I turned left on the Parks Highway instead of right.

I had a rush of work to do and stayed with it solid and non-stop, taking no time for lunch, because, really, one does not need lunch after eating breakfast at Family until 4:00 PM, when I took a break and drove to Metro for my All Things Considered cup.

As I drove along, sipping, I passed this fellow driving his four-wheeler. Do you notice anything happening in those trees behind him? Something we haven't seen for awhile?

Shortly after that, as she does every afternoon, the KSKA announcer jumped in during a break in All Things Considered to drop in a kicker for the Alaska Public Radio Network's Alaska statewide news. Barrow hunters had landed the first two bowhead whales of the season, she said.

I shouted, and clapped my hands for joy!

Later in the evening, Maak in Wainwright dropped a comment into yesterday's post to tell me that her village had also landed its first whale.

It was a joyous day in the two northern-most communities of the United States of America.

I came upon a little dog, walking down the road. I passed by at about one-mile per hour, because I did not want to run over it.

I then returned to my computer, but by 7:30, my muscles were screaming for exercise. I got up and invited Shadow to go bike riding with me.

We had not gone far when we spotted a little fourwheeler putting down the road in front of us.

"Do you think we can pass her?" I asked Shadow.

Shadow didn't answer, because Shadow never speaks.

I passed her! I soon reached the end of Sarah's Way and turned left toward Seldon. Then I heard a small engine, whining loudly, gaining on me. "Well," I said to Shadow, "it sounds like she didn't like us smoking her and now she is going to show us."

The pitch was so high, I wondered if her engine might blow apart.

Then the vehicle passed me, but it was not the girl on the fourwheeler. It was a little tiny blue car. I don't know what make.

Shadow and I continued on. Half-an-hour later, I photographed Shadow as the two of us pedaled down Church Road. Then I spotted another man on a bike, coming in our direction. "When we draw near, I will photograph this guy," I told Shadow.

I readied my pocket camera, but, unfortunately, I forgot the lesson that I had learned at the Wasilla park on that day tht I flipped my bike and leaped over the handle bars in front of the shocked little kid. I held my camera in my right hand. This meant that I had only my left hand available to brake, should I need to. As we know, left-hand brake stops front wheel only - sudden stop means bike flips.

But this guy could see me coming and I could see him. No cars or trucks could be seen anywhere. It would be okay. I would not need to brake.

As the biker drew near, the camera zoom was its widest-angle setting. As I began to lift my lens toward him, the oncoming rider looked straight at me and with a mischievous chin and a somewhat maniacal glint in his eyes, issued a challenge: "Wanna play chicken?"

He stood up and pedaled hard, straight toward me.

For an instant, I was determined to get a shot that captured that grin on his face and the force in his body as he pedaled at me. If I had been in the same exact situation prior to June 12, 2008, I am quite certain that I would have succeeded.

But, as regular readers know, the risk that I took that day to get a truly insignificant photo that no one will ever care about put me inside a Lear Jet ambulance on a $37,000 + ride from Barrow to Providence Hospital in Anchorage, a ride that my insurance company, contrary to the promise they had verbally given me when I bought the policy 15 years earlier in anticipation that, given the way I lived, the day would inevitably come when I would one day need an air ambulance, refused to pay.

That's why I have this titanium shoulder and that's just one of the reasons why I hate the insurance industry.

That coupled with the fact that I had flipped my bike in front of the little boy when I had braked with my left hand, added to the fact that I suddenly believed that this guy coming at me truly might not chicken out nor veer away in the slightest degree, added to my painful knowledge that my titanium shoulder is a fragile thing, and my memory of spending the summer of 2008 mostly in bed and the long convalescence that continued for a good year-and-half caused me to chicken out.

I knew I had to brake with my left hand but I reckoned that I had just enough space to do it gently, and not flip the bike. Even as I applied the brake, I shot this image.

As you can see, the oncoming rider was, in fact, chickening out, veering to his right. He, too, was applying his brakes.

We came to a stop side by side. My rear wheel did lift up about six inches and, fearing that I might yet go down, he reached out to grab me - but I had it under control and was not going to go down.

