La Alaskeña

Anchorage has hundreds of miles of beautiful trails, but I hardly ever go out on them alone because I have a crippling fear of bears/moose/homeless people drunk on Listerine. This fear is not unfounded. People have run-ins with bears/moose/homeless people on Anchorage trails all the time. Last summer, the bears were in a state of revolt, attacking people right and left, opening front doors and making themselves comfortable in living rooms, looking for stale Twinkies in trash cans, seating themselves in restaurants and ordering Niçoise salad and Perrier.

I decided not to let some belligerent bears scare me out of a bike ride. I put on my helmet and sunscreen, and headed out. There’s a lovely park at the end of my neighborhood, which I was keen to photograph.

Beautiful, right? But peaceful? Not really. You see, I had failed to take into account Alaska’s tiniest yet most voracious carnivore: the mosquito. Stopping to take a photo was like advertising an all-you-can-suck mosquito buffet. I was immediately descended upon by swarms of the winged beasties, their buzzing a deafening roar. By the time I returned home, drained and covered with itchy bites, I was swooning from the loss of blood and in desperate need of a lukewarm oatmeal bath.

“Honey,” I said to Kurt. “Do me a favor and remind me not to go outside without bug-spray until at least November.”