Well, I've arrived in Fairbanks and checked in to my hotel for the night. The flights from Columbus were uneventful. I met a couple fellow travellers and had time during each of my two layovers (in Chicago and Seattle) to catch a meal. The flight from Chicago to Seattle was only slightly longer than the flight from Seattle to Fairbanks, but the latter seemed much shorter because the Alaskan Airlines new Boeing 737-900ER was wonderfully comfortable.
As we flew north along the west coast, North America's tallest mountains poked out of the clouds, snow-covered and brushed by the sun. The passenger next to me, an excitable, middle-aged medical professional from Sacramento dressed from head to foot in designer running apparel, put it most aptly: "Whoa! Whoa! Crapballs!"
The landscape gave way to gentler, green slopes and braided streams as we descended into Fairbanks's 6-gate (International) Airport. Not that I'm complaining - it had hardwood floors, it was delightfully quiet, and rather reminded of Maine, and of Portland's airport before it was upgraded. The ratio of tarmac to terminal was outlandishly huge, but it made for a unique deplaning experience. It being 11:00 pm, the sun shone brightly over the hills and boreal forest.
I called my lodging for the night, the Golden North Motel, and requested a shuttle. I was picked up in an old, unmarked Ford van by the night attendant, Dave, who provided me with a little background on the city and where I could do my grocery shopping. A little digging revealed that he had lived in Ellsworth and Orono, Maine, and we bonded over our shared roots.
We reached the hotel parking lot (sedan population: 0) and I checked in to a small, clean, and quiet 1-bed room. I sit here knowing that I should be sleeping, because I need to get up in less than 6 hours to take care of my grocery shopping for the next three months before I catch my train at 7:15 am. But I'm writing this instead. You, dear reader, are more important to me than sleep.
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