TSA-approved shenanigans. And some that might not be.

Happy New Year!

Jess and I have been busy, juggling time with family with working on Velda, making toys, and generally figuring out what the heck we're doing. I headed back to Juneau to see my folks, friends, and mountains in early December, and although the snow wasn't the deepest or fluffiest while I was there, I managed to see some of the most stunningly beautiful views I've ever experienced, and summited two of my favorite mountains – several times each. On my circuitous journeys between Wisconsin and Alaska, I passed through: Chicago, IL; Omaha, NB; Seattle, WA; Ketchikan, AK; Seattle again, Minneapolis, MN; and Detroit, MI. I had all sorts of entertaining airport shenanigans, including having my carry-on searched twice, getting patted down in security in every airport except Ketchikan, and even getting a private-room pat-down in Seattle. Although I got some great ones in Juneau, the only decent photo I took along the way was coming into Chicago (but the memories of there and back again will last a lifetime...)

Chicago from above, way too early in the morning.

East Chutes, Eaglecrest Ski Area. Looking north.

Hilda Peak, Douglas Island (above Eaglecrest Ski Area). Looking west, Admiralty Island to the southwest visible at left.

Approaching Hilda Peak.

Admiralty Island - Kootsnoowoo (Fortress of the Bears)

Hilda Peak with my ski buddies Reid and Paul. Miss you guys.

I stayed with my parents for my first and last nights in town, but due to some technical snafus which eliminated the car I had hoped to use during my visit, I needed to stay closer to town for the rest of my trip so that I could get business things done. Luckily, my friend and ski buddy Reid Harris opened his home and wood shop in downtown Juneau to me for the duration of my trip. Reid co-owns and crafts furniture for Northern Edge Craftworks, so his (heated!) shop was more than prepared for the final assembly of a flock of dragons and dinosaurs.

Flock of dragons and dinosaurs after final assembly, Northern Edge Craftworks, Juneau, AK

The view I grew up with: Fritz Cove. Looking westish, Douglas Island to the left, Spuhn Island to the right, Admiralty Island barely visible in the middle.

The view in downtown Juneau isn't so bad either. Looking down-channel (southeast); Mt. Roberts (mainland) visible at left, Mt. Jumbo (Douglas Island) visible at right.

Moving from the comfort and community of my home town and residence for the last dozen years to an entirely new region of the country, where I not only know almost no-one, but live ten minutes from the 1,000-person town which I'm ostensibly a resident of, has been a rather shocking experience. I'm used to knowing all my neighbors, and to seeing them nearly every day. I spent years walking my ten-block commute, and could often tell the time of day by who I encountered where as I walked through Juneau's tiny downtown. Living surrounded by people whom I've known for a decade or more, many for over thirty years; waving at or saying hello and exchanging pleasantries with more people I passed than not. Never being anonymous.

Now, I find myself detached from that reality, living a life which is, in many ways, more remote than even my childhood off -the-road system in Alaska. And yet the dell in which I dwell has become home to me in many ways. Cross-country skiers glide down the loop beyond our driveway as we work on Velda; coyotes and their calls surround us in the night; Orion leaning into the pull of his bow takes the dominant place in the sky, while the Great Bear lumbers low, hibernating below treeline as I pass a winter much farther south than I am accustomed; turkeys more common than ravens, and much less personable than the greatest member of the Corvus clan.* The strange and wondrous experience of being in a new place and finding it both fascinating and familiar. Iconic silos, barns, and farmhouses dot the landscape, church steeples reach above the oak, pine, and walnut woods which separate fields and nestle around meandering rivers. And as if just to make things weird enough for an Alaskan to feel at home in the midwest, the property we're living on is part of the Iola Ski Club, which has miles of cross-country skiing and ski-jumping; it's populated by articulated wooden figures such as the 12' "Hiking Man" on the Ice Age Trail (which bisects the property); and it was the site of the Iola Rock Fest, the one-year anniversary/reunion of Woodstock - and even if you've never heard of it (I never had), it happened here...

Iola Ski Club - our private trail system when there's no snow

No...no, thank you, but no. Iola Winter Sports Club.

Hiker Man. Thanks for keeping the landscape fun, Donny!

Yes, that says Chuck Berry, Ted Nugent, AND Ravi Shankar.

The living area at the house has been taken over by sheets, piles, strips, and chunks of cloth in vibrant hues and patterns, teddy bears multiplying under Jess' ministrations. I even took a few uncomfortably cold days (negative temperatures exacerbated by wind) to refresh my sewing memory and crafted a couple of bears: a much more comfortable undertaking than working outside in sub-zero temperatures.

Other than one cold snap, it's been unseasonably warm, and the majority of my time is spent working on Velda or researching the remaining (and ever-more detailed) questions we have about what exactly we're supposed to do. The day that we installed the last exterior wall panel inserts where we had removed the original school bus windows was joyous indeed, and followed closely (finally!) by removing the Ricon wheelchair lift and installing nearly all of the floor insulation and new sub-floor. Jess' brother, Ben (that never gets confusing), helped me get the lift out before Jess even realized what we were doing. It was a relief to have it out without any smashed fingers or toes, or worse.

