Loving2Hate

Sometimes I simply love to hate. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve caught myself saying this regarding various subjects in my life. The latest resurrection of the phrase likely came about because I traveled to Las Vegas with a couple of friends for the SEMA car show, and Vegas is certainly a place that I love to hate. In fact, I love hating it so much, I couldn’t wait to get there.

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There’s much to hate about Vegas if one just thinks about it—especially from my rural setting of Wyoming. So, I always look forward to the newest Las Vegas particulars to hate that I never expected or considered. So, beyond the usual overcrowded and loud casinos, overpriced tickets for washed-up entertainment icons, and the ubiquitous, supersized LED displays, I was pleasantly surprised to add a couple of new things to what I love to hate about Las Vegas—all on the last full day of my stay there.

SEMA Fest
On the second day of SEMA Fest not long after the gates opened, I was turned back at the entrance by security personnel because I had a “professional grade” camera with me—a modest Yashica Electro 35 (mm) film camera. At first, I thought they were just having me on because I had a camera that was built in the early 1970s. But, when I realized the security staffer was not joking, I reached around in my back pocket and pulled out my iPhone X and said, “You should be more worried about this camera.” The staffer didn’t budge only to tell me that the iPhone was permitted, while assuring me that I could not enter with my threatening 50-some-year-old 35mm, f1.7 fixed 45mm lens rangefinder camera.

I was sure there was some mistake, but once I realized they weren’t going to relent, I gave up and walked back to a friend’s car to squirrel away my humble Yashica. During that long walk back to the car, all I could think about was how ignorant the organizers of SEMA Fest must be when it comes to cameras and photography. I felt like I had been transported back to the entrance gates of Northeast Ohio’s Blossom Music Center in the 1970s. And so, it was during that walk back to the car and once more to the SEMA Fest entrance that my love to hate Vegas came screaming back like a Tom Brady, game-winning offensive drive in the final seconds.

With my film camera receiving a red-card by the SEMA Fest photography police, I realized that whatever photography I would attempt that day would be limited to my iPhone. Now I had a new mission thanks to SEMA Fest’s draconian photography policy—I would shoot to my heart’s content with my iPhone and eventually submit images from the day to whatever paying, professional publications I could find while making sure that the SEMA Fest photo nazis get notified of my supplemental income from that day—with my iPhone!

I’m never very confident when it comes to my own photography, but spite can be a powerful thing, changing a person’s outlook in any given situation. 

Circus Circus
It’s not a stretch to predict that the next major casino to be razed on the Las Vegas Strip will be Circus Circus. It was a dump 20 years ago. Today, it is nothing more than an ugly and smelly eyesore on the life support of desperate, low-stake gamblers.

Because SEMA Fest was in the shadows of the crumbling 35-story Circus Circus, we walked over to the 50-some-year-old rundown infestation in search of a modest lunch. What a mistake that was as I was reminded of shopping at a crowded Walmart on Black Friday—not to mention the healthy menagerie of trashy and gloomy patrons filling up its corridors, restaurants, and gambling locations.

Further, while walking around in Circus Circus, I was certain that its dystopian interior and unhealthy-looking patrons was surely the place I would contract a bad case of COVID-19.

Lastly, like most of the other casinos in Vegas, Circus Circus is no different in its tolerance and accommodating environment for smokers. Say what you want about the casino high-tech ventilation systems, when I returned to my room that evening, I felt as if I had been walking through the smoke-filled 1970s all over again. It’s been a long time since my clothes smelled like a crowded bar full of smokers.

Rest Stop Diversity

A typical British Columbia rest stop.

For the most part, we can probably agree that road trips are all about the scenery that comes with any given cross-country excursion. Driving to Alaska that includes passing through Western Canada will not disappoint when it comes to scenic wonders, but that’s not what I’m going to discuss here.

If one is driving from the “Lower 48” to Alaska, I think it would be difficult to overlook the contrast in rest stops along the way. In particular the difference between rest stops in the “Lower 48” versus those in Canada (and Alaska).

Those who live and drive around in the Lower 48 probably don’t give much thought to rest stops other than if they seem really clean (or dirty), how crowded they might be, and their specific locations or the various add-ons of any given rest stop (i.e., dog exercise area, playground, vending machines, etc.). And, in Montana for example, some of the newer rest stops have individual rooms that include a urinal, toilet, sink, and dryer where privacy is totally guaranteed. One of these newer versions can be found just shy of the 49th Parallel at the Sweet Grass, Montana, rest stop just before you cross into Alberta, Canada.

