Arizona to Alaska and Back through 24 National Parks: The Mother of all RoadTrips!

This thread will be a day-by-day accounting of a 13,000 mile RoadTrip that took place in the summer of 2015. That’s a lot of miles, so this is going to be a long report, which I’ll be posting in sections, stretched out over the next several weeks.

***Maps will be created by Tom Herbertson using the RTA Custom Maps program and dropped into the appropriate place in the thread.

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.

Beginning at the beginning:

PRELUDE:

There are a number of events in a person’s life that mark a major point of transition: your first driver’s license, your 18th birthday, your graduation from high school or college; your first real job; first love; first marriage; first child. Most of those once-in-a-lifetime mileposts flash past us when we’re young, but there’s a big one that’s reserved for older folk, and because it’s something that requires a significant amount of long-term planning, it’s perhaps the most anticipated single event in the life of the average working stiff. I’m talking about retirement! That’s the day you get to throw away your alarm clock, because if you’ve done it right, it’s just like winning the lottery: every month, they send you a check, and you don’t have to do a darned thing to earn it.

As for myself, I had a career with the federal government that lasted almost 35 years, and by the time my own retirement date rolled around, just before my 65th birthday, I’d had a WHOLE lot of time to ponder the glorious potential of this new state of being. I wanted to kick it off with a celebration worthy of the occasion, and the first thing I wanted to do was a RoadTrip—a really BIG RoadTrip. I wanted to drive to Alaska on the Alaska Highway, and I wanted to see Denali, the biggest mountain in North America. I could go north by one route, and return by a different route, stopping at every national park along the way.

I moved back home to Arizona from Washington D.C., and I started planning in earnest, consulting maps and guidebooks, shopping for camping gear, servicing my Jeep, and soliciting everyone I knew in hopes of finding a co-pilot for this journey, which I’d dubbed “The Mother of All Road Trips,” (MOART for short). I was likely to be gone as much as two months, and that killed the whole deal for just about everybody. Even retired people are hard pressed to free up that much time all at once, and that meant that if I was going to do it, I’d have to do it alone. That wasn’t exactly ideal. I have a bad back that limits me in a lot of unfortunate ways; if the strain of all those hours behind the wheel threw it out of whack, I could get stuck in the middle of nowhere, in too much pain to keep going. With nobody to take over the driving, what the heck would I do?

It had been decades since I’d attempted anything remotely this ambitious, and, being brutally honest with myself, I really wasn’t sure if I was still capable. There was a lot at stake, and I knew I’d regret it forever if I didn’t at least give it a shot. I figured it would be best to start off slowly, with a sort of a trial run. First, I’d drive to Yosemite National Park, which was pretty exciting all by itself, because I’d never been there. Then I’d zip over to San Francisco, where I’d spend a few days visiting an old friend. The two of us would do some camping in the Redwoods, a perfect way to test out my new gear, and if all that went well, I’d head toward Alaska, one national park at a time. If my back gave me too much trouble, at any point along the way, I’d turn around and head for home. With that thought in my pocket, I started packing.



Click here for this RTA Library Map

This map (above) shows Rick's route between Phoenix, Arizona and Lee Vining, California. Rick completed this route in the summer months so his route included the June Lake Loop and over Tioga Pass (which we can't build when those roads are closed due to seasonal closures.) When the roads reopen we'll update this thread with new maps showing the routes over the roads that are closed now.****


Day 1: Tuesday, June 23, 2015

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My Jeep, empty: plenty of room in there with the seats folded flat.

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I packed all my stuff in watertight plastic tubs, which made it easy to unload on those nights when I skipped setting up the tent and just slept in the back.

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Everything fit neatly together in a configuration that became VERY familiar by the end of the trip!

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Locked and loaded, ready for launch!

That first day, I managed a 9 AM departure, despite a lot of last minute scrambling, organizing my gear and triple checking all my lists. The first leg was all too familiar; Interstate 10, west to California. No surprises on that route, aside from fires and smoke on the mountains to the west of Indio, a blaze on the back side of one of the peaks putting out a billowing column of smoke that made the semi-conical peak look like an erupting volcano.

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(Yet another) California wildfire, west of Indio.

Just past Riverside, I turned north, and made my way onto US 395, heading toward the Sierras. This was new territory at last—a road I’d never traveled! The old Joshua tree forests were blighted by new development, and the two lane highway was clogged by long lines of slow trucks and RV’s, interspersed with impatient idiots who simply had to pass everyone else, regardless of risk. I did quite a lot of passing and being passed, as I held to a steady speed. I have an indicator on my dash that calculates my average MPG, and I watched that number climb from 15 or so, which is what I get in the city, all the way up to 20.2! My Grand Cherokee, with its V-8 engine and full time four wheel drive, has never been even remotely fuel efficient, especially when you factor in my customary lead foot. With thousands of miles of road ahead of me, in a region where fuel prices are notoriously high, I was pleased to see that it was possible to do better, simply by adjusting my attitude (and keeping my RPM’s pegged on about 1800).
The landscape started getting much more interesting as the Sierras closed in, entering the Owens Valley, and by the time I got to Lone Pine, whoa, baby! We’re talking serious beauty, especially around Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in the lower 48 states.

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California’s Sierra Nevada, from US 395

I continued on to Bishop, mile 600 for the day, and plenty far enough. I bedded down for the night in an EconoLodge, $75 plus tax. It was a little shabby, but acceptable, and clean enough. My back was holding up better than I expected. I had a good lumbar support cushion, and I’d taken plenty of short breaks to stretch out my stiff muscles. So far, so good!

(Up next: Yosemite!)

I think we are going to enjoy this field report.

The author of this thread is also the author of Arizona and New Mexico: 25 Scenic Side Trips and you can read more about his book here.

Day 2: Wednesday, June 24th

From Bishop, the road climbed steadily to much higher, cooler elevation. Someone had suggested a short detour, a loop that passed by June Lake, Silver Lake, and Grant Lake.

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Bishop and Yosemite Village, California.)

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June Lake, just off US 395

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Grant Lake (a bit on the dry side), off CA 158

Took some good pictures, and then drove on to Lee Vining, where I snapped more pictures of Mono Lake—beautiful, but the photos weren’t that good because of haze, and poor light.

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Mono Lake, near Lee Vining

Next, the road went west toward Tioga Pass, climbing to an utterly breathtaking 9,945 feet, and the eastern, high country entrance to Yosemite. My coveted lifetime Senior Pass got me a smile and a welcome to the Park at no charge (best ten bucks I ever spent). Drove to the Tuolumne Meadows Visitor’s Center, where one of the Park Rangers answered a few questions for me.

1. Are any of the camp grounds tents only? (I have a thing about tent camping amongst a herd of RV’s). Answer: Two: Yosemite Creek, and Tamarack Flat, the latter being closer (though not by much) to Yosemite Village. Both had space available as of that morning.

2. If I only have one day, and I don’t really want to hike, what’s the best things I can see? She then recommended the Olmsted Point Overlook, just up the road, as well as Yosemite Valley, which is a must see despite the crowds. Last but most important, she said, was the drive to Glacier Point, atop the mountains on the opposite side of the valley. It was a bit of a drive, at least 45 minutes each way, but well worth it for the spectacular views.

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My first view of Half Dome, from the Olmsted Point Overlook off Tioga Road

I had to skip Tuolumne Meadows, a major attraction in the park, because it would have required a bit of a hike, and I was determined to avoid foot travel (lest I overtly strain my tenuous back). Olmsted Point proved to be fabulous, and provided my first view of Half Dome, off in the distance. Beyond the overlook, there was road construction that caused delays of about a half an hour—typical in summer. Past the construction, after first passing the entrance and then making a U-Turn, I found the road to Tamarack Flat and drove the three narrow, winding miles to the campground, hoping I wouldn’t meet another car going the other way, as there were sharp, blind corners and there was very little room to pass. The campground was nearly deserted, so I approached the bulletin board to see about reserving a camp site for the evening--$12 per night standard fee, or $6 with my senior pass. As I was filling out the reservation ticket, a young couple that was packing up their camp asked me how long I planned to stay. “One night,” I replied.

“We’ve already paid for tonight,” they explained, “but we’re moving on, and you’re welcome to use this space.”

Sounded good to me, so I thanked them, and left the campground to go out and explore the park. It took longer than I expected to reach Yosemite Village. I made numerous stops along the route to take pictures, and after one of them, just past a series of tunnels carved into the mountain, I started the car again, but the AC mysteriously failed to come on. Then I noticed the radio had lost power, and the electric windows wouldn’t roll down. Temperatures were mild, but it got very warm in the cab of the Jeep, very quickly, like a greenhouse effect, and I was immediately miserable with no ventilation. That got worse as I approached Yosemite Village. The crowds were extremely heavy, and traffic was a total mess, barely crawling along. Parking near the visitor’s center was a nightmare—way too many cars, not nearly enough parking spaces, and a ton of tour buses lumbering about. Most people park their cars in or near the Village, and do their traveling around in the buses; I could certainly see why! I was beyond exasperated, sweating bullets in the stuffy interior. I finally found a parking spot, and shut the thing off. I assumed I’d blown a fuse, at minimum. I was using my inverter to recharge all my electronics, as well as my heated back cushion, as well as the AC, and the load must have been too much for the Jeep’s electrical system. (That wasn’t true, as it turned out, but it was my best guess at the time.) Either way, I needed a mechanic, ASAP. Were services like that even available in Yosemite Village? If they were, I shuddered at the thought of how much they were likely to cost me. As for alternatives, how far would I have to drive my quasi-disabled vehicle in order to find a repair shop outside the National Park? This was a potential trip killer, if only for the potentially outrageous expense if the problem was anything more serious than fuses.

One of the volunteers at the visitor’s center recommended a place called the “Garage”, just up the road in the Village, so I walked over, found it, and talked to the mechanic, who agreed to take a look at my Jeep. I moved the Jeep to the Garage from my hard-won parking spot, fighting the ridiculous Yosemite Village cross traffic at a chaotic four way stop. The friendly mechanic checked all my fuses—must have been 30 or more altogether, two plastic boxes in the engine compartment, and another in an awkward spot under the dash on the driver’s side. None of them had blown. He asked me for my key fob, inserted it, gave it a twist, and started the engine. Bing-Bing-Bing-Bing! Everything that had been dead came miraculously back to life! The mechanic surmised that I had indeed overloaded my electrical system, causing the non-critical accessories to shut down. When I stopped the vehicle, everything cooled off, and the problem self-resolved. Amazingly, there was no charge, not even for the time he spent checking my fuses, so I wasn’t about to argue with him; he was the mechanic, and presumably knew more about these things than me! I drove away with seriously mixed emotions: relief, because everything was working again; joy, because the incident hadn’t cost me a penny; and worry, because I still wasn’t quite sure what had happened, and I was afraid it might happen again.

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Yosemite Valley

I puttered around Yosemite Village and got a sandwich, took numerous photos from the Valley floor of Half Dome, El Capitan, and the big waterfall that’s, like, right there! Next, with the AC, windows, and radio working again I drove up to Glacier Point, a distance of 30 miles or so. There was a ton of traffic on that road—mostly big RV’s and rental cars. Nobody knew how to drive on steep grades—they were going too slow, or too fast, and using their brakes WAY too much. Stopped first at Washburn Point overlook, and saw an astonishing sight: Half Dome, in all its glory was actually below me. I could see the whole of Yosemite Valley, along with two perfect waterfalls springing from the distant mountainside behind the iconic peak.

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Washburn Point Overlook: not one, but two waterfalls!

The lookout area was surprisingly uncrowded, even though the view, as it turned out, might well be the best in the whole park. Glacier Point itself, perhaps a mile and a half further up the road, had a similar view, but only one of the two waterfalls was visible from that vantage point. Worse: Glacier Point was outrageously crowded, the huge parking area strained to capacity with sedans, SUV’s, RV’s of every description, and—the main reason for the crowd—tour buses—lots and lots of tour buses. I parked and made my way to each of several overlooks. It was quite a challenge, trying to snap pictures that did not include the herds of tourists, their children, their eagerly extended cameras (most commonly, cell phone cameras mounted on selfie sticks).

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Half Dome, as seen from Glacier Point

I was pretty darned satisfied. I’d taken some wonderful pictures, and I was completely blown away by the beauty that was all around me. With a very big grin on my face, I made my way back down the mountain. At a wide spot along the route, a number of cars were pulled over, people pointing excitedly into the woods. I figured it had to be a bear, so I stopped as well, and came away with a great series of shots of a brown bear grazing among purple wildflowers.

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Yosemite Traffic Hazard

At the bottom of the road, back in the valley, crowds had thinned dramatically—it was getting late in the day, 6 PM or so, and it was easy to stop wherever I liked to snap more photos of El Capitan and the other geological wonders in this extraordinary place. Back in the Village, parking was a breeze. The hamburger stand with the $13 cheeseburgers was closed for the day, so I went into the market and bought a turkey sandwich, my dinner for later. Then I studied my maps, and concluded that I really should use my free camping spot, rather than trying to drive out of the park in search of a motel. To that end, I drove toward the western park exit on the same road that eventually forked and hooked back toward the high country, where I’d been earlier in the day. I was making good time, cruising right along, but at one point, all traffic ahead of me stopped dead. I inched along for at least 20 minutes in a traffic jam reminiscent of big city rush hour, wondering what the cause might be. And then I came upon the explanation: off to the side of the road, just across the Merced River, a young bear had climbed a spindly pine tree and was swaying at the top, putting on a bit of a show. There was no proper place to pull over, so cars traveling in both directions simply stopped in the middle of the road while people got out and took their photos (mostly with cell phone cameras) oblivious to the other drivers, who were all waiting impatiently to do the same thing themselves. Once I got past that obstacle, I sailed away pretty quickly. The road to the campground was much farther than I remembered—my gas gauge was dipping pretty low, so I stopped and bought five gallons at inflated National Park prices ($4.39 a gallon, a dollar a gallon higher than most stations were charging in other parts of California that summer), and by the time I got to the turn off (with some relief—I feared I’d passed it) it was getting quite late, close to dark.

The sign at the turnoff to the campground said full up, and I was afraid someone might have stolen my space, so I hustled down the narrow, curvy road. Thankfully, all was well. As I started setting up, a young woman approached, asking me if I knew any alternatives for staying the night, any other campgrounds or hotels within driving distance, since it was getting late, and nothing around there was available. The camp ground rules allowed up to two vehicles and as many as six people per campsite, so I offered to share mine, a simple gesture that didn’t cost me a thing and was very much appreciated. One of the girls was a wildlife biologist who had just received her Master’s degree. I told them I was headed to Alaska to see Denali, and she brightened. Seems she’d been to Denali herself, the previous week, no less, so we had a great conversation about Alaska and about travel in general. One of the best things about traveling alone—you’re more inclined to reach out to strangers, if only to have someone to talk to, and you can meet fascinating people that way. I removed the tubs from the Jeep, set them out, and covered them neatly with my tarp. (I wasn’t expecting rain that night, but it seemed like a good idea to make a habit of using the tarp, which doubled as a ground cloth for my tent.) Then I blew up my Megamat, a $200 air mattress that I bought from REI, and I slept in the Jeep for the first time. Not too bad! The night started out too warm; I tried sleeping wearing jeans and T-shirt, no blanket or bag. Then it started to cool down so I covered up with a sheet, and before long, I had to un-stuff my down bag and climb into that. Slept fitfully, but well enough, after my first full day exploring an amazing spot I’d never been before.

Lovely pictures Rick and I'm enjoying reading your memoirs, they are bringing back some of my own fond memories.

Dave.

Day 3: Thursday, June 25th

I was up at 6 AM, and hit the road, driving out the west entrance of Yosemite on Hwy 120 toward Manteca. It was a beautiful curvy two-lane road, rolling down out of the mountains. The route was reasonably straightforward, but I still managed to get lost passing through Manteca, where several freeways come together. I passed up the onramp that I should have taken, and then ran into a second freeway quite a bit later, after passing through random neighborhoods. From the signs, it sounded wrong—like it was going to take me in the wrong direction, so I pulled over and checked maps, decided to go for it, and ta-da, it all worked out. I think California freeways, the signage, the way it all looks on maps, it’s all deliberately confusing! I ran into a terrible mid-day traffic back-up on I-580, surrounded by mostly trucks in a frozen river of vehicles that was barely moving. After a very long time I finally inched my way to the source: the far left lane was closed for a work zone, and two lanes had to merge, causing the whole artery to clog to a dead halt stretching twenty miles back. I made it through Berkeley to the Richmond Bridge, and, just like that, I was in Marin County. Pulled over and called my friend for precise instructions, then drove to his house in Mill Valley—a stunning three story home on Panoramic Highway, at the top of a high ridge near Mt. Tamalpais. The house had an elevator from the garage to the eagle’s nest (the third floor, where they mostly live), and an unobstructed view of beautifully quilted green and tan hills, rippling down all the way to the sea, along with another view, just across neighbor’s rooftops, of San Francisco Bay and the Richmond Bridge.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Yosemite Village and Tiburon, California.)


