Now, this gas jockey clearly see’s me at the pump. In fact, to prove that I’m not a “run-off”, I discard my helmet, remove my sunglasses AND whip out a wad of cash, and this guy has the stones to just stare at me through his big window.
I even grabbed the pump CLOSEST to his window, WITH my plate towards it, all just so I don’t have to pre-pay.
I hate pre-pay
HATE pre-pay.
I don’t even know what I’m doing at this pump, as its 3.53 a gallon, clearly taking advantage of the fact that he is the only pump in town.
I know he probably isn’t the owner, as I stroll in with way to much cash for what I need, but I still hold instant disdain for him.
I’m surprised that I have disdain in my heart this far into my Alaskan trip, but disdain it is.
I pump in my whopping 2 ½ gallons, go in to collect the change and he says
“Will that be everything, or do you need anything else?”
I know he just said that to irk me, because who has money to buy that Charleston Chew after paying 30 cents more a gallon for fuel.
If he any decency, he’d shoot himself in his big toe, preferably his left, take his time carefully wrapping it up in a bandage, then take his right heel and smash it down on it like 6 times, THEN hand over my change.
Plus, like a penny.
Disdain I say.
But its short lived, because I AM on the Parks Highway, IN Alaska, after having a fantabulous 2 days in Fairbanks, (sans the Harley Dealer, but we would get into that here) and heading to Talkeetna.
I’ve read recently that Talkeetna was voted 2nd most desired place to visit, coming in a close second to Megan Fox’s jeans.
Sorry
I made that up, but, have you seen Megan Fox, that statement can’t be far from the truth.
I’m making some good time, and I’m not even ashamed by it. You see, I’ve come to the comfortable conclusion that I am NOT a tourist, or, even good at traveling.
I just like to ride.
I love the clunking of the gears, my goatee flipping up to tickle my ear, the massaging of the throttle through a lazy curve, the gassing out of a tight one. I get off on long straight roads, choosing between locking the grip and sitting back, or on the jazz, head down, chasing the horizon with everything my bike has got. I love the good sting of a large object fragging my face, and the sheer elation when I duck in time to miss one. My eyes watering behind cheap sunglasses, and the art of cleaning them out at full speed. Love feeling pain in my rump after hours of riding, and the instant relief when I change foot positions. I love hours of perfect sunlight and testing myself in a thunderstorm. I love the high I get on the road and the crash when I park for the night. Just me, Kai and Uncle Igor, The Peace, The Grease and The Beats, and I don’t care what road we are on.
Which is why I have no need to stop at Skinny Dicks Halfway Inn, one of the places I told myself I would, or about 100 other places I’ve passed these last 12 days or so?
See, not only do I not like to stop, but, I absolutely hate myself when I become a tourist. Mulling about in a gift shop, looking at the very same Alaska mug I’ve seen 12 days in a row and every other gift shop. Sure, I like “stuff”, and more importantly, like buying “stuff” for others, but, I like to ride more than anything.
And today I have all day to ride, cutting trails through the cotton skies. Skies brimming with sunshine and NO rain in the forecast. First day mind you, that NO rain is predicted.
Which is why I’m torn between my emotions today? I don’t necessarily go looking to ride in a thunderstorm, but I’m widely entertained by the visual of tens of bikers jostling for the last piece of dry gravel beneath the abutment of a bridge.
Could even the Super Friends sort my dilemma out within the Halls of Justice? Stay tuned.
This blog has gotten so dull so quickly. I’d be surprised if anyone is even still reading. In fact, I’d be even more surprised if you haven’t printed this out, wadded it up into a paper ball and started batting it back and forth like a 3 month old kitten.
Calico.
Speaking of kittens, or anything with paws, I have seen absolutely NO wildlife to mention or photograph. I’m a little bummed, but I’m not really worried.
If I learned anything as a child, mainly from cartoons, is that wildlife comes out at the end, usually the bunny and duck shows up first, both dressed in top hats, canes and tuxedos with tails, singing in unison.
“Overture, curtains, lights, this is it, the night of nights, No more rehearsing and nursing a part, we know every part by heart”
“Overture, curtains, lights, this is it, you’ll hit the heights and oh what heights we’ll hit”.
“On with the show this is it.”
“Tonight what heights we’ll hit,”
“On with the show this is it!!”
Then, that Is always followed by a bird (tweety of nature), a wise ass kitten, a Gold Miner from Yosemite named Sam, a large hormonal skunk, a stuttering Pig, a cat with a lisp, a true Alaskan Bushman, a roadrunner, a coyote and finally a Rooster.
Very excited!!!
Kai gets yet another thankful, and we are a mere 30 miles from Talkeetna. We make our way into town clean as Kleenex, and find our resting spot for the evening, The Latitude 62 Lodge.
I’m not even parked and I’m in love already.
I’ve seen pics on the internet of this place, and was digging it, but ya never know until you actually arrive on the site.
I’ve been fooled by pics before. Like when I ordered that wife from Russia.
I’ll spare ya the details, but turns out he had a secret.
But the lodge is defiantly not a disappointment. Kai is parked beneath my window, I muscle my pack inside, shower, and find my way to the bar,
Exactly 26 feet down the hall from my room.
There is nothing more, than whiskey and rock and roll.
I’m liking this vacation, although Alaska is getting spendy, I’m dropping money like Monty Brewster.
But that aside, if you know anything better than what I’m doing, you should tell me about it.
So write me a letter
Seal it with a licorice kiss
Send it pony express
To Santa on candy cane lane
And he will get back to me with your results.
Peace Grease and Beats
