Vending Machine Rant

One night in the Nautilus Marine break room, a tall, bearded, drunken hillbilly staggered into the break room to buy something from a vending machine. He was dressed in a camouflaged jacket and rubber boots. He claimed the change machine short-changed him 25 cents which triggered what can only be described as a complete reversion to savagery.

I recorded his comments in a journal I was keeping at the time:

"A tall bearded hillbilly...claims the dollar bill changer only gave him 75 cents back for his dollar. His initial comment was, 'Hey!...It only gave me 75 cents!! But, hey!...That's all I need!' After he finished his snack though, he started beating on the change machine and yelling for somebody to 'Call the fuckin' cops'. 

He tried to write on the wall that the machine owed him money, but his pen was dry; so he hurled it against a nearby table and sat down with his face in his hands. Soon, he started to demand that somebody, 'Call the fuckin' cops'!!"  

"He says, 'If I robbed a liquor store, they'd call the cops on me; but this machine can rip me off a quarter and the cops don't even care.'" 

"Now he's swaying a lot. He can barely hold his head up straight. He's saying, 'Fuck America' and 'God Damn America' over and over and over again. Now he just added, 'God Bless Alaska'!! He'll be asleep soon." 

"Oh! He got a second wind. He's raving (to nobody in particular, just in case anybody's listening) - 'I live like an animal!...I'm a savage!!...If you don't believe me, if you think I'm full of shit, just live with me for a year - I'll show you how an animal lives'!!! ... 'I've been sleeping by railroad tracks and under trucks for years, usually with no heat"! [Jonnie comments: "ha ha, "usually"?] 'We're living in the end times...and when the cities fall, I'll be thriving'!!"

Packing Crew, Nautilus Marine; Valdez AK, 1991.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Sep. 27, 2004]

Sun? Moon?

My dad, Jon Sr., in Anchorage, 2001.

He made this painting by tracing around a trash can lid.

A Jon Sr. original.

Street Fair

Anchorage street fair, as viewed from the ferris wheel:

View from the ferris wheel, Anchorage, Alaska; May, 1996.

Jon Sr.'s Piranha Log

In the early 2000s, my father, Jon Sr., was living in Alaska and decided to keep a tank of piranhas. He named them all “Killer” and regularly posted updates about them on our family website, Gilliomville. What follows is a kind of Piranha Chronicles—a compilation of all the piranha-related posts from Gilliomville’s message board:

I now have 5 piranhas in my 75 gallon aquarium. They are about one and a half inches long and, for the next month, will eat flake food. I did put a little guppy in with them and they chased him around, nipping at him. I haven't seen the guppy for a couple days. I guess maybe he was ganged-up on during the night.

Do piranhas snap into Slim Jims?

Ross, My alpha piranha eats even when he is not hungry. He just eats because he wants to remain the lead dog where the scenery always changes. I predict that within six months, he will be able to jerk a slim jim from one’s hand.

Fish tank report!! Piranhas all 5 are doing fine. I put three catfish in with them last week-end. The fish store person said the catfish were a fast growing type. She said that since the piranhas were small, that maybe the catfish could get some growth and possibly be tank mates. Situation looking pretty grave--one catfish appears alive and doing well, one catfish dead and one catfish missing.

Tank update!!! Two catfish dead and third still missing, which at this time is presumed to be dead. Killer is primary suspect, as the stalker. He did not come out to eat this A.M. He later made an appearance and seemed fine and probably full from his dark hours of evil doing. I will go to the fish store this week-end for ideas on possibilities for bottom cleaning. The catfish ended up adding to the waste problem. Maybe a turtle or snail is a possibility. Maybe a huge catfish. More updates as events evolve.

Tank update!! The remainder of the third and missing catfish has been recovered. It is fortunate, that he was the third and missing because the remains otherwise would not have been identifiable. I must get to the fish store!!

I think you should set up a Web cam on that tank. The pictures could be used as evidence against Killer.