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Panoramic Highway, Mill Valley

I had a very nice reunion with my old friend Carl, who I’ve known for more than fifty years. It had been a very long time since we’d last seen each other, so we had a lot of catching up to do. We spent a lovely afternoon driving local roads in Marin County, taking in beautiful ocean views which are often cloaked in fog--but everything was perfectly clear on this particular glorious day. And I had to admit—sleeping in Carl’s guest room was a whale of a lot more comfortable than sleeping in the back of my Jeep!

Days 4-5: Friday & Saturday, June 26th & 27th

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Beautiful sunrise from the deck!

Right after breakfast, we hiked Muir Woods, the easy way: we left the Jeep at the bottom of the mountain, near the park entrance, and then rode tandem on Carl’s little motorcycle, up to the top of the mountain. We left the bike up there near the trail head--easy enough to come back for it later--so our entire hike was downhill—five miles or so of beautiful redwood forest and a burbling creek with ferns and mossy boulders. That was the longest hike I'd taken in years, and I felt great!

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Muir Woods National Monument

We saw huge crowds going into the park that morning—a constant stream of people. By the time we finished our hike, all parking lots were full, and every road for a mile or more in every direction was lined with the spillover, cars parked nose to tail as far as the eye could see. Despite that huge influx of humanity at the park entrance, coming in the “back way” as we had done, we didn’t encounter all that many people, not until we got to the area nearest the park entrance. Most visitors, it seems, don’t go all that deep into this forest and they’re really missing out! Afterwards, we drove to Bolinas, had a couple of beers at Smiley’s—the oldest bar in Marin, followed by an evening of stimulating conversation, hanging out at my friend’s beautiful house.

The next morning, we tossed a couple of bicycles into the back of Carl’s old green mini-van, and drove to Tiburon. Biked around the area—something I hadn’t done in quite some time—then stopped by the wharf, where the ferries dock for tours of Angel Island, or back and forth to San Francisco (an alternative to the busier San Francisco to Sausalito ferry). Had ceviche and guacamole and margaritas at an overpriced dockside café, then rode back to the van, drove around a bit more. I was starting to loosen up in a major way, and, so far, at least, my broken back was behaving itself.

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San Francisco and the Bay Bridge from Tiburon Harbor

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Tiburon (a bit like an homage to the coast of Italy, on San Francisco Bay)

Days 6-7: Sunday & Monday, June 28th & 29th

I started the day at the street fair in San Rafael, an annual event that attracts artists from all over the world. Several downtown streets are painted with a fresh, smooth coating of blacktop, marked off into a grid. Local businesses sponsor squares of various sizes, and each artist is assigned to a square, where they create amazing chalk drawings on the smooth black surface. The theme for this year was Carnival, and most (but not all) of the art reflected something to do with costumes and celebrations.

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Chalk artist drawing on the street in San Rafael

A number of local women in elaborate costumes reminiscent of the court of Louis the XIV paraded slowly down the main street, holding jeweled masks in front of their faces, twirling for the crowd, moving to the tune of Bach Concertos played over loudspeakers.

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Street fair in San Rafael


Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Tiburon and Mt. Tamalpais, California, via the Mendocino Coast.)

We were already packed for camping, so from San Rafael we drove north to the Anderson Valley, following US 101 to CA 128, eventually arriving at a town called Boonville. The town is fairly well known for two things: a local brewery that puts out some highly regarded craft beer, and a unique language, more of a jargon, called Boontling, which is spoken nowhere else in the world. We stopped off at the former (the brewery), and while we slaked our thirst, we chatted with the bartender about the latter. He told us that Boontling has about 1,000 unique words and phrases, and that it’s in danger of becoming archaic, as there are no more than 100 people, all Anderson Valley residents, who still speak it. The odd lingo got started in the late 19th century as a language game played by the children in this isolated farming community; the point to it was to allow the youngsters to speak freely in front of their elders, without being understood. (This explains why a disproportionate number of the odd sounding words have, shall we say, naughty connotations.) Along with the linguistic history lesson, the bartender gave us a fabulous tip on the best place to pitch a tent: a Mendocino County campground called Indian Creek, near Philo.

He wasn’t kidding about the campground: the place was fabulous, nestled among magnificent 1,000 year-old giant redwoods, and we darned near had it all to ourselves: only 3 of the 10 spots were occupied. We set up my new SUV tent, which had never been used. The crazy thing was huge—10’ x 10’ and 7 feet tall, with an elasticized boot that attached to the back end of my Jeep. I’d practiced the set up in my driveway at home, so I knew more-or-less how it worked. For one person, it’s extremely awkward, but with the two of us, it was a breeze, and it turned out to be quite a comfortable space. The rear hatch stays open, so the cargo space in the back of the Jeep becomes a very convenient, up-off-the-ground extension of the tent, eliminating the need to unload our gear and carry it back and forth. We had a great spot near a creek, and there was no sound out there but burbling brook and bird song. A nearly full moon diffused by high thin cloud made the sky glow all night long. Someone had left a stack of firewood at our campsite, so we made a great fire and stayed up yakking until almost midnight, enjoying the beautiful night sky through the huge mosquito-netted windows of the tent.

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Camping in the redwoods in Mendocino County

Next morning, we broke camp, had a good breakfast in Boonville, and then drove across the mountain toward the coast on a Mendocino County byway called Mountain View Road. A beautiful drive, but it was a little hairy. In some spots, the road was too narrow for two way traffic, but there were logging trucks loaded with giant redwood carcasses coming fast around the curves from the other direction, so I had to really stay on my toes, and there were a few heart-stopping moments.

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Point Arena Lighthouse, Mendocino coast

We ended up at the Mendocino coast by the Point Arena lighthouse, then followed PCH (California Highway 1, Pacific Coast Highway), making at least 20 stops along the way. Great pictures, beautiful clear day—rare in that place in this season. Had oysters and beer and crab and fish tacos in Bodega Bay, then back to Carl’s.

Days 8-9: Tuesday & Wednesday, June 30th & July 1st

I woke up seriously ill with what must have been food poisoning, apparently from a bad oyster. That was actually a good excuse to spend a quiet day at the house, doing laundry and catching up notes and photos, and planning my route north. As dusk approached, we drove up Mount Tamalpais to the abandoned Mill Valley Air Force Station, a relic of World War II, up at the very top. We watched the sunset, followed by the rise of the full moon. Puffy banks of fog filled the valleys between the ridges, obscuring all but the very top of the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge.

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Foggy Golden Gate Bridge

Back at my friend’s house, we had a simple dinner and I hit the sack early, still pretty queasy.

The next day, I took advantage of Carl and Laura’s hospitality one more time, and spent a second day in recuperation mode. I focused on serious route planning, did a little more photo processing, worked on my correspondence, sending Yosemite photos to all my friends. I went into this journey with no fixed schedule or itinerary. I still wasn’t sure how far I’d get—but now there was a possibility that Carl might endeavor to join me along the route--most likely when I return south, the leg through the Rockies in both Canada and the U.S. That meant I was going to have to plan a bit more specifically, break the trip into sections and keep to an approximate schedule. It would be wonderful to have a co-pilot along on any portion of the upcoming drive, so I was more than happy to make whatever adjustments might be required. In late afternoon, we took a short hike up Mount Tam to watch another great sunset. Spent a quiet evening in the eagle’s nest, had healthy food for dinner, and I was in bed by 10 or so.

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Sunset over San Francisco Bay

Next up: North to Oregon!

Day 10: Thursday, July 2nd

Hanging out with my friend was a wonderful interlude, but now it was time to get on the road for real. I was recovered from the food poisoning, and (knock on wood) my back wasn’t giving me any serious trouble. I figured I could drive to Oregon, maybe even as far as Seattle, and by that point (hopefully) I’d know if what I wanted to do was truly feasible. I didn’t start loading the Jeep until 9:00, so I didn’t pull out of the driveway until 9:30, and I didn’t hit the 101 until almost 10:00.


Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Mt. Tamalpais, California and Crater Lake National Park, Oregon.)

I spent the rest of the day driving north by northwest up US 101 to Crescent City. This was the real Redwood Country. I wanted to stop at Redwood National Park, so I deliberately skipped all the California State parks in Humboldt County--but then I either missed or misinterpreted the signs in Orrick that would have led me to the section of Redwood N.P. known as the Grove of Tall Trees. By the time I realized my mistake, I’d driven too far to turn around, so I took very few pictures on that stretch. That was disappointing, but not a huge big deal. In truth, it’s almost impossible to do justice to the biggest redwoods with an ordinary photograph. Surrounded by their brethren as they are, there’s no easy-to-get-to place for a photographer to stand that would provide a proper perspective on these magnificent beings, upwards of 2,000 years old, the largest living things on earth. Just driving up the Avenue of the Giants—a 20 mile long scenic alternate that runs parallel to the larger road south of Phillipsville, was breathtaking.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...550-7-2-15.jpg
Avenue of the Giants, Redwood National Park

I followed the beautiful rocky coastline to Crescent City, then veered northeast on Route 199, not even realizing that I was traveling through the heart of the northernmost segment of the national park. (There were no signs to indicate that fact). I did, however, appreciate the beauty. Pretty much the entire drive up to that point was spectacular—duly humbled in Humboldt County!

I entered Oregon at some indeterminate point—I didn’t see a Welcome sign to mark the border, just a gradual shift to a predominance of Oregon license plates on the other cars sharing the road. I drove on to Grants Pass, where it was hot (106 degrees!), dry, and dusty. Cheapest rooms in my AAA guide were in the $90 range and several were on the same street, the main drag through town. I whipped in to a Knight’s Inn that looked okay from the outside (if the quality of the other cars parked in the lot is any indication). The man at the front desk was from India. He was friendly enough, and offered me a room for $69 plus tax. “Same rate as Motel 6,” he assured me. The room proved to be just fine. Wi Fi and ice machine didn’t work, but that was hardly a deal breaker; all I needed was a bed--and air conditioning! I went to a supermarket instead of getting fast food for dinner—ended up with a fresh made sandwich, a six pack for my ice chest, and some fantastic fruit—fresh-picked cherries, a huge bag full that lasted me several days. I had covered 430 miles, altogether, on some very curvy roads, so my back was definitely a little sore. Once I stopped for the night, it loosened up well enough. So far, so good! My only regret for this day: I didn’t take enough pictures!

Next up: Crater Lake

Day 11: Friday, July 3rd

Got up early, rolled out of Grants Pass, and drove 85 miles or so up into the mountains, to Crater Lake. Got in free (Yay Senior Pass!), asked the Ranger at the entrance about camping possibilities, specifically, about tents only campgrounds. There was just one, he said, Lost Creek Campground, but only sixteen spaces, and this is the fourth of July weekend! Spaces are first come first served and can’t be reserved, so I took a chance and headed straight to it. I got lucky, and scored a great camp site by a creek, for just five bucks. (Senior Pass Price.) Camp site secured, I spent the rest of the day exploring.

Crater Lake is an old favorite of mine. I saw it the first time on a family vacation in 1962, on the way to the World’s Fair in Seattle (the event that was marked by the debut of the iconic Space Needle). I saw it again in 1987, on a vacation with my wife and daughter, and on both occasions, I was totally blown away. It’s a place that’s best described in superlatives: the deepest lake in the United States, the clearest water in the world, and the most extraordinary shade of deep, rich blue that you will ever see.

Most visitors to the Park come in the same way I did, on Highway 62, which leads right to the Visitor’s Center. There’s a rim drive that circles the entire lake. The overlooks closest to the Rim Village, where all the concessions are located, is to the left, so 95% of the vehicles head that way, and continue on around the crater in a clockwise direction. My campground was the other way, so I went to the right from the Village, and after I secured my campsite, I made my first circuit of the lake in a counterclockwise direction, stopping at overlooks every couple of miles. Traveling in the opposite direction from the herd put me a little bit out of synch with everyone else, and that was a good thing. I actually had some of those overlooks all to myself, especially on the east side of the park, and that was on an intensely busy Fourth of July weekend. I took hundreds of photographs; I’ll let them speak for themselves:

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...644-7-3-15.jpg
Wizard Island, a cinder cone that rises from the waters of the lake

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...ul-03-2015.jpg
The deep blue color comes from the purity of the water, said to be the cleanest and clearest in the world!

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...865-7-3-15.jpg
Sunset at Crater Lake

Day 12: Saturday, July 4th

I woke up early after a very restless night in the back of the Jeep, very cold and cramped. I was beginning to realize that my tent was far more comfortable, so even though it was quite a bit more trouble, I promised myself that I’d use it in preference whenever possible. The mosquitoes by my little creek were voracious; I really shouldn’t have chosen a spot so near the water! I packed and took off early, stopped at several overlooks and took more beautiful photos of sunrise over the lake.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...890-7-4-15.jpg
Sunrise at Crater Lake

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map attempts to show the route described by Rick between Crater Lake NP and Randle, Washington. Rick's actual route followed a road (NFD 25) that is closed every winter due to snow.)

Distracted by the view, I passed the exit the first time, and had to retrace. The Rim Drive runs 33 miles, altogether; I think I drove the whole thing three times on this visit! I drove out to highway 97, stopped in Chemult for eggs and hash browns, and finally caught up on texts and such, as I hadn’t found any stable cell service at Crater Lake. Drove north through Bend, then across an Indian Reservation toward Portland. There were great views along the way of the Three Sisters, Mount Baker, and Mount Hood.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...ul-04-2015.jpg
Mount Hood, from US 26

I drove into Portland, arriving in Gresham, an eastern suburb, at about 2:00. Between my AAA book and Siri, I managed to find a decent enough Super 8 for $89 plus tax. I spent the afternoon working on my gorgeous photos from Crater Lake, crashed early to the din of nearby home-style Fourth of July fireworks—loud and relentless until almost midnight.

Next up: Columbia Gorge and Mount St. Helens

Day 13: Sunday, July 5th

Got up in no particular hurry and rolled out of the motel around 9:00. Drove east on I-84 along the south side of the Columbia Gorge. It was beautiful, but it was a freeway, so thank goodness for the 7 mile scenic alternate with several waterfalls and trailheads for hiking. Parking was a problem, as the area was very crowded with city dwellers out for day trips on this holiday weekend.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...ul-05-2015.jpg
Multnomah Falls, Columbia Gorge

At Multnomah Falls, a place I remember from my solo hiking trip through this area way back in 1970, many signs warned against leaving valuables in your car, and broken bits of shattered safety glass in one of the parking spaces near mine confirmed the danger. That made me nervous, so I didn’t really enjoy the waterfall; didn’t hike up to the bridge, for example—just took some quick pics and beat feet out of there. Drove as far as Hood River, and managed to find the toll bridge ($1.00), which took me across the Columbia River into Washington State. Drove back west again for a bit, noticing a whole different feel on that side of the river. It wasn’t a freeway, so you could stop anywhere you liked, and I did just that. I ran across a windsurfer camp, which looked a bit like a hobo jungle, and took some pictures of the river. Turned north on a small road that I’d traced on my map, but once I got to the nearest town, there were no signs anywhere, so I had to ask a guy who was out watering his lawn which road led north to Rainier. The guy seemed surprised. According to him, people on that road often ask how to get to St. Helen’s, but nobody had ever asked him how to get to Rainier. I showed him my map, and after studying it for a minute, with a quizzical frown on his face, he conceded it would work. “Should be a pretty drive,” he said, “but you’ll be glad that you’re driving a Jeep; some parts of it are pretty rough. Head down the hill and turn right at the fire station. After that, just keep going north.”

The road was indeed terrible, narrow, dipsy, curvy, steep, and fraught with frost heaves, buckles and wide cracks in the asphalt, plus chuckholes big enough to swallow a front wheel. I thought it was great fun, driving that road, and I actually went airborne once or twice, flying out of unexpected dips. Fortunately, there was very little traffic! As promised, the road led past the back side of St. Helens, and I got some great views when there were breaks in the trees.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...970-7-5-15.jpg
Mount Saint Helens

Unbeknownst to me, a side spur off the road I was driving led to the best spot in existence for viewing the blown crater—but, shame on me, I hadn’t done my homework in advance, so I didn’t know it was there. Note to self: plan ahead, at least a little bit! (Dummy!) Once I got to Randle, I was finally back onto normal highways. It was already 3:00 PM, too late to move on to Rainier, so I holed up in a funky motel outside Randle. The place was kinda cute, and reasonable, but they had no AC, and it was an abnormally warm 95 degree day. I spent most of the afternoon and evening sitting in front of a fan on high speed.

Next up: Mount Rainier

I'm thinking that small town where you turned north to try to find your way to St Helens and Rainier, might have been Carson? The way you describe that road, I'm pretty sure we took that many years ago -- a forest road, if I recall correctly. You're right, it was beautiful! We did it just a few years after the crater blew -- can't imagine it, now!


