We pull out of our campsite, hugging the curb on a dirt road. Joe pulls a dollar bill out of his pocket with a safety pin on it. "In New Orleans" he tells me, "the birthday girl gets to pin this to her clothes and people will come up to her all day and give her dollar bills... You don't have to wear it." With a tear in my eye (I'm overcome by the sentiment- is it too late to still blame the jet lag?) I pin George to my jacket.
We stop by a church. Er, former church. Now coffee shop/art museum/bookstore. I'm amazed that the little town of Seward has this, plus I can't remember the last time it was chilly enough to drink hot chocolate on my birthday.
The same time last year I was driving along the Natchez Trace, tears filling my eyes as I drove into the foggy hills of Tennessee. I can't remember the details, but the aforementioned maybe-loved dude was the culprit. This year, we drive back on Alaska 1, heading towards a little town called Hope, a former gold rush town, nestled in the mountains by the sea. "Hope is one of my favorite towns in the world." This resonates with me as we walk down green paths, canopied by birch trees, the mountains in the distance. I'm thinking this birthday will be hard to beat next year.