Touchdown Take Off

The Tuesday before I left I had a mild case of resigned depression about this whole escapade of mine. This dream of venturing off to Alaska to witness the start of “the Last Great Race,” my visions of being in a land where the elements rule, where the people are tougher, hardier, the Last Frontier, seemed to be evaporating before my eyes. Alaska is no longer the undiscovered country that it once was. It was pretty well tromped over when Jack London was doing his writing. Now there’s McDonalds and Starbucks. OLN is doing complete race coverage of the Iditarod this year. A picture I saw from last year’s start in downtown Anchorage looks like it could be downtown San Jose. There’s banks and parking meters. They have to truck in snow to cover the streets because it just doesn’t snow like it used to. The Iditarod is a huge event complete with corporate sponsors. Alaska is a red state filled with republican hunters. My idealism and romantic notions of what this adventure are to me were getting squashed by a reality that I didn’t like my glimpses of.

Maybe it’s all just last minute second guessing, some inner pessimist trying to take the shine off my excitement. Maybe it’s just preconceptions showing themselves to the door.

Somewhere all these dreams I have in my head are going to bump into some sort of reality. I really don’t know what to expect. Maybe that’s a good thing.