Donna

Donna:

Actually, I think it was Trout Lake, off Washington 141. From there, I got off onto the road I described, which merges with the route you guys must have taken from Carson. Not much traffic back there. That's my favorite kind of adventure--when I have no idea what I'm getting into!

Rick

Day 14: Monday, July 6th

Got up at 6:00, showered, and hit the road. I was in Rainier National Park by 7:00, and drove straight to Sunrise Point on the east side of the mountain. Great choice! The massive peak was a looming, dominant presence, with a wispy cloud toupee that quickly evaporated.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...034-7-6-15.jpg
Mount Rainier

I took tons of gorgeous pictures, and didn’t see all that many people, not until I got to the main part of the park on the southern flank of the mountain, near Paradise. In that area I ran into big crowds, zero parking, and hyper-inflated food prices--along with clean bathrooms (always a plus).


Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

(This map shows Rick's route between Randle and Mercer Island, Washington.)

Rick’s Tips for Mount Rainier National Park: get there early and go straight to Sunrise, high on the east side of the mountain. Be there at or shortly before daybreak. Set up and wait for it—you could, if you’re lucky, catch a killer view of the rising sun’s rays reflecting off Rainier’s glaciers. Everyone, photographers especially, should stop at every overlook; they’re all different, and the light changes dramatically from one to another. A personal favorite was the Box Canyon/Bridge overlook, where I took pictures with a weather beaten wood fence in the foreground, a classic Alpine scene.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...221-7-6-15.jpg
Mount Rainier from the Box Canyon Overlook

Also, reflective lakes—where there were mountain views and wildflowers galore. Picture this (and I did): wildflowers in foreground, mountain perfectly framed in background, and the reflective lake in between?

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...301-7-6-15.jpg
Wildflowers near Mount Rainier

Ha! Early July is actually perfect timing for wildflowers in many of these National Parks—higher elevations being the key to later blooming.

I got caught in lengthy road construction delays (twice), so didn’t leave the National Park until about 2:00. Drove west on Highway 12 toward the Pacific Ocean. I stopped at Elma, the first/last big town before you get to the coast, where I assumed rooms would be hard to get and expensive. There was a brand new conference type hotel in Elma that looked almost deserted. Got a single room for $82 plus tax and holed up for the duration. Felt like a wimp, staying in motels three nights in a row, but hey, this was supposed to be a vacation!

Next up: Olympic National Park

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Rick Quinn

That's my favorite kind of adventure--when I have no idea what I'm getting into!

---

Mine too. I still drive neighborhoods in the cities I know well, because there are always things that I run across that I had no idea would be found there. And I like take roads when I don't really know where they go -- just that they seem to be going in generally the right direction of travel.

These days, I don't have much time for moseying -- always on a tight schedule -- so every chance I can, I drive a road that's I've never been on.

Mark

Day 15: Tuesday, July 7th

Left the hotel in Elma at 8:00 AM, and drove to the coast. Before long, I was mentally kicking myself. I saw dozens of mom and pop motels along my route that morning that would have been more to my taste than that cookie-cutter business-class hotel in Elma, but once again, I hadn’t done my homework. This was more new territory for me, a part of Washington State I’d never seen. I took US 12 west to US 101 (the same road I was on in California, through the redwoods) and followed that north into Olympic National Park. I followed signs to the first Ranger Station, which was actually a few miles off the highway. I was quizzing the Ranger at the counter when her partner strolled out from the back wearing not just a mask, but a full Smoky the Bear head, all the way to the shoulders, and asked me, matter-of-factly, what kind of information did I need? “Tips on how to prevent forest fires?” I replied. That brought a good laugh. They gave me a map and circled the most probable of the first-come-first-served camp grounds. Some, but not all of them had just emptied out in the wake of the Fourth of July weekend—but, fair warning, with or without the holiday, it was summer, and these were very popular areas.

Olympic National Park is huge, encompassing the whole of Mount Olympus and most of the rest of the Olympic Peninsula. A very few roads lead from the highway—US 101—to parking areas, from which networks of trails lead into the park itself. It’s all wilderness, so no vehicles are allowed beyond the trail heads. The bulk of the park can only be accessed by hiking into it, and the further you go, the wilder it gets! As in most National Parks, the visitors tend to cluster near the entrances and the concession areas. Anything more than a mile up a footpath, good odds you’ll have it all to yourself (with some exceptions). US 101 does a horseshoe around almost the entire Peninsula before continuing north to its terminus at the Canadian border, so I studied the map, and my guide book, and I chose the second of the several roads that penetrate the park interior on the western side. The massive ocean-facing mountain rises abruptly out of the sea, disrupting the moisture-laden airflow rushing inland. The moisture in the almost constant flow of clouds and fog falls as rain, 160 inches per year, creating one of the world’s only temperate rain forests. The Hoh River Valley is one such rain forest. The drive in is winding and spectacular, great fun if you don’t get trapped behind a slowpoke in an RV. At the end of the road there are several trails, and I followed signs to the Hall of Mosses, a short hike from the parking lot. I took some great photos, then reversed course. My next recommended destination was on the other side of the park, a place called Hurricane Ridge.

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Hoh Rain Forest, Olympic National Park

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Hall of Mosses, Hoh Rain Forest

I made my way back down the long winding road to the Highway, this time at my own pace, as there was no other traffic. It was about ten miles from the Hoh Valley Road to the town of Forks—private land, Indian Reservations, National Forest, National Park, Wilderness, and State Trust lands make up a crazy quilt of jurisdictions, usage, and restrictions. The locals, in the back country especially, are much more conservative than Oregonians, who seem to be quite progressive, as well as being a darn sight friendlier than their counterparts north of the Columbia River. I saw a number of billboards that said: “Say No to More Wilderness, and No to more National Parkland! Working forests for Working Families!” I can’t blame them for feeling that way; it’s their livelihood, but it puts them at odds with important conservation efforts.

On the recommendation of two different Park Rangers I stopped at the Kiahowya camp ground, some twenty miles east of Forks. It was quite nice, beautiful and quiet, so I put my money in an envelope to reserve space #22 ($8.50, half of the usual $17, thanks to my Senior Pass!) Threw out my tarp and left my big water bottle on the picnic table to ensure people would know the space was occupied, and then I drove off toward Hurricane Ridge. It was farther than I expected—hadn’t thought about it at all, really, but it took an hour just to get to Port Angeles, and another half hour to get up to the top of Hurricane Ridge. The road was beautiful, lined with yellow and purple flowers at the higher elevations, steep, and lots of hairpin curves. Unfortunately, there’s no rain forest on the east side of the park. This was just a high ridge on the flank of Mount Olympus, and the main attraction was the view. This was a clear day, dramatically so for the area, but the hills and valleys below Hurricane were masked by an impenetrable grayness, can’t really call it cloud, as there were no edges or fluff—just an amorphous lack of clarity that completely obscured the view. Net result, Hurricane Ridge was a disappointment.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...ul-07-2015.jpg
Crappy view from Hurricane Ridge

I should have spent more time walking around by Hoh River, or following one of the other roads up into the unique ecosystem of the rain forests. As it was, I spent most of my day driving—300 miles altogether, mostly within the National Park. After a 90 minute drive getting to the top of Hurricane Ridge, I had to drive 90 minutes back to the campground, with a stop at Grandma’s Café for a chili burger and to send a few last minute texts. The restaurant was the last place where I had a cell signal before dropping into the black hole known as: “No Service.”

I set up camp, but instead of using the tent, I put some thought into a better arrangement for sleeping in the car. There was a void just behind the front seats that made it impossible for me to stretch out full length, so I tried moving the driver’s seat all the way forward and then tipping it toward the steering wheel, opening a larger space behind the seat, jut big enough for the smallest of my gear tubs. With my toiletry bag lying flat atop it, and with my ice chest left in place in the middle, just behind the console, I’d filled that pesky gap, and for the first time I had a more or less solid, level platform, long enough that I could use the whole air mattress, instead of sleeping on my side with my knees tucked. I was really hoping that would be better; I needed to be able to set up for sleeping easily and comfortably, lest I blow a ton of money on second-rate motels. I made a vow to sleep in my tent or in the Jeep at least every other night. (Spoiler alert: that proved to be a very hard vow to keep!)

Day 16: Wednesday, July 8th

I slept really, really well with that new arrangement, and woke up pleasantly refreshed. Sometimes, small things make a big difference! Packed up the camp fairly quickly and drove the now familiar road to Port Angeles.

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Early morning on the Olympic Peninsula

I had a quick fast-food breakfast and gassed up, then headed for the Ferry at Kingston. Not knowing the schedule, or how crowded it would be, I anticipated a long delay, but I needn’t have worried. It was crowded, yes, but the boat was huge. Got a senior discount on the fare, and 20 minutes later I was driving onto the ferry with several hundred other cars and trucks. Half an hour after that I was across Puget Sound and rolling off again. The ferry saved me well over 100 miles and, potentially, several hours of driving, all the way through Seattle and its gridlock traffic. I drove to Kirkland, the northern suburb near Redmond that I’d chosen rather arbitrarily. Comfort Inn wanted $150 a night, so I checked the Motel 6 (coming down a bit in status, there), and booked a room for two nights, $75 a night. The rooms were a bit Spartan, but perfectly acceptable. I ran around a bit that afternoon, getting the oil changed on my Jeep, refilled a prescription, stocked up some supplies, and then I pretty much crashed. All the long driving days were catching up to me. I fiddled with my pictures, just for a bit, and then sent a mass email to many friends and former co-workers, content to just hang out in my funky room at the Motel 6.

Day 17: Thursday, July 9th

Basically took it easy the first half of the day; I was still pretty beat, and glad to have the time to decompress. In the afternoon I went out and got the Jeep properly washed, then drove through horrible rush hour traffic, slow and go, to Luther Burbank Park on Mercer Island—across Lake Washington from Bill Gates’ compound. There, I had a lovely visit and picnic dinner with some friends I’d met when I rafted the Grand Canyon, two years before. We watched a rather odd version of Shakespeare’s “As You like It” put on by a local theater troupe that does Shakespeare in the Park. They were good, really into it, with odd props, odd attire—dreadlocks and banjos? But it was pretty much fun.

Next up: North into Canada

Day 18: Friday, July 10th

Woke up early, and took my time getting my stuff together. Had breakfast, talked to my wife on the phone for a bit—catching up—and then I headed north. I’d barely merged onto I-5, zipping into the inside lane, when I saw a trooper on a motorcycle up ahead, parked in the breakdown lane. I immediately slowed a little, matching my speed with the rest of the traffic, but I was too late: the Trooper had spied my out-of-state plate, and I became his quarry. He zoomed up behind me, hit his lights, and motioned me to pull over and stop. “You were doing 72 miles an hour” he said sternly. Limit was 60, but like I said, everyone else was going a good bit faster than that, and the trooper had stationed himself at the exact point where the speed limit dropped to 60 from 65, a classic speed trap. I’d been warned by my friends in California that the Highway Patrol in Washington State targets out-of-state drivers, and here was the proof. I got a $156 ticket, my first in decades, and I had just 15 days to respond. I drove up to Bellingham, keeping my speed well below the limit while cursing under my breath. Found a Post Office, bought a money order and an envelope, and mailed in the stinkin’ fine, right on the spot. Had I been staying in the area I might have fought it—but as the trooper knew full well, I was just passing through, so that was not an option.

I continued on to the border at Abbotsford, not sure what to expect, and got into a long, slow line. My turn came, I handed my passport to the guy in the booth, he asked me questions about liquor and weapons and my plans and such, then sent me on to step two. I stopped in a pullover area, expecting them to inspect my vehicle. Went inside, presented my passport, answered many more questions, and was free to go after they did a background check on me, confirming that I wasn’t an unsavory character. One thing they told me that I had not known: anyone who has ever had a DUI, anywhere, no matter how far back, is not welcome in Canada. They never so much as glanced at the Jeep, or any of my gear.

I drove east to Hope, then north, staying on Canada 1 (the Trans-Canada Highway) through the Fraser River Canyon. The scenery was dramatic, but so obscured by haze it was hardly worth stopping for pictures, especially on such a busy road.

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

(This map shows Rick's route between Mercer Island, Washington and Beaver Creek, Yukon.)


https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...ul-10-2015.jpg
Fraser River Canyon off Canada 1 (Trans-Canada Highway)

At Cache Creek, where I’d considered stopping, the temps were over 100 degrees and the terrain very arid, almost treeless. That certainly didn’t appeal, so I kept driving. The Trans-Canada Highway turned east to Kamloops, and Canada 97 forked off to the left, headed north. I went north, grinning from ear to ear. Almost immediately, I drove into a brief but intense rainstorm that dropped the temperature 30 degrees in a matter of minutes, a welcome change. I kept going to a town called 100 Mile House, which my Alaska Highway guide book recommended for the first overnight stop when traveling north from Washington State. Found a room with no AC for $65. That seemed reasonable, so I decided to wuss out and do that instead of camping. It was still pretty warm outside, so I slept with a fan on me all night. The motel had Wi-Fi, but even though I connected to their network, I couldn’t get email, couldn’t get on the internet, and couldn’t send any texts. This proved to be an ongoing problem for me in Canada. I’d spent $30 to upgrade my phone, to allow unlimited texts in Canada. That proved a total waste, since texting only worked for me in the largest towns and near the border.

Day 19: Saturday, July 11th

I hit the road bright and early. The scenery along the way was nice, lots of wildflowers, farms, livestock, big vistas, but on this busy two lane road with slow trucks and passing hassles, I just got into a mode where I was reluctant to stop, because that would have put me all the way at the back of the line again. I passed through Prince George, the fourth largest town in British Columbia. I was able to send and receive text messages from there, so I caught up on communications, bought some Canadian beer and ice for my cooler, topped up my gas tank, and got on the road again. Forty or fifty miles later, I hit the Rockies, and some truly beautiful views. I did stop a few times on that stretch, and at one pullout, I looked beyond the trees that lined the road and spied a gorgeous greenish colored lake at the base of the mountains.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...ul-11-2015.jpg
Canadian Rockies, off CA 97

Approaching Dawson Creek at last, the highway was lined with vast fields of canola, colored with bright yellow flowers as thick as a carpet, rolling off into the distance.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...0-DSC01423.jpg
Canola field outside Dawson Creek, British Columbia

By the time I got to town I was whipped, having driven almost 500 miles that day, so I sprang for another motel. The Super 8 wanted $135 Canadian, so I went to a mom and pop place and got a room for $79 that was decent enough. Once again, the Wi-Fi was very iffy. I finally got it to work (but only when I stood in a particular spot in their parking lot). Sent and received several texts and a couple of emails on my phone, though I was never able to connect with my laptop, because the signal was just too weak. I drove to the “Circle”, where I took pictures by the “World Famous Alaska Highway” sign.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...1-DSC01428.jpg
Dawson Creek, British Columbia: Start of the Alaska Highway

I stopped at the Visitor’s center for road information, and learned that just two days before, the highway near Fort Nelson had been closed for almost 24 hours after a huge forest fire jumped the road. When it re-opened, traffic was reduced to alternating one way, with backed-up lines of vehicles led through the smoke by pilot cars.

https://www.roadtripamerica.com/blog...orth-Burns.jpg

According to the Visitor’s center, all that was better now. I did some laundry, had some dinner, and stayed up too late, thrown off by the extended daylight.

Next up: First leg of the Alaska Highway!

Day 20: Sunday, July 12th

Checked out of my motel and had some breakfast. There was a classic car rally going on that weekend, with old cars from all over western Canada—muscle cars, ‘40’s coupes, all sorts of cool wheels. There was a guy from Alberta staying at my motel who had a pristine ’66 Mustang. Talked to him about it for a bit, mentioning the '71 Camaro that's been in my family since 1972, stock original and still running like a champ. "They don't make 'em like that anymore, eh?" said the man from Alberta. I smiled at that; his subtle accent was like a Canadian cliché. Canada is its own country, but most of the differences are as subtle as that accent. They have most of the same chains—McDonald’s, A&W, Super 8 Motels, even H&R Block, but when you peel off the modern day facade, you know for certain that you're not in Kansas anymore. Canadians are justifiably proud to be Canadians—never make the mistake of lumping them into a homogenized bucket with U.S. Americans.

After that, I was off, on the actual Alaska Highway! The first 50 mile stretch was basically an extension of Dawson Creek. Farms, bright yellow Canola fields, livestock. Most local vehicles on the road were huge super heavy duty four wheel drive pickups—apparently the ride of choice for local boys.

