Leaving On A Jet Plane

Saturday, August 18th 2018

I went to sleep early in Beaver Creek. One of us (I can't recall who) set an alarm for the 2:00am so I could attempt some milky way photos again, while I still could. When the alarm went off, I peeked out the window to check out the clarity of the night sky. It was clear, but it looked like a shelf of thin clouds was moving in. As my eyes adjusted, the excitement swelled within me as I knew, based on past experience, that those weren't clouds moving in. "Cameron!" I exclaimed, "Northern Lights!"

I whipped my camera out of the bag and immediately got to work. Cameron groggily took an extra minute to join me outside, where I was already experimenting with trying to get some pictures. Sans tripod, I worked quickly to get the camera in a position to capture the light show. First on top of the car, and then to a picnic table, I took many exposures trying to get one A) in focus B) that truly captured the whimsy, the color, and the life the sky was flaunting. I got many colorful pictures (see bottom of entry) of the aurora flitting and pulsing and dancing like pale green and purple ribbons across the sky, but I only got one in focus. And that was all Mother Nature, and my sleep-deprivation-induced-impatient brother would allow. Shortly after the one "good" picture was taken, the lights faded back into the inky black star-speckled sky, and they were gone. I didn't see them again. We had awoken at the picture perfect time.

The Northern Lights "good" capture

Morning came, and we were out the door by 7:00am, greeted by clear blue skies, a nice change from the haze we'd had for almost the entire trip. A quick breakfast across the street (which were some of the best "hot cakes" I've ever had, complete with real maple syrup), we were on the road, only 15 or so miles from the US border. Naturally, we had to take a picture with the "Welcome to Alaska" sign. After all, we made it. But we were only in the home stretch, we had 400 miles to go before we actually made our destination. But my goodness, what it a magnificent 400 miles it was. Jagged mountains, flowing giant white glaciers, and the enormous snow-capped shield of the Mount Wrangell volcano and Mount. Zanetti's pure white volcanic cinder cone peak in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park rose like titans in the rear view mirror.

The Mountains in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. Left to Right: Mt. Zanetti, Mt. Wrangell, and Mt. Sanford

The Welcome Sign

The closer we got to Anchorage, the duller the sky became until it was overcast. When we finally arrived there, the sky was as grey as it could be. It didn't rain, but it was gloomy. That didn't stop us from driving around the relatively small city. I found a giant vibrant postcard mural that I just had to take a picture with, and then we parked by a park overlooking the bay, and I waited in the car as Cameron made calls about a hotel. I later asked if it was a hotel? A hostel? An Air BnB? No response.

Mural somewhere in Anchorage

This is where it gets tricky. Cameron navigated me to the suburbs of Anchorage where I expected a hotel to be. But the streets went from commercial to urban residential, and then finally to suburban residential. I was utterly confused when we pulled up to a house in a caul de sac, but stayed put when Cameron went inside. A half hour later, he summons me inside. Much to my confusion and anger, this wasn't a hotel, or even a hostel. It was a makeshift boarding house with at least 12 other people sleeping in double or triple rooms, pull-out sofas, spaces under the stairs or in the dining room, tents and cabins in the backyard, or even a bed in an ice cream truck parked in the driveway. The place was crowded, and in my opinion, a bit on the falling apart side.

I was very angry and it sent me into a pretty intense anxiety attack. Cameron had picked this place up on Craigslist because it was cheap and it was what he could afford. But he definitely had not consulted me about my feelings. Not only am I shy, but I get social anxiety, especially when I am not mentally prepared or have awareness of out-of-the-comfort-zone stepping. The anxiety over the sudden amount of strangers (of both sexes) I'd be sharing a living space sent me into a fit of hysterics. Cameron might be able to handle the influx of strangers and socializing and vagabond lifestyle on a whim, but I can't. Cameron thought it would be fun. He and I have very different definitions of fun.

Cameron told me we'd go to dinner and talk about it. When I marched to the car, the "landlady" Cat saw me and asked him if I was okay. I forced a smile and waved while Cameron exchanged words with her, but when he approached me and the car again, he told me that she knew I was upset and had invited her to dinner to talk about things. This just infuriated me more and further sent my anxiety into a frenzy. Now not only did I have to deal with the emotions and the stress of just working out my feelings with him, he invited Cat to dinner, putting me in an uncomfortably awful position of having to work those many emotions and stressors out with her and him, and making me appear rude and ungrateful at the living situation, which is not at all what I wanted or even what I was feeling. The true issue is that I was not consulted. I would have been okay with a hostel. But a stranger's house, especially without asking me, crossed such a big comfort-level line. Cameron said he didn't ask me because he knew I'd disapprove. Just to clarify one more time. This is nothing against Cat, the people who live in her house, or the bohemian lifestyle these people live. It was me, my anxieties, and this whole situation being unknowingly dropped on me at the last second. 

