I’d scrambled up the steep embankment, over the rail tracks. Sliding down the other side, struggling to stay on my feet. Past the fish processors sat on plastic drums, enjoying a short break outside. Barely a glance from them. Stand knee deep in fish guts I suppose and a lost Englishman shuffling past barely warrants a raised eyebrow. But if they’d not really noticed me, I really wasn’t that bothered. I’d DHL’s Anchorage air freight centre in my sights. About to be reunited with my trusty steed.
Conclusion of the on-move from Australia within my grasp. Retrieving Emma the last piece of the jigsaw. A handful of paperwork to present to the shippers. Inside, a small line of people waiting to retrieve their goods. That could wait, for I’d spotted the complimentary coffee. Chance for another caffeine fix as I struggled with lack of sleep. Not that I’d be able to even if I’d tried. Cursed with insomnia.
Host Linda had dropped me a little earlier back at the airport’s North Terminal. Deserted. Much of it being renovated. I’d drifted around for quite a while until I eventually found Customs. I was sure I’d smiled a lot. My recollections a bit hazy. The officer at the counter very methodical. Kept thinking, as best I could, temporary importation. No duty to pay. He made several phone calls. What, I wondered, was the issue? I’d explained I’d been careful to thoroughly clean my bicycle. Definitely no soil on it.
The difficulty was, as far as I could make out, how he should classify the bicycle. I really didn’t care, provided he’d release the bicycle. A few of his colleagues packed up and left. I began to wonder if I might be obliged to return the next day. No more calls. Instead asking another officer if he’d a particular form. I didn’t catch the details, but it sounded encouraging. Rummaging in a drawer. He then returned to the desk. A few scribbles, boxes to tick, my signature. And then the release stamp I sought to retrieve my steed from the shippers.