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B.C. farmland, from the side of the road on the Alaska Highway, north of Dawson Creek

Past Fort St. John, the terrain got a lot wilder. No more towns, very few people, and very little traffic. Saw a few U.S. license plates, people that were obviously headed to Alaska. Michigan, California, Oregon, South Carolina. At one spot where traffic was stopped dead for a construction delay, the car in front of me had Arizona plates, so I got out and talked to the driver—a very cool old dude named Christopher, driving a Toyota pickup pulling a little trailer, just him and his friendly little dog. He was from Alaska, and wished he’d kept his Alaska license plates! He had been a union electrician in Alaska, and was forced into mandatory retirement at age 55. Now he winters in Arizona, and returns to the north most every summer to work his gold claims in the Klondike. He actually had a portable dredge lashed to the top of his vehicle, and while we were chatting, he brought out a rock to show me. “Okay,” I said, holding it in my hand. “What am I looking at?”

He laughed, and said, “It’s heavy, isn’t it?” I had to admit that it was. Then he showed me some shiny flecks in it, and explained that it would take effort to process, but it was nevertheless good ore. Delay ended, I passed him up, zoomed away, and he waved. He’s done the drive like, two dozen times. Said most people think it’s crazy to drive to Alaska, but the road is so much better now, there’s nothing to it. His first trip was back in 1972. It was a whole different story back then.

The road was amazing, wide open vistas, but then clouds lowered and it started raining steadily. Off to my left, the Rockies, as I headed ever further north. I passed through the area south of Fort Nelson that had been actively burning two days earlier. When I started from Dawson, an electronic sign warned of poor visibility from km 395 to km 440 (something like that). Adjusting to thinking in metric was tricky after all these years, and I still wasn’t quite sure of the relative value of a “looney,” the Canadian Dollar, though I figured that one out pretty quickly. When I got to the burn area, the steady rain had pretty well extinguished the fire, but it was still smoldering and very smoky—a terrible thing, 8,000 hectares or more burned.

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Burn area, south of Fort Nelson, still smoldering

I arrived in Fort Nelson about 1:30. It seemed much too early to stop, especially when you figure it’s light until almost 10—but the next stretch of road crosses the Rockies, and my book said it takes 8 to 10 more hours to reach Watson Lake, Yukon—the next town of any size. That was more than I wanted to attempt in one day, so I found a cheap room, and spent the day sitting around reading maps and guidebooks. Can’t so much as send a text here without being connected to Wi-Fi, and since my cheap room didn’t have it, I went to the local Tim Horton’s (a Canadian fast food chain) four different times just to use their network. Unfortunately, all it would allow me to do was send and receive texts—no email, no internet. I felt so disconnected! Also had trouble with both of my credit cards—Visa Fraud alerted on the fact that my cards were being used in Canada, so I had to verify transactions. I did so, but one of my cards was still getting declined everywhere. It was going to take a phone call to straighten that out, and calls were a dollar a minute, even with AT&T’s International “Passport” plan. Fort Nelson was, I hate to say it, pretty boring from the perspective of a stranger passing through; cold, and rainy, and my motel was well past its prime. Late in the day, the rain stopped and the skies cleared completely. Hopefully a good omen for tomorrow, purported to be the most scenic part of the route, but slow going, with steep, hairpin curves. My kind of road, and something to look forward to!

Next up: Holy Toledo!

Day 21: Monday, July 13th

Sun was up and pouring through my window at 4:30 AM, so I arose early and rolled out of Fort Nelson at 6:00 AM. There was virtually no northbound traffic anywhere near me—one car passed me early on, and though I saw numerous oncoming vehicles headed south, I saw nobody else headed north for the first three hours or more. The road wound up into the Rockies; the scenery was quite beautiful, and the sunny weather was holding.

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A green river meets a blue river in the Canadian Rockies

At one point I passed a rest stop and spotted the rig from Arizona with the old prospector I’d met the day before, so I pulled over and greeted him a good morning before driving off. Spotted a couple of moose along the road and took pictures, then drove on to Muncho Lake, a particularly beautiful body of water with gorgeous greenish turquoise color in the shallows due to high mineral content.

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Muncho Lake, Canadian Rockies

Took numerous photos, and then drove on. Spotted several wild bison along the road, took more photos.

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Canadian Bison, taking a break from his primary occupation (namely, eating)

There was a construction delay, with one-way traffic waiting for escort by a pilot vehicle, so I shut off the Jeep and played a game on my phone to pass the time. Somebody honked, and I realized that traffic had started moving, so I quickly started the car. I’m not sure what I’d done differently, but the electrical problem I had in Yosemite happened again! No radio, no AC, couldn’t roll down the windows, and the windshield wipers didn’t work! It wasn’t nearly as hot as Yosemite, so it wasn’t as horrible—but I was still panicked, for fear it wouldn’t self-resolve this time. 20 miles down the road there was a BC provincial campground with a well-known hot spring that Christopher, the prospector, had highly recommended (lamenting the days when it used to be wild and free of charge).

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Liard Hot Springs, a favorite stop along the Alaska Highway in British Columbia

I pulled in and shut off the Jeep, hiked ten minutes to the hot spring pool, soaked for another very pleasant ten or fifteen minutes, then hiked back, praying under my breath. Fingers crossed, I inserted the key and turned it. Bing-Bing-Bing-Bing! Everything was working again! Hallelujah, one more time. Vastly relieved, I drove on, and crossed the border to the Yukon.

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Yukon Border

I was running low on gas so I stopped at Contact Creek—billed as the cheapest gas on the Alaska Highway. Fuel is expensive in Canada, mostly because the taxes assessed at the pump are significantly higher than in the U.S. In remote areas, you have to add in the cost of transportation, and that bumps the price per liter into the stratosphere (as much as double what it costs in the U.S.). I talked to the owner of the isolated gas station, who told me about the terrible fires still burning only 8 miles away. Scary stuff! It started raining a bit as I pulled into Watson Lake, at about 1:30. This was nominally my goal for the day—I’d done 300 miles and I’d been driving 7 hours, including the stop at the hot springs, the delays, and the stops for photos. There on the main drag, there were a couple of motels that looked a bit worn around the edges, and a couple of restaurants; the one campground in the town was already packed cheek by jowl with RV’s.

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Sign Post Forest, Watson Lake, Yukon

I checked out the famous sign post forest, which was started by a homesick G.I. who was part of the original road crew building the first version of the Alaska Highway during WWII. While erecting road signs for the new highway, he added a sign of his own that stated the mileage to his home town in Illinois. Others did the same, and it turned into a tradition that grew—and grew—until there were tens of thousands of road signs from all over the world, creating one of the most well-known roadside attractions on the Alaska Highway.

I stopped at the market, and bought some fried chicken in their little deli. My guide book told me that Whitehorse, my next recommended overnight stop, was another eight hours of driving. I asked the old guy at the counter, and he said it could be done in four hours in good weather—but that I should watch my speed at milepost 770 (or something like that), because there was a Mountie on patrol there who loved to write tickets. Since it was still pretty early, and since Watson Lake wasn’t exactly singing to me (no offense), I said “What the hell!” (Or words to that effect,) topped up the gas tank, and drove on. The next three hundred miles, which I fairly flew through in a bit more than 5 hours—was one of the most spectacular stretches of road I’ve ever driven (and that’s saying a LOT)! Incredible mountains with a dozen shades of green, rushing rivers, beautiful lakes, and purple wildflowers called fireweed lining the road like cosmic landscaping, mile after mile. The big Yukon sky held some of the most amazing clouds I’ve ever seen.

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Alaska Highway in the Yukon Territory, west of Watson Lake

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Fireweed along the Alaska Highway. The showy blooms are at their peak in July, and line the highways for hundreds of miles, everywhere you go.

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Big sky, big clouds in the Yukon Territory

Every time I rounded a curve in the road there was another stupendous vista; it was nothing short of astonishing! I was yipping out loud, and a couple of times I actually pounded on my chest to “re-start” my heart! Made it to Whitehorse, the largest town in the Yukon, by 6:30 or so, and decided to splurge on a Day’s Inn. That’s considered a budget motel chain in the U.S., but in Canada, they’re a bit more upscale, and that turned out to be the nicest paid lodging I’d stayed in up to that point in the trip. The room set me back $159 Canadian for the night—which worked out to about $125 U.S. The hotel had real internet, so I was able to catch up on correspondence. It was great to relax after such an amazing day of driving. The room had a good set of blackout curtains, so I was able to crash at 10:00 and got a good night’s sleep. (Outside my blacked-out window, the sun didn’t go down until 11:30!) This was truly a wonderful, wonderful day—all my expectations for the Alaska Highway were not simply met, they were exceeded, in a spectacular fashion! “Awesome” is a word that gets badly overused, but in this case, it was entirely appropriate.

Between the extremely short periods of darkness and the rain that was predicted for the coming week, I realized I’d be staying in motels more often than not. That meant the trip was going to end up costing me more than my original estimates, but at this point? I had no regrets whatsoever!

Next up: North, to A-las-ka, (go north, the rush is on….)

Day 22: Tuesday, July 14th

I woke up early—despite the blackout curtains. I was anxious to get going, but I wanted to at least process a few photos from the day before, and hopefully send a few emails. (As an aside: digital photos don’t really require processing, but my roots as a photographer date back to the days of 35mm film and wet darkrooms, so I have a tendency to think in those terms. When I shoot digital, I use a suite of imaging software to balance the color, and then I convert the RAW image files into a user-friendly jpg format before shrinking them down to a size suitable for sharing). Unfortunately, the Canadian version of my email service was completely different from what I was accustomed to, and I couldn’t figure out how to attach photos (which was the whole point of sending out the emails). So much for that! I checked out of the hotel at about 9:00, and after a quick bite to eat and some coffee, I stopped at a "full service" service station. They checked my oil and tires and all of that, had to add at least a quart of coolant; my windshield washer fluid reservoir was nearly empty, so they filled it, and then sold me a bottle to take along with me. I gratefully tipped the pump jockey (attendant) because he’d been so efficiently helpful. When I started the Jeep, the “check engine” light came on, and wouldn’t go off. That worried me a little, as I was about to head off on one of the most remote sections of the Al-Can, and it was still 600 miles to Fairbanks. I asked the mechanic at the service station, and he said my best bet would be to take it to a Jeep dealer!?

Luckily for me, Whitehorse actually had a Jeep dealership, the only one in the Yukon Territory, and it was right around the corner on the next block! So I drove over there, more than a little nervous. The service writer was super nice. He dropped what he was doing and took his scanner out to my Jeep in the parking lot, plugged it in under the dash, and read the error codes. “Had any battery trouble?” he asked me. I told him about the electrical problem the day before, when the accessories shut down. “That’s it,” he said. “It’s a glitch in the system. No worries—just be careful and have a safe trip.” No problem, no charge. Amazing! When I started the vehicle, the warning light went out, like magic, and with that, off I drove toward Alaska. (Another aside: I worried about that electrical problem for the rest of the trip, but, thankfully, it never recurred. About a year later, long after the trip ended, I got a recall notice in the mail from Chrysler. Seems the ignition switch was defective on that model of Jeep, and would sometimes stick in the wrong position after starting, causing the very problem that had happened to me: engine running, all accessories off. They replaced the switch and both of my key fobs, and all has been well ever since.)

The road was incredible—easily as amazing as the day before, with the snow-capped peaks of the Wrangell-St. Elias range dominating the horizon, more fireweed lining the road on both sides—more wildflowers than I’ve ever seen—they were literally everywhere! I started to fade a little bit after just an hour, my eyes getting droopy, so I pulled over at a rest stop to splash some water on my face. A big brown UPS truck pulled in just after me and the driver, who was not in uniform, got out. I’d passed several UPS trucks on remote sections of the highway and wondered how it could be economically feasible for UPS to travel such long, empty stretches of road with their delivery vehicles. Turned out the driver didn’t even work for UPS, and he wasn’t delivering packages—he was hired to deliver the truck from the factory in Indiana to Fairbanks, because that was the cheapest way for them to get it there. Pretty wild! I talked to him for at least 20 minutes—he was an interesting guy. Thankfully, the conversation pretty well woke me up, so off I went again. Approaching the mountains, I started pulling over with serious frequency, taking LOTS of photos! Mountains, clouds, lakes, flowers—I was pretty sure I must have died and gone to heaven, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember the fiery crash. I made many U-turns to snap photos of stuff I’d just passed. I wasn’t in a hurry, and I got some great pictures.

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Heading toward the Wrangell-St. Elias mountain range that separates the Yukon Territory from southeastern Alaska

After Haines Junction I entered Canada’s Kluane National Park—which was absolutely stunning. There was a huge turquoise colored lake, and at a bend in the road, I spied a perfect photo op—mountains and clouds reflected in the still clear water of the lake, what you call a money shot (complete with fireweed)!

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Kluane Lake, Kluane National Park, Yukon Territory

Driving on toward the Alaska border, the road surface went to hell with potholes, cracks, and rippling frost heaves. I had to slow down quite a bit to avoid blowing a tire or damaging the suspension. Then I came to a construction zone, where there was no pavement at all for almost 30 miles. The road became the wild, rugged sort of surface that I’d always expected of the Alaska Highway. It took quite a while to get through that section, and once I did, it started to rain, lightly at first, and then it poured, rain coming down in sheets. At the very end of the unpaved stretch, a car was pulled over, and they shouted as I passed, so I stopped. There was a grizzly bear with two cubs on the hill above the road, which was pretty exciting! I snapped a quick picture, but I was a little too slow to catch what would have been a perfect shot of the momma looking straight at me. Instead, I got her from the side as she shooed her cubs into the trees.

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Momma grizzly bear shooing her cubs into the trees, near the Alaska border with the Yukon.

It was still raining heavily, and was quite cold by the time I got to Beaver Creek, the last Canadian town on the Alaska Highway. It was about 4:30, I’d driven 300 amazing miles, and some of it was pretty hairy. I thought about pushing on into Alaska, if only so that I’d have a chance at phone service and connectivity—but when I discovered that the first real town in Alaska, a place called Tok, was another 120 miles away, I decided I’d best stay in Beaver Creek. I got an overpriced room at a very funky motel—Ida’s Motel and Café, which sounded folksy, but wasn’t. Just like a lot of motels in small-town U.S.A., it was run by East Indians, and, sadly, was not well-maintained. I was charged $100 for a very basic room that was scarcely worth half that amount; unfortunately, there were no other choices. I had a lousy dinner of overcooked, tasteless Salisbury steak that set me back $20, and then I went back to my room and spent several hours processing my amazing pictures. No Wi-Fi, no phone service, so I was totally incommunicado for the evening. The rain stopped (naturally), and I ended up regretting not having driven on to Tok. Oh, well! Stopping before the border made it a relatively easy driving day, which was probably for the best—but I was spending WAY too much money on overpriced motels!

Next up: Over the border and on to Fairbanks

Quite the interesting tale!

Glad you like it, Mark. I'm having a lot of fun, putting this report together. Between my detailed field notes and all those thousands of photographs, it's almost like I'm re-living the RoadTrip--and it was one heck of a fine RoadTrip! My goal here is to inform and entertain, maybe even provide a bit of inspiration. To that end--there's a whole lot more of this story still to come.

Rick

I’m totally enjoying this, looking forward to each installment. I know we will never drive it but we did just sign on for an Alaska cruise and land tour this coming May. I know it won’t be anywhere near this intensive but I’m just looking forward to seeing that part of the world finally.

I've never done an Alaska cruise, but from what I'm told, they're amazing. Doing the combo cruise and land tour will give you the best of both worlds; so long as the weather cooperates, it should be spectacular!

For me, making the drive was the whole point to going. The Alaska Highway was item #1 on my bucket list, and I had to wait years for the opportunity to make that trek; when the time finally came, I was very, very determined!

In any case, keep reading! I'm not even halfway through, so there's a lot more of this story yet to come.

Rick

Day 23: Wednesday, July 15th

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Beaver Creek, Yukon and Chena Hot Springs, Alaska.)

I woke up pretty early—the whole 4 AM sunrise thing still had me thrown off. I left Ida’s with nary a backward glance and sailed past the Canadian customs facility. The actual border was another 30 km further, and the road was very foggy. I stopped at the “Welcome to Alaska” sign and took some pictures:

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Woo hoo!

Then I drove just a little further to the U.S. customs, once again expecting to be inspected. I stopped at a drive thru window, handed my passport to a very pleasant customs agent who asked me some basic questions about where I was from and where I was going and why, and if I’d purchased anything in Canada. My answers were apparently satisfactory because she waved me on through, no inspection of anything. It was a bit like the way US Customs at the Mexican border used to be, back before it all got so crazy. The first real town, Tok, was maybe another hour and a half further. I stopped at a place called Border City, nothing there but a funky motel and gas station. I topped off my tank and got some coffee, and chatted with the owner, a very friendly older woman who’d had a stroke 13 years earlier and was a bit crippled by it. Asked her how much the rooms were—just in case I needed a place to stay on the drive back. $85 a night, which wasn’t much cheaper than Beaver Creek, but at least she had Wi-Fi. Driving on, off to my left I could see the Alaska Range, and I was pretty sure I saw Denali, though it was from a considerable distance.

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My first view of the Alaska Range, just after entering the “Last Frontier” from the Yukon. Was that Denali? I wasn’t sure, but maybe!

