In the beginning was the Word,…and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
John, Chapter 1
“In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.”
William Blake 1790
Call me Domestique. The days of the week rotate about house chores, groceries, mowing and gardening . I should be biking the USA, but like most Americans, my days steer around a self imposed quarantine, social distancing, masks, and repeated hand washing. My hands are so clean I erased the answers to an eight grade spelling test .
After reading the” Idiots guide to gardening, “I planted a vegetable and butterfly garden, Both gardens exceeded my beginner’s luck and wildest expectations (pic below). I never forecasted the bumper 2020 tomato crop back in January. (pic below). Who would have guessed Judy and I would be blanching and freezing tomatoes for soups, chili and marinara sauce this winter. On the plus side, my zucchini bread has received great reviews.
In America, the novel “Corvid 19” reads like an epic tragedy of errors. President Trump refuses to read and doesn’t comprehend scientific data. He predicts Covid 19 will just go away because Americans are exceptional. Today an exacerbated Dr. Fauci repeated that America’s book club has not even finished chapter one. We didn’t comprehend chapter one as well as the European Union. Spoiler alert, the answers at the end of the chapter are: wear a mask, wash our hands and stay six feet away from strangers. A bumper sticker back in march said it all (pic below). So it goes.
The pandemic has narrowed my travels to day treks. With Fox Hill Farm as the hub, I trek to Hodgenville, Mt. Washington, Bardstown, and Taylorsville like the spokes of a wheel. When I stop for cold ice tea I’m a sorry sight. This 69 year old in spandex, clicking bike shoes, neon green helmet, and blue mask makes a unique sight in a rural Dollar General Store (pic below). Maskless patrons stare and shake their head at the sight of an old, urban clown. A tattooed, white male in a wife beater t-shirt , accosting an old cashier over his freedom not to wear a mask is momentarily surprised by the flashing red light on the back of my helmet. Tweddle dee raises his hands and mumbles, “Not guilty.”
Repeating bike treks to neighboring towns allow old memories to resurface. When riding by Seneca Park I can watch my younger self trying to keep three boys happy on swings or the jungle gym. Young fathers have always needed the ability to juggle. The memories are not life changing but recall events, riding companions, or even the weather. Forgotten memories stream by as I trek past homes, farms, and Rickhouses (pic above). My brain has always linked thoughts to locations. It’s like your favorite songs being replayed on Pandora. Wonders never cease.
And so I’m blogging about last summer’s treks. From June 22 to 29 and from August 3 to 10, I pioneered across Alaska… the last frontier.. A land of wonder and a state of geographical exceptionalism. Mountain ranges, tundra, alpine meadows, and glacier lakes rolled bye at bike speed. Photos can’t capture the scope, color and depth of the vistas. My words are unable to describe the singular magistery of Alaska...the last frontier.
For two weeks I was surrounded by wonders no words can imprison. Hopefully, this last great place will remain forever wild. The pic below left is the Port of Valdez. The pic below right is the ferry ride from Valdez to Whittier across Prince William Sound.
Alaska was derived from an Aleut language idiom which translates literally as the object to which the action of the sea is directed. The USA bought the land from Russia in 1867 for 7.2 million U.S. dollars, The Alaskan territory was admitted as the 49th state on January 3, 1959.
My 2019 trek to the last frontier, included a SAG wagon, a daily roadside lunch and lodging every night. I did contend with ill-tempered rain showers during the day and cold showers some nights at remote cabin sites. The pic above is Denali Mountain.
The guided tour was underwritten by Mastercard or as we say … credit card trekking. I carried a wallet, phone, camera, and water. All my past treks had been solo and self guided. So it was a new adventure to travel with a group of bikers for seven days on two separate occasions. Both weeks were exceptional. The pics below were taken from the Richardson Hwy (Rt. 4). Rainbow Mountain is north of Paxson. Lowe River tumbles through Snowslide Gulch (pic below right)) about twenty miles from Valdez.
What a great adventure. On the first trek I paired up with Oxman for seven days of biking. He is from Thailand and I was grateful to keep up with his pace even though he’s 10 years younger. The below left pic shows Glacial field draining into the Tanana River on Rt. 2 south of Fairbanks. Oxman is to my right. The weather was sunny six out of the seven days. On day 2 a passing morning shower encompassed Denali but rain gear was unnecessary. To my delight, Gnomeboy and I saw the midnight sun during summer solstice in Delta Junction (pic below).
