I landed in Anchorage late morning on July 5th. As I walked towards the baggage claim, I spotted a man with a thick white beard holding a sign that had my name on it. I knew little about him other than that he had volunteered to host me and Kailey. I would learn that Patrick, this retired local, is active in the cycling community and regularly teaches hot yoga. I came ready to express gratitude for the airport rides and a place to rest my head. Little did I know, though, I would be given much more.
Right away, Patrick asked if I was hungry and what errands I needed to run. I told him I needed to buy a few things at REI and drop off packages at the post office, but that I could take a Lyft. He quickly made a plan to shuttle me around and introduce me to folks at Revelate and the local bike shops. It seemed everyone in town knew him. He then took me to lunch and told me it was on him. It was a rule of sorts that his guests don't pay. His generosity throughout our time in Anchorage would continue to amaze me.
We talked about the local bike scene, and I asked about his current position as a hot yoga instructor. I learned that Sarah Palin's sister regularly attends his classes, and occasionally Sarah herself will travel from her suburban home to the big city to get her sweat on. He invited me to his class later that evening. I had never taken a hot yoga class, mostly because I thought few things sounded worse, but I figured this was as good of a time as any to explore how much sweat my body could emit.
The class seemed like what one should expect when a bunch of people stretch and engage their core in a closed room heated to 102 degrees. By that I mean it smelled, bringing me slight nausea with each breath. Sweat dripped from everyone's bodies. My skin was so slippery with sweat that holding certain positions seemed to require twice the strength. Not only did I probably look ridiculous because of my inability to hold certain poses, but I also stood out next to the array of skin-tight lululemon attire in my baggy mountain biking shorts and quick dry t-shirt. At certain points I just wanted to run out of the room, questioning why people paid to hang out in such heat when I had just fled the approaching 100 degree temperatures everyone dreaded in Utah. But I stayed, and afterwards felt that refreshing calm that people tell you about but you have a hard time believing while enduring the pain.
After the class, I arrived at the house to a plate of pasta with pine nuts, dried cranberries, and zucchini made by Patrick's wife, Tina. I soon learned of Tina's resourcefulness, from her ability to throw together seemingly unrelated ingredients to make culinary masterpieces to her creative "upcycling" that included saving pasta water to use in her homemade sourdough and ironing old plastic bags together to make liners for drawers. She's part of a "buy nothing" Facebook group and also takes care of a beautiful garden full of aromatic lilacs and chickens with names such as Ivanka. She manages to do all this while working as one of the leading gynecologists in Anchorage, biking in the summer and nordic skiing in the winter, and regularly attending a gym class called The Ovarians. The gym class name came from her cross country ski team. They decided to keep the name to scare away young men from attending.
The next morning I sipped tea from a mug Tina got in Japan before heading with her to The Ovarians class. The mug had slight imperfections, giving it character that she told me the Japanese refer to as "wabi sabi." She called her garden "wabi sabi" or "perfectly imperfect."
The Ovarians class was attended by mostly older, grey-haired ladies who came to the class to keep their strength up for cross country skiing or hiking in the Chugach Mountains that hug the city to the east. The class instructor was a young, buff black guy from Florida who radiated kindness. The only other somewhat young person in the gym was a daughter of one of the regulars. She said, "I haven't worked out since before I was pregnant. My kid is one- and-a-half." When Tina told the instructor I was about to bike 1,000 miles across Alaska, he responded, "I haven't even driven 1,000 miles in Alaska." Throughout the class, people complained about the heat, as outside temperatures reached nearly 80 degrees. I often responded with laughter, thinking about the high 90s I left behind in Salt Lake and the 100 plus temps I biked in last summer. High 70s felt dream-like.
When we returned to the house, Tina warmed up some leftover pie she made from the rhubarb plants taking over her front yard. If I had to describe my time in Anchorage in few words, I would say "well-fed." In between eating homemade meals and going out to Tina and Patrick's favorite spots in town, I organized our dehydrated meals and the abundance of donated GU products and Trail Butter into packages for different segments of the ride. Tina offered me some boxes, including one that originally carried packaged speculums. "I'd been saving it for a special occasion," she said. I laughed and took the box with gratitude.
Kailey arrived at the airport late that night, the sun just starting to set as midnight approached. When we embraced, we laughed as we realized we were wearing nearly identical outfits due to our donated Patagonia apparel. Now that we were together, the trip felt real for the first time.
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