I took some pictures with my telephoto lens, just in case. That day was crystal clear, but, given all the rain in the upcoming weather forecast, there was no guarantee that I’d ever see those mountains again. Stopped at a restaurant in Tok, Fast Eddie’s, and had a quite decent breakfast. My phone magically started working again, buzzing like an alarm clock as I received a dozen texts and a whole mess of emails. I had another cup of coffee and sent some responses, excited to be in Alaska, overjoyed to be back on a 4G phone network. I never really think about it at home. Mostly, my smartphone just works, even when I'm out on the road--with occasional exceptions. In western Canada, the opposite had been true, at least for me. Most of the time, my phone did NOT work, and (I'm sad to say), I really missed it! From Tok, I drove on toward Fairbanks. I made a stop at Delta Junction, which was the official end of the Alaska Highway. Took pictures of the signpost (including a selfie, of course) and of a bunch of ancient rusty road graders and tractors and the like—some of the original equipment used to build the Al-Can, back during WW II.

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Mile 1422, end of the Alaska Highway; Delta Junction, Alaska

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A piece of the original construction equipment used to build the Al-Can in 1942

Then? On to Fairbanks! That last leg was an uneventful drive, on markedly improved roads. I passed Eielson Air Force base, then the town of North Pole, which has a Santa Clause theme. The road was now a real freeway, the first divided highway I’d seen since leaving the Vancouver area. When I arrived in Fairbanks, I immediately started looking for a motel. Since I had the use of Siri again, I asked her for a Motel 6. No dice, so I asked for a Super 8, and she led me to one. They had rooms available, but wanted $150 a night! Yikes! I was a little freaked out, just at the thought of actually being in Fairbanks, so I took the room. I’d gained an hour with a change to the Alaska Time Zone, so it was only noon, and check-in wasn’t until 3:00. The clerk was adamant: not one minute sooner, and that left me with time to do a little exploring. I drove around Fairbanks, which to me was a fairly uninteresting town, at least on the surface—kind of funky modern, but obviously built for severe weather. I stopped at a Fred Meyer (a grocery store with general merchandise, like a Target or a Wal-Mart). I bought some work gloves, since I needed some for my tool kit, as well as a cheap sleep mask, thinking it might be useful if I try camping under the midnight sun. Stopped at the Super 8 again and tried playing on the girl’s sympathies: “Can’t you take a little pity on an old man who just drove 5,000 miles? I’m sooo tired!” But no way, not until 3:00! Phooey!

I went to Pioneer Park, where there were all sorts of Alaska history exhibits, including an old paddle wheel steamer that used to ply the Yukon River during the gold rush, and a rail car that carried President Harding to Alaska, back in the day. I checked out a bunch of dioramas of Alaska towns at the turn of the century, and then I just sat by the playground, enjoying the amazing clouds. I called my wife and chatted for a bit, very happy to be back on the U.S. phone network with unlimited minutes. Three o’clock finally came ‘round, so I headed for the motel. There was a bit of a line to check in—apparently, all those other people had been told to wait until 3:00, same as me. The guy in front of me was also from Phoenix, which was quite a coincidence. He’d been visiting a friend who was stationed up there in the military, and they’d been fishing. The world’s best fishing, to hear him tell it, and I suspect that’s true. I checked in to my room and immediately sent a bunch of emails with the fabulous Yukon pictures I’d processed the night before. Had some dinner at the world’s most northerly Denny’s—Alaska salmon, overcooked, unfortunately, and there was a family next to me with two small kids who were having a screaming contest. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough!

Back at my room, I started plotting my itinerary. My friend Carl was planning to rendezvous with me in Edmonton on August 5th, which was three weeks away. If I kept blowing $150 a night on motels, I was going to run through three grand on lodging alone in those three weeks. I decided, then and there, that I was going to use the tent the next night, even if it was snowing! It was 10 PM local time, 11 PM on my body clock, and the sun was still up. No matter; I pulled my blackout curtains and crashed. It had been quite a long day, but I was actually in Alaska! I’d done it, and, so far, my bad back was still holding.

Next up: Chena Hot Springs

Day 24: Thursday, July 16th

I woke up much too early, and went back to the world’s most northerly Denny’s for breakfast. This time, the food was great, and so was the experience. I struck up a conversation with a couple at the next table. They were from Tok, and had driven all the way to Fairbanks just to do some shopping. They extolled the virtues of small town life in Alaska. The woman worked with special needs native children and had some cool insights into Inuit culture. I’d loaded some of my better photos from the trip into my phone, and they went nuts over them, especially that most recent batch from the Yukon. They gave me some great tips about the area, told me I absolutely had to drive to Dawson City Yukon on the “Top of the World Highway” out of Tok. A two day round trip, but if the weather was clear when I got there, they claimed it’s more spectacular than Denali! They also told me about the Eskimo Olympics, a four day event that had started the day before at the Fairbanks convention center, featuring amazing native costumes and bizarre sporting events. I decided I would definitely take that in. Back at the motel, I plotted out my day-by-day itinerary, covering the entire time I planned to be in Alaska, and hitting all my hoped-for highlights. It all looked great; there was a LOT to look forward to!

This day, since the weather was beautiful, I drove 60 miles or so north to the Chena Hot Springs Resort, which turned out to be a wonderful place. I rented a tent camping space for $20, and I actually set up my SUV tent, by myself (which I swore I wouldn’t even attempt, for fear of wrenching my back, struggling with those crazy 14 foot long tent poles). I was quite determined, and I did it, using a bit of duct tape to secure the first end of each flexible pole while I hoisted the tent upright and set the other end in place. Having a second person to hold the first end of the pole in place is much easier, but my duct tape idea actually worked, and it wasn’t hard to do (no back strain, not really). The lesson (which I’d already learned, fortunately): never travel without a roll of duct tape! That stuff has a thousand and one uses. I cut my hand on the tent pole without realizing it and got blood all over, and when I tried using my super strong neodymium magnets to create a better seal for the tent around the back of my Jeep, two of them slammed together with such force they literally took a chunk out of my thumb—more blood! Then the same thing happened again, catching one of my fingers—blood again—damn, but those magnets were strong! Worse: I was being eaten alive by voracious, insatiable mosquitoes! Brutal! And as it turned out, the silly magnets were useless from the get-go, because no matter how well I sealed the boot there was still a sagging gap under the bottom of the Jeep that was impossible to properly seal. No matter. I just zipped closed the mosquito net on the vehicle side of the tent, which was a little less convenient, but it was simple enough to open and close the net again if I needed something out of the car.

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Tent camping at Chena Hot Springs Resort, north of Fairbanks

After everything was set, I spent another $15 for an all-day pass to the thermal pool. I entered the building, only to find a regular swimming pool full of boisterous kids throwing balls around, the water lukewarm, at best, and there were a couple of hot tubs, which were warmer, but I was feeling a bit ripped off—it was nowhere near as enticing as the Liard Hot Springs in BC.

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The indoor thermal pool at Chena Hot Springs, great for families

I read the signs in the pool area, and realized, silly me, that there was an outdoor pool as well; it just wasn’t visible through the windows. That rock-lined pool was fabulous, better than Liard Hot Springs, VERY warm, and wonderfully relaxing. I tried to imagine soaking in that outdoor pool in the winter, with snow all around, dark skies, and temperatures well below zero. I was told that’s a very popular pastime among the hardy folk who call Fairbanks home, but it’s most definitely not my idea of a good time!

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The outdoor pool at the hot springs; much better for us grown-ups!

The resort overall was kind of neat. A lodge, restaurant, camp grounds, horseback riding, sled dogs, greenhouses, a geothermal energy exhibit, flowers everywhere.

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Chena Hot Springs Resort

The place even had its own airstrip, private planes being relatively common in Alaska. After my soak in the pool I repaired to my tent, zipped myself into it to have a haven from the mosquitoes, and sat in my camping chair drinking a cold brew, perusing my maps, and feeling VERY pleasantly relaxed. Quite a good day, overall—and I was really glad to have finally used the tent, in lieu of expensive motels. I needed to do a lot more of that! But with a lot of rain—which is what the weather forecast predicted—I knew darned good and well that I wouldn’t be camping. I had a very good dinner at their restaurant, and then hung it up for the day.

Next up: Fairbanks, and the World Eskimo Indian Olympics

Day 25: Friday, July 17th

It rained pretty much all night, but I stayed warm in my sleeping bag and dry enough in my tent. Used the sleep mask I’d bought in Fairbanks, but stripped it off at some point, as it didn’t help all that much. It doesn’t really get dark at all, that time of year at that latitude—more like dusk that never quite fades to black. My brain is so accustomed to waking when the sun rises, I’m not sure I could ever adjust to the dramatic day and night swings of the far north (or south). Meanwhile, I slept pretty poorly, and woke up still tired. The tent actually did leak just a little—rain coming through the mosquito net, most likely, because I’d left the windows unzipped for ventilation. My pad got damp on the bottom and there was a tiny bit of standing water along one edge of the floor. In future, on nights with inclement weather, I was going to have to be more careful. The rain had stopped by the time I got up. I went ahead and started breaking camp, since the restaurant didn’t open until 7:00. When the time came, I took a stroll to the main building, pausing to exchange pleasantries with a group of guys on motorcycles who had spent the night in a yurt at the campsite next to mine.

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Yurts available for rent at the hot springs campground

I had breakfast and some very good coffee, and in the parking lot outside the lodge, I saw the bikers again. One of them had a dead battery, and was using a battery charger provided by the hotel in hopes of getting it going again. I finished taking down the tent and all—pretty much of a hassle, with all the wet and the mud. On the way out, I swung through the parking lot again to check on the biker with the battery problem. Good thing I did that—turned out his battery was shot, and wasn’t going to take a charge. His companions were just guys he’d met along the route and traveled with briefly, so they were already long gone, leaving him to his own devices. I offered him a ride to Fairbanks, which he most gratefully accepted. He’d ridden all the way from Maine on that bike in just two weeks. Like me, his trip to Alaska was a bucket list thing that he’d planned for a long time, but that’s where the comparison stops. Doing all that on a motorcycle? That’s a whole different category of endeavor! We had a pleasant conversation on the hour long drive back to town, and I took him to a motorcycle shop, where he was able to buy a battery that would fit his Italian motorcycle (a Moto Guzzi). The new battery had to be charged before use—an all-day process, so I left him there, after making sure he’d be able to get back out to Chena Hot Springs on his own. Made me feel great, to have been able to offer much needed assistance to a fellow traveler. Many a stranger has been very kind to me on my own travels, and I was happy for the opportunity to pay it forward.

Pulled over into a parking lot and used my AAA book to find a hotel for the night. None of them had rooms at their advertised rate. Some that listed rooms starting at $80 had nothing cheaper than $180, and they were unapologetic. Most of them told me they were down to their last room and that I’d best make an immediate decision or I’d lose out--but I wasn’t buying it. I found a hotel that didn’t list their rates in the AAA book, and they had rooms for $115, which sounded like a bargain compared to the others. I found it easily enough, and secured a room for the night. It was too early to check in, so I went out cruising. I did a little shopping at the Fred Meyer, and then stopped by the Carlson Center to check out the Eskimo Olympics. There weren’t many people there at that time of day, and the activities, at that moment, weren’t all that interesting. I checked the schedule, and determined that the best events wouldn’t take place until evening, when there was an admission charge.

I’d been told I could check into my room at 2:00. It wasn’t actually ready until 3:30, which kind of annoyed me, but the room turned out to be quite decent for the price. After I unwound and checked my books and the weather report and all that, I decided that the smart move would be to stay one more night. There was a 90% probability of rain for the next day. I figured I could take a day off from the adventure to relax, hunker, do laundry, catch up on things, and plot my next move a bit more specifically. I asked at the desk if I could extend, and that was no problem.

In the evening, I headed back over to the Carlson Center for the WEIO (World Eskimo Indian Olympics). It turned out to be a marvelous event. I put my new mirrorless digital camera into burst mode to better capture action sequences, and that worked out really well.

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Regalia contest (Venus in Furs): World Eskimo Indian Olympics, Fairbanks

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Ear Pull Contest, World Eskimo Indian Olympics: a taut cord is looped around the ear of each contestant and they both lean back, pulling away from each other, until one of them cries for mercy. Bloody ears—or worse—are a common hazard. The competition simulates the pain of frostbite, and rewards the contestant best able to endure it.

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Two-foot High Kick, World Eskimo Indian Olympics: Contestants get a running start and then leap in the air, attempting to touch a ball suspended above their head with both feet, and then they have to stick the landing, like a gymnast. It takes extraordinary athleticism to pull this off, and it’s actually a useful talent in traditional Eskimo life. On the ice, during a communal whale hunt, a member of the hunting party runs toward the village and leaps high in the air as a signal to the waiting villagers, who are watching from a considerable distance. A two-foot high kick means: “We got one! Come now, help us harvest the blubber!”

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Blanket Toss, World Eskimo Indian Olympics. This too is related to hunting. There are no trees or hills to climb on the arctic ice, so they came up with this very clever alternative means of reconnaissance: one of the hunters is tossed high in the air by his companions, using a blanket made of walrus hides. While he’s up there, he scouts the surrounding terrain and the nearby surface of the sea for whales, polar bears, walruses, and other prey. It’s said that they also do this “just for fun!”

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Seal Oil Olympic Torch, World Eskimo Indian Olympics; the sooty flame is kept burning for the duration of the games

All of the strange sporting events celebrate traditional skills important to survival in the harsh arctic environment; the games are a way to keep those skills and traditions alive in a world that makes such things increasingly irrelevant, especially among the young people. All in all, I took more than 700 photos—action sequences, portraits, all sorts of photos. Burst mode on my camera really racked up the shots, zipping them off at 11 frames per second! I finally left, a bit less than an hour before the whole thing ended for the night, and back at my hotel, I went through all 700 images, culling them down to a couple of dozen that I post-processed. They were just excellent—a wonderful series, and fascinating. It was a very nice departure from my usual landscapes. I lost track of time, especially given the fact that it never got dark outside. When I finished it was already midnight local time, and even at that, I had trouble falling asleep.

Day 26: Saturday, July 18th

Woke up early, and still really tired, but I wasn’t going anywhere this day, and that was a nice feeling. It was indeed a rainy day in Fairbanks, so I didn’t do all that much. Walked around the downtown area, took a few pictures:

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The alternate “End of the Alaska Highway” monument. The strategically critical highway known as the Al-Can was built by the military in 1942, for the purpose of connecting the railroad terminus in Dawson Creek, B.C. to the existing (albeit very limited) road system in the U.S. Territory of Alaska. Delta Junction was the spot where they made that connection, so D.J., where the original new construction stopped, is generally considered the end of the Alaska Highway. Since most of the traffic on the iconic road is ultimately bound for Fairbanks, the city’s boosters built a second monument in Golden Heart Plaza, commemorating the end of the whole journey (including that last hundred miles).

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The Chena River, Fairbanks

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Immaculate Conception Catholic Church in Fairbanks, built in 1904

Back at the hotel I did some laundry. (Geez, what’s with all the laundry? Oh, right: I was camping out in the mud!) Then I made a run to the store (Fred Meyer) where I bought some supplies and a souvenir T-shirt for my collection. I was beginning to learn my way around Alaska’s second city, which seemed a bit strange! I had the “mother of all lasagnas” at Gambardella’s, the restaurant next door to my hotel. That was far and away the fanciest meal of the trip so far—pretty good, but not as fabulous as I’d hoped. (I’m a connoisseur of really good lasagna, and it’s not that easy to find.) I was feeling a bit cut off from family and friends—so far from home—so I gave my wife a call and chatted a bit. I traveled alone quite frequently when I was younger, but this was different, somehow. Now that I’m an old guy, a grandfather, no less, my attitude and priorities have matured. I’m a bit more cautious, a lot less brash. I’m thinking that’s probably for the best!

I spent some time in the evening going through books and maps, studying the weather forecast in various locations, and pondering the possibility of driving up the Dalton Highway to the Arctic Circle and the Brooks Range. Ultimately, I decided not to do that, which meant that it probably wasn’t worth hanging around Fairbanks any longer. Since seeing Denali was a major goal of this trip, heading south seemed the better bet. There was just one clear day predicted for the coming week, and that’s when I wanted to be at the mountain. Happy to have made that decision, I relaxed for the rest of the evening, even watched a movie on my laptop called “Bears”, a recent, most excellent Disney documentary about a Brown Bear with two newborn cubs, and the trials and tribulations of their first year of life in the Alaska Range (aka, desperately seeking salmon). Started nodding off watching the flick, relatively early—10:00 or so, which was of course still full daylight, and I wound up getting a good night’s sleep for the first time in quite a while.