Cat ended up not joining us for dinner because I refused, but Cameron and I got into a shouting match in the parking lot of some Vietnamese restaurant, our words laced with obscenities and blame from both sides. We ended up eating dinner separately, and after angry texts, calls, and a little more shouting, we mostly worked it out. I agreed I would stay the night, and we went back to the house.

Back at the house, we convened in the living room area and talked with some of the housemates and Cat for a while. Everyone was kind, albeit getting increasingly drunk (except me, since I don't drink) as the night went on courtesy of a couple boxes of boxed Merlot. I apologized to Cat for if I seemed rude and explained my feelings to her and that it wasn't her fault. I did this as she read my palms in the glow from the light above the kitchen stove. The conversations went on for a while, Cat explaining how the house got to be this way and who lived there. She was very quirky and lively. But she also had some qualities I wasn't too fond of. I also learned she would time my morning showers and bathroom time. She also said she could never like someone who ate meat because they're terrible people. Thanks. She also tried to set me up her son. "I found you a wife!" she said, before laughing and saying "sometimes I still wish arranged marriages were a thing."  I guess after some thinking and conversation I'll take as a compliment even though he was definitely not my type. 

I didn't rest easy. I was on a loud under-inflated air bed and didn't have a pillow. I was sleeping in the same room as a stranger. I was awoken several times in the night to the sound of rowdy conversation outside, and at least once to the frightening sight of flickering orange flames on the walls. Though, this was just related to the people outside chatting loudly and lighting middle-of-the-night fires in a fire pit.

Sunday, August 19th/20th 2018

That night was a terrible one to not get any sleep, given that I'd be on a red eye flight later that day. But our day started early with breakfast at an overly and unnecessarily conservative diner. The food was great and I had myself some reindeer sausage. This tasted a lot different than the reindeer burger I had a couple years ago. The sausage tasted more like kielbasa and less like the gamy venison flavor I remembered of the Icelandic burger.

Afterwards, we went for a quick stroll in Earthquake Park, but when we realized that I wouldn't be able to take the trail down to the water because of my leg, we turned back and ventured downtown again. It began to rain as we drove around looking for some Alaskan souvenir shops. I got some souvenirs, and we decided to catch a movie. For the record, this was the nicest theater I've been to. Literal recliners (with foot rests), cheap movie tickets, and good concessions. Cameron and I saw The Meg, a horribly fun movie. 

We went back downtown for a late lunch/early dinner. Hitting what was probably one of the more expensive places in Anchorage, I indulged myself in some overpriced yet delicious fresh Alaskan crab for dinner. Was it worth it? I'll tell you when I'm done paying off the credit card debt. 

It was a short drive to the airport. In the departures drop off, I hugged my brother goodbye and wished him luck at the airport and left him the farthest he's ever been from home.

Final strangle count: 21

---

And so I sit here, no longer watching sprawling mountain vistas pass by me through an open car window. No more is the breeze filling my lungs with crisp clean (or smoky, you know either one) air, but instead I am staring at the windowless pale yellow walls of my office with stuffy, recycled dry air from the HVAC drifting in, and the only breeze coming from my little desk fan. I am quietly listening to John Denver, hoping to induce a little nostalgia of the sights I miss already, and am nursing a cup of coffee so to keep my drooping eyelids from closing and remaining that way. 

It has been a wonderful experience, one with a roller coaster of emotions and elevations. I'll miss the peace, I'll miss the sights, I'll miss my brother, and I'll miss the awe. Thank you Cameron for letting me come with you. I wish you the best of luck in this new adventure in your life. If you are still reading, thank you for sticking with me all this time. Below, find more photos from our adventures, and now onto the next one.

"He's an hour away from ridin' on your prayers up in the sky
And ten days on the road are barely gone
There's a fire softly burning; supper's on the stove
But it's the light in your eyes that makes him warm.
Hey, it's good to be back home again
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long lost friend
Yes, 'n, hey it's good to be back home again." 

