Opening my eyes, I closed them again quickly. I glanced at my clock, amazed that I'd actually slept until 8:00, and then toward my window, squinting at the bright yellow light streaming through. As my eyes grew accustomed, I was able to see blue holes in the clouds. It wasn't raining! My first thought was that I was going for a bike ride.
I wandered downstairs, heated up a cup of coffee and gazed out the picture window at the fog hanging over the opposite side of the bay. My plan was to ride out Dayville Road to Allison Point, a 13 mile round trip from my house. Since it was only 48 degrees and quite foggy, I thought I'd wait a bit before I set out. Impatience got the better of me, however, and by 9:30 I was underway, wondering once again if I should splurge on a pair of cycling tights to supplement my small wardrobe of shorts.
By the time I reached Lowe River, I'd warmed up enough to take off my jacket. I was enjoying the foggy views and stopped to take a couple of pictures of the mists hanging over the Alyeska terminal and the river. The Petro Star refinery looked like a post-modern castle in the fog, the flames of the cracking tower sending out a signal to friends and foes.
As I continued, I was pleased that my legs weren't protesting the recent weeks of rain-induced inactivity. Although my bum would protest mightily, I knew that if I wanted to just keep riding for days and weeks, I would be able.
I was simply enjoying the morning as I rolled past the VFDA salmon hatchery and encountered that singular combination that defines Valdez in the fall: the stench of rotting salmon overlaid by the screeching of hundreds, thousands of gulls. I wonder what they're saying during their screaming conversations. Is it really just "Mine!" over and over, as Pixar would have us believe, or is there more meaning there?
Pedaling on, I was pleased that there were no tourists parked on or otherwise blocking the bike path, begging me to chastise them. The closer I got to Allison Point the more I saw, a few watching the salmon piled up at the hatchery weir while others tried their luck with a rod and reel. My nose enjoyed passing by the few cooking their breakfasts out of the back of their cars.
Finally, I reached the end and had to turn back toward home, now facing into the clouds massing in the east over Thompson Pass. As I pedaled, I noted visual signs of fall in addition to the cool morning temperature and lingering fog. Passing once again by the flats exposed by the falling tide, it was impossible to ignore the rusts, umbers, golds and browns of the grasses. Beautiful, but unwelcome nonetheless.
Still no bears in the spot where I'd seen sows and cubs a couple of weeks ago. With no wildlife to photograph, I settled for one last stop to capture a favorite boulder backed by a small waterfall on the other side of the road. Keep your eyes open wide and there are visual delights to be found in even the most mundane spots.
My timing was perfect. By the time I'd gotten back home and taken a shower a light sprinkle had started to fall. It doesn't look like the downpour will begin again quite yet; my spirit is glad of the respite.