Next up: Denali National Park

Rick, you're bringing back so many wonderful memories for me, of my family's trip up the AlCan about 18+ years ago. That included all the rain you've experienced, as we had rain almost the entire way up to AK. We towed our 5W trailer up there -- like you, we experienced a mechanical problem early on that was to worry us the entire trip (but never happened again), only ours dealt with the slide-out on our trailer. Your pictures are absolutely gorgeous, too. I look forward to the continuation of your trip every time I log on!


Donna

Thanks, Donna! Since the trip I'm describing took place 3 1/2 yrs ago, there was a lot of detail that I'd pretty much forgotten. As I put this report together, it's all coming back into focus, bringing back many wonderful memories for me as well! They call it the greatest driving adventure in North America, and perhaps that's true. If anybody out there knows of a better one, I'd love to hear about it!

Rick

Day 27: Sunday, July 19th

Woke up quite well rested, packed up my gear and checked out of the hotel by 8:00. Had a quick fast-food breakfast, stopped at Fred Meyer (again) for food and bottled water, topped off the gas tank, and hit the road, driving south in pouring rain. I had a relatively uneventful two hour drive to Denali National Park; couldn’t see much of anything, just vague ridge lines through the clouds, but I could sense the proximity of the big mountain; geomagnetic energy, maybe? It was like a presence, and it was very powerful.

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Chena Hot Springs and Denali National Park, Alaska.

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Stopped for construction on the Parks Highway north of Denali National Park; the delay, the rain, and the fog made this a typical summer day in south central Alaska.

I drove in to the Visitor’s Center where they take reservations for the park shuttle buses, and booked myself a space on the 6:15 AM run out to Wonder Lake, on Tuesday, the 21st. That’s the date I’d been keeping my eye on for more than a week, the only day in the proximate future that the weather forecast predicted clear skies—and so far, according to the weather app on my phone, that hopeful forecast had not changed. The bus ride To Wonder Lake is a 170 mile round trip on the Denali Park Road that takes at least 11 hours. My ticket set me back almost fifty bucks, priced separately from entry to the National Park (which was free for me in any case, with my Senior Pass ;-). The bus is the only practical way to travel into the interior of the park, because private vehicles aren’t allowed beyond the Savage River Bridge, at mile 15. By restricting the volume of traffic on the road, they’ve greatly improved the odds of spotting wildlife near the road, and that’s a good thing for all park visitors.

When I left the National Park, it was still raining steadily. I drove about 8 miles south, through a nasty road construction zone, to a place called the Grizzly Bear Resort. The property sounded pretty cool as described on the “Alaska App”, which I’d downloaded to my phone the day before, after hearing about it on the “Alaska Channel” on the TV in my hotel room. That turned out to be an excellent choice. I got a tent site for $25, a really sweet spot, though a bit too close to the noisy highway. It wasn’t exactly roughing it, not with a restaurant close by and hot showers—but still; it was perfect for my needs. I set up my tent in the rain—not all that easy to do. I had a good bit more trouble this time than I’d had at Chena Hot Springs a few days earlier—but I managed. In addition to the campsites, the Grizzly had hotel rooms with all the amenities, as well as a row of “dry cabins,” (meaning no sink, and no bathroom; the communal facilities were ten yards down the hill). I booked one of the dry cabins for the following night, only $70, which wasn’t a bad price, when you figure that the motel rooms were $200 and up. I had a decent dinner at the fancy lodge across the highway, easy walking distance from my campsite. They charged me $20 for a cheeseburger, but the place was extremely nice. They gave me a table by the window, with a great view of the Nenana River rushing by right outside.

It was quite cold later that evening, the coldest temperatures I’d seen so far, but I had warm clothing and a warm sleeping bag, so I wasn’t worried. All in all, I felt pretty smug. Denali! I was actually there, and greatly looking forward to a major adventure! I liked my campsite, which had a table with a roof. That was actually considered a “community table” for all the surrounding sites, but it was right by my space, so it felt like my personal table, and at that, I probably had the best spot in the whole place. I was pretty tired, so I zipped myself into the tent pretty early, and crawled into my sleeping bag to try and stay warm. The highway was very close, and there was lots of truck traffic. That was bad, because the trucks were all coming down a slight grade and using their engine brakes, sounding like cars with no mufflers. They’d hit the bridge over the nearby river and the tone would rev up—almost like a vehicle out of control that was about to crash. That was more than a little disconcerting, and not remotely conducive to a good night's sleep. I read a book for a while, and then put on my sleep mask. I think I must have over-inflated my air mattress, because it was much less comfortable than usual. My back was killing me, stiff as a board, and I was freezing! That was NOT a good night.

Day 28: Monday, July 20th

I woke up cold, sore, and exhausted, and climbed out of the tent a bit reluctantly. It had stopped raining before I went to sleep, but it was still pretty wet and muddy at my camp site. Broke out my old camp stove for the first time on this trip—hadn’t actually used the thing in decades, but it’s a super simple design—a burner with a valve that screws directly onto a small propane bottle. I just assumed it would still work fine, and I wanted to make myself some coffee; I’d spent almost ten bucks on a big jar of instant coffee that I hadn’t even opened yet, plus $30 on a set of camping cookware that I’d never even tried. Set up the stove, lit the burner, and FOOM! Flames started spurting out of the valve! I was afraid the whole thing would blow, and the “off” valve was on fire! I blew it out, and it instantly re-lit! Blew it out again and that time managed to quickly twist it shut, without burning my hand. Phew! So much for my camp stove, my cookware, and my instant coffee! (Note to self: there’s a reason why they make you replace propane tanks every 10 to 12 years, and the same rule of thumb obviously applies to camping stoves!) Somewhat chagrined, I took down the tent, a very lengthy process that took a good hour, sponging off the worst of the mud and crud before rolling it up and putting it away. The ground cloth—my big tarp—was even worse. I spread it across two picnic tables and did my best, but it was still pretty wet and still quite muddy when I folded it up and stuck it in the Jeep. Poor jeep was getting outrageously filthy through all of this!

After breaking camp, I drove across the highway to the fancy resort, where I got a $5 cup of coffee and a $6 breakfast sandwich. That’s just the way it is when you’re anywhere near just about any National Park; even the basics are priced through the roof and for whatever reason, people are willing to pay it. I observed the pampered tourists who were guests at that pricey hotel, all of them getting ready for their guided tours of the park. Bus after bus pulled up, filled up, and headed out. I secretly thanked my stars that I wasn’t one of them. They were at Denali, just like me, having an adventure, just like me—but my adventure was a REAL adventure, the kind you have to work for! All those tourists had to do was get on a plane, and then get on a bus, while somebody else did all the work. That was too dad-burned easy! Me, I had to drive 6,000 miles through every kind of weather, and I got to see all the amazing stuff in between, so in my mind, there was no comparison. Does that make me a self-righteous elitist? Maybe a little, but I felt like I’d earned the right to an attitude. The fact that I’d actually pulled it off was enormously satisfying.

I drove back to Denali National Park—just a short distance up the road. The day was still totally overcast, and quite cold. I toured the visitor’s center, checked out the exhibits and some short films, then quizzed one of the Rangers about how best to use my time there. I mentioned that I was booked on one of the buses the following day—the only day that the weather forecast showed as potentially clear. The Ranger totally rained on my parade. He told me that I shouldn’t believe that weather forecast, that they were wrong far more often than they were right, and that I should be prepared for cold and drizzling rain, because that was far more likely than sunshine. In a park the size of Massachusetts, with wildly varied terrain, it’s impossible to predict the weather, since it can vary from one valley to the next and from one minute to the next. Since I wasn’t doing the bus until the next day, he recommended that I drive out to the Savage River Bridge—which was the farthest point along the park road that private vehicles are allowed to go without special permits.

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Savage River Bridge, mile 15 on the Denali Park Road. Private vehicles are not allowed beyond this spot, where there is a parking area, a campground, and several trailheads.

I did as he suggested, and it was a very pretty drive, despite the cold and overcast. I hiked around a bit, even climbed part way up a ridge—but only part way. I find that I’ve become a bit timid about climbing, because I’m much more timid about heights than I used to be. My balance isn’t as good as it once was, and I have an old man’s brittle bones, so a slip, trip, or fall, out there by myself in a remote place like Alaska? That could be a disaster. I was disconcertingly conscious of that fact, so I was reluctant to climb very high, or to hike very far. A pity, but at the risk of cliché, better safe than sorry! I took a lot of pictures, but with the overcast sky and the poor lighting, none of them excited me all that much, not until the very end, driving back toward the park entrance, when I spotted some tall stalks of fireweed atop a small hill beside the road, with a pretty mountain backdrop. Took several shots of that spot, and they were, in fact, great pictures.

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Fireweed, Denali National Park

Back at the Grizzly Bear Resort I checked in to my “dry cabin,” a 100 year old miner’s cabin that was built beside the Chena River in Fairbanks around the end of the 19th century. It had been abandoned for at least ten years when the folks that built the Grizzly Bear salvaged it, disassembled it log by log, and then reassembled it here.

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Dry cabin, a moderately priced alternative at the Grizzly Bear Resort, surrounded by (what else?) fireweed!

It was very small—11 feet by 11 feet, not much bigger than my tent, but very cozy, warm, and most definitely dry. Got to thinking about it, and went back to the office to reserve it for a second night. It was much more comfortable than camping, and much cheaper than a hotel room. Since I was going to do an 11 hour bus ride in the national park, starting very early the next day, I didn’t want to have to worry about where I’d be sleeping afterwards. Also saved me the trouble of packing up all my stuff—I could just leave it in the cabin. I’d bought a Subway sandwich in “Glitter Gulch” the commercial area just north of the park entrance. Had half of it for dinner, and saved the other half for the bus trip the next day.

Next up: The biggest damn mountain in North America!

Day 29: Tuesday, July 21st

I went to bed relatively early the night before, by 10 or 10:30 local time. I had to get up in the night to stumble down the hill to the men’s room, the one major drawback of this otherwise perfect little cabin. It wasn’t really dark out, even at 2 AM; there was a glow in the sky—from the sun, I’m sure, because it was too early in the season for the aurora. (Which was a shame—I would have loved to have seen it). I set the alarm on my phone for 5 AM, just in case, but I was out of bed long before it went off, excited at the prospect of finally seeing Denali. I most definitely didn’t want to be late for my bus! The sun was up, needless to say, but it was still behind the mountains, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I drove to the National Park Wilderness Center, and I was early, despite a construction delay on the road. Fortunately, they had both coffee and pastries available for sale, and I needed both!

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The Green Bus (shuttle) to Wonder Lake, a 170 mile, 11 hour round trip.

The bus to Wonder Lake left right on schedule. I’d struck up a conversation with an older guy named Bob, a retired corporate accountant from Arkansas, and an avid amateur travel photographer, just like me. Bob and I kept each other company through most of the long, beautiful day. Our first view of the mountain came at about mile 20, and it was breathtaking, perfectly clear.

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My first view of Denali, “the high one,” peeking up above the other mountains at mile 20 on the Denali Park Road

The bus stopped frequently for views, and also for wildlife.

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Polychrome Overlook, from the Denali Park Road

Through the day we saw at least three grizzlies, a couple of moose, at least a half dozen caribou, and because of the strict park rules prohibiting interaction with wildlife, the animals didn’t feel threatened, and ignored us like we weren’t even there. Each vantage point was closer to the mountain, each had a different perspective, and the farther we traveled, the bigger Denali loomed.

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The biggest mountain in North America grew larger at each viewpoint, until we got to the Stony Hill Overlook at mile 62, which offers the most spectacular view of all

Through the day I took close to 600 photos (between the two cameras), and dozens of the images were five star, for real. The end of the line for this bus tour was Wonder Lake, just a few miles short of the ultimate end of the road at Kantishna, where there is a back country roadhouse and small cabins for rent. (If you have to ask how much, you probably can’t afford it ;-) Bob and I got off the bus at a Y junction just before the lake, and we hiked a mile or so to the “Reflection Pond,” a smaller lake, surrounded by fireweed, which was perfectly positioned to catch a reflection of the mountain in the water.

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A tiny bit of breeze rippled the surface, spoiling what could have been a perfect reflected image of Denali, mirrored in this small lake known as the ‘Reflection Pond.’

The light wasn’t quite perfect, and the water was stirred slightly by a light breeze, so it wasn’t a perfect mirror—nothing like Kluane Lake in the Yukon, but it was still well worth the short hike there and back. Our same bus picked us up again after turning around at Wonder Lake, and off we went, headed back, albeit slowly, toward the beginning of the road at the entrance to the park. The mountain was starting to gather a few clouds, and by the time we got back to the Eielson Visitor’s Center, another major viewpoint at mile 66, Denali was already greatly obscured, and getting worse by the minute.

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The view from Eielson Visitor’s Center on the afternoon of my perfect day; after a beautifully clear morning, the mountain was cloaking itself in clouds once again

I was very fortunate to have chosen that day and that hour for the tour, because the window of clear weather was seriously short. As it was, we’d been blessed with a world-class view of Denali and her sisters, the snowy peaks of the Alaska Range, gleaming brightly in the sun. The mountain is hidden by clouds so consistently, two out of every three visitors to the National Park leave disappointed; many of them don’t see Denali at all, others catch no more than a glimpse of a portion of the mountain. I was one of the lucky “30%,” who DO get to see the whole of the massive peak, and I was pretty darned happy about it.

Eleven hours on a bus makes for a very long day, but it was very, very full. I had interesting conversations with a wide variety of people, most of them very well-traveled. I ended the day pretty beat, but really, really satisfied. Seeing Denali was my biggest single goal for this trip, and I’d done it, I had unequivocally done it! I came, I saw, and while I didn’t exactly conquer, I sure as heck took some amazing photographs! I stopped by Glitter Gulch again for another Subway sandwich—the cheapest meal in the area, then I drove back south to the Grizzly Bear Resort, where I was extremely glad to have my warm little cabin waiting. I stayed up quite late going through the photos I’d taken that day, getting the best ones edited and reduced to a size appropriate for email, ready to share with family and friends when I got to Anchorage, and what I assumed would be a stable high speed Internet connection.

Next up: Anchorage

Day 30: Wednesday, July 22nd

I woke up earlier than I’d intended. Once again, I had to use the dadburned men’s room, which meant getting fully dressed and walking down the hill; I tried going back to sleep afterwards, but no use, once I was up, I was up. I needed a shower, but discovered that something was amiss, and there was no hot water—at all! I settled for sticking my head in the painfully icy stream and just washing my hair, knowing that I’d have a chance to take a proper shower when I get to the big city. I bid the Grizzly goodbye at 9:30 or 10:00, not in any kind of hurry, and drove off toward the south.

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows, please click "OK" and the map will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Denali National Park to Anchorage, Alaska.)

The much heralded lookout points, where Denali can often be viewed from the highway, were a big disappointment. I stopped at the first one, Denali View North, and the mountain wasn’t visible at all. (What a difference a day makes!) And as for the second, Denali View South, I flat missed the turn, because road construction along that section of highway obscured the signage. When I realized I’d gone past the exit, it wasn’t worth turning around; not with solid overcast and low cloud in every direction. At the town of Cantwell, first actual town south of the National Park, I stopped to top up my gas tank, and it was the highest price I’d seen in Alaska--$4.29 a gallon for regular. I got a few gallons anyway, just because, but I actually should have skipped it. By the time I got to Talkeetna, only fifty miles further south, the price had dropped to $3.39, which was much closer to what I’d been paying elsewhere. All in all, it took longer to get to Anchorage than I expected—almost five hours, and it started raining heavily as I approached the city. The mountains were quite dramatic. I’d been to Anchorage once before on a business trip, but I’d never seen the city from this vantage point, driving in from the north. From this direction, Anchorage was strikingly beautiful, with sheer peaks rising almost straight to the sky, some still streaked with snow at higher elevations, and a big river flowing alongside the road. Anchorage really does have a remarkable setting, though it’s easy to lose track of that fact when you’re just driving around the town. For the most part, if you’re not looking up and out? Anchorage could be anywhere, USA. All the same fast food places, the chain restaurants and stores, and all the hustle and bustle of impatient drivers and throngs of pedestrians in the busy downtown area. But when you look a little closer, just beneath the surface, it’s most definitely different, and the year ‘round residents are a hardy breed indeed.

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Random neighborhood in Anchorage, very pretty in the fall; photo taken in September, 2000 (NOT on this trip!)

Burned out from the long drive, the bad weather, and the sudden flood of city traffic, I just drove straight to the Motel 6 that I’d spotted in my AAA book, thinking back on my experience in Seattle, where the Motel 6 had been perfectly fine in terms of the quality of the rooms, and half the price of the mid-range chains. I found the place easily enough, and pulled into the nearly full parking lot. Even from the outside, it was obvious that this Motel 6 was newer and nicer than average, but even at that, I was unprepared for the sticker shock: the price for a single room at this discount chain motel was north of $180 per night! This was the peak of their peak season, the clerk explained. Hotels in Alaska make most of their money for the year during the brief summer season, so prices go through the roof, offsetting the slim pickings of the long winter, when the flow of tourists cuts back to a frozen trickle. I took the room anyway, because I was just too fried to try and figure out an alternative. Up in my room, I sent out Denali pictures to everyone I know, which was great fun. Then I went out in search of dinner. Siri took me to “restaurant row,” right around the corner, where there were a dozen or more of the national chains to choose from. I spotted a Lone Star steakhouse, so I treated myself to a petite filet mignon with a proper salad and a loaded baked potato. Best meal I’d had in a month, and I wolfed it down like a starving linebacker! Back at the hotel, I spent some time figuring out where I might camp the next night, to avoid the exorbitant hotel cost. I found a couple of possibilities, which was quite a relief. After that, exhaustion caught up, and I crashed early.