- John Denver

Another view from Kluane National Park

Northern Lights reject no. 1

Northern Lights reject no. 2

Matanuska Glacier, Glacier View, AK

If there is a whale, I will find it

Mission Impossible

Wednesday, August 15th 2018

I can't say anything exciting or new happened, since it was another easy drive and day of rest. The calm before the storm so to speak, since tomorrow is 12 hours of driving to our next destination. Without any of the stops we'll need to take. We slept late, and eventually got in the car and drove to Fort Nelson, being met with the smell of smoke that we thought we had left behind in Fort St. John. Along the way, we passed many trucks, moving slowly in steep grade hills on the road that took us north. We passed thousands of acres of trees scored by past wildfires, the charred brittle skeletons swaying awkwardly in the breeze. The sheer amount of death in these sights was a spectacle to behold, but it was amazing to sometimes see a single thriving tree, green and very much alive, tucked between the singed trunks.

In Fort Nelson, we hung out in our hotel room for a while before heading to dinner and catching a movie. Cameron and I walked to this theater, one that shows one movie at a time at one time a day. The screen was a blow-up one atop a theater stage. We enjoyed it, and when we left at close to 9:45, there was still light in the sky. Dusk was rapidly approaching, but it was light enough to easily walk the sidewalks and not trip on any upended stones. 

Tomorrow's drive seems like an impossible mission to accomplish. Long and cramped and sleep deprived as we drive through the middle of nowhere. Seems a bit like a ticking time bomb if you ask me. 

Strangle count: 8

Thursday, August 16th 2018

Up, out, and shoving Tim Horton's egg sandwiches in our mouths by 7am, we left Fort Nelson in the rear view and charged on towards our next hotel a couple hours outside of Whitehorse, Yukon. A 12 hour drive. I behind the wheel, we were only about 20 miles outside of the city when we saw our first wildlife sighting: two beautiful, large, baby moose munching on a breakfast on their own on the other side of the road. I swung the car around in hopes of capturing a photo, but the tires on the loose gravel shoulder spooked the two magnificent beings and they galloped off into the woods. 

It didn't take long before we spotted our next set of animals. Trotting in the middle of the road was yet another pair of hoofed animals: a mother and a baby reindeer. I did manage to capture a photo with my phone this time. The caribou, as they are known in North America, seemed to have no care in the world as they walked down the double yellow and then onto the shoulder.

The animals were definitely a highlight of the day. Not only did we see a pair of moose and a pair of reindeer, but we saw a herd of wild bison and a herd of mountain goats. As you can see from my photos, we were able to get quite close to these. 

Our Historic Alaskan Highway wove us through mountain majesties with aqua-colored rivers, such as Stone Mountain, and past slumbering ancient volcanoes like the cinder cone in Watson Lake. Each was stunning in its own way. As we weaved, ascended and descended, our visibility narrowed and our noses were assaulted with the thick smell of smoke. It was definitely at its worst, almost suffocating at times even with the windows closed. In and out of the smoky fog we went, but at some point we saw blue skies again. 

Stone Mountain, BC

Low visibility from dense smoke

Cameron pointed out the window and said, "Look at that cloud!" I immediately knew what he was talking about. In a sky of cirrus and stratus clouds, there was a single ginormous billowing black cloud. It only took me a moment to realize, that with its darkened color and its underbelly an odd mixture of purples and oranges, we were staring at the ashy atmospheric flares of a distant wildfire. Perhaps the one that has been causing the haze and smoke and smell our whole trip. We watched it change for a minute or two, amazed at the blanket it made over everything downwind from its wrath.

We stopped now and again to top off the gas, and perhaps more importantly clean the windshield. It's buggy in British Columbia and Yukon. Bugs splatter against the windshield with the intensity, size, and frequency of raindrops. There isn't enough wiper fluid in the world to clean the yellow insect insides away. Instead, it's just streaks of guts arching across the glass, with bee bodies trapped in the wipers and twitching ever so often. It's both very amusing and very gross.

Our longest stop of the day was at the Watson Lake Sign Post Forest. It was exactly as it sounds. We didn't spend too long there, but we loved weaving through the posts of signs from all over, of any kind. Voting signs, license plates, homemade plaques, name plates---you name it. Even found some familiar places like Lake George, NY, and Rensselaer. 

Upon weaving in and out of British Columbia and Yukon several times, we got stuck in a single lane traffic stop somewhere on the highway. A young construction worker named Cody came over and chatted with us while we waited for our pilot car to escort us to the other side. We had a wonderful conversation, one which lasted a good ten minutes. He'd never seen a New York license plate before. As our pilot car started to lead us away, I stuck my head out and waved at Cody, shouting that it was nice to meet him into the wind. 

