Monday, July 22, 2013


Michelle took this pix. No idea who, how, or what it is, but it seems fitting for assailants on a bike path.

The fear and intense feeling behind the voice issuing this warning reminded me of my Grandfather's shouted declaration in the mid-1950's, "Put Down That Pitchfork!" But, my Grandfather was deep in sleep, dreaming about an encounter with a sizable farm animal.

But tonight the heralderer of this warning was a Native American, 30-something woman who was breathless, verging on panic, and desperately in need of a light for her cigarette. 

Michelle and I are not in the habit of carrying cigarette lighters, not exactly first on our list of on-the-bike-emergency tools, unless you're camping and hoping to build a fire, but not from tinder. While Michelle tended to the distraught woman, I started re-routing us away from the DON'T GO DOWN THERE 1.75 mile remote multi-use path that would connect us to the 3.5 mi multi-use path back to Barry and Joyce's house. 

The woman reported several males had attempted to assault her in the woods. Now it shouldn't be so hard to re-route to the Weisses via surface streets except that a) it was 10:45 p.m. and we had just returned from Seward by train (but it was still very light out), b) we were tired, c) we had never ridden in Anchorage and didn't have a clue where we were, where we were going, and how the city streets all fit together. We did have our GPS enabled iPhones, but for whatever reason I navigated us through several miles of wrong directions and turns resulting in it taking us twice as long and twice as many miles to get home.

Home at last

Glad the woman escaped her assailants and hoping she's on the emotional mend. 

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