In 1976 my friend and colleague, John and I were sent on business to Anchorage, Alaska. Before we departed, I wanted to familiarize myself with the largest state in the Union. I got my Atlas out and opened it to the proper page and started looking at it. I immediately forgot the fact that all pages were the same size and more importantly, the scale of this page was much different than the rest. The map showed basically one highway going South from Anchorage and the same going North to Fairbanks, past the Denali National Park. The Southern terminus was at Kenai. With all that knowledge, I put the atlas away.
Air travel in those days was much different. John and I wore a shirt, tie, and a sport coat. We change planes in Chicago and from there the plane was only about half-full. As this was going to be a long journey, some people laid across three seats and went to sleep. We stood up and stretched our legs. John struck up a conversation with one of the stewardesses. I joined in when she asked John about the pouch that was attached to his belt. She wanted to know what it was. John said, innocently, oh, it’s a bomb. I always carry one. What are the chances of two bombs being on the plane? The three of us had a good chuckle over this. Nowadays, John might still be In jail.
We arrived in Anchorage on a Sunday afternoon and were met by someone from the datacenter. We stopped at a bar, had a drink and our guide paid with a hundred-dollar bill. The bartender took at as though it were a dollar bill.
The next morning, we reported for work in an office building, which was less than ten story tall. We were on the 4th or 5th floor. On that bright, sunshiny day I looked out the window and saw a snow-covered mountain. When I asked, I was told that it was Mount McKinley, 250 miles away! 250 miles away and it was as bright, as brilliant as it was five miles away! I was also told that it was a rare occasion that we were blessed with this sight because most of the time the mountaintop is shrouded in clouds.
We were to stay for two weeks, and the weekend in-between was Memorial Day weekend. We had a rental car, so we set out for Mount McKinley. It was another beautiful day, and we were full of excitement and anticipation as we kept driving and driving and driving. After each straightaway a curve came and made the mountain disappear but when the curve ended, the mountain stood in all its glory. A number of iterations later I made the astute discovery that the mountain did not seem to get any closer. John agreed and our target for the day of seeing the base of the mountain seemed to disappear. Finally, we stopped at a little restaurant for lunch and learned that we were 17 air-miles from the mountain. We decided to turn back, due to time constraints. As we walked to our car, I noticed a “standard” motorcycle in the parking lot, with a Connecticut license plate. “Standard”, not a touring, large displacement, full fairing, saddle bags, motorcycle. After all these years of motorcycling I still remember that bike and have a ton of respect for its rider.
Anchorage was a pretty small town. From the top of the Captain Cook hotel, we could observe the whole city. The top floor of the hotel was a restaurant which revolved to offer a different view to its diners. The management of the datacenter invited us to a dinner one night to this restaurant. It was a dining experience I have not been a part of before or since. We had a reserved room just for us. The lighting was very dim, so it was difficult to learn that each diner had his own waiter, who was dressed in tails and blended into the background.
Looking out the window one time might reveal the Cook inlet in front of you. Boats were coming and going on their way to be moored because after you finished your main course and looked out the window again, those boats were sitting in mud with no water in sight. I had heard that the tide comes in at 30 miles an hour. It was also said that the mud is so dangerous that if you’re in it, there is no escape.
On our first drive out of town we saw this moose meandering around.
We visited the site of the 1964 earthquake. I was hoping to find some remnant, I don’t even know what, but there was nothing there but bulldozed land. I left the sight of a terrible catastrophe with eerie feeling.
During our stay in Alaska a new edict was passed whereby bars had to be closed for, I think, four hours daily. Prior to this they were open 24/7. There were some fatalities the first day. A few eskimos froze to death waiting for the bar to open. Suicides are a big problem in Alaska, especially during the winter months. The 20-hour darkness takes its toll.
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I was fortunate to be sent to Alaska again, the same year but during the winter this time. Obviously, the terrain took on a much different look and feel. It was much colder, and snow was everywhere. Another colleague and I decided to visit Fairbanks. We took the much longer but more interesting trip: by train. The journey would take 12 hours the first day and the return trip 12 hours after an overnight stay. The train trip, for the most part, was rather boring. Everything was white and once I got home and viewed the many, many slides, I realized that most pictures should not have been taken. There was one interesting occurrence during the trip. I spent most of the trip at the end of a train car, in the open because I didn’t want to miss anything. The train slowed and eventually stopped. I looked both ways but didn’t see a station or anything else. A few minutes later a small group arrived by snowmobiles and some of them boarded the train, while the rest waved goodbye. I heard one of them yell: “We’ll see you Thursday.”
During our short stay in Fairbanks, we traveled just outside the city to witness a dogsled race. As we approached the dogs and their owners the noise was loud and getting louder. The dogs were brought to the site on the bed of pickup trucks in separate compartments. You could see their necks and faces sticking out and each and every one was howling or barking, contributing to the cacophony. They kept it up during the unloading, getting the harness put on and getting in line to work their way to the front. When it was their turn to go, the dogs harnessed to a sled stopped the noise and in unison and single-mindedly lunged forward and pulled the sled.
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A freighter near the Homer Spit presented an awesome sight.
