When we land in Seattle it is raining. Big surprise, but as our plane lifts toward the heavens, the rain is left trailing behind and the sky becomes sorbet. A pink and orange glow bounces off the clouds that billow like massive cotton fluffs, towering into space in stacked, bruised columns. We race toward the sun and as Kristin falls asleep in my lap, I watch as night quickly retorts back to day. We catch the sun in all his glory and continue swiftly past him, into Anchorage. Kristin rises just as the captain preps us for landing, while massive shark fins slice through the clouds below us. These are the mighty peaks of the Chugach Range, and appear as terrifying beauties in the on-setting darkness. This is Alaska, and we have officially arrived.

The thing about Alaskans I've noticed, is that they seem to keep their spirits high. I mean to say, that they are truly friendly people. Take for instance Josh, our Dollar rental car rep. Not only does he let us split the cost of the car on three separate credit cards, he also waves the 24-and-under fee and upgrades us to a brand new Dodge Charger, red. This vehicle is amazing. While driving it, I feel like I can bulldoze through a building or a tree. Not that I want to, but I feel it's possible. We load the car up with our gear, call the folks, and hit the road toward our first hostel. On the way we stop for a tub of yogurt, a jug of water, and promptly fall into a deep sleep immediately upon arrival.

We wake bright and early, 6:30, and pack our things for the first adventure. As it turns out, the city of Anchorage is pretty tiny and pretty ugly. But it is situated directly beside some of the most glorious mountains one could ever hope to see. It sits in the shadows of these giants, which are like a massive wall, unbreakable and simply beautiful. We decide to bike the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail, but make a pit stop first to buy an "Ulu" knife. These knives were originally used by Alaskan natives, with a rounded blade which is placed into a bowl for quick slicing. As we pay for the knife, the phone rings. It's my father, wondering if we are okay and if we've been hurt. Clueless, I inquire as to why he is asking us such a question, and he responds with "A huge earthquake just hit 50 miles north of Anchorage, it's all over the news!". I stop and stare into space for a moment, befuddled, then look at the cashier and ask if she felt the quake. "Oh yeah, the whole building shook a few minutes ago", she replies, "but no need for concern, it happens all the time up here". Well there you have it folks, Alaskans, a tough breed for sure.

Now let it be noted that there were no less than ten major natural disasters which occurred in the six months before our arrival, including but not limited to a wild fire near the town of Homer, an ice flood in the town of Eagle, and a volcanic eruption on Mt. Redoubt. Apparently these things happen all the time in this place. With danger behind us, we head for the bike rental shop. The trail is eleven miles each way, and we are planning to do the whole thing. Gliding along the coast, we dip over hills and through tunnels, all the while blurring past giant mud flats from the low tide. We weave through a boreal forest and emerge to see what is known locally as the "sleeping lady", a bright mountain in the distance. Stopping for a moment's rest, we watch 747s cut through the air so close above us from the nearby airport that we hold our hands over our ears and duck out of fear.

Starting out on a good leg, this all seems like a dream, but about seven miles in, the left pedal and arm fall completely off my bike leaving us somewhat immobile. We are in the middle of nowhere practically and here I was with a bike that I would not be able to ride back. Kristin grabs her phone and dials the bike shop. After a few failed attempts, she makes a connection. The guy says he can meet us back about a mile in his truck, so we start backtracking on foot. Our rescuer arrives a while later and hauls us back, busted bikes and all, to the shop where he proceeds to reimburse us completely and shower us in apologies. We aren't too upset about it. After all, we did just get to bike seven miles on a beautiful route, and had plenty of laughs in the process.

Afterward, we are ravenously hungry, so we scout out a little pub and gorge ourselves on some of the best nachos I've had in my life. Kristin fills our hydration packs in the bathroom and we head out to hike a local mountain the bike shop owner has suggested. After a series of wrong turns, we wind unknowingly down a dirt road that leads to a residential cul-de-sac. Finally suspicious of having gone the wrong way, we roll down the window to ask a guy for directions. He is playing basketball in his driveway and when we mention that we are trying to find Flattop, he kind of giggles and proceeds to tell us we are nowhere near it, and that in fact, it is in the completely opposite direction. "But don't worry about Flattop", he says, " you should hike that mountain right over there" and then points to the towering range just behind us. "Park in the gravel at the end of this road, hop that fence, and head through those woods over there and you'll eventually see a small trail". Then he hops on his bike and leads us down to the gravel park he is referring to. Alaskans again, such friendly people.

So we head out on the trail, a group of local nurses and a black lab quickly catching up to us from behind. These ladies can hike fast, and they end up being our cheerleading squad. We begin the hike by descending down a narrow hillside covered in trees. The ground is soft and pungent with the smell of wet earth and healthy, hungry plant life. The trail seems as though it is made from piles and piles of old chipped tree innards, but it is strong beneath us. We reach a babbling "stream", which by all accounts is a small river. We can feel a cold current riding the back of the water as it comes flowing through the trees and down the smooth egg like rocks. A miniature version of an Indiana Jones bridge swings out over the water and we cross with great hesitation and care, for it doesn't seem to be the most stable thing. As we climb up through the tall lush treeline, we begin to realize what we are in for, as the trail quickly steepens to a quite rigorous level by my standards. Occasionally it will level out momentarily and we will sigh with relief, only to round the bend to another looming accent. As we finally peek our heads out from above the treeline, we begin to see remnants of the massive earthy slopes above us. Like giant piles of silt, they seem to hum a low tone. Warm and welcoming, and yet somehow unsettling, it is a song creation has been chanting for all eternity. Our hearts push us forward, devouring the scenic beauty with views that one could never describe in words or pictures. After about two hours of leg wrenching work, the trail disappears from view, and all that is left between us and the top is a staggering 80 degree rock scree. Together, we take in deep breaths and hurl ourselves upward, finally slumping over the top of the ridge. Our cheerleaders are already there, taking in the surrounding views. They applaud us and bestow gifts of clementines upon us. We eat them with gratitude and relief, and they then proceed to tell us that the real top is another thousand feet up a steep, rocky dome. We stare at one another in disbelief, but quickly resolve to charge forward on. We hold hands and take turns dragging one another up the incline, stopping to greet the few small creatures that hang out that high up. An arctic ground squirrel pops his head out and smiles a bright eyed and toothy grin at us before diving back inside the earth. We finally reach the summit, where the nurses are waiting yet again to greet us. Minutes later, they begin descending back down the mountain, leaving us there with the surrounding peaks, and views stretching as far as the eye can see.

It feels surreal, like nothing I have experienced thus far. They look like Fijian peaks jacketed in green moss, then crossbred with the Swiss Alps. I take my shirt off and feel the cold air sting my chest. We sit up there for a time, making echos that last a full second, regaining our strength and taking it all in, until the cold really begins setting in and we feel an erie sense of isolation. We suddenly begin to realize that we are alone on this mountain and that no one knows we are here. It feels amazing, and yet somewhat unsettling. Lifting ourselves from the rocky soil, we head back down, taking care not to move too quickly on the slippery, rocky slope. Once we hit the tree line, we begin spotting moose and bear scat around us, and start to fear crossing paths with something dangerous. I start singing to let the forest creatures know of our presence and Kristin quickly chimes in. By the time we hit the swinging bridge again, we have recited the entire Weezer Blue album, Billy Joel's The Stranger, and a few Disney songs to boot. We climb up through the forest again to higher land. When our rental car comes into view, we glance behind us at the mountain that we've just been graced with the opportunity to climb, and give each other sweaty high fives, grinning widely.