The blue jacket with no pockets

(a story not for the faint of heart)

It all began with a jacket. Little did I know a blue wind jacket with no pockets, plucked off the clearance rack at Beaver Sports, would alter my life so drastically. There's no place for your hands! Oh well, nice jacket anyways. Always a sucker for a good sale.

In training for the Equinox Marathon, I went running last Thursday on Ester Dome, a nearby elevation gain of about 2000'. There was a threat of rain that day, so from the car I ran with my blue jacket with no pockets. It didn't take long for me to realize that I was over-heated, and stashed the blue jacket with no pockets in the bushes. On the way back, I didn't even think of it; ran right by and headed to the showers.

Then came Friday. I was tired of running, but still had the itch to do something. Winds weren't favorable for any sort of flying, so I packed up the mountain bike. Now where is my blue jacket with no pockets? Oh yeah, Ester Dome. Well, I guess I'll ride those trails. It was a little out of the way, but any excuse to ride the single-track.

"Single-track" is a type of trail, typically tight and technical. (As opposed to a double-track which is likely a road for vehicles.) The Happy Valley Trail on Ester Dome sweeps, swerves, dips, and dives through the trees about half-way up Ester Dome. It flows; smooth and fast.

I was familiar with the trail, and perhaps riding a bit on the over-confident side. It sure felt good to be on the bike. Cool air moving past my face, Jimi Hendrix on the iPod, and Apollo blazing the trail at constant trot, bewitched by the occasional calling squirrel.

The ride was about over when I came to some man-made features. Little platforms on which to ride, catch a little air, and continue onward feeling like a bad-ass. I had done this ramp in particular before, multiple times, why back down from the challenge now?

Into the air I flew, carrying too much speed. I overshot the landing, and came down on the mushy, vegetated edge of the trail. This put me in a wobble and I started over the handlebars. At this point I realized there were some trees rapidly approaching. Funny. I remember spotting those trees the first time I saw this feature and thinking, "Hmm, wonder why they built that ramp there right in front of those trees."

Airborne horizontally, with the bike below me, my right shin made full contact with a standing birch tree. The impact spun me around and stole from me all momentum I carried moments before. Ouch, that was a hit. Can't be that bad, lets see the damage.

"$%&@"


At this point, Apollo doubled back and we sat in the middle of the trail. I cursed a few times and banged on the ground. Ah, finally - adrenaline. I pulled my handy-dandy iPhone from my bag and gave a ring to ol' 911. Paramedics on the way. Nice. Okay, now what?

As Apollo worked a close perimeter, I removed my riding shirt and tied it around the wound. Last time I ride without a first-aid kit. I used my headphones for a little extra pressure, but they proved useless. Climbing to my feet, I realized I could bear weight. That's good. But the first few steps quickly showed me hobbling on one foot while leaning a bicycle wasn't going to work. Wait a minute, stop leaning on the bike and ride the thing!

I flung my leg over and balanced on the seat. With my left foot guiding the pedals and occasionally dragging on the ground, right foot out like a broken wing, I coasted the bike down the trail. Careful now. Falling is not an option. It was about a half-mile back to the car, and lucky for me mostly down hill.

I arrived at the car right as a first responder showed up. "You call an ambulance?" Yup. The wrap, limp, and bloody leg didn't give it away? She was nice. I was glad I got out of there on my own, even an Alaska State Trooper showed up with an ATV.

The paramedics were very friendly, but I declined transport. Something about seeing your muscle flop out of your leg makes you want to call 911, but I probably could've gotten myself to the hospital. I called Will, and he gave me a ride to the ER. The paramedics gave me a good pressure wrap, and cracked jokes while we waited for Will to show up.

The ER was pretty straight forward. Wait. Triage. Wait. X-rays. Wait. Insurance information. Wait. Doctor. Wait. IV. Morphine. Wait. Anti-biotic flush. Wait. Stiches. Wait. Wrap. Wait. Go home at midnight.

The flush was pretty impressive. To clean the wound of any dirt or debris, they squirted 3 liters of an anti-biotic fluid into my leg while simultaneously sucking it out with a vacuum. That made an interesting sound.

Looks good. Final count was 2 internal, dissolving stiches, and 12 external, doubled up to make 24 individual connections between the opposing sides.


It struck me when here I found myself, in the ER, eating chocolates brought by friends, watching the tech use little curved needles grafted to black fishing line to sew the hole in my leg closed. A hospital gown graced my chest because my shirt was previously used as a tourniquet. I came in wearing the the blue jacket with no pockets, but it impeded the IV.

Many thanks to Will for taking me to the hospital and for getting me all set-up with medical supplies. Also to Oliver and Brittany for taking Murphy (Apollo) for me.

Ninilchik

Photos from a drive to the Kenai Peninsula and back to Fairbanks, a little bit of old town Ninilchik, and a great fishing trip with Dad.

ewr

Too much time in an airport, and a camera.

Soltice Fly-In

Date: June 18-20, 2010
Location: Eagle Summit, Alaska



What is a "fly-in" you ask? Well, it is simply a gathering - a gathering of hang-glider (HG) and para-glider (PG) pilots from far and wide. They come together to embrace the spirit and energy of each other, and come with high hopes for good flying and camping. One pilot, John, came from as far as Pennsylvania:



What better way to celebrate the longest days of the year by soaring hills and watching the sun not set?


Adam soars the ridge.

------

Eagle Summit is a two hour drive to the northeast of Fairbanks. As altitude is gained to a meager 3,652ft (high by sub-Arctic standards), the trees slowly fade and the domain of Arctic tundra is entered. Here the hills are bare, covered with soft, spongy flora and the occasional rock pile. Eagle is an ideal flying site because it sits between the Yukon Flats to the north, and the Tanana Valley (Fairbanks area) to the south. Any differences in weather between the two areas produces strong winds, and even if light, the air is always moving. We camped right on top.