However, once you cross over into Canada, rest stops are reduced to a minimum. Don’t expect to find any welcoming buildings that are air conditioned with maps, wireless internet access, or an exercise area for your dog. If you’re lucky, a full-blown rest stop will include two outhouses (i.e., “pit toilets”) and some bear-proof trash receptacles. In short, American rest stops are luxurious compared to those found in Canada.

I suppose this Canadian rest-stop-minimalism is fairly practical given they have fewer people, and more miles to cover than the U.S.—certainly in their Western provinces vs. our Western states.

Rest stop signage in British Columbia.

All of this taken into consideration, it’s worth noting that the quality (or definition) of these rest stops seems to vary from one province to the other as well. For example, in the Yukon Territory, there’s probably a rest stop about every 15–30 miles. However, when you cross into British Columbia, the frequency of rest stops is about the same, but don’t expect to find any form of toilet. A rest stop in British Columbia only includes ample parking space for your vehicle and bear-proof trash cans.

I’m not sure why this is—does the Yukon Territory have more money than British Columbia? I think of the 30 or so British Columbia rest stops that I drove past, only one offered toilets—pit toilets of course.

Once in Alaska, the 49th state echos the Yukon Territory for the most part when it comes to rest stops with an occasional “trash only” rest stop here and there in between the other outhouse-equipped rest stops.

My father was a plumber and I’m pretty sure he held the belief that thanks to modern plumbing, outhouses should be a thing of the past. It’s safe to say that he would not have enjoyed driving into Canada and Alaska.

A Lake with No Name

There’s a lake, not too far from here, Maybe about a mile as the crow (or drone) flies. Every map I’ve studied and the few people I know around here tell me this lake has no name. It’s a beautiful lake, but to be fair, there are many lakes in Alaska. In fact, Alaska could easily be The Land of 10,000 Lakes as well even if that moniker is already taken.

So, this little unnamed lake has been my muse for the two months that I’m staying here. I’ve thought of giving it a name for my own use, but nothing inspirational has hit me yet. Feel free to makes some suggestions in the comment section below.

Postscript: I recently learned that some of the local mushers refer to this lake as “First Lake” because it is the first lake along that particular trail.

Appalaskia

Around Mile 13 on the Chena Hot Springs Road.

Summer in and around Fairbanks, Alaska is certainly unique in its lack of darkness, but driving around the area, there are a number of visuals resembling places like Eastern Tennessee, the hollers of West Virginia, or not too far from where I grew up; the rural areas of Portage County, Ohio.

Sure there are some slight differences, but they don’t jump out at you unless you’re paying attention. One of those differences between the rural areas of say, West Virginia and the Fairbanks area is probably the ratio between deciduous and conifer trees—where there are many more conifers in Alaska.

And because there are so many trees and vistas are limited, in most places around Fairbanks, you’d never know that the highest mountain in North America is only 150 miles away. I read that Denali rises above the horizon and can be seen on a clear day from the University of Alaska Fairbanks’ elevated campus. With fires raging all over the state this summer resulting in limited visibility, I’m wondering if I’ll ever get that opportunity to see the mountain from the campus before returning to Wyoming.

I know Alaska is known for its summertime mosquitos, but I haven’t noticed a real difference of “mosquito density” when walking through a thick stand of trees in any of these locations. Consider it safe to say, that you don’t want to be walking around in the woods in any of these places without some kind of bug repellent applied.

Beyond the Fairbanks area, there is a visible amount of folk who seem to be existing on negligible means in the rural areas, akin to Appalachia. It’s not uncommon to find a property with excessive debris scattered throughout where you might find it difficult to discern the main living quarters of the property. I suppose most surprising to me is given the extreme winters in a place like Alaska, even the poorest places would possess substantial weatherproofing and insulation, but often what I’ve observed is that some structures appear to be “permanently unfinished” with siding missing, and tarps thrown over any given structure in lieu of a permanent or substantial roofing.

I also learned that many of these locations require water to be hauled to the property (by the owners or a delivery service) as water is often too deep to dig a well in many locations beyond Fairbanks.

Alaskan winters must be challenging in these households where structures are subpar and water is scarce. For this reason alone, I’d prefer the winters of Appalachia to those of Alaska if I had to live in such conditions with limited means.

Postscript

Since the writing of this, my opinions have shifted a bit regarding the mosquitos thanks to a few long hikes. I’m willing to go out on a limb now and say, yes, the mosquitos are a bit “thicker” here in Alaska. If you remember that old Off commercial back in the 60s where the science guy sticks his arm in this glass box full of mosquitos, that’s pretty much what it’s like when you get into the deep woods here in the Alaskan interior. You better have that bug dope all over you.