May 26, 2008

Monday

SOAK US ‘TIL WERE DONE

Inside the Marlin our feet were on the floor by six fifteen and coffee and tea were brewing.  We had awakened, rested, at five but saw no need to get up as it was only fifty miles to Ft.Nelson and we had to buy stamps before leaving there.  The post office wouldn’t open before nine.

Outside the sun was shining brightly, trying to turn the thirty eight degrees into thirty nine. 

Inside, pecking was going on while biscuits were warming up with ham.

We left our pullout behind at eight thirty and slowed for Ft. Nelson at nine thirty.  The Canadian flag waving over the post office guided us there.  We parked nearby.

Not many people the writer knows like the United States Post Office.  They are known to be bungling folks who lose things entrusted to them at every opportunity, charge too much for their service or lack thereof and in many cases are rude beyond compare.  The Canadians on the other hand are very polite, hardly lose anything but take forever and a day to deliver it and think anything they want to charge for service slower than the Pony Express is just fine.  The check we were mailing was to pay a bill due in ten days.  The ultra polite postal lady told me, with a smile, that regular service to U.S. destinations takes twelve to fourteen days and cost only ninety seven cents.  How nice!  Five day service, which the writer obviously needed, was just twelve dollars fifteen cents.  With no choice the five day envelope was opted for.  It would be better to pay the high postage than to pay an even higher late charge.  The ninety seven cent service was chosen for the other mail.

With a lighter wallet the writer headed for the coach for the All-West Glass Company.  A windshield star had been picked up somewhere along the way and Onie and Pawpaw agreed it should be repaired before it got worse.  It was a short drive.  When we got there Onie stayed in the coach, reading, while Pawpaw went in to talk about getting the star fixed.  The young lady inside was quite cheery and helpful and let me know that even though they were very busy a tech would be with us very shortly.   Thanking her, the writer looked around the office/waiting room, taking in all the plaques acknowledging outstanding service as well as membership in many service organizations.

Before long a young man came out to the coach with a ladder and bucket full of tools.  He quickly cleaned the numerous bugs from the windshield, to check the star and look for others.  No others were found and he started the repair.  It was a process where he did something and then left for a while before returning to do something else.  At the end of twenty minutes he removed the paper from his work area, cleaned it and said he was unhappy with the repair, was unsure if it would prevent further cracking and would not be charging us for it.    He then proceeded to use some cleaner from his shop to really clean the windshield.  When he was finished he handed the aerosol can to me and told me to keep it.  I noticed it was marked seven ninety five.  Not only was he not charging us he was giving us one of his products.  It was unbelievable.  Helping carry his tools back to his shop the driver told the young man he would be glad to pay him for his time.  He had done the work and tried his best.  It just hadn’t turned out completely perfect but the young man refused again with the same reply, he wasn’t happy with the finished job and wouldn’t charge for it.  The driver was catapulted back in time to when folks in the U.S. took pride in their work and demanded nothing less than perfection from themselves.  They had disappeared long ago and the driver often wondered where they had gone; now he knew.  They had gone to Ft. Nelson.

Still shaken by the old fashioned work ethic and honesty the driver was able to start the engine in the coach and make his was back to the road north.  It was eleven o’clock.  Some time later his pulse and blood pressure returned to normal.

Now the road led west, into the heart of the Canadian Rockies.  The roads were rough with steep grades, some being in excess of ten percent and stretching on for miles.  The exhaust brake was in constant use and we were rarely out of second or third gear.

Last year when we passed Summit Lake it had a lot of ice on it.  This year it was almost completely frozen.  The Thin Horn Sheep who were usually eating last winter’s residual salt here were no where to be seen.

Beautiful Muncho Lake was not far away and here we did see the Thin Horn Sheep as well as the Rocky Mountain sheep.

The road around the lake follows the shore line and can best be descried as tortuous.  It seems the writer may have used that term recently to describe other roads on the way to Alaska and if he has it is only because they are.   The road was winding with tight curves, a rough surface with potholes as big as small cars and limited visibility at most curves.  The surface on this lake was also frozen.  Running off the road was not an option to be contemplated unless one wished either drown or freeze and freezing to death would probably occur before the drowning.