Cameron had asked how much longer to Whitehorse, and Cody had told him that it was another two hours or so, depending on how fast you drive. We were told that after the next town, there probably wouldn't be any police. (Though, to be honest, we haven't seen any since we got on the Alaska highway). Both of us, at one point or another, took this as the opportunity to indulge in lead feet, with a average cruising speed of anywhere between 85mph and occasionally, 110mph on long stretches of straightaways, with a setting sun and towering mountains as our guide

Hours later, I sit in a hotel just outside of the Kluane National Park. It's 11:15, and it is still a dark teal in the sky after the sun set at 10:04. Tomorrow we explore the National Park and its beautiful glaciers, and then we move on to our penultimate stop in Beaver Creek, right on the border of The Last Frontier.  

Strangle count: 12

Friday, August 17th 2018

I woke up in bed in our "Sam & Dean Hotel" (some people may know what that means) warm in bed but freezing in room. Our window was apparently open, and the temperature outside was 32F. Something I did not prefer for in my packing. But a change of real clothes and a hot shower made it all okay. Our destination today was Beaver Creek, a little town right on the Alaskan border. Not terribly far away, as the crow flies, but you have to go through the Kluane National Park to get there. That's exactly what we did. The highway took us through some amazing landscape views, each Glacier-topped peak more stunning than the next. At one stop, the people we pulled over behind happened to be New Yorkers, driving their own NY car! How amazing is that? For the next several hundred kilometers, we played a game of tag. It's an easy game to play with straightaways and pushing the accelerator down to 110mph. We passed them, we'd stop, they'd pass us, we'd pass them. We'd stop, they'd pass us, etc. etc. We probably passed them four or five times in total, and at a construction zone with a bit of a wait for the pilot car, we actually chatted some more standing outside of our cars.

We stopped to take pictures at several different points along the Alaskan Highway, and while I have many photos I also feel like it's too few. I could take different pictures at every mile on that road. The road takes you around green and lush mountains, or bare brown ones, to glaciated majesties, sometimes stacked right next to each other or encircling a glittering lake. Yukon is a stunner. 

Me and Cameron in front of Mt. Martha Black in Kluane National Park, YT

Cameron running towards the water in Kluane Lake, YT

Our final meeting with our fellow New Yorkers (that we know of) happened to be at our destination in Beaver Creek. They ate at the same cafe we did. Maybe we'll run into them again, since their destination is also Anchorage.

I now sit in the cutest of the hotel rooms we have had so far, but by far the foulest smelling. It smells a lot of cat urine, and I've had to open the windows to air it out...but I also think that this smell is in the bones of the room and it's not going anywhere.  The day isn't over yet, but I can't imagine much else changing. 

Strangle count: 14

A goat on the road guard rail near Stone Mountain, BC

Me and the Bison

"Welcome To Yukon" sign

The more official "Welcome to Yukon" sign

A little bit of home 4,000 miles from home
at the Sign Forest in Watson Lake, YT

I spotted a beautiful bald eagle perched atop a river log in Whitehorse, YT

Kluane Lake, YT

Kluane Lake, YT

Glacier atop Mt. Archibald in Kluane National Park, YT

Kluane Lake and Mountains, YT

Rocky Mountain High

It’s now been three days since my last entry (although it may be more when you read this since my computer can’t hook up to the hotel wifi to post it), and three days feels like an eternity ago. Admittedly, I have to check my Google timeline to even remember where we began and where we ended. It has all blurred together at this point because we are moving forward so fast. But I am appreciative now for a comfortable bed and easy day so I can journal my thoughts.

Monday, August 13th 2018

The dingy hotel we spent the night at in St. Cloud didn’t provide us much (read: anything) in the way of breakfast, so with a quick Google search we found ourselves at this cute little independently-owned Waffle bar called Waffle-It. If you ever find yourselves in St. Cloud, Minnesota and are in need of a reasonably priced, delicious breakfast, and like waffles (because who the hell doesn’t like waffles?) definitely check this place out.