Piranha tank update!! I talked with Josh, the manager of House of Critters, and explained my dilemma of no bottom feeder. I asked him about turtles and snails. He said that they would probably mess with anything they knew was alive. He said a snail might work if the piranhas thought it was a rock, but if they figured out it was not, they would probably mess with it. He said a sail is uni-sex and could stand a chance of overpopulating my tank. He suggested an electric catfish about three inches long for $29.95. He said the piranhas would mess with it only once. Josh said, the electric catfish stalks a small feeder goldfish within about two inches and then stops and lets out an electrical charge. The feeder fish is said to start floating to the top after receiving the charge and then is devoured by the catfish. It sounds like some high drama stuff for $29.95.

Electric catfish! Yeah, get one. For thirty bucks, I hope Josh knows what he's talking about. Will the piranha be safe from the catfish? It's turning into some kind of House of Eerie, all these villainous fish, like monsters.

Yesterday I found two feeder goldfish on my carpet. The fish were like two and three feet from the piranha tank. I think they did hari cari to get away from Killer.

My piranhas are growing so fast. I am afraid to put my hand in the tank. I think I am going to do like George Foreman, when he named his boys. He named them all George. They were George 1, George 2, George 3, etc. I am going to name my piranhas, Killer 1, Killer 2, Killer 3, Killer 4, and the last one I named Runt.

Man, I can't believe these killer fish!! When I feed them floating food, they splash water all over the top of the aquarium and sometimes on the floor.

When this box of food is gone I think I am not going to buy any more floating food. The one feeder fish of twenty five is still alive. He swims right around with the killers and Runt. I think they have adopted him. Maybe I'll let them get real hungry and see if they still like him.

Jon Sr.

I talked to my dad, Jon Sr. (or “Uncle Jon” to all the cousins), and it sounds like spring fever has officially hit Alaska. He just repurposed an old golf club bag into a custom “gun bag,” modifying it to carry his rifles and shotguns—including his oversized bear gun. The plan is to mount it to the side of his snowmobile for hunting trips.

On a lighter note, I once came across an artist’s rendering of what Elvis might’ve looked like in his 50s. The resemblance to Jon Sr. was uncanny.

Jon Sr. dip-netting Hooligan in 1998.

Elvis in his 50s.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Apr. 26, 2005]

Stump Removal

It's amazing that Jon Sr.'s property used to look like this:

Todd & Amanda, pre-clear cutting.

Because, now it looks like this:

Post-clear cutting.

And what's the point of having an isolated Alaskan cabin if you don't have a great view?

Once enough trees were cleared, the addition of a gravel driveway made everything look downright civilized:

Uncle Jon's driveway.

After the trees were dealt with, there was still a lot of stump removal, which was probably my favorite task:

Step 1: Chainsaw the roots:

Jon Sr. chainsawing through the tundra.

Step 2: Tie chain to stump:

Step 3: Tie chain to truck & drive:

The stump pops right out, like pulling a tooth, with a satisfying, "craaaack - pop" sound.

The property is pretty much ready, Jon Sr.'s well and septic tank are in place (sidenote: the well site was discovered when a former Salvation Army preacher walked over the property with a dowsing wand). Once the garage/workshop is finished, it'll be time to start building a cabin. No electricity or phone yet, but there is a generator, so he can run his power tools. 

Apparently, extending the phone and power lines a few more poles costs several thousand dollars out there. The custom is to wait until 3 or 4 people all decide they want power, then they all share the cost.

[Originally posted on Rebel Leady Boy, Sep. 10, 2005]

Potato Launcher

Probably our most outrageous source of entertainment in Dillingham was the potato launcher.

Our boss built it from PVC pipe—just the right diameter to snugly fit a potato down the barrel. At the base, he attached a wider plastic chamber with a screw-off cap, where we’d spray in the “fuel”: Aqua Net hairspray. (It worked great until they changed the formula; after that, we had to switch brands. The key was finding something flammable.)

He rigged it with an old electric grill starter and a bolt inside the chamber, so all it took was pressing a red button to send a spark across the chamber and ignite the hairspray. We kept a broomstick handy to use as a ramrod whenever a potato didn’t quite fit.

When you hit the button, it let off a loud bang that echoed through the trees, and the potato launched with surprising velocity. My supervisor once speculated that a direct hit could break a man’s ribs.

Potato Launcher.

Taking aim.

