Took a motorcycle ride again today. I felt the temperature change from the countryside where I live, to downtown. I breathed in various scents of soil, wood, and plants as I rode. My nose is pretty sensitive. Nobody in a car or truck tried to kill me. How disappointing.
There are 6,200 people living in Iqaluit, Nunavut, Canada, and none of them know me or you. There is no way to drive to Iqaluit because it is located on a rather large island way to the north of Montreal. It is the largest population center in Nunavut (a huge territory, bigger than any state in the US.) The town used to be called Frobisher Bay after an English explorer. But presumably he and his family didn't stay, so why honor him with the town name? After all, the native people knew where they were. They were in Iqaluit. I wonder what the native people here knew my area as? Hot-spot-between-mountain-ranges. Thank God for air conditioning. Otherwise the vast majority of Arizonans would live elsewhere. And have to spend money to heat their homes. I am always astounded at what my northeast US family spends on utilities. I'm glad I don't have to heat a house in Iqaluit. There are no trees to cut for wood heat in Nunavut. But it soon may be a busy transportation harbor if the ice keeps melting up north with the Global Warming. The satisfaction to the old longing for a Northwest passage may be only a few degrees Farenheit away.
Well, I've taken you on a trip from the Sonoran Desert to icy Iqaluit. Did you hold on? Or fall off the back of my motorcycle?
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