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Heading home

My nose is finally thanking me after so much of torture. After several days in the semi-arid climate of springtime Gunnison followed by a night in bone-dry Phoenix, the bleeding has finally stopped. As I sit here at a communal computer terminal killing time in the Honolulu airport (at 20 cents per minute, no less), the warm, humid air is healing the surface membranes and soothing my sinuses. Aaaaaaaah!

Is it possible to claim two hometowns? I'm sure I'm not the first to try. I suppose you can claim as many as you wish, depending on the size of the carbon footprint you are willing to stomp on the earth. I claim both Gunnison and Hilo as mine. They are wildly different places, yet have some stiking similarities. In Gunnison, of course, you say, "howdy" or "how's it goin'?" to passers by. In Hilo it's, "aloha" or "Howzit? How you stay?" In Gunnison, my hair is a little wavy, but mostly straight. In hilo, it's borderline afro. In Gunnison, there are now plenty of brown people. I see them at City Market and strolling downtown. But you almost never see photos of them in the paper. Not so in Hilo. Brown people are everywhere, as are yellow people, haole people and poi dog (mixed race) folks. They are all in the paper. That said, the paper in Gunnison is exceptionally well written and designed. The Hilo paper is mediocre to fair.

The list of differences could go on for awhile. So, what do these places have in common, you ask? Well, the people are pretty friendly. Both towns are loaded with hard working stiffs earning peanuts for wages. Gunnison and Hilo are both pricey places to live. Both rely on tourists for an economic jolt, though not so much so as their vacation hot-spot neighbors. Both have mountain views, although Hilo's is less frequent due to cloud cover. So that's enough of that.

The community of Gunnison is a generous one. Last week's relay for life is proof of that. The community raised about $40,000 for cancer research. I went to the event Friday night. It was freezing. I spent time lighting luminarias (bags with candles in them) until my fingers would no longer function. Then I walked the Western State College track, the oval along which the personalized bags were placed. Each bag recognized the name of a loved one that had either died from cancer or who had survived. I found my dad's along the straight-a-away, where instead of solemn walkers strolling along in the chilly darkness, I briefly imagined Dale Ernhart Jr. whizzing by, tipping his helmet to pops as he sped by. Something about the quiet of the night, the twinkle of the bags and the whispers of those rounding the track made the occasion particularly emotional for me. I felt the tears begin to roll down my cheeks as I remembered my dear ol' dad. As sad as it made me feel, I was glad to be there, thinking of him.

I enjoyed reunited with several friends while visiting. A hike up the front face of Hartman Rocks with my buddy Delaney on a gloriously sunny Sunday morning was the highlight.

The cabin is still intact. The mule deer will peer into the windows for me regularly (as will a few human friends) to make sure all is secure. I know the place will miss me, but I have confidence it will keep on standing, strong as ever until my next visit.

Now, it's time to go sit a little closer to my gate here in Honolulu. I've already stopped in for a Longboard Lager at Stinger Ray's and caught a snippet of Bruddah Iz crooning over the intercom, so I know I'm getting close to home.

Photos will be posted soon....

A hui hou. Aloha!

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