Some of you may recall how, way back in March, I had become shaggy, in both hair and beard. I was scheduled to do my slide shows in Nantucket and New York and so had committed myself to good cut and trim before I left.

I ran out of time and decided to get the cut and trim in Nantucket. When that didn't happen, I decided that I would get it in New York.

I absolutely will get it done before I leave for Arizona in just ten days.

This is Dave, by the way.

We pedaled side-by-side for just a short distance.

Then we stopped to visit. Dave was animated in his conversation, smiling continually. He said that he had just pedaled his bike up a road that climbs up the Talkeetnas and it had sure been hard, but it was easy coming down.

He asked if I biked often and I said, "yeah."

I asked if he did and he said he pretty much had to, if he wanted to go anywhere. I asked if he enjoyed it. As he thought about his answer, a big, white, Chevy pickup that looked to be almost brand new came driving by. He looked at. "Well," he said. "I'd rather be driving that. You can imagine how I feel when I'm on my bike and something like that comes by. But, hey! I can go all the way downtown and back and I don't burn any gasoline, I don't put any pollution into the air."

I wanted to catch his smile, and the glint in his turquoise-green eyes and told him so. He struck this pose. The smile disappeared.

OK - look at these trees. Now do you notice something happening?

I had him try another pose, but I quickly realized that, as long as he knew a camera was pointing at him, his smile was not going to be there.

I then showed him the pictures. "I look terrible," he said. "You can see all my scars!" He pointed to the one that starts between his left eye and the upper part of his nose. "I got that one when someone kicked me in the head." He then began to point out other scars, and tell me the histories behind them.

"Man! I should have shaved. My hair looks so dark. My eyes look blue - but they're green!"

He then mentioned that earlier in the day, he had been pedaling alongside the Parks Highway on the other side of the police station when he came upon the aftermath of a horrible accident.

"That little silver car had shot across the dead man's lane right into the SUV!" he said. "I could see that the air bag on the passenger side had worked."

The victims had already been removed. He did not know that two people had died in that crash until I told him. He seemed a little shook.

"Men or women?" he asked.

I did not know. The news bulletin I had read online had identified the dead only as the drivers of each vehicle.

"I'll read about it in tomorrow's paper," he shook his head.

The conversation fell to more pleasant topics. His smile returned. He had just painted his bike silver, earlier in the day. He was proud of it. He asked if I smoked and if I had a light. I said no, and I didn't. He pulled out a paper and a bag and began to roll.

I wanted to catch his smile, so I took this shot without raising my camera. Afterwards I showed it to him. "Hey," he said. "I want to tell you about when I went to Mexico with Cheech and Chong. We tried to come back across the border in our van, but the border guards wouldn't let us cross." He said he and Cheech and Chong then backed up, traded the psychedelically-painted van for a more conservative vehicle, returned to the border and were allowed to cross back in. They drove on to El Cerrito, where he checked into a bed and slept hard and long.

"You know Cheech and Chong?" I gushed.

"Oh, yeah!" he answered.

"Famous guy!"

"I'm not famous," he said. "They're famous."

"But you hang out with famous people."

"That was a long time ago."

As to the contents of that plastic baggie, I know what you are thinking - but it actually looked and smelled like tabacco.

As they say, "that's my story and I'm sticking to it!"

Dave and I said, "see you around." I pedaled on home.

That was last evening. This is from this morning. Now, surely, you notice what is happening in those trees... they are turning green! The leaves are coming out!

The first year that we lived here, the leaves came out May 14, as they did for the next 15 years or so. Then they started to come out earlier and earlier and earlier.

This year, they came out May 3.

And here is the place where the two women were killed, as I saw it this morning. God be with them, and even more so with those loved ones they left behind.

I suffer many trials and tribulations, then take a picture at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant for The New York Times

First, this is not the picture. The picture had to be taken this morning at 7:00 AM. It could not be 6:59, AM, it could not be 7:01. It had to be 7:00. Not only was this picture not taken at 7:00 AM, it was not taken today at all. I took it last Tuesday, while Margie was in Anchorage babysitting little Jobe.

Yet, it is the image that set me on the pursuit of today's picture.