It was two hundred forty four hard miles and three forty when we pulled into Liard Hot Springs.  The last hurdle to getting here had been the Liard River crossing which had been more long steep downgrades with lots of exhaust brake and lower gears and then the climb out, still in low gears but we were here.

The coach came to a rest in the gravel parking lot near the boardwalk to the springs themselves.

If tense nerves and aching muscles deserve a good soaking in hot mineral waters ours qualified.  We set off for the springs to soak us ‘til we were done.  The air was warm, in the seventies, which meant the water in the springs would be much hotter than on cold days, and so it was.  With just the smallest of toes in the water Onie could tell it was a good boiling we were in for and when Pawpaw tried to enter the hot water he couldn’t.  Well, he could but it took several minutes for him to become acclimated so he could sit on the bench in the coolest part.  As we were slowly parboiled we felt our muscles relax and nerves loosen.  The slow moving water was washing away the cares of the day along with the accumulated dry skin from bodies long deprived of realistic amounts of humidity.  One should remember Onie and I come from a place where seventy percent humidity is considered low. For the last ten days we had been living in relative humidity of less than fifty percent and in some cases less than twenty percent.  Our skin hadn’t suffered, it had died.  Now it was being washed away.

An initial twenty minutes followed by a cooling off period and then followed by another ten minute soak was all we could enjoy or perhaps endure is a more fitting word.  It was back to the Marlin for us.

Once there we changed into some cool comfortable clothing, it was till warm, and Onie fixed us some snacks to be enjoyed, outside.

While we were having our snack our thoughts turned, as one, to poutine, French fries covered with melted cheese and gravy.  Onie was too comfortable in her cotton dress to want to change but not dressy enough, in her opinion, to go to the lodge across the road, to eat.  It was decided that the driver would walk across the road, get two orders of poutine and return with them.  Straightaway he was gone on his mission and by seven o’clock was back with the artery clogging polyglot.  Both navigator and driver turned to, with a will, to eat the potatoes before the gathering swarm of mosquitoes drove them inside at seven thirty.

It was still hot in the coach so the generator was run for two hours to provide electricity to run the air conditioners.  Yes, it was that hot.

While the air conditioner did its work we cued up and watched Master and Commander-The Far Side of the World,   When it was over at nine thirty we killed the generator. 

It was still hot but by opening the windows as well as the overhead vents and sleeping under just a sheet we were able to doze off by ten.

May 27, 2008

Tuesday

ROCKIN’ ON THE OLE’ ALCAN

If it was five on the Alcan it was three in Coldspring.  The only time I have ever been up at three o’clock in the morning, in Coldspring, is when Onie is gone and I can’t sleep.  Onie is here in bed and yet here it is that the writer is up.  What has the world come to? 

With the outside temperature at forty six and it being not much warmer in the coach it was decided that the first thing to do would be crank the Generac and get the coffee and tea as well as the electric heater going.

Onie was still tired and couldn’t be lured out of bed even with a fresh cup of hot coffee. / She slept on until she joined the driver at seven thirty.  By then he had made a few notes.

After a cup of coffee Onie was ready to go soak again.  This time the air was cooler and so was the water.  We enjoyed an hour before returning to the Marlin for breakfast, at nine.

While the writer put together Freedom toast and some ham Onie went out to take some pictures of a gander we had spotted on our way back from the hot springs.

When she returned we had our breakfast, drank our tea and coffee, cleaned up the kitchen and got ready for the road, one more time.

The dust from the parking lot was rolling off our wheels at a quarter of eleven.

We hadn’t gone far before we saw two bull bison getting their morning meal.  In addition they had been wallowing by the road, trying to rub off some more of their winter coat.

Their appearance was soon followed by caribou.

It was one hundred thirty miles to Watson Lake from Liard Hot Springs and we intended to refuel there but at Contact Creek we saw diesel for a dollar forty point nine per liter and they were offering a volume discount.  Certain we wouldn’t find cheaper fuel we stopped in and filled up, two hundred ten liters.  The volume discount was two cents a liter but one tends to take refuge in any port in a storm and be glad of it.

