Dressing Up Christmas

Anchorage, Alaska

We have dressed the tree and the apartment with earth-friendly LED lights that are fluorescent and not at all pretty to an eye that is accustomed to the warm glow of fuel-guzzling old school globes. Maybe after time we will forget about the warm glow. Already I am looking at our little tree with more pleasure.

Tree Traditions

Anchorage, Alaska

In Australia we have a family tradition of walking up the mountain to chop down a pine tree for Christmas. I brought this tradition with me. Yesterday Brendan and the dogs and I headed off on bicycles equiped with a Japanese hand-saw for an urban adventure.



We preyed upon the rough stand of forest inbetween Chester Creek trail, a large apartment complex, and the community garden. It was snowing steadily. There was a small quibble over which tree would be sacrificed, in keeping with tradition. I wanted a full sized tree, Brendan wanted a table-top tree. We selected the miserly upper-half of a tree so that it would fit inside our apartment, and so that no lives would be lost in the process, the tree could keep growing.

It was over very quickly. As Brendan says, "You can't chop down a twig". We strapped the tree to my bike, strapped Dinkum to my bike, and rode home.

Winter Music

The Tap Root, Anchorage, Alaska

Sunburst on the Weekend

Turnagain, Alaska



Here starts the training sessions. I make Dinkum walk behind me on a lead because if I let him off the lead he chases whatever human or animal he can see at the top of the mountain. We skiied at Sunburst on Saturday and then again on Sunday this weekend. On Saturday Dinkum shot off ahead of us up the mountain and was not seen for hours. I climbed as fast as I could, finally catching up with the speedy party of 5 people that had attracted him. Sweaty and exhausted, I clipped Dinkum back onto the leash. That night I got a migraine from the exertion. The next day I was out again, back in the saddle, Dinkum on a leash, and my ski-pole upside-down in one hand, knocking him on the head everytime he came forward on the back of my skis. He came forward onto the back of my skiis almost every step. I relentlessly tapped him in the face with the handle of my ski pole feeling half a good parent, and half a bad parent.

Luckily when we ski down the mountain Dinkum knows what to do and keeps out of trouble. He bounds through the snow like a dolphin through the waves. He's small, but big enough.

Cycling through Snow

Anchorage, Alaska

It's my first winter cycling in Alaska. I bought snow tyres for my bicycle last week for $100 a pop. The tyres are made of rubber that stays soft enough in freezing conditions to grip the road, and have metal studs mounted on the top of the tread that grip the snow and ice. I was surprised at the cost but now that I'm out on the trails I feel like I am riding an unstoppable tractor. There has been older snow on the trails for the last week with no real ice, and many bare areas with clean pavement to ride.

Yesterday and last night snow fell in great chunks from the sky. This morning I had a chance to really test my new rig. Snow lay thick and clotted on the trails about 6 inches deep. My tractor bike baulked at first, and then, catching momentum, I was off and running, proudly riding through snow.

When I arrived at work I was far more sweaty and tired than any other day of the year that I have riden to work. I discovered the experience is similar to riding through soft sand, and takes a little more energy than riding across smooth pavement. This is a small price to pay for feeling hard core. I am now a proud winter bicycle commuter.

First Ski of the Season

Hatcher Pass, Alaska

The first ski of the season was a success. We got out in the snow, hiked up a mountain on skis, and skied down the mountain. Snow conditions varied from ridge to valley from hard sun crust to sugary loose snow, and it was difficult for me to achieve anything resembling a telemark turn. I brushed up on my old technique of full-body slams into the slope. It was rewarding simply to be out in the sunshine on the white stuff.


Skiing was delayed on arrival when Dinkum the New Dog decided to remind us how he ended up as a stray at the pound. We set him loose and he sprinted towards the first distraction that hit his brain, a family sledding about 500m up a different slope from the one we were heading. After much running, calling, and shouting from one group of people to another, someone finally handed me the dog back in the car park where we'd started out 30 minutes beforehand. At this point in the day Dinkum was failing his test as a ski dog. Dinkum was then confined to the leash, and released only once all other people were out of sight further up our ascent of the mountain. From there, aside from chasing the odd snowball back down the slope, Dinkum kept with us on the way up, and had no problem following the lead skier on the way down. Reviewing his performance as a whole for the day, for a novice he did quite well, and I will probably take him skiing again.

