I don't know if you know this. It's so huge that Texas, Montana and California can fit inside of it. (Or something like that.) In fact, one of my favorite Tshirts proudly proclaimed, "Alaska -- pissing off Texas since 1959."
As such, I have HUGE stories from a truly HUGE adventure.
And I'm going to get to all of them. Eventually.
Right now I'm going to tell you that I'm still trying to get out from under the fog of sleeplessness, motion sickness patches, some version of whooping cough/tuberculosis/the plague that won't go away ...
You know, the vacation hangover.
Here's a few facts and figures to whet your appetite:
Number of miles covered in two weeks: More than 6300, via plane, train, ship, motorcoach, school bus, ATV, horse, tram and bicycle. Not to mention the miles we walked each day.
Variety of wildlife spotted: bald eagles, moose, caribou, sea otters, whales. OK, I didn't actually see the whole whale ... just the blow hole blowing. But Jim did. I also didn't see a bear, though he did.
Number of times we saw the infamously shy Mt. McKinley: Zero. A big, fat, wet, rainy zero ... much to my husband's chagrin.
Number of times I read a sign in a bathroom, restaurant, random hallway that said something akin to, "To help keep everyone healthy, please wash your hands with soap. Keep your hands under the running water for at least 20 seconds." 1,476. Give or take a dozen.
Number of times per day someone tried to get me to buy canned salmon: At least two.
Number of cute old men named Colonel from California I met (along with his wife Bunny) and fell in love with: One.
Talk to you later.
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