Note: Three posts a year at the beginning of July, I toss in an old trip from my earlier blog. This is the first of those three. It dates back to 2005.
“Hey, buddy, how you doin’? Pizzaland, huh? Yeah, that’s lots of fun. I just called to tell you that you burned my frickin’ house down!” – Aqua Teen Hunger Force
It was time for our trip south. The Mrs. had been agitating for some time to get the heck out of Fairbanks for a while. We had originally thought to go earlier in the year, but decided we’d better not when we looked at how much a hotel cost in Anchorage – it was denominated in healthy kidneys. In mid-September however, hotel rates drop by half or better, so, we rationalized this would be a good time to head out. Because I’m cheap and want to keep at least one kidney.
In theory, the purpose of the trip was to get The Boy birthday presents in at a place that doesn’t sell groceries as well. Living in Fairbanks is like living on an island – you drive the same roads day after day, seeing the same sites. There is a sense of isolation up here, sort of like being trapped in an elevator with Carrot Top. It must be worse in the villages that are unconnected by road to the rest of Alaska, maybe like being stuck in an elevator with a Carrot Top, but Carrot Top just finished a marathon after eating a LOT of spicy food.
Anyway, we saw the mountain pictured above on the way down south. It’s called Rainbow Ridge, according to the Rand-McNally. Another picture of Rainbow Ridge is below.
We drove right past Paxson, which, as far as I can see consists solely of a gas station/cafe/hotel contained in a single building and an airport. At this point, The Mrs. indicates that in some fashion she’d like to be part of the food chain, preferably at the top. Paxson, though, is pretty far from a place where you can get a hot meal, and rule one of traveling in a Wilder car is once you’ve past it when you’re driving, it no longer exists. We kept going south.
We passed a blue highway sign with a plate, knife and fork. The Mrs. indicated through a weary series of near-starvation gasps that she thought that there might be food there. I slowed.
“Do you want to stop?”
No answer. I think she did try to answer. Maybe the hunger had made her weak. So, we went on. Because I’m a guy, and driving is what we do.
The Mrs. thought that this might be a good time to conserve her energy by sleeping so that her body did not consume itself. Then the chorus started from the backseat weasels:
First, The Boy: Making car sounds.
Then, The New Boy: Crying.
But they never were making noise at the same time – it was as if an invisible pendulum slowly and inevitably moved back and forth, and when it was pointing at one of The Boys, it was their turn to make enough noise so that The Mrs. could not sleep. As we passed Dick Lake, I really wanted to stop and take a picture. Why? Because deep in my heart I’m still eight, and a sign that says Dick Lake.
I did miss one Alaska site to see due to The Mrs. catching some sleep – we drove right past where HAARP (High Altitude Atmospheric Research Program):
- Controls the weather,
- Controls the minds of mankind, or
- Conducts research into the atmosphere
You choose.
(2019 J.W.: HAARP was a research program where they shot radio waves at the atmosphere for decades to . . . I don’t know, beat the Soviets at shooting radio waves at the atmosphere. I believe it was mostly shut down after the Air Force decided that shooting radio waves at the atmosphere was not as fun as watching Netflix®.)
We finally reached Glennallen. We stopped for lunch at an establishment that I believe was called the Glennallen Roadhouse. Ours was the only car, but they were open.
It’s far past tourist season, and the fifty or so tables in the restaurant were as empty as the logical portion of Susan Sarandon’s brain. We picked a table and ordered. For being the only people there, the waiter exchanged no witty banter, nor was he very good at keeping my coffee cup full. We got some gas at the local station, and a plethora of signs indicated things we shouldn’t do. Most of them were things that you wouldn’t do, anyway, if you have manners, I mean, who cleans salmon in the Ladies’ Room? The Men’s Room, sure. But not the Ladies’ Room. Putting up a sign listing fifty things you don’t want your customers to do just makes you look unfriendly. Don’t put up a sign. If someone does something truly rude, challenge them to a duel. Anyway, the signs cemented our thought of Glennallen as an unfriendly place. But, then we found out why.
Every house that we saw in Glennallen was firmly rooted in permafrost. Which is to say, it is not rooted at all. When you put a house above permafrost, the permafrost will melt. This isn’t global warming, it’s local warming – houses put off heat, silly. When the permafrost melts, your foundation will be useless. All of the new construction that we saw going on in Glennallen consisted of new houses being built on discrete pedestals. On theses pedestals were screw-jacks so when part of the permafrost under your house melts, you go under your house and adjust the jacks, and, ta-da, your house is level again.
All of this doesn’t help if you own the house above. It is for sale. No bank will loan money on a house with such gross structural damage, but, if you did successfully purchase a house like the one above anyway, the realtor gives you a gas can and complementary five gallons of gas: for the insurance fire.
Perhaps that’s why the residents of Glennallen are so angry – the price of starting an insurance fire has gone up since the price of oil is up.
Perhaps the other thing that irritates them is that they live right next to an active volcano.
