Swan Lake in Sitka, Alaska

February 29, 2020 - Saturday morning

-4 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

What? No wind? After three days of nonstop howling, it seems there's nary a breeze this morning. Who cares about the temperature as long as the wind has subsided!

There's little to write about today and it just occurred to me that I didn't take the camera from my pocket once yesterday. With that in mind, I decided to share an entry I wrote in the early 2000's while on my way to Sitka from O'hare Airport in Chicago. The entry begins at security bright and early one morning:

.... my banjo strapped to my back in its soft case, my briefcase slung over my shoulder, I made my way through security, not beeping once. I had the feeling it was going to be a good day. To make matters even better, I found my gate and was delighted to see a coffee vendor a few feet away.

Life was good!

6:55 AM

Written while 35,000 feet in the air somewhere between Chicago and Seattle

The passengers were boarding. I was sitting in window seat 11F watching other passengers find their's when two ENORMOUS people approached brushing others out of their way, even knocking some over in their seats. They were a perfectly matched pair and reminded me of Dweedle Dee and Dweedle Dum.

Oh dear Lord Baby Jesus, say it isn't so.

When it comes to row sharing on a long flight, big people migrate to me like flies to roadkill on a hot August afternoon.

If I looked down and pretended to read, maybe,  they'd walk past. Yeah, that was it. 

I tried to pretend that I was interested in a $600 set of hand towels from Skyways Magazine. Perhaps the $300 manicure set?

Still, I couldn't help but occasionally glance up as they made their way down the main aisle, prying themselves from one row to the other. It was like watching my own impending doom coming closer and closer, observing one's life clock counting down to the moment of demise. I had a feeling mine was on the final ten seconds. 

Sure enough, they turned left at row 11.

The female of the Dweedle Dee and Dweedle Dum duo bulled her way into the row, reached down without saying a word and slapped my arm rest up between the back of the seats, then came crashing down to earth, wedging me against the wall of the aircraft.

I attempted to turn one way or the other to make more room and found myself firmly stuck in place.

Dee's husband, Dum, then zeroed in and literally fell into the adjoining seat, his flailing arm hitting the passenger's head sitting in front and almost knocking her to the floor. When Dum plopped, he knocked Dee over which caused me to become even more wedged against the side of the aircraft.

It was obvious the arrangement wasn't going to work. Dum had claimed Dee's seat and Dee was taking mine by eminent domain. I was turned sideways, facing towards the middle of the aircraft. My right leg was wedged tightly under the seat in front, my other stuck somewhere deep in the mountainous folds of Dee.

"Hey, Ma'am," I said, "We've got to do something here. It's a four hour flight to Seattle and I can't feel my legs or half my body."

She exhaled loudly, snorted a few times, then croaked, "You think it's bad, try being me."

"I think I've become a part of you," I quipped. 

I chuckled. She didn't.

I desperately needed to get my leg out from under her. No matter how obvious the efforts became, she refused to budge. I thought about chewing my lower limb off, much like a coyote hopelessly caught in the jaws of a trap, but quickly rejected that notion. As a traveling professor, I needed both legs.

Onto Plan B:

It dawned on me that if I could reclaim the arm rest that was supposed to separate us, my (now numb) leg might be returned to its rightful owner.

I desperately needed separation before gangrene set in. The Berlin Wall came to mind.

I took a giant breath, silently counted to three, then attempted to situate my body so I might face the front of the airplane.

I remained glued to her side, my nose a mere inch from her head. I quickly dismissed the temptation to blow air bubbles, much like one does on a baby's belly and make motor boat sounds against her neck.

"Ma'am, now really," I said, "I can't ride this way for four hours. PLEASE, I paid for this seat."

She looked at me, sneered and blew bad breath in my face. "Yeah? I paid for mine too."

It all happened like a tornado blowing through Kansas. 

I don't get mad easily, but when I do, I can become downright ugly.

I wasn't mad. No damn it, I became livid. 

With one leg completely numb and my life blood draining before my eyes, reclaiming the armrest became the most important thing in the world. I wanted my armrest. I wanted my seat. I wanted my life back.

*To be continued on Sunday*

The manuscript is real, but a little rough. I've had numerous requests to include old Alaska blogs, so as I'll try to do just that while doing my research. Between hard drives, CD's, and printed paper, there are tens of thousands of pages, pictures, and files, to sort through. I'll occasionally share them as time goes along.

OK, today's a seven miler. The weather is perfect and it's time to lace up my hikers and get going.

"These boots are made for walkin', that's what they're gonna do..."

Yeah, well, it was there for free. Nancy Sinatra I ain't.

Almost all of the graduate classes I taught were done remotely via video. I could be anywhere in the world and as long as I had a decent internet connection, I could conduct my classes. The students were usually on campus in Fairbanks, Anchorage, or Juneau. Often, I was in the most northern and remote reaches of the arctic using internet satellite.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

A nice red snapper, a "yellow eye"