After breakfast, we began to heard north again on I-94. We traveled through Fargo, North Dakota to Jamestown, ND. Going 90 on I-94, both Cameron and myself each enraptured by a different tourist trap billboard that whizzed past us at 90 miles an hour. I the “World’s Largest Buffalo!” and Cameron the amazing white buffalo (“It’s a Miracle!” the billboard proclaimed). It just so happened the two traps were the same place---The Jamestown Buffalo Museum and Pioneer town. We didn’t spend much time there, just enough time to peer through the 25cent binoculars at the miracle buffalo, pet the horses in the stables, and take some photos with the world’s largest buffalo. It was outrageously hot. Close to 100F. We grabbed lunch at a little cafe in Jamestown. I found myself a little judgy of the sign on the door that said “We have the right to refused service to anyone.” It looked relatively new, as the paper was crisp and white. I wondered if this had to do with the current political climate the SCOTUS ruling a couple weeks ago, and I pondered the kinds of “anyone” the sign could be referring to in a rural red state such as North Dakota. But with those questions in the rear view and our bellies full, we returned to the interstate, flying north as fast as the roads would allow.

World's largest buffalo. Jamestown, ND

At the bottom of the past two entries I’ve indicated what we’ve been listening to. For whatever, we’ve been listening mostly to podcasts. A variety of the ones I like, such as the informative Adam Ruins Everything and StarTalk, the comical My Brother, My Brother, and Me, and the horror fiction podcast The No Sleep Podcast. The latter is the one we have listened to for the vast majority of this trip as the stories prompt discussion and wandering imaginations. It has filled the cabin of the car almost nonstop since we left, leaving hardly any periods of silence between my brother and I. 

I have been listening to this one for a while now, and at the beginning I told Cameron that the stories are mostly mediocre, but when they are good, they’re good. During the long drive from Jamestown to the Canadian Border, I played him the first story I had ever listened to from the podcast, and the story I thought was the best. While most stories are more in the range of flash fiction or short stories and last 20 to 30 minutes, the one I put on is a two and a half hour novella. The story called Borrasca (by author CK Walker) is a tale of a boy’s family who moves to small, prosperous former mining town in the Ozark Mountains and the horrors and mysteries that surround this town. While I always knew this story was excellent, I certainly didn’t expect the reaction it got from Cameron. The story is a horrifying and unsettling tale of the underbelly of Americana, and as we drove through rural Saskatchewan, it sparked an hours-long discussion about the structure of good movies, Americana, and what could improve Borrasca to make it a cinematic masterpiece in its storytelling.

I thought Minnesota and North Dakota were flat, but then there was Saskatchewan. There were waves of grain and fields of small sunflowers. The horizon was dotted with smatterings of trees and bushes, but the standout structures in this flatland were the eerie silver grain refineries, much like those described in the aforementioned story. They radiated an orange glow from the blood red sun peeking out from behind the haze that had settled on the plains. The oil mills droned and chugged on, with nothing but that vastness of rural, and seemingly infinite Saskatchewan as their backdrop.

Saskatchewan highways are lined with
fields of sunflowers

Cameron and I had been discussing how we wanted to proceed up through the Rockies. Either up through Edmonton, Albert, or first to Calgary to meet a friend, and then to Banff and Lake Louise. Cameron had thought that detour would take too us too far out of our way and behind schedule, so at first we decided to just head north through Edmonton. But then had learned either earlier that a friend of his that he hadn’t seen in years just so happened to be stationed in a city that was on the way to Calgary. So we drove to Moose Jaw, and enjoyed a little while chatting with Cameron’s friend, and me making plans with my friend in Calgary for the next day. So thanks, Joe, for giving Cameron the excuse to see a friend and let me meet mine!

Sunday, August 12th 2018

Driving to Calgary from Moose Jaw is no easy trip. Well, I mean, it’s flat. But it’s a long drive. We were out the door and at a Tim Horton’s for breakfast by 6:00am. We didn’t have much time to meander. Save for a couple gas fill ups and pee breaks, we were on the road to make a 1pm lunch date with my friend. The gas stations were few and far between, and in the in-betweens there were those great plains and salt flats and mineral mines that filled the air with the subtle but distinct smell of salt that you could almost taste. It was also quite cold, almost a 50 degree difference from the HHH days before.

Just as a side note, much to my delighted surprise Cameron asked me to play Borrasca for him again. I obliged, and we listened again, identifying all the things we discussed the day before as they played out it again real time.

I take after my father in my love of taking pictures with signs, so with one final stop in the last stretch at the border of Alberta, we took a photo with the sign that welcomed us to the Wild Rose Country.

