I’ve always been a fan of this place. Years ago when I was on Instagram my handle was “a_life_different”, an alteration of the city’s sobriquet, “The City Different”. La Villa Real de la Santa Fe de San Francisco de Asís, commonly known as Santa Fe, was founded in the time of the Spanish conquistadors and is the 3rd-oldest city in the US.

It’s the last day of July already. Where has the season gone? Summer lasts a short breath, pleasurable like a woman's moan, winter stretching like a groan. I think the state of things has warped my perception of time… lacking pain and suffering, its flown by in this paradisaical, halcyon existence.

Tonight was the first time in the field with the Yamaha, and the first outing of summer. I realize now that being in 90F in the field in black pants is not optimal. I'm going to have to get re-acclimated to this. I also realize that my boxers are on backwards, and they apparently sew them tighter in the back than in the front. I knew something was off on the ride out here…

Hearken the buzzings of vintage engines commanded by vintage men, both from a time when things were simpler. This weekend is the Tired Iron, an Alaska (and therefore, world) famous snowmachine contest (don’t ever call them snow mobiles here unless you want to broadcast you’re an outsider), and the second of two famous snowmachine races in the immediate area (the other being the Iron Dog, a two-thousand mile grueling race across Alaska, and I promise this is the last time I’ll use parentheses in this post).

Oh, how my little black heart beats passionately for this day! The worst of my times in the foster care system were during the summer equinox, and until I get the frontal lobe lobotomy I’ve always wanted I’ll be stuck with memories of roaming the empty city streets in the midnight sun, homeless. So it makes sense that the opposite of that is my favorite holiday. And what an interesting holiday it is! It’s the only one I know of that is dependent on the sun, and only really appreciated at extreme latitudes.

Brrrrrrr… cold Alaskan winter is cold. It plummeted to -20F, and I realize now that I never checked the engine coolant in the Ford that I brought up from the Lower 48. Popping open the hood revealed the coolant had froze inside the reservoir, and that is NOT a good sign. If its frozen in the reservoir, then its very possible it froze inside the engine and the expanding ice cracked the block.

The good thing about insurance totaling your car is that it removes all inhibition from fully realizing the vehicle’s utility. You don't have to worry about wrecking it - it's already done! Gone are the days of coddling and pampering it. Empowered by this freedom from responsibility, the Escape and I went south to explore the mountains. After a couple hours’ drive I was in Healy, where I followed a road that led to the start of a gnarly trail system.

Thick morning mist hung suspended, greying the air between black spruce and white birch as I hopped on the motorcycle and joined the empty dirt roadways that led to a gas station a few miles away. When I reached the pavement I found another motorist: a fellow motorcyclist that sat a top an old cruiser that had been converted into a trike. He waved at me as he passed by in the same direction I was headed. I pulled in behind him and together we traveled down Farmers Loop through the morning mist.

In the long periods between seeing natural wonders, the life-experience sometimes runs the risk of becoming boorish. Routine sets in. Deadlines are met. Chores performed. Too much time in the mundane world can be ruinous. This morning was the end of one such period, and I had just sent out a couple work emails and logged off for a 3-day weekend. I microwaved a bowl of oatmeal in the foyer and sat down in the communal area of the bargain inn. These kinds of places are the meeting grounds of life’s interesting characters.

I’m missing home fiercely today. Solstice will be here soon and no place on earth can compete with an Alaskan summer. Why am I in Washington State now?? Arghhhh. Alright, I need to fix this, stat.

I booked a BnB in Alaska for later this month.

I stopped by the barbershop next door and the old guy Ted there cleaned me up. It seems like ages ago that I had the last haircut. Makes sense though - the last one was months ago in the Mojave when that lady fixed me up like I had just enlisted and was at boot camp. I remember the hearty laugh I had when I saw myself in the mirror - I had looked like a kiwi fruit. That was then though, and today Ted told me about how he used to work for Northrup Grumman down in LA but he's been in Eureka for 20 years, and at the barbershop for 11. In him I sensed a kindred spirit, or at least someone I aspire to be like - one who served corporate life but escaped. Went back to the AirBnB that was maybe a hundred steps away, showered off my old detritus, and then went to Redwoods State and National Park.

After work I went to the local Safeway and as I was walking to the door I glanced back at the Escape and noticed something looked off. I gawked at it until the realization hit me like a truck. The hitch cargo carrier was empty. Some scoundrel had made off with the black cargo bag (a black bag that looks like a body bag) in the night. Damn, I didn't even make it a single night here before something happened. I had just read that Eureka has the highest property crime rate in California, and it seems that I’m getting the authentic experience here.

This is my third time down this road, through this forest, and to this beach. This beach holds so many treasures that I could hunt them for an entire year, which to me is an eternity to spend in one place. The treasure I found this trip lay at the end of one of the parking lots, where I found a trail up to some coastal bluffs owned by Pacific Gas and Electric. I checked in with the guard at the gate and hiked the Point Buchon trail. It was great fun in a short trail that encircled a wide open field. As I was leaving and heading back to the tidepools farther up the beach I saw the guy that had the VW with the license plate that read "P❤ZZA" again! I remember seeing him at Salt Creek in Death Valley, hundreds of miles from here.

There they are - yellow panties, sitting a top a load of laundry. They’re bright and lay in contrast to the pile of muted grays and blues of shirts and jeans they rest on, like a sun rising over a wintry New England landscape. Maybe I think too much about landscapes.

Chilly, chilly, CHILLY night. I slept with the snow pants on and after many shivers in the dark, I finally pulled the winter jacket over me like it were another blanket. Then I was well enough off. In the morning I bought a ticket to the park by registering for some recreational account, but the earliest ticket I could get was for noon so I ended up hiking the Watchmen Trail.

I lowered the window and felt the familiar desert air circulate into the CUV. I first came here 9 years ago, arriving on an August evening just past sundown. At the time I was more lost than I had ever been - L.A. had swallowed me up and spit me out. I remember the drive out of the city as I contemplated my life’s direction. Not only could I not find a job, but a few days earlier I had been on the other side of the country for a funeral. And now here I was in this agonizing turmoil but couldn’t give the love lost the attention or reflection they deserved because of the damned pecuniary needs. I was poorer than I had ever been since leaving the system when I was coming of age - both the fridge and the bank account were empty.

Woe is me! It was an arduous day, though I don’t know if the Canon or myself had the rougher go of it. I left the party at the Cypress house at 6AM and tried to make it back to the BnB in Oxnard but I could barely keep my eyes open, so I pulled over at a park and conked out in the back. It turns out I had chose what had to be the most popular park in Southern California because when I woke up at 10AM there was a steady stream of people walking past the Escape.

Went up to Ojai and stopped at Bart’s Books, an outdoor bookstore where I scooped up another book on Buddhism. Continued into the mountains north of town and made a brief hike up to Rose Valley Falls where I photographed water cascading down the moss-covered rock face.

Woke up just before 7AM and pink streaks are running through the sky as the sun climbs into the sky. It’s 9F and I actually slept well enough through the frigid night after putting snow pants and the winter jacket on. The new sleeping pad is damn comfy. I did have to set the alarm to wake up every two hours though to check the interior temperature of the Escape. If it was too frosty then I’d start the car so that the contents of the solar shower and other things didn’t freeze. This night has been the coldest I’ve ever slept in the car, and it happened in Arizona of all places. Go figure.

The island is my jailer, hemming me into just a few square miles. My friend’s old beater sounds like a go-kart on steroids. She always has to spur it to action by stabbing the battery terminals with a screwdriver, so we decided to leave it and the screwdriver in Kodiak and grab the rental instead.