One of the blogs that I visit everyday is Lens, published by The New York Times. Recently, Lens put out a call to all interested photographers anywhere in the world - pro, amateur, novice, whatever - to shoot a photo at 15:00 UTC/GMT. Out of these, they plan to build some kind of huge montage for a project they have titled A Moment in Time. In Wasilla, that moment would be 7:00 AM AKDT.

Naturally, when I learned of the project I immediately wanted to participate. So, I thought, where should I be at 7:00 AM Sunday?

My first choice was somewhere on the Arctic Slope where Iñupiat whalers are out right now, hunting bowhead: Barrow, Wainwright, Point Lay or Point Hope. Yet I lacked the funds to go there on my own and had no projects going that would take me there.

So I began to think about exciting, wild, dramatic places in the Mat-Su Valley where I could position myself - places that said, "this is wild and wooly Alaska!"

And then, last Tuesday, as Connie King poured my coffee, I thought, wait! I'll just go for the ordinary, mundane, everyday, typical Sunday morning, 7:00 AM scene: a waitress at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant, pouring coffee.

I knew that such an image would have to compete for attention against much more dramatic fare: shots taken on the battlefront in Afghanistan, the aftermath of the Gulf of Mexico oil spill, rescue and relief efforts in disaster stricken regions of the world from China to Haiti; against the action of athletic events to the glamour of models and showgirls - for you can count on all of this kind of material and much more being prominent in the mix.

But what the hell. Every morning, at Family Restaurant, the waitresses pour coffee. And they always smile.

I told Connie I would come at 7:00 AM Sunday. She laughed and said "okay."

This is also from last Tuesday, as is the next image after it. The three that follow that are from today, but shot after 7:00 AM. I will use them as the backdrop to tell the story and then I will post today's 7:00 AM shot. Please do not cheat and skip ahead.

I could have cheated on the photo, and started shooting a couple of minutes before 7:00; I could have then continued for a couple of minutes after so that I would have a bigger selection to chose from, but I didn't. I kept it strictly honest.

This still gave me some choices to make. Should I shoot with the pocket camera, as I have typically been doing for this blog? Or should I use one of my big, pro, DSLR's?

As you know, the pocket camera is very slow to recycle, to focus, and to do all sorts of things that one wants a camera to do.

In the time it would take a waitress to pour a cup of coffee, I would be doing good to get two frames off. If I were to bring a DSLR, in that same time, I could shoot a dozen frames.

Plus, the technical quality would be far superior.

Still, I have elected to use the pocket camera as my primary tool for building this blog. If it is good enough for my blog, then is it not good enough for the New York Times "Lens" blog?

Yet, I do miss many images with my pocket camera that I would have gotten had I been shooting with a DSLR. For example, just before I shot this image last Tuesday, this big, tough-looking man patted the baby girl on the head.

I spotted the action and had the camera on them while it was still happening, but I could not get the damn thing to focus until the action was over. With any of my DSLR's, it would have been in focus just like that.

Still, the moment I did get was nice, if not as nice, and that is the kind of compromises one makes when shooting with a pocket camera. You get what you are able to get, not what you could have got and in return you live a more subtle, peaceful life.

Can you imagine what a spectacle I would be, sitting at the breakfast table in Family Restaurant blasting away with a big, noisy, DSLR?

This man followed the big man to the baby. Again, although I had the moment framed, the camera did not focus in time to get the image. Still, the emotion does bleed through the blur and, as I am giving a demonstration of the strengths and weaknesses of pocket cameras, I use it, anyway.

I decided to leave the big DSLR's at home and shoot today's image with the pocket camera.

I am not a morning person. I seldom get to bed before 1:00 AM. Three and 4:00 AM are common bedtimes for me. Once I get to bed, I have difficulty falling asleep and after I do, my sleep usually comes poorly, in fits and bursts.

There is only one place that I want to be at 7:00 AM and that is in bed.

This morning, knowing that I had to get up early, I started to head for bed at midnight, but somehow did not manage to tuck myself under the covers until 1:30 AM.

I then thought, "do I really need to participate in this? It will make no difference to my career. My image will get lost in the thousands upon thousands of images that will surely pour in - many of them to be shot in dramatic circumstance by top-notch photojournalists working with the best equipment; others will have been carefully planned, lit, composed and staged by genuine artists in preparation for that one moment.

