Juneau, Alaska

Distance: 13 miles (Total: 479 miles)

Climb: 50

What a Wonderful Day to Be Alive!

Juneau’s population is about 31,500—pretty tiny for a state capital. The 85-year-old man I met a few days ago called it “landlocked.” Not sure if that’s technically correct, but what he meant was: you can’t reach Juneau by road. You either have to fly in or come by ferry.

It’s beautiful outside. Partially overcast, 55 degrees at 9 a.m., with wind gusts around 8 mph. I’m safe. Dry. Lucy is fully operable. My family is safe, although many of them seem to be traveling right now.

Cognitive Restructuring

I’ve evolved on this trip, largely because of my intentional effort to become less judgmental and more empathetic.

Seven years ago, before moving to Honduras, I didn’t know much about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). Our education program there incorporated key elements of CBT into school activities to help troubled youth self-reflect and adopt more positive outlooks and behaviors.

Nowadays, many therapists use CBT in sessions with depressed or struggling patients. Cognitive restructuring—the process of reframing thoughts—can literally change neural pathways in the brain. In other words, the practice of fake it until you make it can actually work. Not because you’re fooling yourself, but because your brain can be trained to adopt healthier thought patterns.

In my case, instead of focusing on the fact that I might die from prostate cancer, I’ve started focusing on all the blessings I have in my life right now. Every damn good reason I have to be alive.

As part of a complex personal and professional agenda, I’ve adopted CBT-based activities into my daily life over the past seven years—like writing a gratitude diary each morning.

And it works.

Take this trip. Before departing, I did a lot of soul-searching. If I want to promote peace and reconciliation between communities ripped apart by the past eight years of political turmoil—in the U.S., in Canada, and across borders—I have to remove my barbed judgments. I have them, as do most of you.

So each day for the past several months, I’ve been self-reflecting:

Who is the ideal person I want to lead PeaceBridge? What characteristics must they have?

Let’s see.

I want him or her to be apolitical—clinical in observations, not judgmental. The leader must view my counterparts, volunteers, supporters, and even detractors with respectful deference to their political and social positions.

Naturally, there are red lines I must observe, but I have to be a better good listener.

I want to help the downtrodden. Protect the innocent and vulnerable. I want to enlist support from the entire gamut of community members, donors, and volunteers: rich, poor, Hispanic, Asian, conservative, liberal, educated, undereducated—everyone. As long as they sincerely believe in volunteering to make our community healthier for all, I want their support.

Love my enemy?

Maybe. Let me get back to you on that!

Back to my original point: I’ve evolved on this trip.

By practicing sincere openness to alternative opinions—not just biting my tongue but actually listening to people and understanding their motives—I’ve become more empathetic. I’ve taken a social-emotional step closer to appreciating their worldview, even if I will never share it. I understand them a little better.

I’m slightly less judgmental. Sincerely more welcoming. And as the head of PB, that’s a positive development in becoming a peacemaker.

Of course, this is a lot of talk—and none of it has any value unless I follow through. So I’m going to hold myself accountable. And feel free to challenge me if you think I’m falling short.

Mendenhall Glacier

Coming in from the ferry last night, the moon cast a soft spotlight over Mendenhall Lake and the snow-capped mountains in the background. It was gorgeous.

This morning, I debated whether to ride out to the lake today or wait another day.

Around 8 a.m., I went down to the lobby, where the same group of men—ages 30 to 65—were sitting around drinking coffee and recounting nostalgic marijuana stories. One man told a story about smoking in Jamaica but not carrying any home because the dealers there would tip off customs at the airport. He also talked about a colleague from Colorado who found so many restrictions in growing weed that he moved to another state where he could raise it worry-free. He described how his friend had to plant the male plants in rows next to the female plants. The oldest man in the group chimed in with stories from the 70s, when growing it was illegal everywhere. He’d had to do it quietly—water it, take care of it, hide it.

Another man shared about friends who smoked hemp, only to realize it had no THC and couldn’t get them high. Someone else described the multiple uses of hemp besides making rope. The first guy explained that his friend pays his local taxes in cash because, while state law allows him to sell cannabis, federal law prohibits it—so he can’t put the proceeds in a bank.

Recreational marijuana became legal in Alaska in 2025. One of the many contradictions in Alaskan social politics.

I returned to my room without contributing to the conversation, as stimulating as it was. Not that I couldn’t have shared a memory or two, but I was out of my element.

My element for the rest of the weekend was to ride Lucy to the lake, buy some groceries, wash clothes, and stream something fun. An introvert’s dream.

Much of my energy had returned. I felt better than I had a few days ago. So, after removing 25 pounds of unnecessary weight—iPad, clothes, and other items—I left the hotel around 10 a.m. on the Mendenhall Loop en route to the glacier. It was a nice, flat ride in about 55-degree weather. The air was clear, and I passed dozens of tourists making the four-mile journey to the glacier. Without the extra weight, I made good time.

Unfortunately, my Insta360 stripped a thread and refused to attach to the bar on my bike. So for every photo, I had to stop and retrieve my phone. I didn’t mind. The ponds, wetlands, glacier, and mountains were beautiful.

I rode to the other side of the lake and took photos of the glacier from a different angle. The ride back over and along the Mendenhall River was fun. I stopped at Super Bear IGA Supermarket and bought a few overpriced items. I refused to buy an $8 bag of Fritos but did splurge on a $12 Alaska coffee mug before getting back on the Mendenhall Loop to the hotel.

With my Mendenhall overload, I decided to look up who this important person was. Turns out Thomas Corwin Mendenhall was a physicist and meteorologist who served on the Alaska Boundary Commission. He helped survey and delineate the international boundary between Canada and Alaska.

After my little ride, I parked Lucy in the room and walked across the street to the convenience store. I bought a cold chicken salad and a frozen burrito bowl. (Note to the wise: the chicken salad was palatable. The burrito bowl was not.)

I showered for the first time in a couple of days, ate my salad, and started watching The Bear. I didn’t think I’d like it, but I did—though at times the screaming was nearly unbearable.

I fell asleep around 8 p.m. and slept through the night.