That's all there is

I'd dreaded this day, not just because I'd be going home, but also because I was worried about how I would handle it.  Three years ago, when it was time to say goodbye, I was distraught.  My friend and I still joke about how I was inconsolable at the thought of leaving, how I burst into tears as we drove around Anchorage that morning, and all that.

But this year, it didn't happen.  There's a reason, and I'll get to that in due course.  Anyway, I took my bath and packed my bags, made sure everything was accounted for, and waited for the day to begin.  There had been talk of a meet-up with my friend's wife at lunchtime, and I was hoping that would come to pass.

But then the phone rang about 8 a.m.  That wasn't good.  I could hear my friend having a rather detailed discussion about a technical problem. Yep, the real world had intruded.  My friend was not very happy about it, not only because he'd had plans for that day, but also because he was officially on vacation.  When he was done on the phone, he told me we'd be heading into Anchorage a little early because he had to go by the office and deal with this issue.

The lunch plans got scrapped, and instead we went by my friend's place of employment.  I took a seat in his office and minded my own beeswax while he went into the equipment room and installed some new tubes on the UNIVAC or whatever it was he had to do.  When that was done, we went to lunch at a really good Japanese restaurant.  I managed to use chopsticks without looking like a (total) klutz.  Your victories are where you can get them.

From there, we drove over to the airport.  But not to the terminal just yet; there was still some time.  Instead, we went to the Alaska Aviation Heritage Museum by Lake Hood.  It's not the largest museum or the shiniest, but it's a great museum, not to be missed.  This doesn't begin to scratch the surface, but some pictures:

I used to watch these fly out of Anchorage.  One of my fondest memories is of a morning six years ago when we watched one of these (perhaps this very one) do a post-maintenance four-engine run-up not fifty yards from where we were. Now Northern Air Cargo's DC-6s are history.

Remains of the Douglas World Cruiser "Seattle."  Of obvious interest to anyone who has the old Williams Bros. kit.

I'm seriously thinking of putting this sign over my office door.

Lowell Thomas Jr.'s Helio Courier.  (You probably know of his dad, but Junior's led quite the life of his own.)

Just like a certain 747, not even a DC-6 can escape the tax man. 

The Mudhen.  One of Alaska Airlines' 737-200 Combi aircraft, outfitted with a gravel kit to let her operate from unimproved runways.  She carried cargo up front and people in the rear.  Years ago I had a chance to fly on one, but didn't take up the offer.  Now I wish I had.

You know you've been used a lot when your doublers have doublers.

One rescued PBY.  Just needs a little work.

A couple of Cessnas parked near the PBY.  It's impossible for me to describe the multiple layers of longing that scene makes me feel.  (No, I didn't take that picture thinking "Windows wallpaper for work computer."  Why do you ask such silly questions?)

Next door is Rust's Flying Service.  There's no shortage of interesting hardware there, but when we were walking around the outdoor exhibits, we heard this beast roaring along the adjacent taxiway.  And then we saw it.  The Otter sounds as evil as it looks with turbo power, but, oh, man, what an airplane. When I saw it parked there, I told my friend to stop for a moment because I was having a Moment Of Geek and needed to take a picture.

Unfortunately, soon it was time to head to the terminal.  We took one last look around.  There was an American 777 parked at the end of the International terminal, not something you see often in Anchorage.  We wondered what the story was.  (Later, we found out.)

But the time had come.  And I didn't cry.  Instead, my friend and I laughed, embraced, made jokes.  I told him defiantly, "Make sure this place don't go nowhere.  I'll be back real soon."  And I meant it. That's what made this time different: knowing Alaska is mine, any time I want it.  All I have to do is go online, book a ticket (which is surprisingly affordable), and it's mine.  Last time, I felt grief.  This time, I felt I'd conquered something.

Alaska used to make me cry with longing.  Now, it makes me go, "Hot diggety damn!  When do I get to do it again?"  (If I'm lucky, it'll be sooner than ever.  Stay tuned on that.)