"Doubtless," I thought on, "there will be some who will fudge a bit - who will start shooting at, say, 6:50, keep at it until 7:10, then choose the best of a few hundred frames. Set against all this, my poor little coffee shot will just disappear into the morass; no one will take note of it at all.

"Why I should I subject myself to the pain, agony, and suffering that getting up in time to be at Family Restaurant at 7:00 AM will inflict upon me?

"Yet, isn't that what the artist does? Subject himself to pain, agony, and suffering, just to create his art? Art which, in most cases, will simply disappear unseen and unnoted by the mass of humanity, itself destined in its entirety to die out and vanish?

"So why not just sleep in?"

As I thus deliberated, Pistol-Yero, the white-booted tabby cat, crawled onto the blankets atop my chest, flattened out there and began to purr. 

I felt warm and snug. I wanted to stay that way as long as possible.

The thought struck me that, come 7:00 AM, I could just grab my camera from where I lay, take a bleary-eyed picture of Pistol-Yero and the black cat Jim, who would surely have joined us by then, close my eyes and then just drift back to sleep.

Yet, one cannot count on a cat for something like that. A cat is going to do what a cat is going to do and it does not matter what the cat did 30 days in a row prior without fail, the cat is going to do what it wants to do and if you plan in advance for it do something specific it will surely do something else.

I went to sleep fairly quickly and slept soundly until 2:30 AM. I then woke up, checked the time, fell back asleep and then stayed that way until 3:15, when I woke again. And so it went through the night until 6:15 AM. I then decided to get up and go get the picture.

I had planned to position myself at one of the booths by the windows that face the railroad tracks, so that the light that comes through those windows would fall upon my waitress. At the instant I stepped into Family, I saw a young family with a boy who looked to be about six-years old sitting together on the other side of the divider, near the bar-style counter. I suddenly knew that I had to make them the subject of my 7:00 AM shot, so I walked over, introduced myself, told them what I wanted to do and they said, "sure, join us."

So I did and I shot and I shot and it was all so beautiful and the interaction was wonderful and I knew that I was just getting the most fantastic shots. Then they finished their breakfast, got up and left the restaurant.

I looked at the clock. It was only 6:34 AM.

Oh, no! I had gotten so excited that I forgot to check the time. None of those fantastic pictures that I had just taken would qualify.

I decided to return to my original plan. I looked over at the booths by the window but was horrified to see that they were now all filled. There was no space for me to sit there. Wait... I saw a diner get up, leave his table. I arose and rushed for that booth... but just before I reached it, a serious-looking man wearing a white shirt, black slacks and black-rimmed glasses sat down there ahead of me, opened up a copy of the Anchorage Daily News and began to read.

Damnit! Rude S.O.B! Here, I had an assignment from The New York Times and I was blowing it! This man wasn't helping!

I looked back at the clock to see how much time I had. It read 6:35 - but this was the clock in my bedroom, not the one at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant. I was still in bed. I had been dreaming.

I got up and drove to Family Restaurant, where, after completing my big shoot, I would see Rob, who I met last Tuesday right here at Family, and his wife, Katie, who I met just today. This is them, smiling above.

According to my iPhone, which must be right on, I took a seat at a window booth at 6:55 AM. Connie came over to fill my cup. "Wait!" I stopped her. "You can't fill it until exactly 7:00 AM!"

"Oh, this is for that special deal you were telling me about?" she said. "I thought it was supposed to be Saturday. I wondered why you didn't show up."

She promised to come back right at 7:00 and then left to do something else.

I decided that I should do a test shot to check out exposure and lighting. I let my hand play the role of the waitress.

I kept checking the minutes on my cell... 6:56... 6:57... 6:58...

Come 6:59, Connie was nowhere in sight.

I decided to give her 40 seconds. If she didn't show, I would then track her down.

Forty seconds passed. No Connie. I got up, walked a short distance to a spot where I could peer down into a little enclave alongside the kitchen where the waitresses sometimes go. There she was, talking with another waitress.

"Connie!" I said. "It's time!"