Todd prepares to launch a potato.

We used to set up targets in the backyard and fire the potato gun at them—usually an old trash can lid propped up with rocks.

That was one of the perks of living in the middle of nowhere. There’s no way we could’ve gotten away with that in a suburban neighborhood without drawing the attention of the neighbors—and probably law enforcement.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Dec. 17, 2004]

Smart/Dumb

Probably the most intelligent-looking photo I have of myself:

Smart Jon, Alaska, 1998.

Maybe the dumbest photo I have of myself:

Dumb Jon, California, 2004.

Experiences with Canned Meat

[From RW...BS's "Canned Meat Weekend" (July 22-24, 2005)]

Canned meat has been a part of my life, and I’m happy to share this memory:

Chicken of the Sea – Back when I was living in the Alaskan Bush (pre-internet), entertainment was scarce. To pass the time, I started writing to companies in hopes of getting free coupons. One day, I wrote a letter to Chicken of the Sea, claiming that I had found a chicken feather in my can of tuna. I told them it was probably the result of a worker on the production line who thought it would be funny play on the product name.

Chicken of the Sea replied, saying that it was very unlikely for a worker to have done that, due to their stringent quality control processes. However, they did send me two coupons for free cans of tuna.

[Originally posted on The Real World...Blogger Style!, July 23, 2005]

Rural Eateries

Uncle Jon's cabin site is in a pretty ideal location - about 50 miles north of Anchorage, and even closer to the growing city of of Wasilla; so you can still get into town pretty conveniently.

At some point after miles and miles of nothing but trees, you turn down a long gravel road, then another long gravel road, then there you are.

It's a pleasant little community of isolated cabins - everybody I met was real nice, nobody was full of shit.

The only nearby  commercial facilities (and by "nearby," I mean 20 miles away) are a couple of gas stations, a hardware store, and the occasional lodge.

The low population base makes waiting in line extremely rare. This was particularly impressive coming in from southern California.

Typical Alaskan roadside lodge.

Interesting hood ornament.

A little further, and you'll find a couple of local eating establishments, both of them provide huge portions:

Sunshine Restaurant.

Sunshine Restaurant is my favorite, it's right next to a gas station, so we ended up there more often than not. They always had a giant stack of newspapers piled on one of the tables. I don't know if they are ever packed to capacity with customers.

In the other direction, towards Willow, is the Trading Post:

Willow Trading Post.

This place was a little rowdier since it is also a bar in the evenings. Huge portions, again.

[Originally posted on Rebel Leady Boy, Sep. 7, 2005]

Go, Wood Chipper!

Jon Sr's Rural Alaskan Property Site.

I had a good time helping my Dad clear his property and roof his garage last month.

I really loved getting out of crowded California - most days, we didn't see more than 1 or 2 cars go by all day. When somebody drove by, everyone would stop and look because it was kind of a rare event.

And I very much loved using the rented wood chipper. The property site was originally just full of trees which Uncle Jon had pretty much cleared out by the time I arrived.

Once all the firewood had been cut and stacked, he was left with a mountain of brush. The locals don't like people burning brush because of the possibility of starting a forest fire (it's a tundra environment, so the ground is covered by a thick carpet of low shrubbery), so we had the pleasure to indulge in running everything through a rented a wood chipper.

It took us 8 hours (!) to clear all the brush.

Wood chippin'.

Just feed in the limbs -

- and out fly the chips:

It turned out an 80 year old former school teacher who lived out there had a use for those wood chips. She wanted to use them to pave her garden walkways, so we took her over a few truckloads and were rewarded by an amazing moose dinner!

[Originally posted on Rebel Leady Boy, Sep. 3, 2005]

Gorilla Fireworks

Gorilla Fireworks.

I think the appeal of Gorilla Fireworks is self-evident.

Giant Cabbage Secrets

Look at the size of this cabbage!

With Jon Sr.'s giant cabbage.

My Dad's friend, Tom, grew it in the backyard. Tom might enter it in the Alaska State Fair competition, though Alaskan cabbages are usually even much bigger than this one; because of all the summer sunlight, I guess.