For those who know me, I have made a lot of artist friends online. So whenever I can, I go out of my way to make those online friends “in person” friends. Or you know, just friends. Our lunch destination was a Vietnamese place on the outer reaches of Calgary proper. I was so excited to finally meet my friend Kelly. Kelly is a very talented comic artist, and honestly someone who I attribute a lot of my changes in self esteem to because she’s such a positive individual and role model. She brought her beautiful baby girl with her, and her husband joined us later. She also gave me some signed prints of her comics that I love, though admittedly I asked her for those but I am no less grateful ---she’s an incredible artist. Seriously. If you are a the zombie genre and strong female leads, check out her comic Under The Dead Skies. 

The hours spent with her and her family were wonderful and all too short. We had informed discussions of food (since we’re all foodies!), politics of both countries, travel, and good laughs. I bounced her adorable baby girl on my knee and enjoyed every second. Like I said, it was an all-too-short visit and I really wonder when I’ll be able to see them again. I am so grateful to have opportunities to do things like this road trip that allow me to deepen and strengthen friendships I have, and make new ones if they make themselves known.

Me, Kelly, Misque, and the Yam

After lunch, we made the trek into the Rockies. They appeared before us, blue, stacked, and distant. As we approached, we saw just how enormous they were. They had jagged cliffs, dotted with patches of snow and ice. Sharp and towering over us. It was an awesome sight, and not in the colloquial sense. I was filled with awe at their beauty. I’d never seen anything quite like it, and I gazed at them in wonder as we drove the winding Trans-Canadian highway through the mountains to Lake Louise. 

Lake Louise was as picturesque as I remember my father describing it to me. Its teal water was surreal. The mountains lining its shores were epic, purple and blue, and as if Mother Nature had painted them with a stippled brush strokes. The glacier at the far end loomed above the lake, and yet it was barely visible through the haze. The air was crisp and clear and smelled of that mountain air that can only be described in just that way. Cameron and I took off our shoes and dipped our feet into that water, feeling its chill. We even sipped its waters. We walked the path for a bit without our shoes, feeling the earth beneath our toes. Even with all the people there on the path, the serenity and silence was still there. It was humbling, and beautiful.

Me and Cameron in Lake Louise

With the the sun sinking lower into the sky and still a bit of a drive to the next major town ahead of us, it was time to grab food, gas, and hit the road. I rolled the windows down, cranked up some “Rocky Mountain High” by John Denver (because what else can you listen to when in the Rockies but the whimsical romantic songs of that legend?) I sang it out the window, smiling, breathing in the air, and letting my hand ride the wind.

Picturesque views in Banff National Park

We found a beautiful vista overlooking Bow Lake. I ventured down a path alone, one I probably shouldn’t have gone down because of my leg, and took pictures of the picturesque landscape before me. Cameron had gone to check out some building somewhere. In retrospect, it wasn’t smart to separate like that, especially I with a bum leg on uneven ground in an unfamiliar area with no cell service, but my goodness was it beautiful.

Bow Lake

The road out of the National Park was wound us round more than it did than we came in, and it merged to a two lane highway divided by a double yellow. Now this was the first time I ever actually wanted to strangle my brother. Sorry, Cameron, I’m not trying to be a snitch but I did say I was going to be honest. Remember my anxiety? We were stuck behind someone who was going a bit below the speed limit, and Cameron is a bit of an aggressive driver. He’s usually just a little fast, but I guess something about this driver just irritated him, and Cameron put on his blinker. I told him not to do that and he got irritated at me when I told him to wait for a passing lane. When he did it again and moved into the oncoming traffic lane and crossed the double yellow, I said “NO!” in what he interpreted as a shout and I thought was a nervous objection. He swerved back into our lane. We ended up fighting, and in a fit of defiance said, “So you don’t want me to do this?!” and slalomed in and out of the oncoming traffic lane a few times just to anger me. When I protested, he told me to shut up (with a few vulgarities thrown in). He then drove into the next pull off and demanded I was driving. I did, and we sat in silence for a while. Eventually he apologized, and I cried and explained why I was so upset and asked him not to do that again and to be considerate of my feelings. He agreed, and I forgave him. We went back to our usual driving after that, horror podcasts and all.

We didn’t find a gas station and cafe for probably 30 miles after that. When we did, it was the most outrageously priced chicken salad sandwich and gas I’ve ever seen. I paid 93 dollars for ten gallons of regular gas. We didn’t stay the night there, as the hotel was a resort and couldn’t afford the $350 a night price tag. It was 9pm, and the next town, Jasper, was two hours away. That would put us in a hotel at about the same time we usually got in. 

