Alaska: Day 1: 7-6-93: Off To Alaska!

-----The Intrepid Explorer Outfitted For Alaska & Ready To Go-----

2:52 p.m. (Eastern Time)

I have arrived safely at the airport, courtesy of "Mark's Swift Limo, Inc.", and I am sitting in gate number 10 at the Northwest Terminal waiting for my 4:00 p.m. flight. While I am assuredly excited to explore "The Last Frontier," I would be fooling myself if I didn't admit to being more than a little bit nervous. After all, I've never traveled alone before (What if I don't get along with myself?) and I've left my family and friends behind -- to whom I'll be virtually incommunicado for the better part of a month. However, never being one to wax maudlin, I will push my doleful thoughts aside and focus all my energies on the incredible Alaskan Adventure which lies ahead of me . . .

6:15 p.m. (Eastern Time)

After an hour and change of flight time, I've made my way to the enchanting hamlet of Detroit, Michigan. Only two things of note to report, thus far. The first was the view out the plane window. About midway through the flight, I took my nose out of the riveting pages of The Firm and glanced over my left shoulder. A smile alighted upon my face, and my eyes were suddenly glued to the celestial scenery. The clouds were so white and billowy that they looked like a milkshake after you blow through the straw or the incriminating remains of an earnest pillow fight. In a flash of childlike glee, I found my thoughts drifting to Christine and her "Who" collection (really just a glorified collection of dust bunnies, but it makes her happy) -- for what I saw was the ultimate "Whoville": a floating cotton city populated by thousands of fluffy denizens. When we started our descent and slipped below the clouds, I was drawn to the window again. This time I saw not the whimsical beauty of nature, but the cultivated symmetry of man. The world below appeared as a farmland quilt of grassy plots, rows upon rows of perfect squares which, in turn, connected almost seamlessly to form pastoral rectangles. As we dropped lower still, microscopic movements belied cars, trucks and tractors, disrupting the verdant stillness. Widening my view, I noticed that the seemingly endless green blanket was patched in two or three places with a washed-out gray, the unmistakable monochromatic dullness of cities. Oddly, a large part of each of these cities was shrouded in darkness. My eventual understanding that the light was being blocked by cloud cover (Could it be that the very same clouds which dazzled me with their white brilliance only moments before, now created such a pitch black pall?) did little to dispel an eeriness inside me -- it seemed rather ominous that only the cities should be so enveloped (Mother Nature's way of saying "You're on my shit list").

The second focal point of the last few hours is not as wondrous as the first, and I pray it doesn't prove to be as ominous. The cut I received last night via "The Club" in the Porsche with Christine became painfully infected during the flight. (Boy, this sentence seems to insinuate I'm both snobby and kinky, but I assure you, I'm neither-- the car actually belongs to Christine's father, and I pinched/sliced myself [my hand, for the record] via a rather clumsy attempt to lock the steering wheel.) I tore off the loose skin, washed, medicated and bandaged my wound when I landed in Detroit -- probably something I should have done right away last night. Oh man . . . I really hope this isn't portentous of bad things to come (Disturbingly, as I write this waiting for my Michigan-Alaska flight to take off, the airline is showing the safety video, which is currently outlining -- quite calmly, might I add -- crash-landing procedures). Anyway, flight #851 to Anchorage is now heading down the runway, and it's getting a little too shaky to write steadily, so I will sign off for now. If all goes well, I will arrive in Alaska at 10:15 local time (2:15 a.m. New York time), giving me a not so cushy cushion of 45 minutes to get my luggage and find transportation to the Anchorage Youth Hostel, which closes its doors for the night at 11:00. I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

11:10 p.m. (Alaska Time)

Well . . . I made it! The flight was uneventful, and the scenery (from my aisle seat -- mainly wing), was unimpressive. But when I left the plane, things got a little more exciting. First Impression: Anchorage itself is generic and uninspired, but the outlying peaks hint at Alaska's true “purple-mountain majesty.” Unfortunately, I didn't have long to admire the landscape. After waiting a torturous length of time (my luggage was the last piece to come through -- I almost had a heart attack!), my backpack finally swept by on the carousel . . . with one hitch: the buckle which snaps around my waist and supports the pack was broken (!). I walked to the airline desk to explain the situation and examine my options. I was told I could either send my whole backpack to Seattle for repairs -- "only two weeks wait" (obviously out of the question) or I could find a new buckle somewhere and bill the airline for reimbursement (I had many concerns about the feasibility of this plan, as well . . . Who knows when, or if, I'd find a store that sold a matching buckle -- for all I knew, the buckle might be custom made and only available at an Eastern Mountain Sports outlet, like the one back home where I bought it . . . Do they even have that store around here? . . . Even if they do, are such buckles sold separately?). Damn! As much as I wanted to rant and rave, I was too jet-lagged, and in too much of a hurry, to fight the system. I sucked up the loss and tried not to worry about it, telling myself I'd figure out a solution later. After taking my first Alaskan photo (a license plate, proof of my arrival), I grabbed a $12 cab (the $1 bus stopped running at 6:00, natch), making it to the hostel at 10:58, with two glorious minutes to spare. I was all kinds of proud of myself, until I was informed that new summer hours had recently taken effect which extend the curfew to midnight. (Oh.) I checked in and had a look around the place.


-----------------------------------------I Made It!-------------------------------------------

Here we get to the part of today's tale which is more than a tad self-incriminating. You see, as I was looking around, I noticed a couple of unattended backpacks. One of them had a buckle that looked like the exact size and shape of my broken one. (Hmm . . .) In an impulsive moment I wish I could have back, I "liberated" the buckle from its strap and pocketed it. When I got to my room, I attached the buckle to my own backpack -- and sure enough, it fit. I realized I had indeed "solved" my problem . . . but possibly at the cost of my soul (Who woulda thunk a cheap piece of molded plastic could drive a man to such depths?) If it's any consolation, I do feel ashamed and sorry.

After a quick shower (washing off the guilt, perhaps?), I changed into something comfortable and wrote what you're currently reading. Now I'm going to sleep. See you tomorrow! Wait . . . it's 12:02 . . . See you later today!