Still hanging out in Fairbanks. It’s definitely nice to be able to drink hot coffee, eat Chinese food, and shower semi-regularly. One downside is that it’s tougher to find a quiet place to sleep at night — apparently it’s a sport for the locals to go to parking lots late at night and attempt to destroy their pickups. During the past two nights I’ve been waking up repeatedly to see a truck launched into a 720 degree skid or nearly rolled over as the driver takes a turn at about eight hundred miles an hour. Last night one fellow was trying to melt his tires, but after three minutes of spinning his back wheels while keeping his front wheels locked solid all he had done was created a cloud of smoke that covered half the lot. Angered at the unwillingness of his truck to die he threw it into gear, crashing over cement barriers while he attempted to break the sound barrier in his tour around the lot. Quite different from the peaceful nights I spent alone out in the backcountry.
"My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?" — David Mitchell