No Fireworks, No Problem.

Independence Day is one of my favorite days of the year.  Up here, of course, the classic celebration is not possible because it doesn't get dark until the end of the month.  (Not that it keeps people from trying--the 3rd to the 5th of July is persistently punctuated with rockets and other things that glimmer and boom.)

I don't do fireworks anyway, both because of the lack of darkness and because I grew up in Arizona, where they are synonymous with wildfires.  Usually we just do a quick read of the Declaration of Independence and eat some fried chicken.  This year I packed my oldest four minions into the truck and headed down to Glacier View.  Glacier View is a tiny little census-designated place of approximately 230 people about halfway down the Glenn Highway between Anchorage and Valdez, and every year they mark Independence Day by driving cars off a cliff. 

'Murica.

The way I heard it, this whole thing started fifteen years ago with a couple of friends who got drunk on Independence Day and on a whim decided to drive one of their old beater cars off the cliff. It went over so well, they did it again the next year.  The year after that they added a barbecue.  Soon, it was a local community event, and just continued to spiral until it became what it is today--a couple thousand people who get together and eat fried food and watch vehicular destruction.

This was a trip I'd been looking forward to for a long time.  I made campground reservations in February.  It was supposed to be a huge family trip, with ziplining and a trip to Homer following the car-smashing, but Rick was delayed overseas and was still in quarantine when the 4th rolled around.  After canceling some things and rescheduling what I could, I left the two smalls with him, waved a heartfelt goodbye from six-feet away, and drove off at 6 in the morning.

Now, I love driving the Richardson.  It's a beautiful highway.  You drive through the Alaska and Chugach Mountain ranges, past the Tanana, Gulkana, and Susitna Rivers and a thousand rocky streams. Wildflowers break up the thick green of summer with flashes of magenta and cerulean.  There are always moose.  For a stretch between Glennallen and Paxon, you feel like you're driving at the top of the world because all of Alaska stretches out below the road.

For those of you who remember me talking about the winter hike to Castner Glacier, this is Castner Creek in the summer.

We didn't get pictures of any of the moose, but we did manage a quill-shot of the porcupine.

It was a great drive as always.  We saw four moose, a porcupine, several hares, an eagle, and assorted gulls as we rocked out to an eclectic playlist and ate junk food.  I was reminded how much I really like my girls--they're funny, clever, decent singers and good travelers.  The only low points were a couple of girls getting a little carsick and the fact that the Richardson needs a couple more roadside rest stops. 

Seriously.  If you know someone at the Alaska MVD, pass it on.

We pulled into Glacier View just before noon.  The festivities didn't start until 2, but I wanted to make sure we had time to park and get a spot without fighting crowds.  It was a good thing, too.  The parking lot was already half-full, with a continuous line of cars snaking down the rather steep road behind us.  

After parking, we masked and sunscreened and bugpsrayed, then carted our chairs and hand sanitizer through the dusty woods to the already hustling site.  The event takes place down in a valley and backs right up to the river.  For the conservationists in the audience, the car wreckage was contained by the cliff, with a berm of dirt between the cars and the audience and the river; furthermore, the cars have had their windows removed and are drained of all fluids except the barest requirements necessary to reach their final destination.  As for me, I was really glad that I had not brought the two smallest; it would have been exhausting chasing them back from the fast-flowing river and keeping them entertained during the hot hours before cars started flying.

We ran into some unexpected friends from Fairbanks and joined their crew in a posh and socially distanced spot.  The girls immediately scattered between the handful of food trucks and came back fifteen minutes later with a whole pizza, sodas sweating in the heat, and several ice cream cones.  Then the waiting started.  Some of the girls' good humor faded a little as the temperature crept toward 80 degrees, but they managed to not to completely destroy my goodwill toward them.

One of my friend's littles, happily coloring in a bush.

Several of the doomed cars were set out for observation and vandalism, so we dutifully marked our presence in red and blue felt-tip on the hoods.  There was a certain flavor to the growing crowd--stars and stripes were in abundance, and more men were walking around in booty shorts, coveralls, and onesies than should be legally allowed. The shoes of choice seemed to be Extratuffs and cowboy boots. Patriotic-themed country music blasting over the speaker system.  Lots of dogs, ranging from tiny purse-rats to blinged-out mankillers.  A couple of Mennonites and Russians added an interesting counterpoint.

Waaaaaaay too much of this going around.

At 2, things got quiet as they opened with a prayer.  This was followed by the national anthem; the singer was joined by a couple of members of the audience at first, then a few more, and by the end the whole crowd--every color and creed--was roaring the words.  It was humbling and invigorating and just incredible.  The United States and Alaska flags were carried overhead by a couple of zipliners, followed by some fireworks that flashed dimly against the brilliant sky.

Then the fun started.  11 cars met their doom that day.  Guided by rails, they shot off the ledge and smashed down the hill to thunderous whoops and applause. The last, an old truck added to the lineup at the last minute, tore completely in half as it rolled. 

It. was. AWESOME.

When the last car met its dusty, battered fate at 3:30, we packed up and carted our chairs and hand sanitizer back to the truck, where we cranked up the air conditioning and waited our turn to join the queue of cars winding back up the steep road.  I was reminded of how smart it was to arrive early--many people were walking well over a mile uphill back to their cars.  With a little retrospection, the girls appreciated it, too. 

There were still hours left in the day, so after checking into our nearby campground and putting up our giant tent, we took our friends' advice and went to Matanuska Glacier.  It was down another steep, narrow road marked with multiple "Danger" signs and a couple of wooden bridges that were luckily stronger than they looked.  We took the self-guided tour, and spent a happy two hours scrambling through silt and over scree-covered ice.  It was incredible, listening to the water running down twenty-foot crevasses between our feet. The girls were in love, even though I insisted on talking about moraines and erosion. 

Naturally, a couple of the savages tried running barefoot over 10,000 year old ice; they eventually realized they made bad choices and put their shoes back on.  Jane fell several times and cut her palm.  She handled it like a champ, though, especially with help from Leah and a Macguyvered ice-pack made from an empty water bottle and some cold glacier water.

That is all ice under the rock.

This is on the way back to the car after Leah lost her shoe in ankle-deep silt.

A neat little cairn or inuksuk that someone had left by the glacier.

Back at camp we ate fish and chips and a sky-high-brownie at the campground cafe, then retired to our campsite for a dessert of sooty marshmallows.  It apparently just wasn't Jane's day; while reloading her toasting fork she burned her other hand.  She was so tough.  Brenna came to the rescue this time, with some pain-relieving benzocaine gel from her braces-kit. 

I've been a little emotional moving out of the small-children stage of my life, but camping with my older girls gave me some glimpse of the perks of older kids.  They got themselves ready for bed, set up their own sleeping bags, listened calmly while I read from our Enchanted Forest Chronicles book, and WENT TO BED even with the sky still bright at 11.  (Of course, it's a distinct possibility that they might have just been exhausted--goodness knows the kids next to us were old enough to do better and still didn't shut up for another mouthy hour.  It was still a wonderful evening.)

These are all views from our campsite.  It made my heart happy.

These are cranberry flowers, if you've never seen them.  I hadn't.

The next day we woke up at a reasonable time and had an unremarkable (but beautiful) drive home.  It was a good adventure in what is likely to be our last Alaskan summer for a couple of years until Rick retires.  One of the hardest parts of the military is knowing your time anywhere starts counting down as soon as you arrive.  We've been lucky enough to have not one, but two extra years up here.  We may be counting down, but we're going to do our best to make it worth remembering.  Summer's not over yet.