Climbing Mount Healy

I knew that I had hurt my knee more than a year ago while wandering about on the Appalachian Trail. How bad was a mystery. I have hiked at least a hundred miles since coming to Alaska-- many of those hikes with some steep portions. Despite that, I was not ready for Mount Healy. Constant uphill climbing and winds battering at least 45 miles an hour (there were times when, quite literally, I was blown down) my knee gave out about two thirds of the way to the top of the 5000+ foot peak, forcing me to cower down from the gales and wait for Joe to finish. I'll never be a mountain climber-- just a hiker. However, the section of Healy I covered were spectacular.

the mountain

tropical storm force winds, at least

point alexander

The Krewe

A group photo, encompassing almost everyone... and at least one utter stranger.

Exploring Old Healy

Old Healy is thus titled because it was to be the site for the town before it... wasn't. Quite frankly, I don't know why the town was moved... probably something to do with the highway coming through. Anyway, the original site is a lovely area filled with sand cliffs and greenery.

J and K

Piper, the resident border collie

Kelsey and Nikki

Overview

Daredeviling under Windy Bridge

Windy bridge takes the George Parks Highway over the Nenana river between Healy and McKinley Village. It is thus named because of the speed of the breeze whipping through the canyon. We hung out here one afternoon-- drank some beers, watched the river, and balanced our way across somewhat oblivious the the drop below.

Rafting the Nenana beneath the bridge. We rafted earlier in the summer-- good times!

Johnny, giving a shining example of the kind of ridiculous shenanigans we should not have partaken in whilst drinking.

Camping at Montana Creek

About a mile and a half down the Montana Creek Trail there is a trapper's cabin owned by a friend of our bosses-- we're allowed to camp there.  It's a glorious spot perched above a river and far from anything.  We all went as a group the first time-- later I went out by myself, making it almost to the cabin before stumbling upon an angry moose in the trail.  He refused to yield and threatened to charge.  I, naturally, retreated and went home.  It was exhilarating being harassed by a beast of that size that could have easily killed me with a well placed hoof to the skull.

Tyler at the cabin

There are several of these structures along this trail, as well as other trails in the area.  I assume they are markers for the trail, but the trails all seem well socialized leaving these feeling extraneous.  They could possibly (but unlikely) be emergency shelters, but they seem far to small and haphazard.  They have a creepy Blair Witch feel to them, whatever their purpose.  Aiding the unease, both of these had animal parts (a skin and a wing) suspended from them.

Joe vs the Fire

There's more craziness afoot!  Gasp with terror as Joe attempts to leap a small campfire in a single bound!  Applaud as he succeeds!  Deja vu as he then does it... again!  Giggle at the silliness of it all!

Campfire Tales

Nothing like a late evening bonfire to pass a dull Alaskan day.  This one actually prompted me to quit drinking for a few weeks after a remarkably awkward incident involving me blacked out and pissing on the floor of my cabin.  Roommate = unhappy.  Naturally.

Hooligans

Naughty Corbin

Faris/Tyler

Two Tylers and a Corbin

Tyler vs. the Hill

There's crazyness afoot.  Behold Tyler taking on a vast sand cliff with an old mountain bike.  Awe as he seems briefly to succeed!  Gasp as he inevitably fails!  Laugh, as he walked away unhurt!

Denali National Park: The 30-Mile Car Trip, Part 1 (Nature)

Early in the season, car tourists are allowed to drive 30 miles into the park.  Afterwards, cars can only drive 15 miles in.  We took a company van in-- these are 

These next two hazy photos are 'the Great One', Mt. McKinley, the highest mountain in North America at 20, 320 feet.  Only 30 percent of the people who visit the park get to see the mountain because it hides behind clouds.  These pictures show it partially revealed.

Buddies, hiking

Humdinger

It was, to speak lightly, the greatest party of the decade... a Mardi Gras to remember.

Some photos:

a Krewe float

mardi gras rushing

bourbon/babylon

Wild, drug-fueled, endlessly enjoyable-- I was awake for almost six days straight, working 16-18 hours a day.  Making endless amounts of money, drinking endless amounts of booze, popping the pills, doing the best cocaine I've ever stumbled across.  

Whenever I think of Mardi Gras, this is the one I'll ponder upon-- shuffling through the hazy memories like playing cards, ruminating on them, smiling about them.  My final days in New Orleans were some of the best of my life...despite the events to come.

Some Girls:

Time Well Wasted

It was Jeana's birthday, and, in celebration, we went to the Paisley Party tour held at the New Orleans Arena.  

Opening act was Dierks Bentley, giving off the impression of trying to hard to be affable and 'down-home' as he sang all his hits, most of which I like very much.  Was much the change (not necessarily  for the better) from the show he did five years ago at Tipitina's where, by the end of the evening, so drunken was he that the audience sing along was all that could get him through 'What Was I Thinking'.

Followed up by Brad Paisley, guitar virtuoso and probably the most viable artist in country music (great singer, affecting songwriter, astounding musician) singing most of his most recent and popular songs (could have used some 'All I Wanted Was A Car' or 'Time Well Wasted', Brad...).  Said wonderful things about New Orleans, attempted to sing 'City of New Orleans' but was very honest about clearly not knowing the words... promised to learn it next time, sang 'When the Saints Go Marching In' instead.

