Springtime

Springtime!

Time to wash the garage door and pose in front of it proudly

That freakin’ door is heavy. Double-pane glass panels – 16 of ’em! – with a metal frame. You should see the size of the two coil springs needed to lift this monster. One of them failed spectacularly this past winter. I was in the house at the time. You would’ve thought someone’s foot slipped off the brake and the car kept right on coming through the door. No really, it was that loud.

Happy Wife’s at our Nest this weekend hosting her office’s Team Building retreat. Being it’s all Estrogen down there, and I’m not a member of the office, I stayed back in Anchorage with the Black Dog and a Honey-Do list. That’s a misnomer, really, Honey-Do list. In my case it was self-imposed. HW would not be the least bit miffed if all I did this weekend was plop on the couch and binge-watch season 2 of Grace & Frankie. Which, now that I mention it, does hold a certain vegetative appeal. But for health reasons I need to remain active. My cardiologist was not the least bit amused by my most recent numbers. I suppose if, instead of a bag of Cheetos Ruffles, I plopped down with a bottle of Fish Oil and Statins he’d be okay with that. Problem is, neither one of those are very tasty with French Onion dip. But Ruffles? Shut The Front Door.

The dirt in the raised bed will be turned and the Black dog walked, away from dead porcupines I hope. The last time we walked him at Kincaid park he got into one. Came away with a few quills in his mouth, nothing too serious, but if he gets on a live one I can’t predict his behavior. Or mine for that matter. One of many vicissitudes of hiking with dogs in Springtime in Alaska.

Afterwards, time permitting, an exploratory bike ride throughout the city, a visit to the nooks and crannies about town to see how they fared the Winter (meager as it was). Although as I write I see a fist of clouds moving in over the mountains. Hmm. In my thirties or forties a threat of rain and cool temperature would never have kept me from a bike ride. But now, at fifty six, a poor excuse somehow holds more sway over me. A growth area I guess. Besides, there are a number of more cerebral chores on the Honey-Do list begging my attention. Long-term budgeting being one. We have set some near term goals for ourselves which may or may not be achievable financially speaking. I need to spend some time analyzing this. From time to time our friend who lives in London texts me links to Youtube videos warning the End of Times is nigh. It’s not like I think all these tocsins of impending world wide financial collapse are bogus. I’m just unsure of what to do if they’re not. Buy Gold? Vote for Trump? Neither one seems very wise, both equally futile.

Anyway, the bike ride really is something I ought to do, if only to get some miles on my legs. We’re headed to Denali Park next weekend to ride mountain bikes into the park. We rented an RV, a twenty-two footer – on sale for $65/day! We’re meeting up with a bunch of other people at Riley Creek where we’ll be camping for two nights. The only road into the park is closed to vehicles for a couple more weeks, so we won’t be getting dusted by tour buses. I hear we should expect to see plenty of wildlife, including grizzlies. No guns allowed in a National Park so I’ll be leaving mine at home. Pepper spray? Sure, why not, I can spray it my own eyes to avoid seeing the horror of being devoured. At the planning meeting the other night at our friends’ house, Mark shows me pictures on his phone from when they were there last year. Many were of grizzlies just sauntering across the road, some less than 100 feet away, seemingly oblivious to the nearby snacks dressed in brightly-colored Spandex. Stand Tall! Raise your bike over your head! Appear Large! Uh huh, like that’s gonna help.

Wish us luck!