“What does your calendar look like for February 21st through the 25th?”
Barb has just asked me a loaded question. If I say I’m free, then there’s no excuse for me not wanting to do whatever she’s asking.
“Why do you ask?
“Just answer my question.”
I look at the calendar. It’s totally open.
“I’m free,” I say apprehensively. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, in Connecticut when we saw the Northern Lights last fall, you mentioned that was something on your bucket list. How would you like to go to Alaska to see them?”
She was right. Honestly, I’ve always been fascinated by those, but considering I’ve never lived anywhere close to where they happen, I just never thought it would be possible. Plus, it would be freezing cold. I was lucky that our trip to Connecticut for a three-day pottery workshop coincided with some Aurora activity.
“Yes, it is, but I already got to see them.”
“I know, but not from Alaska. That’s one of the best places and best time of year to see them. And we might see more than just the pink Aurora.”
It sounded good so far, plus I could cross ALASKA off the list of states I’ve visited. Only North Dakota remains. I define a visit as a night spent there. I know people say it doesn’t count, but I didn’t even fly in an airplane until I was 19 so cut me some slack.
I agree to go along. Then she tells me the plan.
Barb has a lady in her weightlifting class who has her own travel company. She had a group tour planned to Fairbanks, Alaska to see the lights. One price and everything is planned for you. I check with Lisa, and she freezes the calendar. I start getting excited about the trip.
And then, I remember we we’re going on a tour. With other people. And at our age, no doubt this would be with a bunch of old people. And since I’m 60, I’ll be the youngest of the old people and since there won’t be anyone my age, I’ll have to carry everyone’s shit and hold open doors and walk slow and have old ladies holding on to each arm so not to slip on the ice. Caring for my Alzheimer’s-stricken mom over the past two years has worn me down. I start to have second thoughts.
I’m a business traveler. A road warrior. Some years I’m on the road 35 weeks. I like to have control. I can’t control travel or schedule on this trip. And we must fly Alaska Airlines. I only fly Southwest. Plus, I don’t really trust anyone to do my travel. Well, that’s not true. If I booked my travel, I’d never make a gig. I only trust Lisa to book my travel. Now everything would be planned, scheduled and regimented. I was rapidly losing interest in this trip.
Finally, the day arrives. Barb and I drive to Nashville the night before and stay in a hotel near the airport. We drop the car at Parking Spot across the street and ride the shuttle to the terminal. It’s a Friday so TSA is crowded. We get through and take a seat at the gate.
Barb says, “there’s our group.”
I look up and there they are.
And they are younger than me. A lot younger. Like decades! College age.
All of them. They’re looking at their phones and laughing loudly. Great!
Apparently, we’re the oldest ones in the group! That means they’re all looking at me. And I know exactly what they’re thinking.
“Oh joy. Look at that old man over there in the “old man” flat cap. I hope I’m not sitting next to him. The old lady probably carries butterscotch candy in her big purse. He probably smells like mothballs and Bengay”
And then I realize Barb was pointing in the opposite direction. I turn to see Sherri, our travel agent along with an entourage of others, arriving at the gate. They are all nearly about our age. I feel more comfortable now and Barb, who knows many of the group members, flashes me that “I told you so” look.
They seem like a friendly bunch. Mostly couples. The men who know each other talk. The others, like me, sit in silence looking at our phones.
The plane boards and even though I’m an experienced traveler, I’m a rookie today. We are flying Alaska. Their procedures are different than Southwest. There are zones, and elbow-throwing as we’re herded into corrals. You have an assigned seat. That’s another wrinkle I’m not used to. And they say Southwest is a cattle call.
We’re in the back of the plane. I NEVER choose to sit this far in the back. Since I see disaster ahead trying to find space for my carry-on, using my better judgement, I opt to gate check our bags since we’d all have to wait for the shuttle together in Fairbanks anyway. Sitting in the back means the flight would be bumpier and, as an aisle passenger, I’d have everyone’s ass in my face as they wait in line for the bathroom.
The flight to Seattle is smooth. I write my weekly story and an additional one for a promotion. We connect to Fairbanks and the view out the window changes. Beautiful mountains and snow, but I return to my writing.
We land and assemble for the ride to the lodge. Now I’m a bit embarrassed to admit it, but I thought Fairbanks was a small town. Like you could walk across it. Maybe a little smaller than Dickson, TN.