While the fuel was running into the tank the station owner and driver discussed this year’s traffic.  The bottom line was that there is only forty five to fifty percent of the traffic there was this time last year. 

Already we had seen a number of RV parks and service stations, restaurants and lodges closed.  If the traffic didn’t pick up there would be many more closed before our return trip.  Oddly enough it is the high price of diesel that caused many to close before the first of the season travelers should have arrived.  You see many of these businesses are very remote and unlike the States it seems Canada does not have an REA.  Again, for the young readers, we will explain another accomplishment of American ingenuity.  The United States has electricity available to almost every household and business no matter how remote, Alaska excluded.  REA means Rural Electrification Authority and was a partnership between government and business.  Canada has nothing like it, to my knowledge.  If one lives very far away from town, in Canada, he must rely on his own generator to supply power.  The vast majority of these generators are diesel powered so when the price of diesel got too high the business owners had to close their doors.   The fuel bill to run the generator at the station in Contact Creek, for the month before, had been sixty two hundred dollars.  Yes, that is right, six thousand two hundred dollars just to supply power to his home and business.  Without relief he might be closed when we return.

Full of fuel we headed on to and thru Watson Lake where we glanced over at the place we had spent the night last year, on a trailer, getting into the coach with the aid of a ladder. For the most part the roads were good and we made good time but there was one spot of nasty rough construction.  It lasted just a short distance.

A mile on the down side of the continental divide we pulled onto the same gravel parking area we had stayed at last year on the way home.  Sonny and Birdie and Duaine and Bonnie had overnighted with us there before the group lost contact with one another as we went our respective ways.

Swift River, in flood stage, rushed by just a hundred yards in front of the Marlin.  With our door open we could hear the water tumbling and jostling on the rocks and it sped on its way to the Pacific Ocean.

Weary from riding we got out for a walk, crossed the road and began walking up the old Alcan highway.

Ever watchful for interesting rocks for Onie’s rock garden back in Coldspring, we were rockin’ on the ole’ Alcan.  Needless to say we did find some interesting specimens and come fall they will join others already resting there.

On the way back to the coach we saw the most interesting water bird, a duck we think, swimming on the Swift River.  He threw up quite a bow wave as he made his way across the river.

As a tree grows the wind, soil and amount of water it gets shapes it.  Once it is dead the shaping continues by the same forces.  Onie has always been interested in trees and parts of trees that have gained character with the aging process and we call that “character wood.”  Today we found a large piece of character wood that we would have liked to take home to place in a flower bed but it was just a bit too big to get in the toad.  As a result we had to settle for a picture of it.

Back in the coach Onie renewed her reading of a book on nutrition.  The writer sat down to peck.

The thermometer still read seventy four at five o’clock but with the nice breeze and low humidity it was very comfortable.

After supper we played a few games of dominoes before going to bed.  In two games the writer finished in second place while Onie lost one.

By the time we went to sleep we still had no company.  It is true.  There are not too many rigs headed north this spring.

May 28, 2008

Wednesday

HOW MUCH LONGER UNTIL WE GET THERE?

Onie rose early, for us, getting up at seven, starting the generator and then making the coffee and tea.  The hot liquids would help drive out the cold that had crept into the coach from the outside forty five degree air.

When the writer rose there was steaming oatmeal and ham for breakfast.

Notes were made later while outside the clouds hovered low, overhead.  The weatherman says cool clear weather is returning tomorrow.  Of course we all know the weathermen are correct only fifty one percent of the time, by their own admission.  This high percentage of being right can be attributed to the hundreds of millions dollars used to place weather satellites in orbit.  Of course a hundred years ago they were right only fifty percent of the time because they had to watch the skies and rely on the Farmers Almanac.

At the early hour of eight thirty we were on the road with the heater running to stave off the outside air that was now fifty four.  The sun, peeking from behind the clouds now and again, wasn’t able to increase the temperature for at two in the afternoon the temperature remained the same as it was at eight thirty.

