Around mid February while having a pretty sweet winter in Hakuba, llyon and I agreed it was time to organize a spring trip. We’d always wanted to go on a Norway boat trip, but I had just gotten fired from my job and Lee wasn’t exactly rolling in the cash with a five-figure salary (including decimals). We agreed we both missed bacon and beer a lot, so where should we go? I’ll tell you where.
Someplace cold. A place where the beer flows like wine. Where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano. I’m talking about a little place called Alaska. And yes, we can now both attest the French are assholes.
We purchased an rv from a rental company with an agreement they would buy it back if all was in good condition for about $2,000 less. The drive to Thompson pass in late March was one of the most terrifying I’ve ever done, knowing if anything on the rv broke, we would be up the Richardson Highway, broke, and without an rv. With $45 collectively to our names, we somehow made it.
Neither of us had skied in Alaska before, so our “small and simple warm-up” objective the following day resulted in cursing, fatigue, awesomeness, getting “Chugached”. The term ‘Big Alaskan Women’ can refer to more than just the girls in this state. Her mountains are gorgeous behemoths that are not to be trifled with. The weather gods smiled upon us, allowing Lee and I to fall into a routine of slogging up and skiing down the velvety smooth, terrifyingly steep slopes this maiden had to offer.
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