And that's how we like it.

Here's the long promised road-trip post - Originally dated October 20, 2007

Last weekend Dad and I went on a mini road trip. We drove to Soldotna, ate a very late dinner, crashed at a fairly decent hotel, bought my car the next morning, and drove back home to Anchorage with a lot of stops so I could take pictures (sorry dad).

Here's a little picture tour and commentary of our little daddy-daughter trip:

The whole way there was in the dark, since we left after I got out of work.

And gas prices skyrocketed when we left the city.

The temperature ROSE to 37 degrees Fahrenheit (the fuzzy photo is of the external temperature reading in dad's car)... which means it was warm enough to rain, and rain, and rain, and rain some more. (See the wet road?)

We arrived in Soldotna late and since it was dark and rainy, we decided to check out the car the next morning.

We found a 24-hour backwoods Alaskan diner and enjoyed hot cocoa and soup at midnight.

At the hotel the parking lot near our door was closed to cars-it was recently repaved. To avoid being drenched by a very long walk around the building in the rain, we parked illegally much to my dismay. Looking back I guess, to quote an old coworker referring to my one instance of not finishing my shift closing tasks 100%, we all need to get in touch with our "bad side" once in a while, eh?

The hotel wasn't too bad. Other than the funkified parking lot, my only quip was the fact that the doors only had knob locks. Yikes. I had trouble getting to sleep since I'm used to sleeping on a practical firm twin bed, and there I was with tons of stretching space on a double bed that was softer than I am accustomed. When I can't sleep I usually read. I forgot a book so my only other option was to talk.

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"Did you know there is only a knob lock on the door here?"

"Yes. No worries though, I brought a gun. I'll get anybody who gets in
here."

"Thanks dad. Goodnight, love you."

"You too, hon."

Dad then returned to his own feat of getting to sleep. He uses a c-pap machine to help him breathe at night. It's probably hard to sleep with sometimes. Can you imagine having a semi-noisy machine attached to your head via a hose strapped to your face covering your nose? Imagine, and imagine it good.... 'cause that's why I started laughing shortly after talking to dad.

"Dad?"

"Yes sweetie."

[Laughing] "I doubt you'd need a gun if something were to
happen."

"Why's that?"

[Laughing still] "Anyone who walks in here will see the c-pap hose
and with either be scared and run away, or laugh till they pee their pants. I
doubt we're in any danger with that thing around."

[Laughing] "I think you have a good point there."

The laughter was fun, it was a great reminder that my dad's not just my dad... he's my friend too.

The following morning we headed over to where the car was stored, pulled into the drive way, and the license plate spoke to me.

CTR. To me, and most everyone who belongs to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, CTR stands for, "Choose The Right". It's one of those great little reminders like the whole WWJD thing that was oh-so-popular a few years ago. 801 just so happens to be the area-code for a lot (if not all) Utah phone numbers. Not that I liked Utah all that much when I was there, but it was a convenient fluke with the licence plate I've decided to throw in there as well.

I did check out the car, and it ran very well and looked good under the hood. Only 77,000 miles on it and it's 13 years old. The original owner passed away recently, and dad used to insure her. Dad and I both felt good about the car, no denying it. We went in the house to finalize stuff and what was on the wall right inside the front door? A mesmerizing photographic giant family tree this woman created. The woman must have been super awesome, that's all I can figure. She was not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, but I did ask since we are big on geneology and you know, the world could very well have shrunk even more that day.

The car is mine now, and I've named it "Jean" in honor of the woman who used to own it. My old car out in Maryland was named "Mike" and I intended to pass that name on, but I couldn't. When I got in, it was definitely a female car, I could just feel it. Jean, the woman, left sticky notes in the car... I loves sticky notes! Jean, the car, had all her radio stations set on country channels... I enjoy country music! It was a match made in heaven! No pun intended there considering Jean, the woman, is no longer with us.

The drive back to Anchorage was less scary, as I was driving my car instead of being a passenger. I'm not a good passenger since being hit by that drunk driver 2 years ago.

It was pretty going home, here's some pictures:

(That's Dad exploring.)

When you gotta go, you gotta go.

Or I guess it's "When I gotta go, I gotta go."

Our outhouses up here are accessible... at least these ones were.

I like signs. This one cracked me up. It mentions toilets... There's no toilet! It's just a fancy piece of plastic sitting on a hole in the ground!

Might as well get a snapshot right? If I didn't, who else would?

Ooh! A great Alaskan moment happened on the way home too - aside from the pit stop.

I met a duck hunter.

Yes, you read that correctly.

And yes again, you are indeed seeing what you think you're seeing.

On my last picture stop there was a pickup truck in the pull-off too. As I went back to the car to continue on, a man came out of wherever in chest waders carrying dead ducks in one hand and a sack of fake ducks in the other. I, being who I am, didn't hesitate a single second to go talk to him. He let me take a couple pictures, though he didn't want to be in them. That's ok. Talking to him was cool, it was like visiting with an old neighbor.

And that's what being an Alaskan is all about. We're ALL neigbors up here. Better yet, we're family... and that's how we like it.