Halloween on the Water

Seldovia, Alaska
For Halloween we once again made the 4 hour drive and 1 hour boat ride south to Seldovia to visit Jeff and Kari. We spent the evening terrifying local children in a shed that had been converted into the chamber of horrors.

Two Dogs

Anchorage, Alaska

I finally bit the bullet and brought home a dog. After months of 'shopping' at the pound the stars aligned and I found myself standing in a dog yard with a pound employee, Brendan, and a small dog with a big personality. Yes, he is a Jack Russell. Yes, I named him Dinkum.


Here's a shot of the first moments at home with two dogs. Lusa doesn't show it here, but she's alarmed.


Here's a shot of the dogs discovering how fun it is to play with eachother. Lusa doesn't show it here, but she's thrilled.

29

Malaprops Bookshop, Asheville, NC


My 29th Birthday. I woke in Trevor and Caroline Stuart's house down a country road in Canton, west of Asheville. The mists wre flowing down the valley. Brendan, Luley, and I stepped out of the warm house into the chill morning for a stroll. Luley got scent of something near the red barn and turned birdy - disappearing into the old building. We heared planks squeaking and knocking as she rooted around inside and Brendan called to her - the same name he calls to his own dog Lusa - worried she might find snakes. No response from Luley, but then a little fluffy bunny shot from the barn and flew up the hill over rocks, under the green leaves of the apple tree studded with one hundred small red apples, and out of sight. Luley was a long way behind. She eventually emerged from the barn, belly stretched tight and swaying over skinny legs, small head pointing, sniffing out rabbit.

A gangly, scared, excited pup joined the party, appearing suddenly from behind the barn. Black with white socks on front paws, the dog jumped and cowered, jumped and cowered, on me, and then as his confidence grew, on Brendan. Our care-taking of the dogs prevented a walk along the country road where drivers were fast.

Caroline and Trevor were up when we returned and Brendan got underway with setting up The Gremlin - his $50 second-hand guitar that he'd bought the day before in Asheville. I played some tunes with Trevor (The Banks of Arkansas, Flatwoods, Goodbye Girls, Polly Put the Kettle On) before breakfast. We ate eggs, bacon, good conversation, and then the four of us played some more tunes (Eliza Jane, The Squirrel Hunters, Money Musk, Cindy, Booger Man).



Finally our time was up and Brendan extracted a promise from Trevor to play more tunes the following morning, and then we were in Dorothea's car once more heading for Asheville - with five minutes to make our date with the future President of The United States of America, Barak Obama.


We joined an impossibly long line at the university, AB Tech, behind a family with three little girls and in front of 2 young men with McCain signs and two old ladies wearing Obama pins and T-shirts who, when Obama started speaking, turned the speaker-phone on and transmitted the good news from inside the stadium.



Luck was with us and eventually we travelled the distance - around 3 buildings, through 4 gates, through a metal detector, and into the stadium with thousands of people cheering and sweating in the North Carolinian sun. Obama himself stood in front of me and told me the steps of his healthcare plan and I clapped and cheered with thousands. My heart swelled to see the people standing under an enormous American flag (this was unprecedented) and to hear Obama tell me he would not give up or rest, and to feel the crowd stir in love and trust of this one man as the white doves were released and flew in a flock above us and over the green trees now turning red. It was a beautiful sight, and Brendan and I drank it in momentarily, before abruptly turning and racing the crowd out of the stadium, for the show was over. I felt part of the people around me and part of something bigger and I do believe in Barak Obama.

This evening we will eat Cajun food at the Grey Eagle with Trevor and Caroline, and then watch the blues guitarist John Hammond play. It is a good birthday day.

The First Day of Cycling - To Albino Skunk Festival

Outside of Greer, South Carolina

We made it. I say so because there were some moments yesterday that we doubted. We doubted we would get out of Greenville Airport. There are 2 highways out of the airport, and no matter how many people we asked, we couldn't get anyone to tell us any different. So we had no choice but to bush-whack through the wet grass beside the Number 14 road to Greer. Did I mention it was raining? Torrentially. I discovered my glasses are not useful in warm rain, and chose short-sightedness over foggy lenses. Half blind, I followed Brendan's rig - bike and BOB trailer that held our fiddle and mandolin, through the red mud and tall grass beside the freeway. We turned off at the first smaller road available. It was 6pm and we were racing the approaching dark which we were told would come before 8pm.