Watson Lake was soon reached and we glanced over at the place we had spent the night last year, on a trailer, getting into the coach with the aid of a ladder.

Even with two sets of eyes on the lookout no animals were seen before we reached Whitehorse.  The roads had been tolerably good so we had made pretty good time.

Just north of Whitehorse the road conditions took a dramatic turn for the worse.  Frost heaves of major proportions slowed our pace to twenty five to thirty five miles an hour.  Fortunately the stretch of bad road lasted no more than a few miles and we were back up to forty five and fifty miles an hour.

Now we could see some RVs ahead of us and the rear view mirrors told us we also had some behind us.  We were no longer the only rig to be seen.

Signs are a way of letting tourists know about services available to them as they travel.  We are used to that and watch for them as well as consulting the Milepost for detailed information.  Today and for a few days prior we have been seeing a new sign.  It is a six letter word and one that is not very nice for businesses to post, “CLOSED”.  It seems more and more businesses along this route are unable to stay open or at the very least have the desire to stay open.  We thought if the trend continues very soon one will be able to travel for many a mile without seeing or having access to a business.  And just as the thought crossed our minds we saw a sign that read, “No gas for 108 miles”.  It appears the future is now.

As we traveled the next one hundred eight miles the sign proved to be right.  What it didn’t tell us was that there were no other businesses open, either.

If one were to have a vehicle problem due to bad roads this would be the place since the roads were very very bad.  Of course there were no businesses open to go to for help and a cell signal was out of the question.

Part of the bad road situation was attributable to twenty eight miles of gravel in four different construction sites.  This was in addition to gravel patches where violent frost heaves had destroyed the road.  Other than that we only had to deal with frost heaves galore.  It was slow going but we did have beautiful scenery to enjoy as we poked along.

Coming into Destruction Bay on the beautiful Lake Kluane we were greeted with a sight that at once amazed and awed us.  The lake was frozen and around its many miles of shoreline was piled snow, driven there by the wind and perhaps by buckling ice.

We had seen the lake numerous times and always found its blue waters, breath taking, but his time the beauty was entirely different.

During this time of slow travel and patience training we saw two young golden grizzles feeding on tender young shoots in the ditch next to the road.  We stopped to get picture.

Grissly One

Grissly Two

When we finally came to a halt in a pullout it was eight thirty.  We had driven four hundred thirty two miles at an average speed of thirty six miles an hour.  A word to the wise is in order here; if you like to drive fast don’t drive the Alcan in a coach.

We leveled up and put out the closet slide. 

While Onie fixed supper, stew, the driver replaced some screws, in the basement area, that had been jarred loose and then fallen out over the last few hundred miles.

With the coach being jarred enough to shake screw and other things loose, the other day the headlight switch in the dash had to be tightened as it was about to fall out and things on shelves are constantly shifting, one has to wonder, how much longer until we get there.

While the driver was outside he checked on the tires, checking the air pressure and looking for any large cuts.  They all appeared to be in good shape.

Tired from a long day’s journey we were in bed by ten.

May 29, 2008

Thursday

WE ARE IN ALASKA

It was an absolutely stunning morning at our pullout twenty one miles south of Beaver Creek.

Inside the Marlin the coffee and tea were brewing at seven thirty and the writer was busy tapping away on his keyboard.  The navigator/copilot/cook/maintenance lady/ woman of the house and best friend of the driver was busy preparing the breakfast of an egg, grits, ham and snow peas.

Outside the air was crystal clear in the forty one degree temp and the sun shone down on us as though we were the only people around, which in fact we were.

Seated at our breakfast table we looked out our window at the landscape stretching out before us.  In the foreground was some small trees and behind them a sink hole, partly filled with water.  Beyond that the road broke the scene for a few feet and then there were hills.  In the distance, to the east, the Kluane Mountains raised their snow covered peaks to the teal blue sky where white clouds gently drifted by.  To the south the Nutzotin Mountains were not to be out done.  Through the windshields, down a hill, we could see a good size lake where a few ducks were taking their first meal of the day even though it had been daylight for sometime.

