Sunday was a pretty fair day.

I arose, drank a cup of coffee, looked out into my yard and groaned. Lots of yard work to do. Winter’s coming and I will never get it done before the snow hits.

The snow isn’t so bad, it hides all the trash you don’t get picked up and after all, it will be there in the spring. I contemplated doing nothing and hoped that maybe the “yard fairies” would sneak over some night and take care of it for me. Not a chance. I’ve had that dream since the 1950s when my dad would put a rake in my hands. After much effort I took myself outside for several hours of fresh air and hands-on dirty work thinking the whole time, where are the kids? Yard work! Not a chance, again. After I couldn’t take it anymore, and barely making a dent in the project, I decided to take in perhaps one last motorcycle ride for the year. I donned my leather jacket, gloves, winter musher’s hat (flaps down, of course) and a pair of nifty yellow sunglasses.

As I chugged out of the yard I ran over a week’s worth of the Anchorage newspaper still in that nasty orange plastic wrapper. More stuff to pick-up and haul away and the shame of it is, I don’t even subscribe to it. It just shows up in my yard every morning.

Reading newspapers in general, from Seattle to Los Angeles and Boston to Miami, all have one thing in common. The stories, you know, “all the news that’s fit to print” swing from the further adventures of Dick, Sally and Jane to the thoughts of Chairman Mao. They are too depressing and rarely get it right (sorry Frontiersman).

As I twisted the wick on the Harley and shot down the road my mind was clearing. I jetted past the Wasilla police station, doing the speed limit of course, and waved at the rookie officer behind the wheel pulling out onto the highway with his field training guy with him. I received a “mad dog” look that any black bike, black leather jacketed wannabe nomad might get. I thought, gee, what did I do besides put him on the payroll?

As I headed down the highway toward Palmer the weather and scenery was beautiful and my thoughts wandered to the recent elections. Yet another attempt at passing a borough sales tax imploded, burst into flames and crashed like the Hindenburg. Oh the humanity! Three seats changed hands on the borough assembly. Ron Arvin got elected, in spite of the fact that someone took a Sawzall and cut six of his big signs down. My, my, my! Good thing, I guess, that Ron had plenty of them planted around the Valley, after all it is harvest season.

Word is that the borough top dogs have called Mr. Arvin a couple of times and have put themselves at the new assemblyman’s beck and call. Fact is, as Mr. Arvin is finding out, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a “new friend” after you win an election. As author Charles Dudley Warner penned, “politics makes strange bedfellows.”

In the past, the then prevailing “junta” at the borough and some of them are still around, ran Mr. Arvin out of business — a business that was creating good paying jobs and industry. Kudos to the borough folks for their acts of contrition doing the Pontius Pilate thing and washing your hands. No hard feelings.

Talis Colberg stays with us as the mayor, and that is in all estimation a good thing. Talis is a smart and thoughtful guy. He proved that when he vetoed the sales tax stating it was the right thing to do. The city of Wasilla has one change on its council and life goes on. In Houston, the fog hasn’t quite lifted yet. The mayor out there, Roger Purcell, believes the election turned out just right. Two things though: Houston isn’t going to first class city status and it still remains to be seen if Roger hangs onto the mayorship.

Around the Wasilla area lots of folks are growing concerned about a possible, proposed, don’t know yet, “annexation.” Fact is, nothing has happened. Could be that nothing will happen. It was suggested during the election that perhaps the city’s representatives should walk door-to-door on each issue before it’s brought up during council meetings. Announcing the agenda, placing it in the newspaper and otherwise posting it in public places was insufficient. Given the size of the city and the proposed areas under discussion only it is a sure thing that gobs of time and sore feet will be had. Perhaps if Wasilla adopts the door-to-door strategy the whole borough will too. Could be that we will all see lots of council people and assembly members, along with mayors and various managers, at our doors.

My musings suddenly ceased as I avoided a pickup with a ladder on it that cut out in front of me. Maybe it’s just me, but did you ever notice that pickups with ladders are always in a big hurry, even on Sundays? Maybe these guys are racing from job to job, or perhaps it’s fire truck envy. One day I’ll ask the guy down the street from me with that set-up what’s going on. I turned onto Lucille Street and enjoyed the ride. It’s paved, smooth and without potholes. Shear pleasure. Anything is better than election season.

Verne Rupright is mayor of Wasilla.