A trick you can all try at home:

If you stick a cabbage plant's roots in a gallon of milk, it will grow to HUGE proportions (supposedly because of all the growth hormone in cow's milk). The practice has been outlawed by the Alaskan State Fair and authorities test for it (like steroids), but you can certainly try it at home with your personal cabbages.

Jon Sr. and Tom are currently debating whether to let the giant cabbage continue to grow naturally and enter it in the fair (though it will not come close to the usual contestants' size) or to stick its roots in milk and see how much bigger it gets.

[Originally posted on Rebel Leady Boy, Sep. 4, 2005]

Alaska, 1990, pt. 2

Kennicott, 1990.

On the road to Valdez, we took a 60-mile detour to visit McCarthy and Kennicott, an abandoned mining town. It wasn’t the most convenient stop, but we figured if we didn’t check it out then, when would we? The journey involved a treacherous 30-mile drive down a rough dirt road in the middle of nowhere. By the time we reached McCarthy, we had managed to ruin two tires.

Getting to McCarthy is an adventure in itself; you have to cross a river on a hand tram. So, we lugged our flat tire across the river and found a guy on the other side who specialized in tire repair. To our surprise, he fixed the tire for a surprisingly low fee. Considering how far we were from civilization, he could have charged us anything, but instead, he was shockingly fair.

McCarthy itself had a population of barely twenty-something people. It was quaint, but also a bit eerie, especially considering the dark history: years ago, a resident computer programmer went on a rampage, shooting up the town and taking out half the population, which amounted to about ten people. A real testament to the wild side of life in the Alaskan wilderness!

Plant foreman, "Mad" Max, Paul processing, me processing, & me on boat.

Well, after a pit stop in Anchorage, we finally made it to Valdez. We arrived with recommendations for Nautilus Marine, feeling confident with solid references and mutual acquaintances with some of the plant management. However, as it turned out, in the middle of salmon season, Nautilus hires just about anybody.

Icing salmon on the dock, working & playing in the ice house, packing w/ Erin.

Nautilus was hard work and long hours, but it was also a lot of fun. Every week, the community would host "The Feed" at a local church, where fishery workers from all around could come for a free meal. We also made it a point to have a drink at the bar where Captain Hazelwood got drunk before causing the Exxon Valdez oil spill.

Continued from Alaska, 1990, pt. 1

Alaska, 1990, pt. 1

Homer, AK, 1990.

In early 1990, my friend Paul and I began exploring options for an interesting summer job. Nothing stood out until Paul mentioned his aunt in Alaska and the possibility of working up there. Without hesitation, we decided to fly to Alaska and try our luck in the seafood industry for the summer.

At the time, Paul was a far more seasoned traveler than I was. In fact, it was my very first time on a plane. Alaska made an immediate and lasting impression on me. I was captivated by the sight of mountains in every direction, even in the heart of the city. I also fell in love with the cool summer climate and the eccentric people who called Alaska home.

Before the trip, I brought along a lantern, fully expecting to do some serious camping. Little did I know that Alaska barely gets dark in the summer! Fortunately, we were able to store the lantern at Paul’s aunt’s house.

We also bought a beat-up old car, which we affectionately named "The Abomination." It came with four studded tires for winter, though they weren’t much use during the summer. Thankfully, Paul’s aunt kindly allowed us to store those at her house as well.

The "pup tent", Working for Anne & Mean Gene, Ol' Tom Adams, & Claudia w/ customized rubber boots.

When it came to finding employment, we were completely winging it. Ultimately, we decided to drive out to Homer, where we set up camp on the Homer Spit—a 4.5-mile stretch of land jutting into the ocean. From there, we went door to door looking for work until a company called Keener Packing hired us to dig a ditch.

As it turned out, they initially planned to fire us once the ditch was dug. But, for whatever reason, they took a liking to us and decided to keep us on. We quickly became known as "the Pups" by everyone there, a nod to our complete lack of knowledge about fish or Alaska. Our campsite was affectionately dubbed "the Pup Tent."

Salty Dawg saloon, Paul from California, Melissa, Kennicott, the abandoned mining town.

