We are not unique snowflakes

Date: April 29
Mileage: 16
April mileage: 493
Temperature upon departure: 43

Today I read an amusing editorial in the Anchorage Daily News, addressing the grand delusion of many Alaskans - that we are unique, special, not like other Americans. Set apart by latitude and buffered by a rather large foreign country, I guess it would be difficult not to feel separate-but-equal.

But ever since I moved here, I've been more than a little bugged by the sense of entitlement at large. The state pays people just to live here, and still people whine about a 3 percent sales tax, they whine about paying for education, they whine about pesky federal mandates like wildlife refuge designations, but then beg the federal government for more road money. Alaska seems to have a serious case of youngest child syndrome, which of course bugs me because I come from an oldest child background. I'm the one who had to deal with a 10 p.m. curfew and had to begin working at age 11 to support my teenage lifestyle. So I can't stand to see an entire state act like the family princess, crying about the unfairness of a midnight curfew while Daddy doles out another 20 for a trip to the mall. You get my point, don't you?

So it gives me great joy to see someone tell Alaskans that they are, in fact, not unique and special snowflakes. While there is a small percentage of the population, mostly Native, who still live a subsistence lifestyle in remote villages, most of us are middle-aged, white-collar, suburban working stiffs with 2.3 cars and a lifestyle dominated by climate-controlled buildings. The only difference between us and some guy in Cleveland is that we can go skiing on glaciers in our backyards or drive to the closest body of water and catch a king salmon. But how many of us actually do?

Sure, there's a definite distinct culture in Alaska. The scenery is beyond amazing. The history is certainly on the interesting side. Latitude gives us the whole daylight thing and, economically speaking, we still have youth on our side. But does that give us a mandate to demand respect from the lower 48 while we cry to Daddy because Big Brother wouldn't give us bridge money? I may be an older child, an outsider looking in and looking out again, but I don't think so.

Cool photo

Date: April 28
Mileage: 26
April mileage: 477
Temperature upon departure: 40

I don't know how kosher it is to post a copyrighted photo on a blog, but since this isn't exactly an enterprise of any sort, I'm just going to go ahead and do it.

A former co-worker of mine, Troy Boman, just sent me a link to a photo of his that won a second-place award from the National Press Photographers Association. It's impressive because Troy works for a small community newspaper that covers a massive sprawl of salt and sand known as Tooele County, Utah - and he was up against big guys like the New York Daily News in this contest. I always thought it was kind of strange that Troy didn't move up to the big guys. He's always had this amazing ability to capture striking moments of clarity in the vast and mundane ... the face of a terrified boy standing amid an indifferent crowd ... the calm acceptance of a once-comfortable man suddenly doused in the mud and blood of his own mistakes. It's very real. I really like this photo.

Today I rode some sprint intervals ... full-out, red-in-the-face, I'd-puke-if-I-went-much-harder intervals. Tough to do, but definitely worthwhile. I rode a 3-mile stretch of bike path with a fierce north wind. I did 1.5 miles of with-the-wind warm-up, 1.5 miles of tailwind sprinting, 1.5 miles of headwind recovery, and 1.5 miles of headwind sprinting - times four. The tailwind sprints were wicked fun. I don't have a computer installed on my road bike yet, but I must have been pushing 35 mph, judging by my sustained place in traffic. The headwind sprints were like nothing I've experienced in a long time. I couldn't even hold back my wheezing gasps during vain attempts to not frighten the oncoming pedestrians. All I could do was chug by, trying to keep the donkey sounds to a minimum and locking my perma-grimace on the pavement. I thought about the virtues of drop handlebars ... may be a good purchase to make. But, for now, I'm thinking about buying a camera.

Snow and light

Date: April 27
Mileage: 22
April mileage: 451
Temperature upon departure: 38

Warm day today. Temps even thought about hitting 50, but didn't quite make it. I seem to be writing an overabundance of extra-bloggy blog posts lately. The past month has been awash the mostly gray, windy, semi-warm, still-won't-melt-the-crust-on-my-driveway permanence that dominates "spring" in Alaska. My muse has been running a bit low, so I complain about the weather and take pictures out my bedroom window.

We now have officially more than 16 hours between sunrise and sunset, makes it hard to get those requisite 8 hours of sleep in. I'm one of those people that can barely dress myself in the morning, but I build energy as the day goes on, so it's also hard for me to go to bed. I had a really tough ride today, basically inexplicable as to why I was struggling so much. Lead legs on the commute. Dizzy up the hill. Spinning low gears on the gravel. It's probably just a matter of needing more rest than I anticipate, but my body just doesn't understand. When there's light on the horizon and snow on the ground, it just feels early, no matter what the clock says.