Alaskan Seasons . . .

There’s a couple of old jokes that talk about various seasons in a northern climate. It’s not just an Alaskan thing as I’m sure other cold climate locales find themselves with the same thing.

The first joke is something like this . . . “There are two seasons here in Anchorage . . . Winter and the Forth of July”.

The second one is . . . “There are two seasons here in Alaska . . . Winter and Construction season.”

Which brings me to tonight’s rant or irritated observation.

On my way home these last few weeks there have been the constantly changing areas around town that is being worked on or repaved. There is always a lot repairs or construction to be done during our short respite from the harshness of winter. It is great that the City repairs the ruts (grooves) in the road caused by the studded tires on everyone’s rig or this year adding many ADA improvements to intersections. There is also heated sidewalks being added to E Street around the Town Park and the Performing Arts Center. (I bid that project and lost out to a company I used to work for.)

Well, ‘summer’ is in full swing . . . and we are quickly approaching that time of year when the leaves start to turn colors (mostly one color . . . yellow), the air gets a little cooler (it does not take much this year with our “non-summer”), and DOT employees work at a frantic pace to finish the many projects before winter sets in and the snow flies once again. I believe back when they were planning all these projects . . . nobody knew that summer wouldn't last forever.

With these last minute road projects comes the world's most finicky traffic flaggers: the gals (and a few guys) with the STOP/SLOW signs on that big pole. You might think having the power to control traffic would be kinda cool . . . but nope . . . not for these folks. I don't know if it's all that loud noise around them all day or the hot asphalt . . . maybe it’s the teasing from a coworker that drives the big trucks. But one thing I have observed . . . these are not happy people.

You're driving up to one of the flaggers with the STOP sign facing you. You slow down and then creep up just a tad so that you are in place for the eventual right-of-way turn over. INSTANTLY they spring into action . . . they're snarling at you . . . frantically shoving their palms towards the ground like a bank robber threatening to use a shotgun on you.

You stop. You can put your car in park and even take apart the engine and line the pieces up on the shoulder . . . nothing will convince them that you've gotten the meaning of the word STOP . . .

. . . and then it happens . . . the sign gets flipped to SLOW.

And by SLOW they mean: “heybuddygetyourtwobitpieceofcrapimportthroughherenow!”

The flagger immediately is disgusted with anyone going below warp 4. Their free arm waves in a dramatic circle, as if they're trying to create a vacuum to actually help propel your car through the construction zone.

It's obvious in all my years driving that I don't know what speed to go when I come upon these zones . . . so I kinda wish they'd just jump in and ‘they’ could drive my car through the zone. They could jolt my rig from a dead stop to full throttle and back as they see fit . . . and I could just sit next to them and say "Ooohhhhh . . . that's what you meant by SLOW."

It would be kinda like having a construction zone valet . . .

After all . . . they're already wearing the vests . . .

And for some people here in Alaska that is about as ‘dressed’ up as it gets.

Ice