The Arctic Circle is defined as the latitude on Earth where the sun does not set on the summer solstice, June 21st, at sea level. The farther north you go, the more days of 24hr sun. Eagle Summit is not technically in the Arctic Circle, but the elevation at a latitude of 65 degrees north makes it is possible to watch the sun skim the horizon and continue upward into the sky.


The night would grow no darker.

Saturday would prove to be an epic day. I awoke to the sound of a PG crinkling in the wind as it inflated. Adam was up at ‘em, feeling out the steady up-slope breeze with his wing.



Not wasting any time (nor wind), he set the mood by soaring the ridge. Get a load of Apollo in this one!



After a breakfast of pancakes and homemade Pennsylvania maple syrup, it was time to hit the training hill. We drove down about 5 minutes, but probably a good 1000 ft of altitude, where winds would be mellow. Here I got to stretch out my wing and hop around in the breeze over a gentle slope of tundra. At one point I shared the hill with 5 or 6 other pilots. It was truly incredible. I don’t have any photos from this spot, but somebody snapped this one.


If Apollo had a Facebook page, “chasing flying people” would surely be in his list of Hobbies.

Next, it was back to the main camp, and thus the main launch. Winds were still too light for the HGs, so while they were napping Adam and I discussed a tandem. A 'tandem' is two people in one wing, which can be done in either craft. They do, however, have to be specialized wings to account for the extra-heavy load! Adam got out his tandem and felt the wind.

“A little light,” he said. But it will do. I had waited a long time for this. My first tandem flight: unreal. We had to work a bit to get airborne in the light conditions, but after a short run I felt the harness tighten around me and watched the ground drop from beneath my feet. The air rushed past my ears, my helmet whistled a little. I shouted for joy and probably cursed a few times, because I was flying.

Apollo beat us to the bottom. Paragliders fly slowly.

By then we could all use a nap, so I joined the HGs in their slumber. I was awakened only after an hour or so by the sound of aluminum clanking and sails flapping. Winds had shifted and gotten a little stronger, so the HGs set up, anxiously anticipating stronger winds. It turned out the puff was short lived. Thus, the HGs were left to take a short flight or don’t fly at all. It takes a good 15-20 minutes to set up a HG, so you may as well make it worth it. John offered a tandem, I pounced on the opportunity.

Unheard-of. A PG tandem and a HG tandem, in the same day - without paying a cent! Had to have been a first in the state of Alaska. I promptly assisted John with set-up, and we did a few practice launches. When the pilot and passenger are here:



. . . the pilot needs to know the passenger will commit, and not become an awkward piece of luggage upon launch. All those days running track paid off, John was impressed with my run.

So then it was time! Wow, HGs are fast. Something about laying prone, Superman style, makes it easy to convince yourself you are now a bird.



It was easy to see why HGs are superior for long distance cross-country flights, and stronger conditions. We covered about twice the distance, in half the time. Apollo arrived a whole minute later.

At this point, my day could not possibly be any better. About an hour later we were graced with a passing shower.



The only thing left to do was to crack a beer and watch the sunset (or lack thereof). Dinner was moose chili by the fire.



Solar noon at Eagle, due to the large Alaska time zone and daylight savings, was around 1:45p. This means, in this shot:


. . .the sun was still on its way down.

Meanwhile, our camp was growing by the hour with fellow celebrators of the solstice. Everyone took to their own space, and did their own thing, but there was a common theme of light and wind. At one point there was a pack of at least 8 dogs circumnavigating the camp. Our view was a little blocked, but not spoiled, since they brought kites. There it is, 2:01 am:



According to Ben, we were very lucky this year to not have the sun blocked by clouds. I was even offered a kite to put in the air. How could I resist joining the flock?



To say we got rained out on Sunday would be putting it lightly, but it comes with the territory. Packing up camp in a torrential downpour didn't dampen anyone's spirits.

Summer!

Many apologies for the lack of posts! It has been a crazy summer. I have a many things ready for the blog, so the flurry of posts should show why I haven't been in front of my computer much. Events include a camp-out on a mountain top, fishing with Dad, a drive to the northernmost point in the US, a cruise, and now -- England! My adviser has sent me to Norwich, England to learn a few things. More on that, later, I am going to try to throw more science into the blog.

Hope all is well!
Patrick

Visitors

For the most recent moose visitors, I didn't grab the camera. There were, however, some passers-by earlier... something like early April. Hard to believe this place was covered in snow then!











Certainly no moose, but close enough.

Arctic Circle on 1 tank

We had planned to take a river trip down the Tanana with some friends, but the weather changed our plans. Heavy rains in the Fairbanks area drove us north, up the Dalton Highway, aka "haul road". This road starts about 50 miles north of Fairbanks and continues all the way to Prudhoe Bay.


Apollo never hesitates to indulge in roadside treats.


Our goal for this trip was going be the Yukon River, but we decided to continue on to the Arctic Circle. We made it to the Arctic Circle and back on one tank of gas!



The road is in pretty good shape. It varies between packed dirt with a nice mud layer, and a paved highway riddled with potholes. Bring a full size spare! Maybe two, if you drive the whole thing.



"Wonderland" : burned dwarfed black spruce trees make one feel as though their proportions are a bit off


Bound for Deadhorse.


5 mile Airport. Just beyond the Yukon, the highway is sometimes closed for a few minutes while they land a plane here.


Double guard-rails. A sure indicator anywhere the Alyeska pipeline crosses under the road.


Plans are in motion to do the whole 413 miles (one way) next month.