Obsessed with winter

The Skier

Lars Flora was a competitive cross-country skier for 22 years, chasing his older brothers off lava cone wind-lips at Mt. Bachelor and twice representing the USA in the Olympic Games. After retiring in 2012, he became the program director for Skiku, an organization that brings 500 pairs of skis and 130 volunteers to over 40 Alaska villages every spring.

There was some funny clicking while I talked with Flora. "Just putting my boots on," he said, straining to pin the phone to his shoulder with his ear. Crunchy snow steps were followed by a muffled conversation with the liftee. "I have fallen in love with the mountains of Alaska again, exploring and finding new terrain. Getting to ski in villages, hanging out with skiers. Coaching in Anaktuvuk Pass and then taking a 5-hour tour to ski off a 4,000-foot peak. Skiing in the middle of the Bering Sea. Racing around the Sweetheart Loop in White Mountain." He treasures skiing at Alyeska with his nieces and nephew, and loves climbing up ridges as much as descending. Fueled by a good cup of coffee and an egg sandwich, a long day of skinning up mountains provides the perspective and adventure he needs.

The Snowmachiner

Charles has a tattoo on her arm that matches the bumper sticker on her truck. "No Bad Days," it says, reminding her that every day is a blessing and offers lessons to learn and challenges to overcome. She works 100-hour weeks during summer road construction to stash money for sled parts, fuel, entry and lodging fees. Her winter days are "all about the Iron Dog," and filled with careful mechanic work on her sled and long, hard training rides. When her daughter, Kelley, was a newborn, she would strap on a carrier and take her on 80-mile rides. She does the race partly to inspire her now 5-year-old daughter that she can do whatever she wants; all she has to do is believe and work hard. "Challenge," she says, "doesn't scare me. It inspires me to succeed."

The Fisherman

Cabana's winter king fishing began on the F/V Madonna. It was usually just him with his blind Shar Pei dog, who fell off the dock once, sank and slowly walked along the bottom of the harbor until it emerged back onto the beach and shook all the water out of its wrinkles. Now he brings along 94-year-old Taurus Fisk who rinses down the deck and reels in fish. "All I need is a box of donuts and a cooked chicken, and I can spend all day with the old timers out here. You can't buy a day back. And … it keeps me outta trouble," he says, pausing to shout directions up at his 88-year-old father, Roy, who is driving the boat. On Sunday nights, Cabana and his wife, Dawn, fill their long dinner table with these old timers and they share a feast of king salmon.

The Cyclist

If you ask Renner what the optimum number of bikes to own is, his reply is immediate. "N plus one," he says with a grin. A freelance biology researcher who bikes through blizzards and downpours every day to get to work, Renner's commuting complements his training and he logs around 10,000 kilometers a year. His children clamber after his example, riding along on their tandem bike or inviting along a pack of their third-grade friends. He was almost kicked off Homer's volunteer fire-fighting crew by the chief because he bikes to fire calls; luckily, he is fast.

"Cars," he says, "are simply a bad idea." Obesity, air pollution and accidents are just a few of the reasons to put on a few flashing red lights, a good helmet and pedal through a dark winter morning.

If the question is how many bikes you should own if you want to stay married, Renner quickly changes his answer:

"N minus one."

After writing this, Megan Spurkland wants a new bumper sticker, an egg sandwich, long meals with old timers and N minus one pairs of skis. Truly, you cannot buy a day back.

This article appeared in the February 2016 issue of 61°North, a publication of ADN's special content department. Contact 61°North editor Jamie Gonzales at jgonzales@alaskadispatch.com.