When breakfast was over and the dishes clean we went out for a morning walk.  The brisk air demanded jackets.  First we made our way through the small trees and over to the sink hole.  Looking down in it we could see fish feeding on the top of the water.

From there we began a walk toward the lake in front of the coach.  Part way there Onie remarked that it had looked much closer than it actually was and the vegetation thicker.  In the back of her mind she must surely have been thinking of the grizzlies we saw last evening and how one, or more, could be lurking somewhere nearby.  The presence of bear scat might also have influenced her decision to opine as how we should be getting on the road and she is the navigator.  On a flat spot we stopped to take some pictures of ducks swimming on the, now, far off lake.

Near ten we left our night stop and headed toward Beaver Creek, the last community in the Yukon, before one gets back to the U.S.  There we stopped to check out a dinner theater for the return trip.

Twenty minutes later we were on our way to the border, over a really bad road.  The Canadians were not making any extra effort to leave us with good memories of their roads.  Eighteen miles from the border we slowed to ease around the Canadian Customs installation before continuing on to U.S Customs.

There we were met by a nice young man employed by U.S. Customs and Immigration.  We gave him our passports, he asked a few questions, and we visited for a few minutes during which he confirmed that only a fraction of RVs, from normal years, have come through, so far.  Then he went in the building to scan our passports.  When he returned he gave us our passports back and wished us good fishing.

It was good to be back home in the U.S. of A.  The roads improved immediately. 

The first lake we saw held two pairs of trumpeter swans.  The next lake we saw held a couple of dozen.  Since there has been very little traffic we have been able to safely stop in the middle of the road to take pictures.  We did so with the swans.

Under way again we enjoyed the much improved road even though it wasn’t so good as to allow driving with the cruise, which hadn’t been used, to much extent, since leaving Haines Junction.  It was good enough however to allow us to usually allow us to drive forty five miles an hour.

The miles rolled by with us navigating the hills and turns.  The Wrangel Mountains lay to the south, still clothed, in the upper regions, in a blanket of snow.  Intervening were the endless lakes and the streams which fed into the Tanana or Tok rivers, both of which we crossed.

A pleasant while later the first buildings of Tok came into view. We passed the airport, on the left.  Letting the coach coast, we got down to town speed and then turned into a gas bar to fill up.  We had driven one hundred twenty three miles since leaving our pullout.  Expectations for fuel mileage were not high.  We had negotiated many miles of construction at speeds that averaged twelve miles an hour, had climbed innumerable hills at a mere crawl, had slowed for more frost heaves than one could imagine and had not been able to use the cruise control or overdrive.  We had last fueled at Contact Creek. The mileage would not be good.  Once the pump was started the driver went to a nearby Espresso stand to get Onie a latte and himself a Chai tea. When the pump stopped for the last time a total of seventy eight and four tenths of a gallon had been pumped.  We had averaged 9.3 miles per gallon.   That was much better than expected and with diesel at four ninety two point nine very welcomed.

We pulled away from the fuel pump and stopped to call three different RV parks.  We were looking for full hookups, electric, water and sewer, WIFI from the coach, RV wash at a reasonable cost and a good clean economical washateria.  We found all of the needed requirements but not in the same place.  We opted to stay at Tok RV Village as we had been there before and it was right across the street from where we were calling.

Three o’clock found us settled in with all land lines out, the jacks down and both slides extended.

Now we set about getting some needed chores done.  Basement door locks were cleaned enough to permit entry.  They would be cleaned more thourghly at Cast A Way but this cleaning was needed just to keep them operable.  The bed was stripped and dirty clothes sorted.  With both computers, a can full of quarters, washing detergent, dryer sheets and dirty clothes we headed for the laundry.

At the laundry we got three machines going and then opened both computers.  Onie got on the DSL line, which seemed more like dial up, and the writer began pounding away on his laptop.  Time passed.  Clothes were put in the dryers.  More time passed.  The clothes were dry and folded.  Still time ticked on.  At eight the clean clothes and the other items were toted back to the Marlin.  We had been gone five hours. And had missed the free nightly entertainment provided by the park.  That was okay.  We had clean clothes, had checked our email folders and made some phone calls.