Jess rounding the corner and realizing that we'd already removed the lift.

Physical hurdles aside, registration of a converted school bus is generally considered to be one of the most difficult and frustrating aspects of owning a skoolie (what people who own these things call them). In preparation for our requisite State Highway Patrol inspection, I called the local field office and spoke with Inspector S--, who recommended that I not install the wood stove until after the inspection, and informed me that the conversion did not have to be complete for him to sign off on it: the bus just can't have the stop arm, flashing lights, or yellow paint job that identify it as a school bus any more, with working brake/turn/driving lights. And I imagine that we'll need to replace the rear door before a state inspector will sign off on her road-worthiness. So with the minor hurdles of installing and connecting new running and rear lights and figuring out how to attach a (cut-to-size) residential door to a school bus frame ahead of us, we are within striking distance of getting Velda registered as a Recreational Vehicle!

A few days after receiving this happy news, we were offered positions as Camp Hosts on the Mirror Lake Scenic Highway in northeastern Utah. Which means that we now have a hard deadline for when we need to be on the road; luckily, it is months after we intend to be capable of living in Velda. Which is probably a good thing, considering that we've been insulating and applying new sub-floor, but otherwise she looks like a gutted school bus inside.

Jess laying the groundwork for everything to come.

Although installing them isn't our highest priority right now, we received our custom-made, reclining, 360-degree spinning seats, right on schedule at seven weeks from the date of order. Constructed to our specifications in California by shop4seats.com at a price that I considered surprisingly low, I look forward to a much more comfortable ride than the original bus seat provided.

Since drafting the paragraphs above, I've been focusing (with mixed success) on installing the rear door and building a box for our generator to live in. Both are turning out to be much trickier than I had hoped, or even guessed. The flashing around the door is working well; that is, flushing out corners and making the doorway look like a doorway. Unfortunately, the material behind the flashing, a combination of heavy-gauge steel and sheet metal in various configurations, simply won't take a screw well enough to hold a hinge. I've broken at least four drill bits and nearly a dozen sheet-metal screws of various sizes trying to hang the hinges, and aside from making a tremendous mess of things, I've made no real progress on installing the door.

The generator box, which needs to be strong enough to hold (suspended below the bus) a couple hundred pounds of generator, is thankfully coming along better than the rear door. It's constructed of two layers of 5/8” CDX (exterior rated) plywood on each face, with angle brackets reinforcing it both inside and out. The exterior brackets are set into the plywood to keep a flush surface upon which I can mount sheet-metal to cover the box. At this point it is nearly built, with only four more exterior brackets and three strips of reinforcing metal to install inside the box before I put the last side on, clad it in metal, cut in the door, and figure out how to attach it to the bus (the box in the first photo below goes in the hole along the bottom edge of the bus in the second photo). You know, just a few minor details to attend to.

I also worked on installing conduit for our electrical wiring today, as well as clambering around under Velda and removing the last wires and relay which previously powered the wheelchair lift. And with that I wash my hands of construction for the day. If we receive the three to six inches of snow that are predicted tonight, I'll take the day off tomorrow too and go skiing. Granite Peak Ski Resort, located on Rib Mountain (yes, that confuses me too), may only have 750' of vertical but the snow has been fast and carvable**, and with another foot of snow many of the tree runs and “rock gardens” (which are actually labeled as such on the trail map) will be skiable. 

750' vertical, 500 snow guns...that's one gun per 1.5 vertical feet of mountain. And it shows.

We're teaming up with Jess' mom Jane, the miraculous glazier behind Mudder's Place pottery, to put together an etsy store that will feature Jane's quilts, Jess' bears and other fabrications, and my wooden toys (and once I know what I'm doing, my bears too!). We just had to get enough stock together to have an etsy store's worth of merchandise, but we'll be spending some time in the photo booth this week and should have the store up and running in a week or two. Now if I can just stop being obsessed with making progress on Velda for a minute...

Until next time, safe travels and playful journeys my friends.

Ben

*Yes, this is a totally arbitrary statement, and my bias is showing. I base it on my own proclivity for watching and interacting with ravens, and the historical regard of many peoples for this most-intelligent of birds. In Southeast Alaska, the Tlingit and Haida peoples regard Raven as a powerful force who does not create the world, but is certainly responsible for many attributes of its shape. The sun, moon, and stars live in the sky because of his trickery, and watching ravens play with the world around them makes this seem like a reasonable proposition, as creation myths go. But since this blog isn't about ravens or Raven, I'll just recommend this story and this article.

**"Carver", a double-black diamond (Experts Only) run which I skied last week for the first time (it had just opened), is groomed. If you know what I'm talking about, you appreciate the irony here.