We stayed in Homer through early July, eagerly anticipating the Fourth of July fireworks display over the ocean. However, the spectacle fell short of our expectations—Alaska’s endless summer daylight made it difficult to enjoy fireworks without the contrast of a dark sky.

By then, we realized we weren’t saving any money, so we decided to try our luck in the salmon fisheries of Valdez, which were rumored to offer plenty of overtime. Some of our co-workers at Keener knew the plant managers at Nautilus Marine. One of them even ran dog sleds with one of the foremen during the winter. They planned to meet us there, as we all prepared to jump ship from Keener.

Continued @ Alaska, 1990, pt. 2

Van Log, 1994: A Collective Narrative

Van Log '94.

May, 1994: Brother Todd and I, along with our friends Mel and Laura, left our hometown of Columbia City, Indiana, to embark on a cross-country road trip to Valdez, Alaska. Officially, we made the journey to work in the fishing industry, but it was also about getting some kicks and enjoying a change of scenery. We drove Todd’s green 1974 Ford Econoliner van, complete with a fried egg decal on the side and orange shag carpet on the interior walls.

Van Log: We brought along an audio cassette tape recorder to log any comments or observations we felt were worth remembering. The recorder, along with the collection of nine or ten audio tapes we made, became known as the "Van Log."Van Log 1994 is a collective narrative, much like Wikipedia. Instead of identifying individual speakers when transcribing the audio tapes, I blended everyone’s statements into one running commentary. The same paragraph might incorporate statements from any or all four of us, or it could even include comments from a fifth or sixth person who happened to be around the tape recorder at the time. Van Log '94 is perfectly coherent without identifying each individual speaker, though I occasionally placed conversational dialogue in quotation marks to indicate when a conversation was taking place between two (or more) people.

We were all unseasoned travelers at the time, and what might come across as naive, irresponsible, or even stupid in these logs was, in reality, just careless youthful exuberance and (possibly misdirected) lust for life in all of us. Some of the things we did were embarrassingly stupid, but that was part of the adventure—learning through experience, no matter how misguided at times.

Forward by Todd               South Dakota, pt. 1               Washington

Leaving Indiana                South Dakota, pt. 2               British Columbia

Illinois                               Wyoming                               Hyder, AK (side trip)

Wisconsin                         Montana                                Yukon Territory

Minnesota                         Idaho                                     Alaska

                                    

Van Log, 1994: Hyder, AK (Brit. Col. Side Trip)

[Side trip into Hyder, Alaska, on our way through British Columbia.  The proper entrance to Alaska is north through the Yukon Territory, so we continued on through Canada after this excursion.]

We're on the Alkean Highway, pretty good road isn't it? I love driving on this road! Lots of curves & hills, but they're perfectly spaced out and you can still maintain a good speed. Nothing too extreme, but there's constant adjustment. Keeps you occupied. This must be what it's like to drive a stick.

This Dylan from Yorkshire, England. I'm gonna do some laundry.

Hi. My name's Frank. We just got picked up from British Columbia. I'm gonna go get my wing fixed.

1:15 pm: We're in Hyder, it's small. We're gonna get "Hyderized". Glacier Inn bar & liquor store.

We're drunk. We're outside the Glacier Inn. We've all been Hyderized & that consists of drinking a shot of pure grain alcohol - an ounce.

We got a certificate for it, each has been witnessed by the other three from the van & a hitchhiker. Now Todd & Mel are shooting pool & we're gonna go in & interview the waitress. She has a lot of good stories. I've heard her talking to the locals - to the visitors - she's the local. We're now in Alaska. Hyder.

Incredible fog. Everybody's got a stagger in this town & there's a lonely little puppy leaning against the wall for support. He gave me a shake & I didn't even ask for it.

Do you wanna say something? Can you speak? Speak! Squeek? Shake? He's hanging his head, maybe he's sad. Maybe he doesn't have an owner. Is he skinny? No. He's fat. Well fed.

Hyder, Alaska.

Wall of the Glacier Inn.

Getting Hyderized.

We Love Hyder!

The walls here are covered with money, supposedly from the old gold miners who'd do that to stake a claim. But really it's just alcoholics.

The tourists have placed their own dollars with their own signatures to show they've been here.

