TURNAGAIN MUD FLATS | YONDER JOURNAL | 3 . 14 . 14

"THE ROAD SOUTH OF ANCHORAGE IS DRAWN LIKE A BLADE BETWEEN SEA AND MOUNTAIN. We were speeding along it. Don grinning as he gunned it through a rain-slick curve and told me his tale. He wound up in Alaska because a friend had told him fantastic stories: land up here for the taking, squatter’s rights to dream of, a lavish minimum wage. Don and this buddy, who in the time it took them to plan the trip had gone and acquired a family, drove up from Nebraska in a full Winnebago, with Don’s BMW motorcycle hitched to the back. A sharp turn, a slick road, and the bike, his get-a-away, was dashed against a wall of rock and ruined. The stories weren’t true. The promises broke. Stunned at a payphone in Anchorage, Don hung up too proud to dial the numbers and ask the favors that could get him home."

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