Anyway, Brad's AV unit deserves an award of some kind, as their displays were breathtaking and at times threatened to overshadow the performer.  Pre-recorded cameos by Taylor Swift, Dierks Bentley, Keith Urban and B.B. King were entertaining.  Pre-recorded cameo by Alison Krauss was not, because my enthusiasm that she's really on the stage!! made me look quite foolish when she turned out to be a video projection.

In all, a fine show.  Drank plenty of Jack Daniel's, felt warm and fuzzy.  These are not my personal photos, but instead belong to Russo-- I forgot my camera.

"How're You Doing?": A Response

     Today, via MySpace, I received a curious e-mail.  Not curious in content, but in timing and also, perhaps, in directness.  It was a message from an estranged comrade, asking simply "How are you?", and including a few words to ensure I recognized sincerity and not some sort of ironic malice.

The inevitability of this text had been with me for some time-- I was fairly certain the message would come sometime, but like death or El Dorado it was "further, always further".  To find it suddenly in my inbox was to be taken aback as one always is when distant things are suddenly thrust into the present, but also aback due the the fact that only a few days prior I had thought for a moment about the likelihood of receiving such an e-mail.  Another case of Parrallel Synchronized Randomness, I suppose.  Unfortunately, for boring and complicated reasons I was unable to reply.  So, in optimistic response and for the general populous, this is how I am doing:

I've taken to drinking in excess whenever I choose to drink, and my drug use is ravenous.  I look at these things objectively, from the outside looking in, and sense issues might be arising but... my mind usually dissents and things continue normally.  I'm in a state of tiredness most of the time, have come to averaging twelve hours a night whenever possible, but that could potentially be explained by the prior issues or by other things, but, quite honestly, it was never that unusual.

Despite the afore-mentioned drug an alcohol intake, my food diet is healthier than it's ever been-- I've almost entirely given up soda and dairy milk, and cut fried foods drastically.  I lost almost 30 pounds on the Appalachian Trail-- I've gained 15-20 of those back, but a percentage as muscle, which, as larger people like to say, "...weighs more than fat."

I'm also faced with the possibility of diving headfirst into a live-in S/M relationship with a man in Grand Isle that I am considering despite all the entanglements and complications of my on-the-road lifestyle.  I fear I may be overestimating my cleverness, emotional reserve and/or escape ability--

You see, I've purchased a bicycle which I plan on learning to ride as soon as the weather improves and I can find the time-- then I plan on taking it cross country on a series of whimsical missions a friend of mine is devising.  I'm staying with her in Metairie until after Mardi Gras, as I've committed myself to work at the Ohm Lounge 'til that point. Metairie is... awful, and I'm in a state of continual restlessness that finds me endlessly surfing travel sites and reading travel books and perusing my old road trip photos.

Reading back over this, I think it may be the most honest account of my general well-being I've ever written. 

 

On Missing Trains

Of all the stories posted here-in, this is perhaps the one of which I am least proud.  Stories of drugged and drunken exploits come with moderate bragging rights, travel tales have their own appeal, but this is a tragedy of hubris and stupidity of which I am ashamed.  To begin, some back ground information:

The Amtrak passenger train City of New Orleans passes through Newbern, Tennessee on it's north-south run from Chicago to New Orleans.  My family live a bit more than an hour from Newbern and when traveling home for a visit this train is the most comfortable, most cost-efficient and generally the easiest mode of transport.  I have ridden this train several times and boarded and exited at this station each time.

So, poised to board the train early in the morning of December 26th me and my father (a semi-driver for more than 35 years) arrived at the station, watched a few freight trains pass, and ascertained that the the tracks to our left headed north and the tracks to the right headed south.  We were so sound in our knowledge that when an Amtrak passenger train came rolling up at precisely the time my New Orleans-bound train was scheduled to arrive, that we watched it stop, watched passengers deboard, and watched it roll away certain in our sense of cardinal directions and positive that that train had come from New Orleans and was headed to Chicago.

Newbern is an unmanned station, so there was no one to ask as to how late my train was going to be.  We did however ask one of recently exited passengers from where she originated.  When she said Chicago, I stared at her disbelievingly, then stared at the tracks and realized that we had been wrong.  I had missed the train, or rather, mistook the train, which is probably just as bad.

Deeply shamed, me and my father were.  We studied the tracks for a while and decided that even if we were wrong, we were wrong in the most logical way and that our wrong assumption was the easiest assumption to make.  We drove away, cursing the silly train for traveling north to south in such a haphazard way.  Pride cometh before the fall-- I boarded the train later in the week and arrived safely back in the Crescent City.

Merry Christmas from the Family

I made a half-hearted attempt to avoid the annual pilgrimage to Clarksburg, Tennessee for Christmas festivities, because these types of things always tend to seem far more unpleasant while they approach than when they actually arrive.  It was a quiet bit of welcome respite.  

Behold!  Photos:

with William Arvel Woods

Will and Mary Woods

Nate Moore

Amelia Vestal

Matriarchs

"What things these days..."

Nephews

And to all, a Merry Christmas.