Mt. Wrangell is visible from Glennallen, and has been heating up since the 1964 earthquake. So, you live on icy muck, and there’s a volcano for your backyard. We couldn’t see Mt. Wrangell from the road, it was too cloudy that day.
But there was more ahead – things that would shock us to the very core of our existence. Okay, that’s a lie. Actually it was just a pretty drive was next.
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Chapter 2
Peasant: “Who are you?” King Arthur: “Your King.” Peasant: “I didn’t vote for you.” King Arthur: “You don’t vote for kings.” – M. Python
So, we headed back west from Glennallen. The permafrost, as shown by the prevailing taiga, still surrounded us. The road likewise showed the effects of the permafrost, maintaining the consistency of Fruit by the Foot® thrown over piles of spare change. Which is, I believe, standard road construction technique in Alaska.
The mountain above was visible for about the first twenty minutes out of Glennallen. It looked like it had been sprinkled in gold – with the sunlight, as far as I could see in the panorama before me, shining only on its slopes.
The rest of the trip took us up and down through winding roads. The Glenn Highway is on the north side of a large valley, and never dips down. The north side of this valley consists of the Talkeetna Mountains. The south has the Chugach Mountains. The Chugach Mountains were the epicenter of the 1964 earthquake, a 9.2 earthquake. Besides containing more force than Madonna’s breath after a garlic-laden dinner, this earthquake lasted five minutes. Five minutes isn’t long when you’re watching the season finale of Battlestar Galactica, but it’s forever if you’re being shaken around like a tiny chew toy by a frenzied teacup poodle. These mountains and the pretty things we have in Alaska don’t come free – we gotta pay with the earthquakes and volcanoes from time to time.
The Chugach are also covered in glaciers like a pile of fries are covered in ketchup. We passed three major glaciers, and the last of them, the Matanuska, is shown below. I pulled off the side of the road on what looked like a rough trail to get this picture. I could see the campers and 4×4’s of moose hunters beyond, so I figured the road would work for me. The road narrowed alarmingly, with the passenger side dropping off about eight feet. I soon saw that the road that looked like it headed to the parking lot below (as we continued to climb) was really a trail for four-wheeled ATV’s. I imagined it starting to go in directions that my 4×4 could not follow. Fortunately, the trail leveled off widened out and I could see a way to get back out. This is not to say, however, that The Mrs. was entirely pleased with this lack of planning on my part. But angels do follow foolish husbands or at least one did that day.
After a few more hours, we finally ended up in Palmer. Palmer is nestled between mountains and looks like it was conceived in a dream. One thing The Boy immediately noticed is that the McDonald’s sign was about three feet off of the ground, as were many of the signs on newer businesses. I figured it must be a new ordinance, to preserve the beauty of Palmer.
This is in contrast to Fairbanks. Recently, the Fairbanks-North Star Borough (remember, we don’t have counties up here) tried to pass an ordinance that would allow them to enforce existing ordinances. I know that sounds silly, but though there may be ordinances on the books, there’s only one employee that has that theoretical power for a borough of about 90,000 people. If the lawyer for the borough gets around to it, he might send you a nasty letter, telling you please, please, fence that junkyard that is your front yard. If you don’t? He may send you another stern letter.
So it’s simple and logical that the borough would pass an ordinance that would allow them to enforce their ordinances, right?
Maybe in Fort Wayne. Maybe in Palmer. Not Fairbanks.
The residents of the borough did me proud. To quote one resident, “We came to Alaska to get away from this!” According to the News-Miner, there was a near riot. The Assembly rejected the ordinance.
There are damn few places you have the freedom from silly regulations of local government, telling you what you can and can’t do on your own land. This is (mostly) one of them.
Amen.
Next: The Hotel and The President of Taiwan.
Huh. I was in Delta Junction / Ft. Greely several times in 2005, my third time for six weeks in Nov-Dec working on starting up the missile base there. I think I remember passing you on the road after heading out from Fairbanks. You were that guy who had all of the frozen mud slush on your car. The other thing I remember about Fairbanks was walking out of the airport terminal to get my rental car for the brief ride across the highway to sleep at Pike’s, and losing half of my blood supply to monster mosquitos before I could even get my key in the car door lock. I have never seen worse mosquitos in all of my life.
Yup – when I first stayed there I stayed at Pikes as well. Good times – and a short walk to the restaurant. That must have been you in the rental Jeep!
I’ve never been to Alaska; and I probably never will. I think this may be because I feel Alaska is like raw oysters. They look so appetizing, watching people enjoy them is wonderful to watch, but it’s something I won’t try. I’ve tasted fried oysters, and realized the taste is as objectionable as the smell of fried oysters. Alaska, with its cold, predatory mosquitoes, bears, angry moose, brutal cold temperatures, and volcanoes looks wonderful in photographs, but I have a feeling it smells like fried oysters.
heh heh – I like Alaska AND fried oysters!
Libertarians think that they should give up defending freedom because Americans hate liberty, but Libertarians should keep resisting tyranny for selfish reasons.
While the elites control the money, government, and media, the 99% have the numbers.
One Libertarian may not be able to resist being sent to the concentration camps, but one million people might.