It’s a huge city! There’s even a Costco. The lodge is about 10 minutes away.
It’s a quaint place with animal heads and other taxidermy and native art on the walls. A cross between the resort in Dirty Dancing, the Bear Country Jamboree at Disney, and a smaller version of the Overlook in The Shining.
Sherri hands us pouches with our excursion information and flight data. She’s very organized. She even puts a miniature box of Tic Tacs in there. There’s a restaurant next door so we walk over. We decide to head to bed early since there’s 3-hour time difference and I’ve already been up since 3am. I wasn’t sure what to expect on this trip, so I had no expectations. But I was looking forward to it.
**************************************************
It was a great trip. But since nobody REALLY wants to see the amazing photos of your vacation, I’ll spare you those. And because nobody REALLY wants to hear about how fun your trip was, I’ll also spare you that. I’ll instead share some observations I’ve had this weekend.
Observation #1: Alaska is cold. Really cold.
First morning. My teeth are frozen.
I was born and raised in California and have lived in mostly hot climates, but I’ve lived in cold climates too. Plus, I’ve traveled to Montreal in the winter and landed in a blizzard. I know what cold feels like.
None of them are Alaska cold. It slams into you like a big frozen water balloon. We’ve had some cold weather in Tennessee lately, as low as 14 degrees, but this was -12. I’ve never been in weather that cold. Then the shuttle driver says it’s a heat wave for them. Normally it’s -20.
To combat that cold, you must stay warm. That means layers. Layers mean it takes a long damn time to gear up just go outside to pick up your Uber Eats order. And then try using a public bathroom. By the time you get yourself put back together, you need to use the bathroom again.
You also need coffee. Lots of it. I don’t drink that much at home, but I felt like my father-in-law on this trip as he asks for constant refills of “cowwffee” in his thick Southern accent at Cracker Barrel.
But it’s always served white hot. Everywhere. Even in the free coffee station at the lodge. The free coffee at Hampton Inn is normally lukewarm at best, but not here. It’s just a few degrees above the temperature of aMcDonalds hot apple pie. Barb likes her coffee that way, but I don’t need my tastebuds scorched. I want them intact when I cook BBQ. Just like I protect my pottery hands. I go heavy on the cream.
I suppose a person gets used to the cold. Many of the workers at the lodge and shuttle drivers are Alaska natives or long-time residents who have been there for decades. They choose this. I don’t. But I can do it for a few days.
Observation #2: Even Though Fairbanks is a Big City, it’s Still in the Middle of Nowhere
The infamous dome!
Alaska is isolated. Really isolated.
On our second night, we do our main event, the Aurora tour. We meet in the lobby at 9PM and are met by gruff-looking woman in a heavy coat. She’s Tabitha, our guide and I discover she’s actually really friendly.
Barb told me this tour took us to a dome and then we go out and see the Auroras. I pictured a small resort, and the dome would have couches, and Wi-Fi, and bathrooms. Plus, it would be warm.
10 minutes out of Fairbanks, the road narrows and there is no more artificial light. Semi-trucks fly by us, heading towards the city.
Tabitha tells us the plan. I thought she was the driver from the resort. No. She is everything. The driver, the host, and the Aurora expert.
When we get to the dome, we can go inside or hang around outside and fortunately there will be a fire. That’s good since there may not be enough room for all of us in the dome at the same time. Then, when Tabitha sees the Aurora forming, she’ll let us know and we go out and look at it. She said there were snacks and coffee. I was sort of hoping for a bar to get an Irish coffee, but it was not to be.
We slow down and turn into a snowy driveway. This must be the entrance to the resort. There is a covered patio and a small shack and a tiny white domed building. A small bonfire burns. Snow is piled high all around. I’m waiting for the valet to motion Tabitha through.
Then she shuts off the van. This is it? The small white domed building is the dome. No Irish coffee or WIFI. Maybe no heat?