Day 31: Thursday, July 23rd

I woke up with a scratchy throat, aching from head to foot. Horrors—I couldn’t afford to be sick under those circumstances! I took a hot shower, which helped some, and then went out to a nearby IHOP for breakfast, which also helped. Back at the world’s most expensive Motel 6, I called my wife, and then I took care of pre-warning both of my credit unions that I’d be traveling in Canada again at the end of the month, to avoid the problem of my cards being shut off after I cross the border. Then I called Lauren, my daughter, to wish her well on her 33rd birthday!? (That gave me pause. Where the devil did all those years go, anyway?) Then the sun came out.

I was still feeling crappy, but check-out time was fast approaching, so I gathered my things, loaded the Jeep, and took off. First stop was the now familiar Fred Meyer for some bottled water and other supplies. On my way out of town, I stopped at a cheap looking motel I’d spotted, to ask them their rate. Since I was still sick-ish, the thought of camping or sleeping in the Jeep really didn’t have much appeal, so when the guy said $80 a night, I jumped on it, sight unseen. The shabby condition of the front office should have been a pretty good clue that the place was a dump, but I was so anxious to save a little money, I turned a blind eye.

I had a couple of hours to kill before I’d be able to check in, so I drove downtown, did some sight-seeing, bought some gifts for my grandkids, then drove back to the cheap motel, feeling much worse, with a stuffed up head and an ache in my chest. The room was likewise worse than I’d feared, with torn carpet and cigarette burns on all the cheap furniture. There were poor couples with children living long-term in some of the units on the first floor, and it was pretty sad, borderline squalid, reminding me of some of the slums I’ve traveled through in Latin America, people living their lives and raising their families in conditions most of us can’t even imagine. Staying in that motel was obviously a very bad idea, but I’d already paid for it, and at that point in time, I just needed to stop moving for a while. As a precaution, I ferried all my valuables up the stairs, straining my back in the process (idiot!). Then I just sat in that dumpy room, feeling completely paranoid, listening to strange people yelling at each other in the next room, and glad I didn’t normally have to live like that! I did my share of rough travel when I was a young man; I can vividly recall a night when I literally slept in a ditch while hitchhiking through Argentina, and I’ve stayed in third-world hotels so dilapidated they made that cheap motel in Anchorage seem like a palace—but that was then, and this was now. When there's any doubt about a hotel, always check out the room before you pay for it, and if something doesn't feel right, move on. It's not like I didn't know that, so my bad experience was my own fault.

Next up: Kenai Fjords National Park

Day 32: Friday, July 24th

I slept really poorly after staying up too late. For one thing, I was convinced that someone was going to try to break into the Jeep. Worse, the walls of the room were paper thin. My neighbor on the one side was snoring like a buzz saw, and on the other side, the TV was blaring until 2AM. I tried some foam earplugs, but they didn’t help a bit, so I got up very early, and I couldn’t get out of that place fast enough. Snagged a junk food breakfast, then hit the road: the Seward Highway headed south. When I was in Alaska on a week-long work trip 15 years earlier, I skipped one of my meetings and played hooky for a few hours. There was a car rental agency in the lobby of my hotel, so I picked up a late model something-or-other and did a little sight-seeing. The Seward Highway south into the Kenai was the road I’d taken that day, and I didn't have to go more than a few miles to find spectacular scenery. It was late September, and the Chugach Mountains just south of Anchorage were ablaze with golden autumn leaves.

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Chugach Mountains in the fall: photo taken from the Seward Highway in September, 2000

The fall colors and the snowy mountains made an unforgettable impression. That was probably the biggest reason I’d wanted to take this trip to Alaska in the first place: after having had that little taste of it back in 2000, I was looking forward to tucking in to the whole meal (complete with appetizers and dessert)!

This time, making that same drive, there was no dramatic autumn color. The light, still behind the mountains, wasn’t all that good for photos, and the landscape, Cook Inlet, Turnagain Arm, just wasn’t all that impressive, relative to what I’d been seeing elsewhere. At one point I noticed several cars pulled to the side of the highway and three guys with telephoto lenses pointed up a hill. I stopped the Jeep and ran back to see what they were shooting: seems there was a small herd of Dall Sheep, at least five adults and a young one with its mother, circling a tree, eating branches or berries, or leaves, I wasn’t sure which.

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A family of Dall Sheep, along the side of the road in the Kenai Peninsula

I snapped a few pics of my own, then drove pretty much directly to Seward, making just two or three quick stops for photos.

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Kenai in the summer—complete with fireweed!

In Seward, I quickly found the waterfront park I’d read about, and reserved a tent site for $10; a very good deal! Next, I used the Alaska App on my phone to locate the tour operators with boats into Kenai Fjords National Park. I grabbed a parking space right in front of the ticket office, went straight in, and booked the last spot on the last six hour tour of the day, leaving in just 15 minutes. For not knowing anything about the schedule, I timed that pretty well!

It was a nice big boat, and we had a Ranger from the National Park giving a running commentary on the loudspeakers, really great information, especially about the wildlife. Almost all of the passengers had come straight off a huge cruise ship that was docked in Seward; this tour was one of their “optional excursions”.

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Looking back toward Seward from a tour boat, headed for Kenai Fjords National Park. Seward is a popular stop for cruise ships such as this one

I felt quite apart from those folks—it was almost as if I’d crawled out of the bush and straight into a fancy cocktail party; the contrast was sufficiently surreal, it would have made a good gimmick for an episode of the Twilight Zone. The tour was wonderful, six action-packed hours. I saw humpback whales, puffins, seals, sea lions, sea otters, leaping silver salmon, and a booming, calving glacier, half mile wide and 500 feet thick, from ¼ mile away. All that was too awesome for words, so I took 800 photos, many of which weren't half bad!

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An alpha sea lion telling his mate to move it!

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Seabirds by the tens of thousands make their summer home in Kenai Fjords, their nests occupying every ledge and cranny of the rugged cliffs that line the shore

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Puffins roosting among the rocks. They’re adorable birds, but looks can be deceiving; they have a vicious bite, even the babies (known as pufflings)!

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In the brief summer season, the brightest green imaginable bursts forth from hills that are covered with snow and ice most of the year

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A glacier is like a river of ice, flowing ever so slowly down to the sea

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A chunk of ice the size of a two-story house splits off the massive face of the glacier. First you see it starting to fall, and then you hear a booming crack that’s louder than cannon fire, followed by a resounding splash as the newborn iceberg hits the water

After the tour I returned to the campground, and set up the tent fairly easily, despite a bit of breeze. (Practice makes perfect). Skipped dinner and ate snacks, then slept quite well in the tent. It was cold out, but warm in my sleeping bag. No rain that night, thank goodness.

Next up: Homer and the Kenai Peninsula

Day 33: Saturday, July 25th

Woke up early, put the wet tent away very carefully, trying to keep as much as possible of the great outdoors, well, outdoors (and not inside my Jeep ;-). I planned to drive to Homer, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be staying there, because hotels and campgrounds on the Kenai Peninsula tend to book up far in advance on summer weekends, not just with tourists from elsewhere, but with people from Anchorage. I still wanted to go, regardless.

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Anchorage and Homer, Alaska. Exit Glacier Road is closed in winter, so the map doesn't include this.)

The day started out cloudy and gray, and I anticipated a rainy drive, with limited vistas. Leaving town, I passed a side road, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a sign that read Kenai Fjords National Park?! I’d been under the impression that the only access to the park was by boat, so I was instantly intrigued, and turned around to follow that road, just to see where it would take me. About halfway along, the sun came out, highlighting a beautiful scene: steep, snowy peaks with verdant green slopes and a great view of a glacier in the near distance.

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Exit Glacier, Kenai Fjords National Park

It was about ten miles back to a visitor’s center, and the beginning of a trail system that allowed hiking to two glaciers and the big ice field that fed them. I wasn’t up for the long hike, which would have taken all day, but I did a short hike, less than three miles, and got right up next to Exit Glacier, which was quite beautiful, and the closest I’ve ever been to a thing like that. That was an unplanned, unexpected interlude that was absolutely delightful, my favorite kind of surprise!

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The continuously melting “toe” of Exit Glacier; from such simple beginnings, mighty rivers are born

By the time I got back on the road, the Seward Highway, the sun came out in a major way. Instead of continuing all the way back on the road I'd taken from Anchorage, I turned west at the junction, toward Homer. It was quite a long drive—close to 200 miles from Seward, but incredibly scenic, and I took some fabulous pictures along the route.

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By the side of the road on the Kenai Peninsula (complete with fireweed)

Finally arrived in Homer, and was determined to camp (as if I had a choice, with all the hotels booked to capacity months in advance). First, I drove out along “the spit,” a long, rocky breakwater that leads out to the deep water docks and the ferry terminal.

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Car ferry approaching the dock in Homer

In summer, hundreds of RV’s line up on either side of the road and make a small transient city, with a spring-break style party atmosphere. That’s where most of the camping was to be found, but it wasn’t for me—not with all the noise and hoopla and the lack of shelter from the cold wind off the water. I used my Alaska App to search for other campgrounds in and around the town, and found the perfect spot, where there was just one space still open. Unfortunately for my purposes, it was an RV space with hookups that I couldn’t even use. I wasn’t planning to set up the tent—the forecast called for lots of rain, so I just wanted to park the Jeep and sleep in it. Even still, I had to pay the full prime season RV hookup rate of $55, and all I got for that was a parking space with a picnic table, and access to a bathroom and shower. A poor value, but the location was great, right across the street from what’s considered “old town” Homer, an area with shops and a couple of restaurants.

I ate dinner at the Steak House Tavern (or something like that). The special was fresh caught salmon, so that’s what I ordered—probably the best, definitely the freshest salmon I’ve ever eaten. Delicious! Rigged up the Jeep for sleeping, with the plastic tubs set outside on a picnic table, covered by my tarp, and the inside of the vehicle arranged just so, filling the gap behind the driver’s seat so that I could fully extend the air mattress and stretch out full length, not with my knees tucked. I sat up front in the passenger seat making notes on my laptop until late. It was raining steadily at that point, so I crawled into the back, careful not to drag wet, muddy shoes into my bedding. I used my dorky sleeping mask, as it was still light outside despite the storm. This time, I fell right to sleep. I had an amazing déjà vu experience, lying in my old sleeping bag in that confined space, listening to the rain drumming on the metal roof of the vehicle. In my mind, I was transported back in time more than 40 years, back to when I used to sleep in my camper on rainy nights in the mountains of southern Colombia, burrowed into that very same sleeping bag. The sounds of the rain, the slightly musty smell of the bag, the sense of confined space in the back of the vehicle, all those things combined to create a visceral experience that was very powerful, and left me feeling more than a bit wistful at the thought of all those years that have passed since my time in South America, a whole lifetime ago.

Day 34: Sunday, July 26th

Packing up after a rainy night in the Jeep is much quicker and easier than putting away the tent when it’s wet! I had a nice shower, in no hurry to go anywhere. I went to breakfast at the other restaurant across the street from the RV Park, a little delicatessen/bistro. Mournful old French pop songs were playing on their sound system, and I had a delicious crepe with fresh farmer’s cheese and local blueberries. Great way to start the day! Then I drove around Homer a bit. While taking pictures of fireweed near the beach, a large, raucous bird landed in a nearby tree. I focused in with my zoom lens, and staring back at me was a Bald Eagle!

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Alaskan songbird

The regal bird posed like an artist’s model, and I got some great shots, including a couple of stop motion action sequence shots of him taking off into the air.

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I took more photos of boats and mountains and clouds and, needless to say, fireweed, and then made my way, in no hurry, to Soldotna, gateway to the Kenai River, and the world’s best salmon fishing. With close to 5,000 residents, it’s the big city, Alaska style.

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In most areas fireweed merely lines the roads. In the Kenai, it blankets the meadows and hillsides like a pink carpet

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Salmon fishing in the Kenai; world record beauties weighing close to 100 pounds have been caught in this river

When driving through that area the day before I’d taken note of all the options for lodging that were there, and I figured I’d find a room and take care of the stuff I’d planned to do in Anchorage: laundry, banking, getting the Jeep serviced and so forth. I ended up paying $200 for a fairly ordinary room at the Quality Inn—the most I’d paid up to that point, but it was the peak of their peak tourist season, and the best price I was likely to find. At least it was clean--and extremely convenient! I got my laundry done, had lots of time to fool with photos. After camping two days in a row, it was nice, treating myself to a comfortable spot indoors.

Next up: Palmer, Glennallen, and the largest National Park in the U.S.

Day 35: Monday, July 27th

I caught a break when I started loading the car and noticed that there was an auto service center directly adjacent to the motel. They got me right in and gave the Jeep an oil change, tire rotation, and a thorough inspection. They told me the tie rod ends had a little play, and that they would need to be replaced soon. They offered to do it for $500, but since my tires weren’t wearing unevenly, I knew it wasn’t critical. In fact, I wasn't sure it was even necessary, so I elected to hold off until I got back home, where I have a trusted mechanic. I figured I’d probably have to put a few grand into my vehicle after this trip—she was going to need tires and front end work, at minimum. (As an aside, when I did get the Jeep checked over, after the trip? The tie rods were just fine.) My Jeep is a great vehicle, with a lot more miles left to go, but it’s on me to keep up with the maintenance. (The same can be said of everything in our lives that’s worth hanging on to--from our vehicles to our health to our relationships.) At any rate I got all my stuff done, and then drove the four hours or so to Anchorage, with numerous photo stops along the way.

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Random roadside view, Kenai Peninsula

I didn’t hang around Anchorage at all—stopped for gas, and drove straight out of town, north to Palmer. The day was on-again off-again rainy, with some beautiful sunshine and clouds in between. Another spectacular day in Alaska!

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The floating chunk of ice in this lake makes it a uniquely Alaskan vista

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Lakes, greenery, clouds, and snowy mountains: a timeless recipe that never fails to produce a perfect landscape

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Homer and Tok, Alaska.)

Late nights and early mornings make a bad combination, so I was a little bit droopy at the wheel, and elected not to push myself too hard. Stopped at Palmer, start of the Glenn Highway, and found a campground using my new best friend, the Alaska App. They had tent sites for fifteen bucks; not half bad. Setting up the tent by myself was a pain, but I did it anyway, even though it was threatening rain. I wasn’t going anywhere for the rest of the day, and the tent gave me a whole lot more mosquito-free space to hang out in.

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Tent Camping in Palmer

I used the stop watch on my phone to time the task: setting up that tent with the rain fly: 45 minutes, start to finish. Taking it down, probably a little less, but still, not what you could call quick. If I had the whole thing to do over again, a small RV, a travel trailer, or even a van with a proper bed in the back would no doubt be a better way to make this trip. Doing it the way I was doing it had the singular virtue of being a little bit cheaper. I find that the proper balance between cost and convenience is something that tends to shift around quite a lot as I make my way through life.

Day 36: Tuesday, July 28th

It rained pretty much the whole night, and while the tent stayed dry, my sleeping bag felt pretty damp, and I was cold! I felt vague stirrings of the crud that knocked me flat in Anchorage a few days before; hopefully, I wasn’t exacerbating a chest thing, camping out in this cold, damp weather. A bout with bronchitis was the last thing I needed, so I made this another easy day for myself. I drove a mere 150 miles to Glennallen, a road junction that truly wasn’t much of a town, but was nevertheless the biggest community between Palmer and Tok. The road that took me there, the Glenn Highway, was very pretty, with rivers and glaciers and snowy peaks, but the weather, once again, was on-again off-again rain interspersed with cloudy skies and occasional sunshine.

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Matanuska Glacier as seen from the Glenn Highway east of Palmer

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Matanuska River from the Glenn Highway

In Glennallen, I spied a place called the Caribou Hotel that looked as if it might be reasonable, so I inquired: $149 a night, and with AAA discount, $139? At this point, that sounded a bargain, so I took it, and they even let me check in early, right on the spot. I was tempted to just hunker down and flake for the day, take it maximum easy, but I decided to at least drive toward the nearby Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, to get a sense of what it looked like. Established in 1980, Wrangell-St. Elias is the largest National Park in the U.S. system. You could combine Yellowstone with Yosemite, throw in the entire country of Switzerland, and you still wouldn’t match the 13.2 million acres of trackless wilderness that’s protected here. I drove south from Glennallen toward Valdez, and after about 8 miles I came across signs for a Visitor’s Center, so I stopped in. The friendly Park Rangers gave me a map and some other information, and I ended up driving about 70 miles on a paved road (with many roller coaster frost heaves) to a tiny town called Chitina, the gateway to the McCarthy Road, one of the two access points to the massive preserve, a land of soaring peaks and rushing rivers that comprises most of southeast Alaska, and straddles the border with Canada.