Now we could have supper, warm-ups from last night.  They were yummy.

Onie read while Pawpaw worked on more tall tales of travel.  Later she watched part of a movie, giving up on it about ten.  Pawpaw tapped on until a quarter of one when cold and tiredness drove him to bed. 

Outside it was twilight.  One could still see to take a stroll through the quiet park if it struck their fancy and no flashlight would be needed. Yes, twelve forty five and it was still daylight.  We are in Alaska.

Many stories had been told and some yarns had been spun.  How many would make it to the web and when would depend on the editor/navigator/cook/etc.

May 30, 2008

Friday

ANYONE FOR SNOW

Remember, when we get up at an early hour, like this morning at seven thirty, it is ten thirty in Coldspring.  The low for the night had been forty one.

Now the sun was shining brightly as we had our morning tea and coffee.

Onie showered while the writer pecked away on his laptop.  When Onie was dressed she took week two off the writer’s laptop, began proofing it, editing as necessary, selecting and resizing pictures and inserting them in the text.    

When week two was complete Onie went off to the office to post it, check our bank balances, credit card balances, email and other things of interest to only us.

Clean clothes, from last evening, that remained unstored were put in their places.

The writer continued at the laptop for a while before showering, taking out the trash, flushing the holding tanks, taking on more fresh water and doing his morning check of the exterior of the coach.

When the outside activities were winding down Onie got in the slides, started the Cummins and retracted the jacks.

At eleven fifteen we pulled out from between the trees and headed for the open road.

The first sixteen miles of the Tok Cutoff were excellent and then the frost heaves took over. 

Two trumpeter swans were seen on a pond close to the road.

Though frost heaves were there to be reckoned with the road to the Glenn Highway was not too bad.

On the Glenn Highway we realized just how good the road on the Tok Cutoff had been as the Glenn Highway presented some of the worst road surfaces of the trip.  Our forward progress was slow, slower than most traffic behind us and so we pulled over more than once to let following traffic pass. 

One time when we pulled over to let traffic pass Onie spotted an Artic or Snowshoe Hare with its big back feet, still white.

Near the Matanuska Glacier we stopped to wait for a pilot car to take us through five miles of construction.  The road is being straightened and widened and to do so mountain sides are being blasted into rubble and then trucked away.  The new road will be a big improvement when it is finished, some century.

Through the construction area we pulled over at the first opportunity to let following traffic pass, again.

It turned out to be a good decision as just down the road Onie spotted two moose feeding on brush.  We stopped, with no need to worry about blocking traffic, to take some pictures

The driver usually finds very little beauty in any concrete structure but when he saw the  freeway into Anchorage it looked beautiful.  The hundreds of miles of marginal roads had done their work on his outlook and the four lanes of divided concrete looked beautiful, indeed.

There were just thirty five miles of very good road into Anchorage and it was a very easy drive. We stopped short of Anchorage proper and took a back road, the Muldoon/Tudor Loop, to avoid the downtown traffic and traffic lights.

One last fuel stop was made at Fred Meyer where we topped off our tank at the fire sale price of four fifty nine a gallon.  The brain washing has been completed as we and others long for three dollar fuel believing a dollar or two is too low.  We forget that oil companies and speculators made millions, perhaps billions, when fuel was at that price. 

Unfortunately we have no one to blame but ourselves for the high price of fuel.  We have allowed a vocal minority, the tree huggers, to prevent drilling of known reserves and halt construction of new refineries.  America has enough known energy reserves to provide for our needs, without any imports, for the next one hundred sixty five years but we aren’t drilling for it and we won’t as long as the tail wags the dog.  The current energy mess and our economy dying from high energy costs makes as much sense as allowing people to starve to death when there is abundant meat and vegetables available but a small group refuses to let them be harvested.  If that sounds far fetched to you perhaps you should pay more attention to what is going on around you.  A nut group is now stating that plants have rights, too, and it is wrong to be harvesting them without regard to those rights.  Let us get this straight.  Animals have rights and shouldn’t be slaughtered for food and vegetables have the same rights.  What do these fruitcakes think we should eat?

