I jumped out of my little town, with wobbly looking internet connections, mountain interference and $5 cartons of milk to enjoy some time in Anchorage. As I drove, I found myself watching the outdoor temperature gauge in my car. -3, -4, -5, -6, -7, -8, -9, -10. It stopped there. I started thinking about cold-weather strandings and quickly dismissed that thought from my mind.
Next, I began to notice the Avalanche Signs that warn drivers not to stop in these zones. Then, the 7% grade signs in the mountains, combined with the snow and ice on the roads and I remember something about Alaska.
Many of the people who live here are adrenaline junkies, straight up. This state gives thrills at every turn. Yesterday, I had my worst bush plane ride, ever. We were all holding on and then we broke out in quiet prayer; heads were bowed, followed by hysterical laughter. We landed, the door opened and we were still laughing.
It doesn't matter if we use kayaks, cars, bush planes...all present some lovely element of danger. I thought maybe I might not be one of those adrenaline junkies. Eight hours after that flight, I climbed right back in the plane to fly home. Then, I drove through the elements to get to Anchorage tonight. I loved the drive; felt at home and am planning a kayak trip in Prince William Sound, next to calving glaciers. I might be living in the right place.
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