We shuffle out of the van. Barb found a company that rents out cold weather gear, so we have the boots and big parka as well as heavy gloves. Tabitha says we can rotate going in and out of the dome to make more space as the night gets colder. I’m starting to have flashbacks of that old Lifeboat game simulation we did in a college ethics class decades ago. Now that I found I’m the oldest one in this tribe, that makes me the first target if someone must be left outside the dome to freeze to death in order to save the others. I think about that plane that crashed in the Andes where the survivors resort to cannibalism. I’m a liability. I make a mental note to appear sharp and healthy, and useful. And somewhat dangerous. And, I find I have that little box of Tic Tacs Sherri gave us. Maybe that will buy me some time.
We enter the dome and it’s dimly lit. There is a large wood stove against one wall. A small bar separates the kitchen from the rest of the house. There is a small wooden ladder that leads to a space above. That’s her bedroom. There are a few couches and chairs. Two caged ferrets reside in a cage in the corner. They greet us excitedly. The dome is Tabitha’s home. She’s graciously invited us in. We are her guests. She fills a cast iron skillet with chocolate bars and marshmallows, covers it with a second one and puts it on the fire outdoors. Instant S’mores you dip with a Fudge Stripe cookie. And it was good!
Tabitha is no joke. She interviewed to be on Life Below Zero but was not selected. She truly is living off the grid. She brings water in and warms it with wood heat. The bathroom is a linoleum covered plank with a hole cut in it. She gets around her property on dog sleds occasionally warding off wolves and bears. Oh, and on weekends her young daughter comes to visit. Her crayon drawings adorn her the walls of the dome. I am completely awed by her.
And she worries about the cold. Constantly. She warns us against the danger. It’s real for her.
Her plan is to finish the nearby log cabin soon so the dome can just be for business. All by herself. We are all impressed.
This is only 30 minutes out of Fairbanks. A major city. “Out in the sticks” has a whole new meaning out here. Without light pollution, it’s dark. Dark enough that the stars shine bright.
Around 1:30 am, we’re summoned outside.
I’m expecting to see the bright colors, but I only see grey clouds. I take photos and then I see it. The bright greens. The shimmering. The stuff I’ve only seen on TV and in pictures. It was all I imagined and more. I’m still trying to figure out a way to replicate this in pottery.
The Aurora comes in waves and the colors change and merge. This is one event where a camera really does belong. We ooh and ahh for a while, take a group photo, and decide to call it a night. Only one person ventures to the outhouse. The entire time.
We head back to the lodge around 2AM. On the way home, we notice semi-trucks with yellow lights. Those are gold trucks apparently. They carry ore from the gold mines to a refinery in Fort Knox (not the one in Kentucky). Nobody stops them. Not even cops. It’s a harsh environment.
Exhausted, we step out of the van and sleep until 7AM.
This was our first tour.
Aurora Viewing Tour: Grade? A+
Observation #3: Traveling With Others is Fun
Our tribe. Outside in the North Pole.
That is of course if you travel with others who are relatively like-minded. This was a perfect group. All were from Tennessee as far as I could tell except for me. I guess it doesn’t count if I tell people I’m a Southern boy too…born and raised in South California.
Most had children and some had grandkids. All well-traveled and it was so much fun to be in a group that never one-up’d each other. Some were retired or very close to it. Some had aging parents with cognitive issues just like we do.
We only did a few events as a big group, but the best one, aside from the Aurora tour, was an impromptu trivia game. We went to the small theater while we waited to leave for the Aurora tour. I smirked at first, thinking it was going to be some Micky Mouse thing off somebody’s phone app. I’m a Jeopardy snob. Bring it.
No. For some of these couples, competitive trivia is a thing. A big thing. I’ll spare you the details, but our team won. And even though I contributed some, the group carried me. I’m a fount of useless knowledge, but their fountain overflowed!
This was a good group. These were our tribe. And although they will likely vote me the “Most Annoying Guest of the Trip” I hope to travel with them again.
Observation #5: Expectations and Comparisons are Funny Things
I was trying to capture the steam coming off my head. Nobody else in the hot springs was up for chicken fights.
Thoroughly Impressed by Tabitha, I keep hearing her voice as she describes the Chena Hot Springs after hearing we had it on our list of excursions. When we ask her honest opinion, she reluctantly describes a slimy pool crowded with people. It’s not her thing.
Now I’m doubting this excursion. I’ve stepped into some nasty shit in my day but for some reason, this doesn’t seem inviting. I’m visualizing bathing in a boiling hot water hazard on a frozen golf course. But we signed up for it so I’m in.
