Jim put the traveling pearls around my neck. Reluctantly, I threw the last of our stuff into the Sprinter rather than careful placement of earlier days in the new cabinet and underbed drawers. Quite a difference from last year’s bare naked Sprinter. We were already three days and three hours late. It was time to go.
Jim placed a large bag of smelly garbage in the Sprinter. We would drop off at the dump on the way out of town. Unfortunately, new winter hours said closed Sunday. Off to the next dump. Closed. Back on the highway headed for Anchorage. Surely there would be a dumpster along the way, rest stops probably. All dumpsters had disappeared. Some rest stops boarded even the Canyon Creek stop. Jim getting stressed as we neared Anchorage. I checked the dumps on my phone. Closed.
Now I am feeling a little like Arlo Guthrie in Alice’s Restaurant who tried to dump his trash on Thanksgiving Day. I know if we “littered” they would find two pieces of paper at the bottom of the bag with Jim’s and my name on them. They would take Jim to jail and deport me for moral turpitude.
Checking closing times on my phone, we still needed to get to the pharmacy, then Costco diesel and then Cabela’s for Jim’s boots (I packed my red rubber ones). Surely someone would have a Dumpster. He dropped me at the pharmacy and drove around the back. Nothing. Driving to Cabela’s, eyes intent. Nothing. Jim got his boots, knowing his habits, I reminded him he could NOT keep the box. Saw giant dumpster behind the store. Too tall and closed.
Off to the recycle center to drop off the plastic not accepted in Nikiski…a can, Cabela’s box and a newspaper.
Time for dinner and growing more desperate. Surely we would be turned back at the Canadian border being told politely “We welcome Syrian refugees but not American trash.”
Resigned, we went for dinner at _________. It was delicious. More importantly, there were thee large open dumpsters in the shadows behind the restaurant.