And while we are on the subject of fruitcakes let us not fail to mention the attorneys who file the suits for these people and the judges who hear the cases.  Wouldn’t a reasonable person look somewhat askance at the argument that plants and animals have equal rights with people?  Shouldn’t these attorneys and judges be disbarred as being mentally deficient?  In other words shouldn’t these folks who can’t seem to make rational decisions be “in” while the rest of us remain “out”?  (See rubber room for “in” and “out”)

The writer stayed in the coach while Onie shopped in Fred Meyer.  He was entertained by Alaskan Indians, at a nearby bus stop, who were drinking vodka, from a bottle they passed around.  Between swigs they toked away on marijuana joints they had casually rolled while standing on public property.  One of the men proudly displayed his cardboard sign, used when begging, proclaiming him a homeless vet. The only woman among them seemed to be available to any or all of them as well as passersby who she begged from on a regular basis.  At one point it appeared that the writer would see a sidewalk display of intimate affection that might produce offspring but one of the less impaired Indians called a halt to that activity.  A passing police car never slowed down to have a look or investigate.

When Onie returned with a buggy full of purchases the coach door was unlocked and she and the purchases were brought inside.

Fifteen minutes before eight we left the friendly environs where the writer had been entertained and headed toward Cook Inlet.

We fought more strong winds, perhaps gale force, around the Inlet and into Girdwood.  As we neared Birdwood the winds slacked a little making our drive a little easier.

As we began our climb into Turnagin Arm Pass the temperature began to fall.  The mountains around us were snow covered with patches right down to the road side.  Light moisture fell but it was so fine one couldn’t tell if it was mist or snow or both.

The town that sunk, Portage, passed into our rearview mirrors as did the ducks that floated on the many ponds there.

The closer we got to our day’s destination, the Turnagin Arm Pass turnout, the colder it got.  When we had pulled in, parked and turned off the engine we were surrounded by snow.

The wind was blowing through the pass and temperature of forty six felt more like ten as the driver stepped out to lock the basement compartments.

Inside supper was being prepared.

After we ate the writer made a few notes and scribblings while Onie watched snow flurries.

We went to bed at ten.  Outside the sky was gray and snow was falling just a few hundred feet above us.

May 31, 2008

Saturday

LIGHT RAIN OR HEAVY SNOW

Last night as we turned in our bed we knew we were either getting a light rain or heavy snow.  This morning at six thirty we discovered it was light rain that had been making ever so slight a sound as it lit on the top of the coach.  Forty two degrees was just not quite cold enough to produce the white stuff but then there was still plenty left around from winter.

After a little electric warm up, say ten seconds, the generator came to life and began sending electricity to the coach.  The freezer came on, the refrigerator switched to electric, the microwave came to life and, perhaps most important to the moment, the coffee pot began its day by brewing hot fresh caffeine.  When it completed its job it was the tea pot’s turn.

By now Onie was seated in the front of the coach watching snow flurries come from the leaden skies.  The rain was intermittent, replaced now and then by a few flakes.

As the clock crept toward nine thoughts turned to breakfast.  Last night we had a fresh salad and chili for supper.  The salad was gone but there was enough chili left to have some and an egg, a piece, for breakfast

After breakfast the kitchen was cleaned up and we went out to play in the snow.

The day promised to be a full one and if we were to accomplish everything it had in store we needed to get on the road.  We did at ten forty.

The roads descending from the Pass were fair to middlin’ and even though it was womanly, quite curvaceous, and boasted manliness, quite windy, we made pretty good time reaching Cooper Landing before noon.  We found a latte shop with a drive up window we could get to and pulled off to get a latte and Chai tea. 

Kenai Lake, just outside the driver’s window, was as beautiful as ever and the river running from it sparkled on its journey to the ocean.