On the August trek, the first three days were cold and wet, my two most dreaded rain words. But the last three days were sunny and mild. I traveled with Ed Bell a fellow Orthopod I trained with 40 years ago. Alaska was his first bike trek. At Tangle lakes we took a morning dip in these glacial fed lakes that drained into the Delta River.
At the Tangle lodge we explored the surrounding tundra following a dinner feast of Copper River salmon. Tundra Swans and beavers were on the ajoining lake.
On both trips the bikers were friendly and polite. Riders would mix and match while biking the last frontier and returned with tales which may or may not be true. Pic below is Ken Teter, Ed Bell, and myself on a scenic overlook of Mt. Drum twenty-five miles away. The Copper River 400 feet below outlines the Wrangell–St. Elias National Preserve. Just one more day in paradise, another day of wonder words can’t describe.
In the beginning the word frontier delineated a noun, a location or boundary a place that could be identified on a map. In colonial America, the Appalachian and Blue Ridge Mountains walled in immigrants to the coastal plains, tidewaters and the piedmont of Virginia. During the 1800’s, the frontier migrated ever westward, over mountains, through Bardstown, Kentucky and eventually extended to the Pacific Coast. By 1890, the Census Bureau declared the closure of the frontier, one year after the Oklahoma Land Rush. There were no tracts of land in the West without settlers. This news represented a milestone in American history. The frontier represented danger but also freedom and opportunity. As Horace Greeley has been accredited, “Go West young man.”
Before 1890 frontier identified a noun, a location or a boundary. After all Western land had been claimed the word “frontier” morphed into a verb describing a state of mind. America’s evolution” was put forward as the Frontier Thesis by Frederick Jackson Turner in 1893. Turner argued that the migrating American frontier gave birth to “American exceptionalism”. He stressed the process—the moving frontier line—and the democratic impact “exceptionalism” had on pioneers going through this motion.
, The frontier man of 1830 incorporated an adventurous Jacksonian democrat seeking freedom and opportunity in the face of danger. This pioneer invoked “manifest destiny” or at least “laissez faire” to capture the land, and the resources it contained. As all historians know, the frontier encompassed the good, the bad, and the ugly. By 1893 the frontier story was rebranded as a fictitious fantasy named American exceptionalism. Eventually the verb “frontier” was coopted by scientists, engineers, politicians and the clergy to describe their expanding endeavors. Frontier became flesh and dwelt among us.
As the frontier rolled ever westward, American exceptionalism included the genocide of America’s indigenous peoples. Beginning in Virginia and Massachusetts during the 1600s’, the genocide ended in Montana with Chief Joseph surrendering the Oregon territory the Nez Perce had fished for millennium. In 1877 he spoke clearly ” I will fight no more forever..”
American Exceptionalism for white Europeans included removal of Hispanic peoples from the Southwest after the conclusion of the Mexican War (1848). Land they had fished, hunted and farmed for three hundred years. Incidentally, the United States of America reinstated slavery in Texas once the lone star state left Mexico and joined the nation.
Isabella, a British slave ship brought the first 150 African slaves to Philadelphia in 1684. The Emancipation Proclamation procrastinated for another 180 years (1863). Slavery followed the frontier as far west as El Paso Texas.
So what’s going on? Alaska is profoundly beautiful, immensely large, and our last frontier. It’s a wonder without words. Its future is our future. After touring the 49th state, I realized Alaska remains a place, a location, a noun. As “the last frontier” morphs into a verb we need to open the door to American equality, and close the door to “American exceptionalism.”
On the continental forty-eight states exceptionalism for some meant marginalization for others. We all need universal health care, equality under the law, and a living wage irregardless of race, color or creed. We must provide and promote life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all. Simply stated we need to share. So rather than exceptionalism for some, I vote for equality for all.
Hopefully Alaska will remain forever wild and a wonder that words can’t express. But we need to open the doors to equality for all Americans if we want an exceptional life. Truly, that’s America’s last frontier.
If that’s not nice I don’t know what is.