A look of panic swept over her. She scurried empty-handed into the area between the counter and the big window that opens up on the cooks, then dashed to the far end, grabbed the coffee pot and hurried to my table. She lifted the pot to pour.

"Wait!" I said. I picked up my cell phone. It still read 6:59. Two seconds later, it switched to 7:00.

"Okay," I said, "pour!"

Oh, damn! Despite my test, I could see that the shot was going to be somewhere between one and two stops underexposed and there was a strange purple cast that would be a bear to ever fully correct. The framing was not quite how I had envisioned it.

But it was 7:00 AM and the coffee was pouring...

I had to shoot...

Connie King, Waitress, Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant, pouring my coffee at exactly 15:00 UTC/GMT, 7:00 AM AKDT.

It's nowhere near the best coffee pouring shot that I have ever taken, but it is the one that I took at a specific Moment in Time.

"Now, what is this for again?" Connie asked as she raised the coffee pot back up. I explained.

"I've been pouring coffee for 35 years," she mused. "I always knew it would take me somewhere."

I returned home via Church Road. Along the way, I passed this young woman. She, too, was going somewhere.

Things I saw on the bike ride that took me into springtime Wasilla; I nearly crashed

Monday rapidly ages, and I have yet to complete my post on Saturday's bike ride, so I guess that I had better get to it.

As noted, the day dawned sunny and while the morning was cool, the afternoon turned warm and beautiful. The temperature rose to 48 degrees and the sky went to deep blue. The wind was calm. I climbed onto my bike and headed out to see what I might see.

I see that I overexposed this image. That's because sometimes camera settings change on their own and when you are pedaling a bicycle, you are unlikely to notice. If you do notice, then you have to stop to make the changes.

I got a better exposure on this one. The man walked with a dog and they were close together when I first spotted them from a couple hundred yards back, but, by the time I got close enough to take a picture, the dog had gone off into the trees.

"Good afternoon, sir!" I called out as I pedaled past.

"Good afternoon," he smiled back.

It used to be that you would see these golf-ball domes sitting atop towers spaced at regular intervals all along the Arctic Coast, in the Aleutian Islands and at various places in the interior, such as Clear and Fort Yukon. They were part of the Distant Early Warning Line, operated by the US Air Force to scan the skies for a Soviet nuclear missile or air attack against the United States.

On a clear day, before I got GPS, I could spot them from my airplane from as far as 50 miles away and then I could just relax, place my map aside and fly straight toward them.

Of course, I have also had the experience of thus relaxing, only to see fog sweep in off the ocean and cause the golf ball that I was following to disappear - along with the entire village by which it sat.

This always made the flight a little more interesting.

Some of those golf balls are still out there, but many have disappeared. I first spotted these in Wasilla about the time they began to disappear from the bush, so I assumed that they had been moved here from there, that perhaps I had safely followed one or more of these very balls to my destination, but I've never actually researched the origin of these to find out if that's true or not.

I often see this young gentleman from my car, as I drive by him. Usually, he will smile and wave as I drive by. I return his greetings. On this day, he smiled and said, "hi."

"Hi," I answered back.

Just down the road, I saw this police officer, parked in his car near the park that used to be the Wasilla airport. I used to keep my airplane here.

And in the park, I pedaled past young people flying - not by airplane but by swing.

As I did, my iPhone vibated and chimed in the instant message mode, so I stopped to see what the message was. It was a photo of "my boys" - Jacob, Jobe and Kalib, sent to me by Lavina, who had taken it in Hope. It was good to see, because that told me that, after being so sick, she was feeling well enough to want to travel and see things.

A bit further down, young people shot baskets where airplanes once parked.

Kids flowed by, riding bikes and scooters.

Many had come to the park to enjoy the weather.

At one point, I saw a kid pedaling around a curve toward me, looking at the trail behind him instead of ahead. He was all the way to his left and I soon realized that we were on a collision course. No big deal. All I needed to do was apply a little brake and get out of the way. 

I held my camera in my right hand, so I braked with my left. Remember, now, this was only the second bike ride that I had taken since mid-October and I had forgotten just how sensitive that left-hand brake is. Worse yet, it affects only the front brake. The front wheel came to an instant stop and the back wheel began to rise. I then realized that the bike was going to do a complete flip and I was going down.

