Anchorage

My bike seemed to be running fine, and I once again welcomed the possibilities that always reveled themselves with open road. Seventy miles south of Talkeetna, I crossed the city limits of Wasilla, made famous as the hometown of Sara Palin. Curiosity got the best of me, and, after a quick stop to fill up with gas, I followed my nose to a local "city" market that was being advertised with small signs strategically placed throughout town. The market turned out to be about as empty as the former governor's head, but I did get to sit and enjoy a piece of homemade cherry pie while listening to an unlikely musical duo perform everything from Willie Nelson to Bob Seger.

Funny, I couldn't see Russia from anywhere in town...

And this was the busy section... actually, it was the only section.

Would "trim that beard" be enough of a tip?

I even got some video... and all kidding aside, they were actually a lot of fun to watch.

With only 45 miles to go, I climbed back on the bike and set my sights on Anchorage, but my first glimpse of the city took me off guard, as the main drag through downtown, at least in my mind, bore an uncanny resemblance to Atlantic City, with the industrial outskirts giving way to a string of high rise hotels, motels and storefronts that catered to the mass influx of souvenir-hungry tourists. After all the miles I had logged through the most remote parts of Alaska, it seemed completely out of place to be in a city this size, and it took me a few minutes to get used to navigating it's streets. When I finally pulled over, unable to get my bearings enough to find the hostel, a passerby pointed me in the right direction with the help of his smart phone, and I was on my way.

My pick from the Lonely Planet guide, the 26th Street International hostel, seemed comfortable enough, but it's location on the south side of downtown was somewhat dubious, with a string of apartment complexes across the street that looked as though it catered to a slightly rougher crowd than I would have wanted for neighbors. Ready to unpack my bags and explore the city for a few days, I ignored the shady characters milling about in the complex's parking lot, and focused my attention on finding my room and settling in.

I asked the hostess if she had seen an Israeli couple pass through within the last week, hoping that coincidence would allow me run into Ido and Shira again, but the only couple she knew of who had stayed at the hostel recently were from Mexico. My heart sank a bit, as I had never gotten any contact information from them, and with all the time that had passed since our last run-in, it looked improbable that we would be likely to cross paths again.

I took a walk to get a lay of the land, making mental notes of where to find the usual staples; grocery store, auto parts store, bank, etc. To satisfy a guilty pleasure, I spent a good hour or more in a high-end second hand and antique store a few blocks from the hostel, a two story building crammed full of every conceivable object that aimed to motivate buyers through either curiosity or nostalgia. I had my eye on a vintage camera that would have fit in perfectly in my collection back home, but I talked myself down off that ledge, knowing I had neither the money nor the space on the bike to make the purchase.

When I walked back through the front door of the hostel, someone was sitting at one of the computer stations in the front room, and when she turned to look at me, it took a moment for both of us to register each others faces - it was Shira! We collided into a hug, both of us laughing hysterically at how our paths had brought us to the same place yet again. A moment later, Ido appeared around the corner from the kitchen, and we shook hands, exchanging wide grins as we, too, laughed in disbelief. They had just arrived, having spent time in Denali park hiking and camping in the back country, all in about the same time that I had been there. After catching up with pictures and stories, we settled in to making dinner that night, and, for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt completely content.

The hostel, not surprisingly, was full of more transient characters; from an out of work Scandinavian fisherman whose arthritis prevented him from doing the only job he knew, to a tattooed former paralegal who just wanted to be an artist, and was trying to patent his latest creation; "3-D" paintings that consisted of multiple layers of painted Plexiglas. I didn't have the heart to tell him that there was nothing intrinsic to that idea that would warrant a patent (not to mention the fact that it sounded downright tacky), so instead Ido, Shira and I would just let him ramble on about his plans; something that, at times, actually seemed less painful than the non-stop broadcast of FOX news that blared from the television set in the common room. One fellow had even been kicked out, after it was discovered that he was spending all of his time at the hostel drinking from a bottle of whiskey and passing out in his bunk (which happened to be below mine). It was definitely one of the stranger hostels I had stayed in, but I knew that I was only staying for a few days, and the fact that my friends were there took the edge off of what would have been a much more bizarre experience.

I spent the next few days knocking around the city, enjoying what it had to offer and preparing myself for the ride ahead of me to get to my friend in McCarthy, another secluded town that was only accessable by way of a sixty mile gravel road. I even changed the oil in the bike, as it was already overdue from the miles I had put on her since starting out at the end of June.

A view from the waterfront.

And I thought that I had come a long way...

A rainbow that appeared right across the street from the hostel while I was talking to a dear friend on my cell phone.

I spent part of an afternoon watching the planes take off and land on the water just south of the hostel.

The do-it-yourself oil change in the parking lot of the hostel. Don't worry, the oil was recycled...

 The night before I had planned on heading out, Ido, Shira and I went out to dinner with a friend of theirs who had just flown in the night before, and I got to hear stories of how they, Ido and Shira, had met (they had known each other since middle school), and what finally led to their coming together as a couple. For two people barely into their mid-twenties, I marveled at the certainty of their relationship; from the stories of their time spent apart as they both fulfilled their countries mandatory military service, to the ease with which they traveled together now.  Even though I was traveling like they were at their age, I know that I didn't have the maturity at that time to do it with someone I was dating - it would have been a sure path to the end of the relationship. But here they were, after almost six years together, sharing a small tent as they made their way through Alaska with only their thumbs. Incredible.

We were sure, the next morning, to get each others contact information, even though there was a good chance that we were going in the same direction and, just as it had played out for the past two weeks, we would be seeing each other again. They, too, were interested in McCarthy and the nearby Kennecott mines. We said our goodbyes, and I packed up my things and loaded up the bike, slightly nervous about the prospect of yet another rough ride on gravel later that day. I had been lucky once in Manley, but how long could that kind of luck last? Pushing the bike backwards out of the hostel's driveway, I eased out the clutch and pulled back on the throttle, aiming to find out...