Remembering the day I unexpectedly found myself competing in the Midnight Sun Run in Fairbanks, Alaska

I didn't come close to winning the race, but someone made me feel like a complete winner at the finish line

I have always been fascinated with the so-called "longest day," when the sun is in the sky longer than any other day of the year.

I've especially been intrigued with how this must feel in the Great North, in places where the sun never sets or where it sets only briefly.

So it was that on June 20 in the early 1990s I took a flight from Sacramento to Fairbanks to experience something I had long dreamed of, the June 21 Summer Solstice in the Land of the Midnight Sun.

On the "longest day," the sun sets in Fairbanks at 12:48 a.m., only to rise again at 2:58 a.m., providing nearly 22 hours of sunshine during a generally warm and clear time of the year.

It basically never actually gets dark.

I was in my mid-40s and was randomly seated on the plane next to a young man, an Olympic caliber distance runner who had recently graduated from UC Irvine.

As we struck up a conversation, he told me he was headed to Fairbanks to compete in the Midnight Sun Run, a 10K with some serious runners - like him - and thousands of weekend warriors like me.

He was good enough that race organizers were paying his way along with several other elite runners to truly put this race on the national map.

He said anyone could run, but the entry deadline had passed the week before. Nevertheless, he gave me the home address of the race director, told me to drop his name into the conversation, and see if she might accept a late entry from a California columnist.

After all, the race was sponsored by the esteemed Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, so maybe they might make an exception for a fellow journalist.

I was a regular jogger at the time - still am - though anything faster than an 8-minute mile was beyond my ability. I basically ran every day just to burn enough calories so I could engage in another daily ritual - eating ice cream.

Although there was no such thing as Google Maps in those days, Fairbanks is a small and incredibly friendly town, so with some help from the natives I eventually made my way to the race director's home and knocked on the door.

"Of course," she said. "We'd love to have you in the race."

I had planned to jog in Fairbanks even before I knew about the race, so I had worn my size 14 running shoes on the plane, mostly because they were much too big for an overnight bag.

I knew before I left Davis that Fairbanks could be relatively warm in the summer, but I couldn't have imagined record-breaking temperatures that stretched into the mid-90s.

As I headed back to my hotel after securing a spot in the next night's race - starting time 10 p.m. on the University of Alaska campus - I anticipated that it would eventually cool down.

Never happened.

I was on the top floor of my five-story, but not five-star, hotel. Even though I didn't major in physics at UC Davis, I knew that heat rises.

The hotel had advertised "air conditioning" in its brochure, but when I inquired at the front desk about how I might activate the cool air, I was handed a fan and told to plug it in.

We both laughed. The desk clerk had never seen it this hot in her hometown.

As the evening wore on, the sun continued to beat through the large picture window looking out on the charming Chena River. Even with the window open, there was no cool air outside and not even a hint of a breeze.

I had come to experience the Midnight Sun, but now I was cursing it.

I went into the small bathroom to splash some cold water on my face, and when I turned the faucet on I realized I had never experienced water so cold coming out of a tap.

Although I didn't learn how to change a lightbulb until I was at least 12, I suddenly had a crazy idea about that fan and the ice-cold tap water.

Fortunately, there was a socket in the bathroom, so I turned the shower on full blast with cold water only, placed the fan on the top of the toilet and pushed my bed right up to the open bathroom door.

When all was said and done, the fan was about two feet from my pillow and the air - chilled by the shower - was at least 20 degrees cooler than in the rest of the room.

I slept like the mechanical genius that I am.

While most "fun runs" start in the morning, given the title of the Midnight Sun Run, that was not possible.

Some kind folks outside the hotel gave me a ride to the beautiful University of Alaska campus and I found a spot near the back of the pack of several thousand runners as we awaited the starter's gun.

We were to cover a 10K course that wound along the Chena River, where every species of flowers and trees were in full bloom and the sweet smell of nature was nearly overwhelming.

The official high temperature on race day was a month of June record of 94 degrees and it was still in the mid-80s when we started heading for the seemingly far away finish line at a public park downtown.

As it turns out, this race was - and still is - a big deal in Fairbanks, with a festive Fourth-of-July atmosphere.

Residents lined the streets and sprayed us with garden hoses as they barbecued salmon and other Alaskan treasures on their front lawn.

The pace at the back of the pack was slow, but incredibly joyous. For this one race, the journey truly was more important than the destination.

At about the four-mile mark of this 6.2-mile effort, I spotted a runner coming back my way, running against the pack.

It was my friend and seat-mate from Irvine who had gotten me into this race in the first place.

He pulled up next to me and told me he was doing a "cool-down" run after winning the race, breaking the 30-minute barrier in the process.

He said simply, "C'mon, I'll pace you to the finish line," and off we went, with me trying desperately to match his speed.

He politely slowed for me as we approached the finish line, then raised my arm with his as we melted into a crowd of well-wishers who were drinking beer and munching on large cold slices of watermelon.

With a time of 49 minutes and 59 seconds, I was anything but a winner, but he certainly made me feel like one.

I looked for him on the plane ride home the next day, but he was not on my flight. I guess ours was to be a short but richly meaningful meeting as he extended an unexpected kindness my way.

I think of him fondly every time June 21 rolls around, certain that he has blessed many others who have crossed his path in the days and months and years since our chance meeting.

You never know what joy awaits you just around the corner.

Reach me at bobdunning@thewaryone.com