Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Fifteen years ago, I was looking for a new job when an old college professor I stayed in touch with encouraged me to apply for a spot at the Los Angeles Times. We had a mutual acquaintance -- a fellow editor I had once worked with for a year or two -- who was on staff there and looking to make a hire. In other words, I had an “in” at a big-name paper.
My old professor was caught a bit off guard when I told him I wasn’t interested. Not in the Times, not in L.A., not in Southern California. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about a “career move” if it meant living in a hot, smoggy, overcrowded shit hole. Life’s too short.
Instead, I managed to get a job in a town so funky, even its residents make fun of its dark winters, its shabby architecture and its obsession with duct tape and the Subaru wagons it holds together. It may have been a questionable career move, but it was one of the best life moves I’ve ever made.
The view in this quickie iPhone photo reminded me how lucky I am to have just marked the 15th anniversary of the move from my once beloved Santa Fe to this goofy town I plan to never leave. I get to see (and dodge) big critters on many rides; I don’t have to choke on fumes unless I’m riding too close to the burrito eater in front of me; and there’s a fun and growing bike culture full of cool people.
Best of all, I get to ride home while looking at views like this one.
Happy anniversary, Alaska.