Getting Better.
A little over 20 years ago I was in the middle of the Saudi Arabian desert at Prince Sultan Airbase, living in a tent. This was a few months after they blew up Khobar Towers, and the whole shebang keeping Saddam in his box was moved from Dhahran out to a place where there really was nothing to blow up except sand, scorpions, and snakes.
We lived in a giant complex of tents next to the airfield. They were kinda air-conditioned, except the overloaded power cables would blow up every day as soon as it got hot. It wasn't great for those of us that worked nights, as it would go from 90F to 130F in less than a minute. I would usually get dressed and go to work, because the power on that side was more reliable. Giant sandstorms like something out of The Scorpion King would kick up every now and again, usually immediately after you walked out of the shower tent. A couple tents down from mine, two guys got bitten by sand vipers attracted by mice living under the floorboards.
Don't get me wrong, compared to the Army guys living out in holes in the desert, we had it extremely good. Nothing summed up my reasons for joining the Air Force rather than the Army better. Still, I can think of a lot more pleasant places I've been.
We used to make decks on the fronts of the tents with scrap pallet wood, just because there was nothing else to do when we weren't working, eating, or trying to sleep. Some guys got extremely creative with theirs, throwing themselves into the project and competing for the title of best deck. Ours was more modest, but certainly serviceable. The camo netting kept the sun off you while allowing a breeze through, and the benches were comfortable enough. It was all about making things a little better.
As Tent City was built up, every day you could notice things improving as you walked around (another popular way to kill time). Little touches here and there, representing countless man-hours of labor, designed to help make life suck just a little less. All you had to do is look for them.
This time of year in Anchorage is a lot like that. Every ride I see some improvement. Maybe that giant puddle has finally dried up. Maybe they swept the deep piles of gravel off of a section of shoulder, giving me an alternative to testing the patience of road raging drivers with someplace important to be five minutes ago. I'll still do it, but it's nice to have the option.
That's one of the many ways riding outside is vastly superior to the trainer- things change. This time of year, they change fast, and it's usually for the better.
All you have to do is look for it.
We lived in a giant complex of tents next to the airfield. They were kinda air-conditioned, except the overloaded power cables would blow up every day as soon as it got hot. It wasn't great for those of us that worked nights, as it would go from 90F to 130F in less than a minute. I would usually get dressed and go to work, because the power on that side was more reliable. Giant sandstorms like something out of The Scorpion King would kick up every now and again, usually immediately after you walked out of the shower tent. A couple tents down from mine, two guys got bitten by sand vipers attracted by mice living under the floorboards.
Don't get me wrong, compared to the Army guys living out in holes in the desert, we had it extremely good. Nothing summed up my reasons for joining the Air Force rather than the Army better. Still, I can think of a lot more pleasant places I've been.
We used to make decks on the fronts of the tents with scrap pallet wood, just because there was nothing else to do when we weren't working, eating, or trying to sleep. Some guys got extremely creative with theirs, throwing themselves into the project and competing for the title of best deck. Ours was more modest, but certainly serviceable. The camo netting kept the sun off you while allowing a breeze through, and the benches were comfortable enough. It was all about making things a little better.
As Tent City was built up, every day you could notice things improving as you walked around (another popular way to kill time). Little touches here and there, representing countless man-hours of labor, designed to help make life suck just a little less. All you had to do is look for them.
This time of year in Anchorage is a lot like that. Every ride I see some improvement. Maybe that giant puddle has finally dried up. Maybe they swept the deep piles of gravel off of a section of shoulder, giving me an alternative to testing the patience of road raging drivers with someplace important to be five minutes ago. I'll still do it, but it's nice to have the option.
That's one of the many ways riding outside is vastly superior to the trainer- things change. This time of year, they change fast, and it's usually for the better.
All you have to do is look for it.
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