Want me to scratch your belly? My hands are filthy. So are mine. Wanna shake? Hey, Do you know if he has an owner?

Yeah, the people who own the bar.

He's the bar dog, eh? Oh. Okay.

Now we'll go into the bar. Our hands are really filthy. From the dog.

Can you say something for our Van Log?

You bet. Hello, You are talking to Caroline from Hyder, AK. I'm currently up to the absolutely rottenest task. Making a dirty letter to my boss using $2 bills. I'm currently taking bills & I'm putting them on the wall, spelling out "Fuck You, Buzzy". You know me. You know Buzzy. He'll never notice & I'll enjoy laughing about this for a year.

I've just completed the "F".

"Fuck You, Buzzy."

My claim to fame is, in tending bar in Hyder for hundreds of years, I can speed Hyderize.

[Recites Hyderization rap super fast:] 

What I have before you is a water chaser, this in the other hand, is a house special. You may not taste it or smell it first. You have to knock it back straight one time & one time only... On the count of 3, down the hatch. 1,2,3. Congratulations, you've just been Hyderized with 1 ounce of Everclear 190 proof straight grain alcohol. Here's you card, sign your name to it...Welcome to Hyder & have a nice day. Bingo! We're done! Thank you.

Todd sank the 9 ball. Todd has me at a distinct disadvantage because his cue ball landed right touch the 12 ball, which I cannot touch in order to make my shot. This is going to be a close game. Both Todd & Mel only have the 8 ball on the table.

Mel failed to sink the 8 ball, now it's up to Todd. I have a dime, Canadian, on Todd. Laura has a dime, Canadian, on Mel. Todd's aiming...that also did not go in.

Where'd that money go? The dimes are gone. The money that me & Laura were wagering is gone. Missing from the table.

Todd sank the 8 & has won the game! Mel's winning streak is ended. If I were to lose to anybody on the planet, I'm glad it's Todd Gilliom.

Coming over the border, we thought there'd be another search, but our hitchhikers informed us there is no border patrol here. They said, "There used to be a sign, but it fell down". So that's a way to get into Alaska if you've got a bag of dope. But we don't.

I admit I stole those dimes.

I talked to an old woman, she's here from South Africa & she was part of the white apartheid group. She said she knew absolutely nothing of the atrocities that were going on in the black neighborhoods and she's really glad Mandela has been in. And since Mandela's been in, there's been a wealth of information given to the white populace about the atrocities. I'm sure it's denial. It could be, but she seemed pretty sincere about it. Her name was Myra. Myra from South Africa.. The way she pronounced her vowels was just beautiful.

Our first beer when we get to Alaska is dedicated to James & Jamie in Gillette, Wyoming! Hey! This is our second....OH!! Yaaayyyy!!!! James & Jamie in Gillette, Wyoming!! May they enjoy their jobs at Subway and everything afterwards. The point is - We got that responsibility out of the way. Now all we have to worry about is the first bowl for Chuck & Digger. Which will be glorious. After that, we're free.

Mel is the most sociable person - flashing peace signs at guys in Volvos. I like talking to people. The only way to meet people is to be sociable with them because they're not going to be sociable with you. More than I like talking to people, Mel does. I'm having a great time! This is fun! The Glacier Inn. Hyder, Alaska.

Mel's not too uninhibited. I should let out a war whoop right now, but there's too many people. We all have Ranier, thanks to Jon. From beer pressure to peer pressure is the difference of another beer. One more, or one less, it depends on your mood. Shame on me. He about sunk the 8 ball. My money's on Laura. Mine's on Mel. It always has been. Though I defeated him.

Shit! Mel sunk the black ball! I've got the dough! I'm buying the pork rinds.

I need a pack of Camel Special Lights in a bag. I'm taking a pack of GPCs out of the milk crate. Mine's under the bunk on the right hand side. Here you go! Here's the keys! Go!!

These microwaved pork rinds, they're terrible. Have one.

No!

One!

No!

I dare you!

No!

You played me in pool. That was pretty daring.

Not as daring as eating fucking fried pork skin.

"60% less fat than fried pork rinds", but they're still disgusting. They're nuclear pork rinds.