Directions from a United States Postal employee who had a map, led us through the 'black town' in preference to the No. 14 freeway (against his advice), and into Greer. All we saw in the 'black town' were nice houses and not one black person. Empty, rain sodden lawns and homes.

Greer, like Greenville, was pretty, and to our Alaskan eyes, quaint. The historic buildings are a welcome relief to the monotonous strip malls of Alaska.

The ride from there was dusky. It took us back to the dreaded #14 road, and finally onto quiet roads - Belmont, Jug Factory Road, and finally to Jordan Road, which leads to heaven. From dense woods, huge oaks, dark streams, to open farms, Brendan wondered at the quiet roads and if we might have got the dates of the festival wrong.

Then finally rising over a hill, the sound of a chord, and the smokey hint of meat on a fire. The festival.

Whooping and pedaling faster now, we came to a gate and a sign, and other traffic, and music - a muddy red driveway down down to the festival ground. Blind with wet foggy glasses in the dark, I stumbled to keep up with Brendan who excitedly threw down his rig and rushed to the ticket tent. I carefully made my way to a tree to prop my bike. I moved slowly, because finally I did not have to rush. Drenched and depleted of blood sugar, I maneuvered myself delicately so as not to wake the demons. Finally free of the bike rig and helmet, I turned to meet our destination.

In the valley below, nestled amongst tall and ancient oaks, was a brightly lit stage, and from it, a cacophony of bluegrass erupted. It was Larry Sparks. Surrounding the stage, under the protection of the stage eves, were rows of audience in deck chairs, and further back, across the rainy field, were more audience in rain shelters, and rapt Skunk-attendees. Children, beers, dogs, and woodsmoke cluttered the area with a friendly, welcome atmosphere.

With pink bands on our wrists we were greeted by a man named Jordan, who saw our bikes and was inspired to come over and hand us a beer. We had arrived, and it felt so good. As I had discovered in 2001 riding a bicycle around Tasmania with Sess; on a bike trip you earn it.

Holly's Wedding

Girdwood, Alaska

This weekend Holly got married to Brian in the Meadows at the top of Crow Creek Road. It was what some might call a casual wedding. The bride and groom are pushing 40 with two children already, but the time had come to make it official. There was a high percentage of musician-friends who came to celebrate, as well as play for the ceremony. We are a motley crew - Alaskan women brush the dust off dresses that have not been worn in months, and men find a bright pair of suspenders or a hat to give their ensembles an air of formality.



They found a minister with a good sense of humor who was willing to make the treck to the base of the mountains to a small clearing in the neck-high grasses and cows pasnip to wed them. There was some small talk of Jesus and then they were married, and the minister found a handy guitar case on which to rest his bible and gain the signatures of the couple and two witnesses, to make things official. Murray later confirmed that it was the closest his guitar case had ever been to a bible.



Friends reunited after a summer of jobs in the field. The reception was held down the road at Crow Creek Mine. The local Homer band and friends, Raging Cajun, played until they were exhausted and then the job was taken over by various old time musicians amongst us in the Pavillion, where a wood stove kept us warm from the cool fall night.

Fall

Anchorage Hillside and Girdwood

After a weak summer the nights are cooler and some stray trees have already put on their blushing colors and there's no denying fall is here. We have started the usual autumn things; looking for edible mushrooms with our limited mycological identification skills, picking blueberries, and enjoying the company of friends who return after a summer scattered accross the state.

Gas Prices

Anchorage, Alaska

One of the major preoccupations for Alaskans in these past months is fuel prices. Still far lower than Australian fuel prices, Alaskan are having a difficult time swallowing the cost of filling up their tanks. I am unsympathetic. I have set myself up in a situation where I use a relatively small amount of gas each month. I have an enjoyable bike ride to work, and our trips to Talkeetna have been few and far between. It has been interesting to be in the USA at a time when gas prices have increased enough to neccessitate behaviour changes in the Average Joe.

Summer Walks

Potter Ridge

This weekend Teeny, Ray, Bob, and I hit Potter Ridge, a walk above Anchorage that none of us had before walked. Good views, varied vegetation, and interesting finds were had by all. I found the documentation for a dog's cremated remains at one particularly picturesque viewpoint, and at the top of the mountain I found an old porn magazine focusing on college girls, that had been carefully stashed between rocks in a ziplock bag, obviously forgotten and then munched-on by some rodent.