We meet our driver, Vlade, at 9:00 AM. It’s just Barb and I and one other lady from our tribe. I sit in the very back while they split between shotgun and the first captain chair. Barb gets motion sickness, so she won’t sit in the back.
Vlade’s a talker. He has the radio cranked up so I can’t hear him with the speakers blasting in my ear, but it’s a great station with a mix of 80s and 90s. He’s more interested in the two ladies anyway. I gaze out the window at the scenery. It’s a mix of pine and poplar trees as far as you can see. Hills and mountains rise above and a grey sky, punctuated by bursts of sunrays encompasses all.
And then the road narrows. And gets snowier. And Vlade steps on the gas.
Tennesseans can’t drive for shit in the snow. Whenever snow hits our region, cars slide out everywhere. I live in a rural area where sometimes roads don’t get cleared so I drive like an old man, which isn’t a stretch considering my age. Curves scare me. I take my time.
Vlade is having none of this. The van occasionally fishtails, and I tighten my grip on the seatbelt. Then we get stuck behind a couple of tour vans. They throw up a cloud of snow and ice and I can’t see out the front window. Which means Vlade can’t either. I grit my teeth. The cloud clears as he passes both vehicles. The road is open again.
Then he pulls out his phone to show the ladies a video of his dog chasing a moose. He’s balancing the steering wheel on his knees as he’s scrolling to find it. I don’t want to look. I just resign my fate to, well, fate.
“Whatever is to be,” I tell myself and settle back in my seat. I just hope someone finds my body before the wolves come.
Vlade “The Impaler” regaling the ladies with tales of life in Budapest while I have a panic attack in the back seat.
We arrive at the hot springs about 15 minutes later. Vlade tells us to do the Ice Museum tour and shopping first before getting in the hot springs. That way your wet hair won’t make you colder. Nobody cares about bald guys. Our heads are cold all the time.
Personally, my butt cheeks are so tight from clenching up on that ride in I’m almost tempted to just go to the hot springs first. I’m overruled.
The ice museum has large ice sculptures, much bigger than you see at a rich family’s wedding reception. These are works of art. Even a bar made of ice where you can drink a martini in an ice glass. There are ice bedrooms with ice beds. Some crazy fools pay money to spend the night in one. It’s not on my bucket list.
Now it’s time for the hot springs. This is an actual hot spring fed from volcanic-warmed water. Apparently, there are some special minerals in it that are calming and soothing. We brought bathing suits with us but everyone we talked to warned us to bring flip flops to walk on the locker room floors. Since flip flops were not the first item on my packing list for Alaska, I didn’t have room for any. Plus, WHO NEEDS FLIP FLOPS IN ALASKA IN FEBRUARY?
We were assured we could bring the hotel’s towels but everyone said to rent them there so you could get a warm one. Wet towels will freeze solid before they dry. At least you could scratch your back with it.
Barb borrowed a pair of flipflops from someone in our tribe who did the tour the day before and I opt to by a pair for $10.00. I’m a size 9. They only have size 6 and 13. I choose 13. I had a bad case of athlete’s foot when I was stationed in Guam that lasted for two weeks. I had to go to medical for it. It was from the floor of the gym shower. I vowed not to do that again.
These flipflops feel like skis. I get some quarters for the locker and Barb, and I split them. We go into our respective dressing rooms, and it’s only then I realize she has both towels. I put my stuff in a locker and bring my t-shirt to cover up with until I get to the hot spring.
The walkway from the locker room is about 50 feet, with most of it outdoors. There are hooks on the bottom where you can hang your towels, so I kick off the oversized flipflops, hang up my shirt, loop my glasses on the collar and walk in.
The walkway is artificial. A pebbled finish. It is indeed a little slimy. The water is warm and covered in a layer of steam. It has a faint Sulphur smell. It’s about 40 feet to the end of the ramp and then it drops to about four feet. I’m waiting to feel the slimy bottom of one of the old water hazards at Henslee Park in Dickson. The bottom is gravel. It’s sort of like a swimming pool with gravel. Like a fishbowl. But it’s a big one. Maybe the size of an Olympic pool. No slime.