In the rapidly encroaching twilight we drove up and down through the magical mountain roads, admiring every single jutting rockface and orange-sun illuminated crag we passed, Oohing and Aaahing at every opportunity. We were feeding our ears and imaginations and fears with horror stories every mile along the way to Jasper.

We got to the next town, Jasper, Alberta (in Jasper National Park) about two and a half hours later. And every single hotel was booked. Every one. We called every hotel, motel, and hostel we could afford to see if they had a bed, but to no avail. We sat on the side of the road, finally with cell service, looking for the next closest town and discussing if we should just park on the side of the road and sleep, or drive more, despite the obvious exhaustion drooping our eyelids. After all, we had been up and on the go since 5am. 

We decided to drive to the town that had an availability. It was a town called Grand Cache, and it was 2.5 hours away. We knew that in our state it would be a long, hard drive. So we made a plan. We gassed up. We got caffeine. We set alarms for every fifteen minutes to switch off as drivers. We put on music we knew we could sing and stay awake too. (Thanks, High School Musical and classic Backstreet Boys). We turned off the heat and opened the windows to let that cold mountain air hit our faces and keep us from dozing at the wheel. 

Off we went. We sang. We switched. We stopped. We stretched. And we star-gazed. At a swap point, the sky was as dark as pitch. The arm of the milky way arced above us, and the Perseids tossed streaks of meteors in a stunning display. I, of course, had to stop and take a picture. I hope to get a better Milky Way one in Alaska.

The Milky Way

The entire time we drove, inspired by the eerie isolated roads before us and the hours upon hours of horror stories we had been listening to, we kept ourselves awake by plotting a horror story of our own to write. Together. We talked structure. Details. Characters. Plot. Everything one needed to make a successful horror story.

The final hour stretch of our late night drive tossed us a couple curve balls. We were sharing the road with midnight riders on roads that had no road lines. Their blinding lights and massive forms shook us as we slowly passed them but they assertively passed us. There would be times the asphalt would disappear without warning into sunken ditches of under-construction roads, and the car would jerk and clunk and complain, each time the shocks seeming like they would give out at any moment. The clear night air suddenly became hazy and smelled of thick smoke, the headlights of the semis cutting through them and forming identifiable rays of light. 

But close to 3am, we made it to Grand Cache. 21 hours after we woke up. I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow, but somehow Cameron managed to say up longer and figured out our route with the desk clerk downstairs so we could avoid dangerous late nights again. What a champ. 

Tuesday, August 14th 2018

We slept in. Well, a little. Usually on the road by 8am, we slept in until close to 9, and didn’t get out the door until 10 to eat breakfast at a family restaurant next door. For whatever reason, I woke up at 8:45 and simply couldn’t get to sleep. It was going to be an easy day, as Cameron’s new itinerary allowed. Only 5 hours of driving today. A hotel in Fort St. John, and a day of mostly rest. 

The drive was easy, and more straight-forward than the winding roads we had traveled yesterday. The air was thick with smoke carried in from distant wildfires, so much that the visibility was pretty bad. But it wasn’t thick enough that I felt suffocated. As a matter of fact, I rolled the windows down, and inhaled. I love the smell, personally. For five hours, we listened to more horror stories as I drove.

Mountains outside of Grand Cache, Alberta obscured by
the smoke from distant wildfires. 

But that was it. We made only three stops in between. One for gas and a bathroom break, one to take a picture with the "Entering British Columbia" sign, and the other to take a picture with a huge beaver.

Giant Beaver???

When we got to the hotel, I plopped down in bed and fell asleep for a couple hours. Cameron somehow didn’t sleep and went to the visitor center to get information while I was asleep. And when I awoke, we got dinner (finally got some authentic Canadian poutine and it was soooo good!). Now I’m here, sitting in bed and partially regretting my nap as the hours tick away and I’m not able to fall asleep despite my exhaustion. But maybe now I can go to sleep, I’ve finished my entry and the Wi-Fi won’t connect to my computer still.

Thank you for reading!

Brother strangle count: 5

"Which plant am I not supposed to touch?" -- Cameron, about
to touch phototoxic noxious Giant Hogweed at Lake Louise

Lake Louise

Lake Louise

Goodbye New York

Friday, August 10th, 2018

I can't say that anything particularly remarkable happened these first two days of travel. We left my office at about 1:30ish, making it most of the way to the main highway (I-90) before we realized that I had left my phone in my desk. PSA: When taking a cross continental trip, make sure you have your phone.  Only delayed us another 20 minutes or so. The rest of the day was just spent driving---we  switched on and off to drive, only stopping for bathroom breaks. Eventually we made it to Buffalo, the far end of the beautiful New York State. As per a suggestion from one of Cameron's friends, we grabbed a quick bite at Pearl Street Grill and Pub.