I finished my last beer. 

I haven't.

I'm down to 3 dollars, Canadian.

I've got 20, Canadian.

I've got 23 dollars, American.

I've got 2 dollars, Canadian, 2 dollars, American, & a credit card.

This pork rind's like a bone. We're in Alaska, we're just not where we want to be in Alaska. I like Kool Milds. It doesn't get your fix though. It's like smoking a candy cane. You'd think that would cover up the breath, but it really makes it worse.

I try to do this on the sly. I'm only doing this because you don't live here. Who are you gonna tell? You never know. We could become tree planters & come in and tell your boss. We're fishers. We're Hoosiers. Corn planting. Born & bred. I've never lived on a farm.

But you've lived by a farm that's had cornfields before, haven't you?

Yeah.

Jon, you'd better take this 'cause I just drank from it. I'm sorry. Laura is helping Caroline with the staple gun. Come on, Jon. You're up for pool.

OK. Quincy's is an ash.

Caroline, she brought my coat & flannel to me, which I forgot in the bar and she said, "Come here. I've got something to show you...". She paints! She's got water colors and a beautiful beautiful painting that she did of the mountains. She does these regularly & she sells them as postcards around here.That's fucking cool! I'd be totally satisfied with a job like that.

It's raining & we can't get the stove to work. Every other time we try it, it doesn't work. Then every other other time, it does work. Either it's bad karma, or we're just fucking up.

Day 8 - 5:42pm: We left the Glacier Inn. Laura & I made sandwiches. Todd & Jon are having chips. And Todd & Jon are trying to figure out where we're going. I don't know where we're going. Todd is concentrated. In talking to Dylan & Frank, I learned a lot about Europe. All that decadence & sex & chaos you hear about? It's true. Laura's stealing my chips. There's decadence here too. We could be in Amsterdam.

Hyderization certification, front.

Hyderization certification, back..

Back to British Columbia

Or, go anywhere:  

Van Log '94: A Collective Narrative:

Forward by Todd               South Dakota, pt. 1               Washington

Leaving Indiana                South Dakota, pt. 2               British Columbia

Illinois                               Wyoming                               Hyder, AK (side trip)

Wisconsin                         Montana                                Yukon Territory

Minnesota                         Idaho                                     Alaska

Van Log, 1994: Alaska

7:47 pm: Welcome to Alaska! The pavement begins here! We're now going to Customs to see what happens there. See what kind of shit they give us... Hellfire! Baton down the hatches!! We're at Customs.

Hello.

Where are you all headed?

Valdez.

Where you coming from?

Indiana.

Everybody U.S. citizens?

Yep.

Let me see I.D. from everybody please.

Alright.

Any firearms on board today?

Nope. Noooo....

Go ahead and shut the vehicle off. I want you to come inside and fill out a customs declaration for me.

Okay.

Leave the keys in the ignition. Come on in. Make sure you bring your purses and bags.

That guy inside was the most intimidating fucker I ever saw. I felt guilty. My hands were shaking.

No shit! I thought something in there would pass as pot. He pulled that pin out of my wallet & I thought, "Oh Shit!" and it wasn't even for drugs! I just had it! 

He's good.

They found resin on my knife. The guy knew it was resin, but he didn't want to push the issue because that's all they found. My heart was racing. That was the best customs officer I've ever seen! He should get an award. That guy was a hard ass. He was like, "Grateful Dead...hmmm...You guys have a lot of these..."

But the guys who searched the van were actually pretty nice. They just moved some stuff around. They probably found that note.

No, I had it crumpled up.

They might have though.

They didn't even look under this tag here.

No! They didn't! We could've brought a bale of dope!

No, they probably ran a dog through here and that was it.

Happy to be here. Let's buy a bag. Inside they were talking to a guy and they go, "I'd appreciate it if you don't drop or lose anything because you're on camera". Then the guy's like, "Huh! At least you got the pleasure of sayin' that"! Some hick asshole.

I'm glad to be out of there! I thought for sure I was sunk. I felt guilt for no reason. I started thinking stuff like, "OK, I did lick off those tweezers after I used them for a roach clip, didn't I"?

