Part 5.  Truths of Existence vs Facts of Reality

Anchorage

Somewhere around early to mid July or so,  I felt that Tamale had gained an acceptable degree of comfort at Jill's house, so I got on a plane out of Prescot and headed to Denver with the intention of flying into Anchorage within the next day or so.     My brother Scott had just retired from United Airlines and had "buddy passes" that came with a steep discount on flying, as long as you were willing to fly "standby" which meant that if they had no seats you waited until the next flight, with empty seats, and so on.      The nice part about this though was that  - unlike that past where you never knew if seats would be available - now there are is an app, and before you go to the airport, you can look on the app and it tells you how many seats are available, so - unlike earlier family days when my dad flew for American Airlines, and the whole family would or would not get on an airplane -  I now have a pretty clear idea of whether or not I can get on a plane.

This way of travelling is very reminiscent for me of my life in my 20s.    A lot of this summer has been.    Similar to when I was younger, I have time, and am now ok with getting on a plane, or not.   I can always get on another plane.    I am travelling alone now, so there is no need to have to be anywhere at any time.   No one is waiting for me, with all the freedom and loneliness that that implies.

I spent two days in Denver with my brother.    We are similar in both being on our bikes a lot and using bikes to get around locally.   We are both pretty serious and committed bikers, but neither of us looks like a serious biker, as we don't wear biking gear and don't have expensive bikes.   Just good bikes and sneakers.  

We hung out pretty easily for those two days.

Then one morning I hopped on a plane with lots of available seats to Anchorage.  Huge mountains with snowy tops coming in.   Land early afternoon and a bus in to the airbnb, which I had rented for a week, and is in South Anchorage, six or seven miles out of downtown.

I think most people come to Alaska to fish, or hunt or wander around the outdoors, as that seems to be the way Alaska sells itself.    I did none of that.     The first day I was there I walked into a Walmart and bought a bike, a helmet and a lock and a can of yellow spray paint, all for around $160.    Walked outside, spray painted the bike yellow, then spent the next six days biking around the city, which is not that different from how I live my life anywhere, and it turns out Anchorage looked exactly like any other American city, right down to the Walmarts, the Costcos, the Home Depots, the Barnes and Nobles, the roads and highways etc.     Downtown was ok, but not much beyond looking at it.     

One day I rode out to Merrill Airfield,  just east of the city, and had the rare treat of being able to ride around the ramp and right up to all the airplanes.   Having grown up in an aviation family and spent a lot of my early life around airplanes, it was a feeling of home to ride out there amongst the planes and put my hand on them and say hello to them.    I even worked for two summers, age 18 and 19, driving around the ramp at Teterboro airport in New Jersey, topping off single and double engine Pipers and Cessnas with aviation fuel.   Two full summers, and no one ever asking or telling me to wear noise cancelling headgear.     I think it was before it was required or anyone thought of the possibility of hearing damage.   

Later on in my life, somewhere in my 40s, I go to get a hearing test and the doctor asks me "Have you ever worked at an airport?".   "Well yeah, how did you know?"  "You have lost your hearing in the same range as airport workers".

Now  - at 65 - I can't hear much at all, and my right ear constantly rings.  Tinnitus, I think.   People ask me if it drives me crazy, but it really doesn't.   I don't even notice it unless I think about it.   Can't hear a lot though through that ear.    I watch movies with the subtitles on, and I mostly get by when people stand in front of me and talk to me.   I say "Excuse me?" a lot.    Maybe one day they will come out with glasses where when people talk to me, subtitles will show up on the glasses.     I will also turn 65 next week and finally be eligible for medicaire and medicaid, so maybe it will be time to get a hearing aid.   I have no vanity in regards to my appearance at this point, so maybe it will help.

In the end I just enjoyed the week of riding the Walmart bike around the city, but it could have been any American City, except for the awesome mountains to the east.

The day I left Anchorage, I found a Women's Shelter about a mile west of the Airport and rang the bell and gave them the bike, the lock and the helmet, which they gladly accepted.   Hopefully it has found a good home, as it was a good friend to me while I was there.

Drive to Prescott

At some point, I was texting with Mara and she was about to leave the bay area and drive her car to Austin Texas to spend a year.    I was a bit nervous about the state of her car, and didn't tell her that but offered to fly down to San Francisco and drive with her to Prescott AZ, about halfway to Austin, and where Tamale and Jill are, and where I started my summer.     She said yes, so I left Anchorage on a 1am flight and landed early morning at SFO, got a Hampton Inn extremely crappy hotel room in Santa Clara, and had a day or so walking around the town where I have lived longer than anywhere else in my life.   Where I had a family and raised my kids.    Kids, dogs, cats, cars, a house, 20 years of earning money and running and not having time to think or do much else, and it all goes by in a blink of an eye.  Exhausting and exhilarating.    It runs you ragged, but you wouldn't trade a second of it.  I was daddy for the happiest, and what seemed to be the briefest time in my life.  I knew this going in, and  tried to hold onto it even when I was going through it, knowing how fast it would all go, but its like trying to catch water falling through your open fingers.    The love falling through your open heart.   You can't do it.    One day, all those hard and sunlit halcyon days are gone, and you are sitting in a coffee shop a handful of years and a thousand miles away, and you are wondering what happened.   And you are back to being Just You.   And there is a satisfaction, but also a sadness to it, but then God replies Yes, but would you have rather not had it at all?  And then:

That's Life, boy.    That's how it works.