McCarthy Alaska is the kind of place where pretty much no matter where you are at a given time, you can find a bush or tree to duck behind and take a leak. I generally don’t piss in town during the summer tourist season, simply for sake of preserving some small shred of professional dignity, what with my role as accountant and all. Even so, after Labor Day we start winding down, eventually bathrooms get closed down (pipes winterized), and I find myself enjoying the simple pleasure of peeing in the wild, even when I’m in town.
I’m not certain if it’s the pleasure of peeing outside or the joy in knowing that I’m remote enough to be able to do so, but either way it strikes me that this ability to pee outdoors may be something of a litmus test, some sort of (strange) criteria for me, in terms of picking a place to live. In short, the best places to be seem to be places where you can pee.
I’ll be hunting for a place to live, somewhere in California, somewhere well out of the grip of the great urban vortexes. Yes, such places do exist in California. I’m particularly drawn to the redwood coast, in Northern California, but whether it’s the family farm on the Plains of South Dakota or the wilderness spaces of Alaska, I’m drawn to the spots sparsely populated enough that a guy can take a leak, just like all the other wild animals.