Woe be unto me if I were to land on my artificial shoulder!

I don't know how I did it, but somehow, after the bike passed the vertical position, I leaped right over the handle bars and came down on my feet on the bike trail. The bike then crashed to the pavement, upside down, behind me as I ran forward.

The kid went by, wide-eyed, looking at me. "It's okay!" I told him. "No problem."

I can imaging how strange it must have looked to a boy of that age, to have been looking backward from his bike, only to turn around and see what to him could only have appeared to be an old, old, man with a whitening beard leaping over his handle bars as his bike took to the air.

This was not the kid, by the way. The kid wore a helmet. This would have been just a little bit before the kid appeared.

I stopped at the skateboard park just long enough to shoot a few frames from off my bike. There, I saw eight-year old Cole preparing to use this ramp even as his mother was shouting at him, telling him that some older boys were headed towards it and had asked him to clear the space.

The older boy thought that he could miss the younger boy by scooting along the top of the steel railing, but he lost control. His skateboard sailed through the air and very nearly missed giving Cole a good whack on the head.

"That was the worse moment of my life," the older boy, whose name I did not catch, exclaimed afterward. "I have never been so scared in all my life."

As for Cole, he took it calmly in stride. "I love to skateboard," he told me.

"Oh, yes," his mother added. "He does love it."

I used to love it, too. Cole, I'll bet you down know it, but it was me and my peers that pioneered skateboarding for you. We started out by taking steel-wheeled roller skates, separating the front from the back and then nailing them to short wooden planks.

We had a blast on these, coasting down hills, shooting about on broad, school-yard walks. Then, one day, a kid showed up with the first commercial skateboard any of us had ever seen.

Thus began the revolution, which you young guys keep perfecting. We came up with many tricks that we thought were pretty spectacular. My father could not believe his eyes when he saw what we did on our skateboards - but I cannot believe my eyes when I see what you young guys do today.

One day this summer, I will take my big DSLR's to the skateboard park and just hang out for awhile, just to show people the amazing things that you kids are doing there. 

Afterward, I pedaled on into and through the graveyard. I saw a few graves that broke my heart, for they were children's graves, decorated with artifacts of children playing and swinging, doing the things the children who lay beneath had been robbed of ever doing. I did take a couple of pictures and at first, I put them in this post, but pulled them out before I published.

As I pedaled on through the trees, I saw children playing across the street from the graveyard.

Play, children. Play hard. Laugh, and love every minute of it, even when you fall and scrape yourselves, even when someone is mean to you and you cry and think you are miserable.

Laugh. Play hard.

I got back onto the bike trail and pedaled towards home. "Hello, fellow bike rider!" the girl in the back shouted at me as we passed.

When I spotted these boys, they were close together, spread out across the trail so that there was no room to pass by. The image took me right back to challenges that I had faced as a child when my path would be blocked intentionally to intimidate me, but, as you can see, these three respectfully cleared a path through which I could pass.

As I passed it, this dog growled and eyed me threateningly. After I passed it, without looking backward myself, I pointed my camera behind me and took this snap.

I should note that, after I flipped the bike, I remembered that it was my broken shoulder and the fact that for several months I was able to shoot pictures only with my left hand that got me into pocket cameras in the first place. I had become adept at shooting with my left hand, so why had I switched back to my right, even while riding a bike?

Hence I took this, and most of the pictures that followed that flip, with my left hand. This way, if I should happen to need to brake again, I could brake with my right hand, and it would be the back wheel that stopped. The bike would not flip.

I also recalled that the reason that my shoulder suffered such a grievous injury in the first place was that because when I realized I was going down and there was nothing I could do to prevent it, I had tucked my camera into my chest and there protected it by taking the brunt of the blow directly on my shoulder.

Hey! That was an expensive camera! Very expensive! The best and most expensive DSLR on the market at that time.

But that expense was cheap compared to the losses that followed if I had only protected myself first and not worried about the camera. In fact, those losses are truly responsible even for the rough spot I temporarily find myself in. This pocket camera is relatively cheap. It occurred to me that if I found myself going down, I could just toss it aside.

It might get damaged, but better it than me.