And it’s hot. There are parts that get to 107 degrees. It sneaks up on you like a hot underwater current. I liken it to standing next to Satan in the hot springs when he decides to pee in the water. You can only stay in that area a short time. But it’s a great experience. We stay in about 90 minutes and meet a few people from other groups. It’s hot so I tell Barb I’m going to get my water bottle for us. She asks if I had it in my locker and I say yes. I start up the walkway and the cold hits me, but my core is so warm, it’s not bad. At least not in that moment, but it’s cooling rapidly. I don’t know what towel mine is but it’s ok. I decided to just brave it without one. I walk up the ramp and step inside the locker room.
And discover I forgot my flipflops. They’re at the bottom of the ramp. And I’m really cold again.
I have a choice. Proceed and risk two weeks of athlete’s foot or risk potential death by hypothermia to put on my flipflops which would be nearly impossible to move fast with considering their size.
I make a break for the flipflops. Once inside, I pop in 50 cents to open my locker only to discover Barb had my water bottle in her locker. I return to the spring cold, dehydrated, and 50 cents poorer.
Here is the lesson. The lesson of comparison. And recommendation. When you ask a local for their recommendation, they recommend what they like. And they like what they know. When Tabitha gave her opinion of Chena Hot Springs, the hot spring, she compared it to the hot spring she goes to. In the woods. In the middle of nowhere. With no tourists or the sweet smell of cooking hamburgers from the restaurant behind it.
We found the Chena Hot Springs amazing! I think we both agreed it was the best of the three excursions. That mineral water really works. If you ever get a really bad set of Hemorrhoids, I’ll bet this would do wonders for it!
On our last night, Barb and I are tired and don’t feel like going next door to the local restaurant. We chose not to rent a car so normally we’re at the mercy of other couples that did. I keep wishing Uber Eats worked out here. That way we could order from some of these restaurants the locals recommended.
And then, a lightbulb pops on in my head. Why don’t you open the Uber Eats app, just for the fun of it, and see if it works?
So, I did. And it worked! And the first recommendation was the Thai Chef, the very place recommended to us by Vlade.
I looked at the menu and they had Pho, (pronounced “fha). That’s a Vietnamese soup that Barb swears can cure anything. Like bacon grease in her parent’s day, I guess. I pick beef and Barb, chicken. I place the order and go to down to the bar to get her a beer and I get a double scotch. We both scroll through our phones as we prop up in our beds watching the evening news while we wait for the food to arrive.
Our home is about seven miles from the small town of Erin, TN. There is a Piggly Wiggly, the obligatory Dollar General, and a handful of small restaurants. There was a small steakhouse on the corner. A year ago, or so, it was sold and converted to a Pho restaurant, aptly named Best Pho House. I didn’t have high hopes for it in rural Tennessee. Besides, if you want authentic Vietnamese food, you have to go to Clarksville. It has an international population due to its proximity to Fort Campbell.
One Saturday afternoon, we take a chance and order Pho from Best Pho House. For me, it’s the first time. It’s amazing. Barb agrees. Who would have thought you could get good Pho in Erin?
Now I’m hooked. On my next business trip to Maryland, I order it there. I know it will be amazing. The county I’m working in speaks 38 different languages.
But the Pho is disappointing. I hear Chef Ramsey’s voice.
“This is just…bland. There’s no soul here. It’s like you’ve lost the passion. This beef….it’s like chewing on ******* shoe leather. What a shame.”
It wasn’t that bad. But Erin is better.
And it’s the case now in Fairbanks. The people rave about Thai Chef because it has little competition. And what’s tasty for them, considering their smaller palatal journey, might not come close to what you prefer.
For me, I love Best Pho House in Erin. I still think it’s better.
The Chena Hot Springs Tour Grade: A++
Observation #6: Try Something New if You get the Chance.
Shortly before Barb took over driving. My eyes are still froze open.
I’m flying down a snow-covered trail at 30 MPH. It’s my first time on a snow machine.
This is one of our excursions. One of the reasons we rented snow gear.
Barb and I are sharing a snow machine. I’m past the age of trying to impress anyone. Besides, she’s in better shape than me and can pick it up off me if I roll it.
Things are going well as we follow our guide. He’s a young kid, full of energy and enthusiasm. He reminds me of a skinny Rob Gronkowski, with longer hair.
The snow machine is a lot like my four-wheeler. It feels a little like my four-wheeler does when I ride it in the snow. But it doesn’t handle nearly as well as this snow machine does. The handles and levers are heated and there is a tube that hooks into your helmet that warms it, keeping your visor from fogging up.