He didn't give me my knife back! Wait, maybe he did...yes. The law sucks.

We pulled up and he thought, "I'm gonna get these guys".

There's resin all over my knife! All Over!! Fuck, I've got resin on two of the blades that you don't use for anything else but scraping resin. I didn't even think of that. He said, "You'd better clean or lose that knife". I planned to say I bought it at a second hand shop in Montana. But we're in Alaska now! Let's all smoke a cigar! And inhale it! And play Irish drinking songs!! Yeah!!!!

8:28 pm: We made it through Customs. Fuck 'em. Yes, those are fucking Grateful Dead tickets, buddy! I was high every day for two days!! And I dropped acid three times in those twenty days, mother fucker!!! Fuck 'em.

Welcome to Alaska.

Alaskan Moose.

Another flat.

Mel handling the lug nuts.

9:25 pm: OK, we have a kind of mechanical mystery for awhile. Every time we got to 60 miles/hour, it would go, "brrrbbbb!!!!!" & everything would shake, then we heard a "Bam!", so we pulled over. I was sitting in the passenger seat, feeling the vibration, getting a little bit concerned about it & suddenly I heard this "Boom!" that Todd spoke of and, up through the fender, right into my leg, shot a projectile of an unknown consistency - but it kind of hurt. Shot through the vent. So ,the tire is just feeling like dead skin from a sunburn. It was bad, Van Log, real bad. I've got the lug-nuts loose & this is not going to be a problem. That's the sound of a lug nut going none too easy.

Can you move your knee? This jack is a bitch. The tire just rolled away. There we go. Tire in place. Mel's now putting the lug-nuts onto the lug-bolts.

Oh my God, Antifreeze! They were supposed to have fixed that! It's barely leaking. What did they do? We don't know enough to know if they did it or not.

Oh! My head's underneath the van & it's on a jack on a piece of wood! I like it, it's sunny out here. The promised land. We made it. I say we celebrate with some hacky sackin' once we get this done.

I say we go on to Valdez, but the more physical shit we do, the more we'll wear off our buzz.

What are you doing!!?? Kicking a van on a jack!!??

Should I lower it?

What do you want for Christmas next year, Todd?

A jack.

Mel shoe-gooed the Mountie over the hole from the bullet that went through the hole in the van.

...We ate at Pizza Bella and it was great. A feast. We had garlic bread & pizza and we're looking to get air in the tire, but we're not finding any. We're mere hours from Valdez & I'm excited.

Day 9, 1:18 am: There's a moose, unconcerned that we just took a picture of it. It just stood there. Big Ol' Moose. We have to find one with big antlers yet.

2:45 am: We just saw our first Alaskan porcupine walking down the road. My concentration is on the tension at the back of my neck and staying on the road.

3:52 am: I'm still kickin' and trying to get to Valdez. Won't these guys be surprised when they wake up? 91 miles to Valdez! We're gonna be in Valdez on the last full moon of May. When we left home, it was barely a sliver. This is definitely one of the most beautiful nights I've ever seen. The moon is so bright and distracting that I'm using the sun visor so I can pay attention to the road. I'm dead tired but I just can't help it, I've got to keep on truckin'.

4:58 am: 40 miles from Valdez & it's damn cold! We can't see anything, it's damn foggy. We've told you about fog before, but that was nothing but talk. This is Fog. This is bullshit! Goin' downhill in the fog on a mountain. There's a lot of snow. City center of Valdez is 19 miles from here. Laura's taking us all the way to Valdez, she's been driving for hours.

Our journey's almost over. Horse Tail Falls! We're now in Valdez city limits.

Valdez Harbor.

And so we did indeed make the trip! Here we are at our Valdez campsite with one of many new acquaintances - YaYa:

Valdez campground.

We gradually parted ways over the summer, periodically running into each other here & there, in Alaska and elsewhere.

Van Log '94: A Collective Narrative:

Forward by Todd               South Dakota, pt. 1               Washington

Leaving Indiana                South Dakota, pt. 2               British Columbia

Illinois                               Wyoming                               Hyder, AK (side trip)

Wisconsin                         Montana                                Yukon Territory

Minnesota                         Idaho                                     Alaska