Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt

 

You can go your own way. You can call it another lonely day.

That’s from a Fleetwood Mac song.

Juneau is the capital of Alaska and looks up to mountains. It’s a city that can make it difficult to go your own way. It’s been called a tourist town with a weather problem. It has 222 days a year of .01 inch or more of precipitation and has extensive cloud cover 280 days annually. Thomas Hood wrote, “No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees. No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!” I saw birds and flowers, but no shade or shine. A cab driver told me it doesn’t rain every day in Juneau. He said, “Some days, it snows.” I looked for stars. More than mere lights in the night sky, they were an indication I’d fly out on a Cessna Caravan in the morning. I saw no stars.

I’d had a dream where I was flying. I didn’t dream about my flight being canceled, but that’s what happened. Flights were canceled due to weather and additional airport time was foisted upon me. I took it well. A day will jump down a throat. A difficulty can take up all of creation if allowed. There is little to be gained by jumping down another’s throat. I know because I consulted my user’s manual. There was some scowling by disappointed travelers, but not much outrage. There might have been grawlix. “Beetle Bailey” creator Mort Walker coined that term, which refers to a series of symbols substituting for profanity in comic strips.

Lengthy airport stays aren’t all bad. We bond and find sidekicks. Conversations can lead to lasting friendships. I read a book, responded to emails and texts and walked, but not too far as flight disappointments arrived in 30-minute intervals.

That night I saw stars and it wasn’t from bumping my head. The next morning, bent over and nearly crawling, I found my way into the backseat of a form-fitting airplane. I’m a calm flier, even though I’m aware that humans are disposable. Whenever I fly in a small plane, I get the feeling the plane needs a nap. Airplanes lead vigorous lives. The airplane and its pilot got me to where I needed to be.

On the way back to Juneau, I opted to eschew flight for a more feasible means of travel — the ferry. I missed a lovely banquet in Haines that had been bought and paid for as I needed to be home to watch a granddaughter play basketball against Northern Michigan, visit a friend in a hospice, spend time at a clinic and work. 

As a government center, Juneau is where business suits meet XTRATUFs. XTRATUF is a brand of neoprene boots common throughout Alaska. Juneau has a busy Costco purported to be, at 76,696 square feet, the world’s smallest Costco. The typical store is around 160,000. The Red Dog Saloon has a pistol on display that is claimed to have belonged to Wyatt Earp who left it behind on his way to Nome. There is no proof that Wyatt and Josephine Earp were in Juneau in June 1900. The only written account of Earp’s time there is secondhand. I considered Wyatt and his gun as I left Juneau on an Alaska Airlines aircraft the size of an Alaska Airlines aircraft.

To take my mind off Wyatt while I flew, I listened to a podcast about candidates running for the office of president of this fine country. Not everyone is running. I know at least 17 people who aren’t. By an act of Congress on Jan. 23, 1845, the first Tuesday following the first Monday in November was designated Election Day for future presidential elections. This country was an agricultural society then and many rural folks traveled long distances to polling places. November was considered a prime time for elections because the harvest season was ending. The first Election Day took place on Nov. 7, 1848 when Whig Party candidate Zachary Taylor defeated Democrat Lewis Cass and Free-Soil candidate Martin Van Buren. Taylor’s running mate was Millard Fillmore, who became president upon Taylor’s death. I believe I’m the rightful heir to the presidency due to a dubious kinship to Fillmore.

It was 42° in Juneau and 1° when I arrived at my home in the banana belt of southern Minnesota where people are allowed to say “Uffda, y’all.”

I’d traveled from a place with no snow to one with more than enough snow.

I loved going, but was thankful to be home.

Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Saturday.