But that doesn’t seem to be working now. As we speed up to 45MPH, my visor is fogging. I can’t figure out what happened. I don’t want to slow down and yet I don’t want to run into something. I raise my visor.
Now I can see, but I’m riding into probably below zero wind. At a high speed. I feel my eyes water and then swell. I feel a rock forming in my nostrils. It’s frozen nose hair or a boulder-sized booger. I can’t take my hands off the handlebars to see which. Not that it matters. They can figure it out at the scene when they peel me off a tree. I pop the visor up and down just enough to get to our first stop.
I ask our guide if there was a secret to the defroster. He holds up the other end of the tube. Somehow, I unhooked it. My bad. Now it’s Barb’s turn to drive. I sit on the back and relax as we drove over a frozen lake, past small ice fishing cabins. I kept hearing Christopher Walken’s desperate voice in The Dead Zone:
“The ice…is gonna break!”
We wind around the lake and head back towards the parking lot. Our guide helps us out of our gear. His enthusiasm is palpable and genuine. Almost the way you feel when you’re around a golden retriever. His next adventure is to lead a motorcycle excursion across Alaska. I don’t ride, but if I did, I’d go on his tour. I think he loves his job.
Snow Machine Excursion Grade: A+
Observation #7: People are People are People
Being around something new and different is the best part of travel. The more I travel, the more I realize we’re alike. All of us. All members of the human species and even though we look, talk, smell, and act different, we’re all the same. On this trip I observed parents yelling at misbehaving children while a happy couple walked by, hand-in-hand. I saw impatient guests arguing with resort staff. I saw the happy, if not abrupt surprised scream in the hot spring as someone felt a jolt of 107 degrees. I watched as one aging spouse glared impatiently at the other as they rambled on in a long-winded story.
And these folks spoke different languages and accents, had different skin colors, were different ages, and certainly in different life stages.
The more we try to fight it, we’re all just members of the same crazy extended family. You’re not crazy. We all are.
Observation #8: Using a Travel Agent, Who is An Expert, is the Way to Go
We’ve used travel agents before. We’ve had good and bad experiences. Best was a recommendation for a hidden resort in Jamaica that we loved. Worst was an adults-only all-inclusive in Aruba that turned out to be anything but. I was skeptical but since this was Barb’s trip and this was her friend, I let her run the show.
Sherri Jackson, of Destination Unknown is a charismatic, energetic, hyper-organized, endlessly optimistic human being. She’s navigated everything from a medical emergency in the middle of the night with our group, to the unpredictability of Aurora sightings. And she did it all with endless communication. She would send us countdown emails, getting us all excited and confirming our excursions. We were checked into flights and our boarding passes texted to us. Our excursions were paid for and in one case, we were given cash for the cab with the tip included, if we felt the driver was tip-worthy.
Each night she would check in with everyone and remind us of when to meet up for whatever we were scheduled for. She coordinated rides and meals. And then, there was the little box of Tic Tacs. In an odd way, Sherri was like AI, just in a wonderful human form.
As I’m writing this, she’s in the window seat in the aisle across from me furiously emailing, likely coordinating her next trip. I’m sure she’ll sleep well when we land in a couple of hours.
Destination Unknown Travel: A+++++++. Highly Recommend!!! ****
Final Observation: Observations are Good Things
I didn’t look at this trip as a vacation per se. I certainly don’t need one. Work hasn’t been that busy and I’ve been having so much fun in the pottery studio that I feel like every day is a vacation.
That said, I hoped to make this trip kind of a spiritual sort of thing. Since we were going to see the Auroras, I thought maybe I’d look for something inspirational to write about. I’d view this trip as living out a story in real time and mentally record my thoughts as a narrative. Maybe like Morgan Freeman narrating us through The Shawshank Redemption.
It worked. The flight from Fairbanks to Nashville is about seven hours total and I’ve written a narrative of the highlights of the trip. The observations. The key interactions. I’m physically relaxed from the hot springs, creatively recharged from the Auroras, but also a little more self-aware and a lot more socially enriched by the new friends I’ve made.
I’m going to make every trip from now on, an excursion of observations. I think you should too. Your mind and spirit need a break too. Let them come out and play.