Cooper Landing to Sterling is forty five minutes and it is in Sterling that we turn on Scout Lake Loop to go to the camp but today we passed it by as we headed on to Noble Car Wash in Soldotna.  The annual ritual of washing forty five hundred miles of dirt, grime and mud for the coach and toad takes place here.  This year it would take a little more washing as we had fifty five hundred miles of dirt, etc.

Two hours later we were wet and dirty and the coach and toad clean and dry. 

Onie headed off to Cast A Way in the Subaru and I followed in the Marlin.

Onie beat me there and as the coach wheeled in one could see the little throng, Barbara, Sidney, Amy, Allen, Chuck and LaVonne and Frank and Enga gathered about her as warm hellos and hugs were exchanged.  With the coach in park the driver alit for his turn at hellos and hugs then he returned to the coach and the navigator guided him, as he backed the coach, into space number seven.

We were at our summer home site.  Now we just had to make it like home.

Sidney helped me get the electric plugged in, there is no water or sewer, and then Onie helped me level up.

While Onie put out the slides Sidney and the driver get the awning out and tied down, the anti-flappers in place, the big rug and small rug out and secured, the wheel covers in place and the picnic table placed next to the coach. 

The ladies, Onie and Barbara put the table cloth on the picnic table, secured it and then began bringing out snacks.  The day’s work was at an end as everyone came over for a visit, venison sausage, crackers, cheeses, hummus, Vidalia onions and an assortment of nuts.

Our company went home shortly after nine and we went in to watch a movie, All of Me, before falling asleep at eleven.

June 1, 2008

Sunday

FIRST DAY

It was windy, cloudy and cold, fifty, at eight.

The coffee and tea were brewed before Frank knocked on the door, at eight thirty.  He was offering to fill our fresh water tank.  Outside we visited while the tank filled.  We speculated about whether the water would be turned on today.  Frank had run hoses over a hundred feet to fill his holding tank as well as ours.  There is a faucet twenty five feet from our coach but Chuck hasn’t yet turned the water supply to it, on.

Inside, where it was warm, Onie had our breakfast, oatmeal and ham, waiting.

With breakfast behind us Onie cleaned the kitchen while the driver wrote.  A good writer can use a lot of time writing just a page, a poor writer can use a lot more.

The screens needed to be put on the coach to give us some privacy so the navigator and driver went out to do the job.

We had promised Kurt we would get his truck ready for the summer so the cover was taken off and the Subaru hooked up to the battery, it was dead.  With the Subaru charging the truck battery the fishing gear we had stored in Kurt’s shed was taken to the coach and inventoried.  Back at Kurt’s truck it was started, the Subaru disconnected and taken back to the coach.  The truck was left to idle to charge its battery.

Now the satellite dish was removed from Kurt’s shed, taken to the coach, the tripod secured and the dish tuned.  We could once again watch the news and Game Show Network.

The toad still had its burden it had carried from Coldspring as well as some additional it had accumulated along the way.  It was unpacked.  The foam that protects the windshield was laid out to dry along with the toad cover.

All the while Onie was cleaning in the coach.

Springtime winds continued to buffet the coach so the de-flappers on the awning were retightened.  The living room slide cover that had been tied down during most of the trip had suffered from too much sun and wind.  It had developed very thin spots in some places.  Prior to leaving we had tried to have it replaced but we would have had to delay our leaving date by two weeks.  The thin spots were mended with Gorilla tape in the hope that the cover would last until we got back to Texas.

The truck had been idling all this time and now it was taken for a short spin.  It ran well.  Back in camp it was parked, the engine killed and restarted.  Everything worked well.

Back outside the coat went back on.  It was a case of coat off and on all day.  The high was fifty six but with lots of wind it seemed colder.

The day’s chores were over and we went in at five thirty.  For the next thirty minutes we called several folks back home.  When it was six here it was nine in Texas and Alabama so we quit calling.

The writer made notes while before he, the navigator, Sidney and Barbara got in the truck and drove to Suzie’s for clam strips and liberty fries, except Barbara had mashed potatoes and gravy.  Everyone overate.

By eight thirty Onie and I were in the coach watching TV.