Conversation with Ed Warren the lower 48 after I found out my car would get up here sometime next week:

Ed: “so what are you driving now”

Me: “They put a saddle on a moose for me … I have a rental car, been in it for a couple weeks.”

Ed: “does it have blocks on the pedals?”

Me: “Nah, I just have to strap walrus pelts to my feet for extra length”

Ed: “figured”

Ed reminded me (as well as Chadd Creed last week) that I may have not be clear on some of the logistical problems I faced getting up here.  Since the time I interviewed with BP, I dreamed of doing the massive drive from Kansas to Alaska thru Canada.  I even bought me one of those “Big Bubba” coffee mugs so I can make one of the longer stretches wide awake.  But when the offer came down, I literally had days to get from Wichita to Anchorage, so a flight had to happen.

The relocation package, though, assumed that was going to happen anyway.  Part of the deal was shipping up my car.

When I say ship … I literally mean … ship … like a boat.

Last month, my car was picked up (in the parking lot at Cessna, to be exact) by a towing company onto a flatbed.  They made me clear out all personal belongs and tracked each and every ding, scratch, and chip.  The car was then moved to a transition station, where it was put on another truck and taken to Tacoma, Washington.  There it … well … it sat.  Sat for almost a month to be honest.  It was waiting for a spot on a boat, which seemed to be a tougher problem than they described to me originally.  Then this past Thursday, it got onto a boat.  The boat docks on Sunday, and after a few days to clear whatever it takes to clear a car, they will deliver it to me.  So within a week of when you read this (or if you are Alan Crumrine and don’t read the blog until days later … a week after you read this), I will have my car.

And I am ready for it.  There is still an edge to this transition that feels like a vacation.  Rental cars, rental apartments, restaurants, hiking, mountains, moose.  Take away the hours a day I spend staring at spread sheets and training courses, I would swear that I am just biding my time until I go home.

Well, got to run.  If I don’t get hopping onto Marty the Moose, I will never get to the grocery store and back again before Monday (dang thing makes up its own mind which way he wants to go to get there).