It was a beautiful example of the industrial, rust belt architecture with its iron bars, exposed brick, and multi-story warehouse look. It was lined with draping flower baskets, adding pops of color to the monotonous colors of the restaurant. It was here that Cameron let me take our first "trip selfie" together, because apparently traveling in NY didn't count? We sat on the patio, basking in the perfect weather, listening to some live music and wolfing down some mediocre sandwiches and quite delicious chicken wings, spiced medium and something else I don't remember but it was damn sure unique. To quote my brother, "Isn't all chicken in Buffalo 'Buffalo Chicken?"

The wait staff was pleasant, but I did experience a bit of odd sexism that surprised me more than offended me. As we were about to sign the credit card receipts with one of the two pens given to us (one pink one blue), the waiter told my brother to "Give [your sister] the girly pen." Cameron defiantly handed me the blue pen and I proceeded to tell the waiter that blue was in fact the color that was originally the indicator for a baby girl.

After dinner we hit the road, and drove as far as we could until our eyes could no longer see the road in front of us. We made it to Cleveland, Ohio. We arrived at the hotel just after 10:30, and while I immediately made best friends with a king and the pillow, Cameron decided to make new friends with the pool for a little while....

Strangle Brother Tally - 0

Saturday, August 11th, 2018

Cameron and I had agreed upon an early wake up time so we could hit the road as early as possible. 7:00am, we decided, would allow us to be on the road by 8:00-ish. By no means am I an early riser. As a matter of fact, I hate mornings and would much rather sleep in. I'm a grump in the morning too, and there's no way around that. I don't really drink coffee. So you can imagine my annoyance when I found myself awoken by a "GOOD MORNING!" chirp from Cameron. Rolling over with a dramatic grunt, the clock read 6:40am. Why. Would. You. Wake. Me. Up. I did roll out of bed after a failed desperate attempt to rekindle the last remaining minutes of my all-too-short rest. Cameron said he was going to go eat breakfast in the lobby. I was annoyed he wouldn't wait for me, especially since I hate eating alone and I hate being watched when I'm eating. THEN after depriving me of the first travel selfie when I left work yesterday, and after waking me up before the alarm, he dares to deny me the first out-of-NY-travel-selfie. :(

But there we were, out the door by 8:00am, just as planned. Driving, driving, driving, with our goal being to make it to the Windy City by lunch. We did make it, and it was cool to see a sign that actually told us that we entered a new time zone. We tried to make some last minute lunch plans with a) a friend of mine who just so happened to be in Chicago all the way from Texas on the same day that I was and b) some cousins who live in the city, but to no avail. Instead, we got a great lunch recommendation for some authentic deep dish pizza (Thanks, Ben!) and thoroughly enjoyed those slices.

Deep Dish at Giordano's in Chicago

We stuck the leftovers in a box and later had those for dinner in the parking lot of a rest area in Black River, Wisconsin. Cameron liked the pizza better cold. I think he's crazy. Nothing compares to hot melty cheese pulls. It's food porn, I tell you. (Side note: sitting in the car I saw these trucks. What an optical illusion, it took me way too long to figure it out). We left that stop with the windows open, some oldies playing, and a bright red perfectly round sun sinking into the haze.

Black River, Wisconsin

Add caption

Optical Illusion Trucks

We decided to stop in Minneapolis (instead of St. Paul), just to say we did. Cameron picked a random exit and just drove in the direction of downtown, taking us straight past the Twins' stadium. We found ourselves briefly at a big "block party" sponsored by a pizza place. Live music. Beer. Getting frisked by police officers. Everything your city party needs for good fun. Cameron had a beer and I just stood there for a bit, enjoying it all the same.

Block Party in Minneapolis, MN

Now we are in some hotel in St. Cloud, Minnesota. I am looking forward to the rest. I need to give my ears a break from the constant flow of terrible puns from my brother's grinning face.Tomorrow, we might just find ourselves in our friendly neighbor to the north. But first, we still have Fargo, and at least I can say I've been to the Midwest.

Strangle Count: Probably 3.

Playlist: Alternating between The No Sleep Podcast and Adam Ruins Everything: The Podcast