Road Trip

We are in a whirlwind of activity, getting ready to leave Alaska for three months. And so I am doing the logical thing. I am sitting down to write. Actually, I have to take a few minutes break, or I will break. And writing is calming for me. Relaxing. Therapeutic. It’s also an avoidance tactic—a great way to procrastinate the unpleasant. Basically, there is so much to do, I don’t know what to do next. And I have a strategy that I firmly stand by. Apparently it’s a popular strategy, because it is used by people the world over—especially politicians. It goes something like this: When you don’t know what to do, do nothing. So I am writing instead.

Keri went on a road trip. Yup. A road trip in an area where there are no roads. Go figure that one out.

He and two of the teachers took their snow machines 215 miles—just for fun. And they had a blast.

They first went to Nunam Iqua, a village about 12 miles southwest. It was so clear, that they could see all the way to the mountains at Scammon Bay, about 60 miles away. They didn’t even have to use the GPS—they just headed straight for the mountains. There was fresh powder on the ground, and Keri said it was like traveling over a field of diamonds. Once they hit Scammon, they headed over the pass, and on to Hooper Bay, about another 45 miles south.

In the Bush, there are no hotels or anything of the kind, so the local schools serve as the accommodation place. And that is where they stayed. They picked up the keys, and ended up sitting around visiting with the principal until after midnight. And once at the school, the three of them stayed up and yakked until almost 3:00 AM.

The next day, they went to Chevak, a village about 20 miles east, then headed north back to Scammon Bay, and then home to Alakanuk. Keri had a blast. He slalomed over open terrain, and even got airborne a couple of times. (I was annoyed about the airborne part—that snow machine costs a fortune—but he said there was so much powder, that it just settled in and kept on going).

When they finally got home, Keri looked like a popsicle—a popsicle that had just come in from playing and having a blast. I’m glad he went.

The downside of the trip was that he made the house reek like gasoline. We couldn’t figure it out. I walked around sniffing everything—his coat, his pack, his boots. I must not be part bloodhound, because I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. By the next day, we had headaches from the gas smell. We left the windows and outside door open for two days trying to get rid of the stench. (Snow was blowing into the entry, but we were desperate.) We finally found the source. The spare gas can had leaked some gas into a plastic bag that he had put away, and the bag had leaked onto the floor of the entryway. After a lot of scrubbing, the stench finally dissipated.

Thank goodness for Pine Sol.