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Kuskulana River near Chitina

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Liberty Falls, near Chitina, an Alaska State Recreation Site that’s popular for picnics, especially among the local folk

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End of the pavement and the beginning of the McCarthy Road, one of two roads that lead into the vast wilderness of the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park.

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Looking back toward Chitina after starting down the McCarthy Road

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When a piece of equipment fails in a remote part of Alaska, it will usually remain in the spot where it died until it rusts into dust

The pavement ends in Chitina, and a gravel road continues into the wilderness for another 62 miles of slow going to a tiny town called McCarthy, which pre-dates the Wilderness area, and has less than 100 permanent residents. Five miles from McCarthy is Kennecott, a mining camp with an ore mill that was completely abandoned in the 1930’s when copper prices dropped. It would have been interesting to go; a well-preserved depression-era ghost town in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness sounded pretty unique, but it was also pretty far, and like an idiot I hadn’t topped off my gas tank before leaving Glennallen. I’d assumed I’d be able to get fuel in Chitina, but as it turned out, there were no services there, so I had to turn around, and I barely made it back to town, coasting on fumes, lowest I’d been on fuel in I don’t know how long. There’s a lesson in there, somewhere.

After returning to my hotel, I just kicked back. Ate an overpriced burger at the hotel restaurant, and crashed early. It was interesting to note that my old routines that had sustained me through my working life had been shattered in the course of this trip. A bit more than a month into it, I had no routine of any kind. Every day was different, and I didn’t even know, from one day to the next, where I’d be sleeping! After 35 years with my shoulder to the wheel, I found that incredibly liberating.

Next up: The Nabesna Road, and a tick for Tok

Day 37: Wednesday, July 29th

Since I’d blown my opportunity to follow the McCarthy Road into Wrangell-St. Elias, I didn’t want to leave the area until I’d at least driven the Nabesna Road, the northern access point to the massive National Park. The sky was totally overcast and threatening rain, but the weather report indicated a possibility of partial sun in the afternoon. Checkout time at the Caribou was 11 AM, so I stalled until close to that point, then loaded the Jeep and drove north toward Tok on Alaska Route 1, keeping a sharp eye out for the turn at Slana, well over an hour beyond Glennallen.

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The Ranger Station in Slana, where you can get information, especially about road conditions.

I stopped at the ranger station for information, and they loaned me an audio CD to play in my car. The sound track gave interesting descriptions of the various segments of the road as I drove along, information about the geology, plantlife, wildlife, and the fascinating history of the area. At the time this National Park was created, there were numerous private land holdings within its boundaries, some of which started out as homesteads. Because the private parcels predate the formation of the park, they were simply incorporated into the park, and the private landowners are protected in much the same way that the ecosystems and the wild animals are protected. The Homestead Act of 1862, which gave free federal land to anyone who was willing to settle on it and eke out a living for themselves, was one of the primary driving factors in the westward expansion of the United States, and in Alaska, the provisions of that act were still official policy all the way up until 1986. Legally, culturally, and in every other way, homesteaders are as much a part of the ambience of the Alaskan wilderness as the caribou and the grizzlies, so there was never any question about eminent domain, about kicking any of the old codgers out of the arbitrary confines of the new National Park. The two roads, McCarthy and Nabesna, also predate the park, and their primary purpose is not to provide access for park visitors; rather, the two roads are there to provide access to the scant handful of hardy souls who actually live in that extraordinary place. As you drive along the Nabesna road, you enter and leave the wilderness numerous times, as you cross in and out of the private land that’s interspersed along the route.

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The last 27 miles of the Nabesna Road is mud and gravel with LOTS of potholes! The 13.2 million acre preserve is the largest in the U.S National Park system, but it has little formal infrastructure and very few facilities for visitors


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Traveling the Nabesna Road, you enter and leave the National Park numerous times as you cross private land that predates the huge preserve

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The ultimate end of the Nabesna Road. The dirt track goes on just a bit further, providing access to an active gold claim, but the last bit of road is private land, closed to the public.

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A homestead at the end of the Nabesna Road, complete with a small airstrip.

The road was paved the first 15 miles, but the next 25 miles were rough, and great fun to drive in the Jeep. Several unbridged streams crossed the road, which also negotiated several seriously rocky stream beds, and there were zillions of potholes filled with muddy rainwater that made wonderful BEGOOSH geysers when I hit them just right. Crossing a couple of those shallow streams, I was spraying water off to the side, higher than the roof of the Jeep! One thing that caught my attention: all of those private parcels had rural mailboxes, even those that were all the way at the end of the road—which was originally built to access a gold mine that is no longer commercially viable, but still being worked by its owner. When I inquired about the mail service, I was told that a rural carrier out of Slana delivers to those boxes three days a week, even in winter (depending on conditions). The Postal Service has long been a lifeline for rural Americans, even here, in one of the most remote parts of Alaska. There were actually two B&B’s at the end of the road—it would have been an interesting place to stay! There was also a small fairly primitive airstrip, where flightseeing excursions over the surrounding wilderness can be arranged.

I took very few pictures on the way in—too cloudy—but the sun came partway out as I was driving back and I made numerous stops to take in the views. My visit to Wrangell-St. Elias was great fun, but, compared to the other places I’d been, not the greatest in terms of photo ops. (Sometimes you have to just absorb the experience, and not worry about capturing a place with photos.) I stopped at the Ranger Station to return the Audio CD, chatted a bit with the staff, then drove on toward Tok. It rained on and off along the way, but it was a very pretty drive.

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Fireweed, mountains, and clouds reflected in beautiful lakes. Ho, hum. Just another day in Alaska

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Rain, rain, go away! Lousy weather between Glennallen and Tok

I pulled into Tok at about 5:00 PM, and since I’d actually been there before, it felt like a familiar spot. I got a room at a motel/campground for a mere $110 (cheap!). Later, I took in a presentation on dogsled racing that was being given to a tour group from Wisconsin; that was actually very interesting! I had a Halibut Burger at Fast Eddie’s (another familiar place), then back to my room, to sleep, per chance to dream.

Next up: Back to Canada via Chicken, the Top of the Word Highway, and Dawson City, Yukon

Day 38: Thursday, July 30th

My first morning in Fairbanks, I met a couple from Tok who gave me two “must-see” recommendations. The first was the Eskimo Olympics, a totally unique event that I thoroughly enjoyed. The second was a drive on the Top of the World Highway, an alternative border crossing route between Tok and Dawson City, Yukon. They claimed that the road offered incredible views, “even better than Denali,” but just like Denali, you had to catch it on a clear day. I’d been checking the weather forecast twice a day for the last week, and this day, Thursday the 30th, was supposed to be clear in the morning, with probable rain in the afternoon. That was all the incentive I needed to get an early start on what I was pretty sure would be my last day in Alaska. I had a quick breakfast at Fast Eddie’s, and then I took off, headed north on the Taylor Highway, AK Route 5, which intersects the Top of the World near a tiny town called Chicken. The first 60 miles of the route was paved, if you could call it that. I’d never seen so many frost heaves—sections of road where the pavement has been buckled by expansion and contraction of the water-soaked soil beneath the road bed, which alternately freezes and thaws with the changing seasons. Once that rippled pavement ended, the road pretty well went to the dogs.

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Tok, Alaska and Dawson City, Yukon.)

The area around Chicken was so foggy I could scarcely see the place. It started as a mining camp during the Yukon gold rush, and it’s one of the very few such places that is still producing gold more than a century later.

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Abandoned gold dredge, Chicken, Alaska

The mining operations have scaled back pretty dramatically, such that the primary industry in Chicken, with a permanent population of 7 souls, is tourism. When the mining camp grew large enough to need a Post Office, back in 1902, residents had to come up with a name for the place. They wanted to call it Ptarmigan, which is the Alaska State bird. Unfortunately, nobody knew how to spell Ptarmigan, so they settled on Chicken, and that’s what it’s been called ever since.

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Chicken Monument, the centerpiece of Chicken, Alaska

There was a campground in the town with a significant number of large RV’s towing cars (“toads”); a whole herd of Class A rigs, lots more than I would have expected on such a rough back-country route. Apparently, the Top of the World was more popular than I realized. I topped up my gas tank in Chicken, even though the price per gallon was pretty outrageous. There’s a rule of thumb in the far north: even the most expensive gas in Alaska is cheaper than the cheapest gas in Canada. I bought a souvenir post card in the gift shop, and then I drove on. The weather stayed foggy for the first ten miles, and then it lifted. The view WOULD have been tremendous—the road followed a high ridge well above the tree line—but it was so hazy you couldn’t see more than a mile, at most—so the mountains were more like vague shapes.

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Hazy views from the Top of the World Highway, one of the most northerly highways on the entire planet

Based on my interpretation of the road map, I expected a road junction not far past Chicken. The Taylor Highway went north to the tiny town of Eagle, and the Top of the World Highway turned east to Canada. But after driving and driving on the rough dirt road, there was no junction, and I was afraid I might have missed it. I didn’t want to go all the way to Eagle and back accidentally, so when I noticed a camp down in a gulley alongside the road, I stopped and walked down. The people there were apparently working a gold claim. I kept my distance, and rather cautiously announced myself. When I got their attention, I asked about the road. As it turned out, the junction was still ahead of me—the map was simply misleading about the distance, so all was well.

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Top of the World Highway near the Canadian border

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Welcome to Alaska sign greets travelers arriving from Canada on the Top of the World Highway; for me, it was a sad goodbye

The last section of road, just before the border, was newly and beautifully paved, which was quite an anachronism in such a remote area. Canadian Customs, the Little Gold Creek Border Crossing, was a small building in the middle of nowhere, an unusual place, because that same single building is shared by U.S. Customs. The inspection consisted of a glance at my passport, questions about firearms, liquor, and tobacco, and how long did I plan to stay in Canada? That was it; have a nice day, and they didn’t even glance at my vehicle. I was sad to be leaving Alaska so soon, but I was also pretty satisfied, because I felt I’d done it up right!

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Little Gold Creek border crossing

I drove on over a very good dirt road, traveling it too fast, probably, down to the Yukon River, with a stop at an overlook for a great view of Dawson City, the metropolis of the far north, and quite a place in its heyday during the Yukon gold rush.

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Dawson City, founded in the late 19th century on a bend in the Yukon River

There’s no bridge, just a small car ferry, but my timing was perfect. I didn’t know anything about this ferry, which can be a major delay for travelers—but once again, my luck was very good and I was across in minutes.

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George Black Ferry, the only way to cross the Yukon River, and only in the summer months.

Dawson City was pretty cool. A turn of the century gold rush town—partially restored, partially dilapidated original. Tons of young people—sort of a hippy type community here, mostly young Canadians. There was even a small music scene. I got a room at a seriously dilapidated hotel downtown for about fifty bucks. Zero amenities, shared bathroom, two flights of creaky stairs to carry my stuff up, and the building’s floors were literally tilted in various directions, as if it’s on the brink of collapse. This was another case of “should have checked the room before paying for it,” but this time, it really wasn’t as bad as all that.

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Westminster Hotel in Dawson City, Yukon. The building façade is newly painted and kind of cute. The interior of the building behind the façade was slowly caving in on itself

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Klondike Kate’s, one of the more nicely restored places in this hodge-podge of old and new, where they’ve retained, a 19th Century ambience.

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The Flora Dora, where, back in the day, the rooms came either with, or without (the girl in the window)

I wandered about the town taking pictures, and then holed up in the room to do some serious route planning. It was 1800 miles to Edmonton, and I wanted to break it into logical, relatively even segments. I spent most of my time in this interesting little town hanging out in my funky room. I checked out the bar downstairs, but the evening crowd was a little rough to my taste, so I didn’t stay to hear the band.

Day 39: Friday, July 31st

I woke up fairly early and took a shower in the shared bathroom. There were very few guests in the hotel, judging by the lack of noise. I couldn’t leave before 9:00, because I had to wait until the bar opened in order to get a refund on the $100 deposit they’d made me put down on my $50 room (as if it would even be possible to do that much damage to so Spartan an accommodation, with peeling floor tiles, cracked and peeling paint, and worn old furniture). I spent some time editing photos, had a good breakfast at the much nicer hotel across the street, and then went back to the bar to reclaim my deposit. There was a guy in there already drinking at 9:00 AM, bragging to the pretty female bartender that he’d just turned down a producer who wanted to feature him on a reality show about the Yukon. The producer had offered him $1,000 to appear in the show, but that was an insult, he claimed, because he was currently making a wage of “$24,000 an hour!”

That got my attention. “What kind of work pays that kind of money?” I asked.

“Gold mining,” he replied. He claimed he was on to a very hot spot, part of a crew that was killing it at that very moment. If that was true, I couldn’t help thinking, why was he drinking cheap beer in a Dawson City bar at 9 AM? Good question, that, but I left it unasked. Instead, I retrieved my deposit, gassed up my Jeep, and drove south down the Klondike Highway. This was, for the most part, a very good road, though it did have a few patches of dirt and gravel, part of the ongoing road repair and construction that’s endemic to that part of the world during the short summers; the winters up there in the far north are absolute hell on the road surfaces.

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Yukon River from the all but deserted Klondike Highway

The highway followed the Yukon River south, crossing it a few times on bridges, but for the most part you couldn’t even see the water for the solid hedge of trees lining the road. I stopped a few times for photos, but not many. There was almost no traffic on the first half of the drive. I passed two cars, but not a single car passed me, and I saw no more than 2 or 3 vehicles going the other direction, plus a couple more here and there at rest stops.

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The all-but-empty Klondike Highway, which follows the route once taken by the thousands of desperate men who answered the call of the Yukon gold rush in the late 19th century

This was, without a doubt, the most deserted highway I had ever encountered. There were very few towns and almost no homesteads along the route, at least none that were visible, so it would have been a terrible place to break down. To get assistance, you’d have to flag someone down, and pray that they stopped! Pretty iffy, but I suspect there’s an unwritten code among the folks that travel these lonely roads, to help any fellow traveler in distress. On the way in to Whitehorse, 350 miles and at least five hours later, I followed the signs to the Lake Leberge Campground, and drove a winding road through the woods to a camping area on the lake shore.

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The “marge of Lake Labarge,” (sic), near Whitehorse, Yukon

I got out, and took a picture, just so that I could say that I’ve stood “on the marge of Lake Labarge.” (A classic line from the famous poem, “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” by Robert Service. Service, known as the bard of the Yukon, spent a good bit of his time on earth in and around Whitehorse). I found the Days Inn hotel that I stayed in when I passed through this place in an earlier lifetime. (Was it even possible that it had only been three weeks?) The hotel was quite comfortable before, so I booked it again, and was pleased to note that the rate had actually dropped by $25. It was already getting colder in the Yukon—so I guessed they were already past their peak season. I spent a quiet evening in the room, frustrated because my phone wouldn’t connect to my email account, even with good Wi-Fi. Crashed early, still feeling lousy, but pleased to be in a clean, comfortable bed.

Next up: The Alaska Highway (in reverse)

Day 40: Saturday, August 1st

Before leaving Whitehorse, I studied my maps and my copy of the most recent edition of The Milepost, a comprehensive mile-by-mile guide to the Alaska Highway and all the other roads that connect to it. I was strongly considering taking a different route back into British Columbia, rather than retracing the Alaska Highway back to Dawson Creek. There was an intriguing possibility—the Cassiare Highway, which led south from the Al-Can, just a bit west of Watson Lake. The Cassiare was more remote, less travelled, and, quite possibly, more scenic than the Al-Can, so it seemed like a no-brainer: a loop trip, where you travel different roads on the return leg, is nearly always better than simply reversing course, because you get to see new stuff. The only thing stopping me in this case was the weather: the forecast called for heavy rain throughout the region for the next several days, and if that was true, I wouldn’t be seeing much of anything in the way of scenery, and under those circumstances, an unfamiliar route through remote territory had significantly less appeal. I took my time getting up and leaving, because I still hadn’t quite made up my mind.

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Dawson City, Yukon and Jasper, Alberta.)

The rain predicted in the weather forecast was already happening; it was pouring buckets when I checked out of my hotel. I stopped by my favorite Tim Horton’s for a breakfast sandwich and coffee, finally got on the road about 10 AM. Whitehorse was a familiar place at this point—it almost felt like I knew my way around! While gassing up the Jeep at my favorite gas station, my phone went off, and all the email that had so stubbornly resisted downloading while I was hooked to the hotel Wi-Fi suddenly came in through the local cell data network. I drove east on the now familiar Alaska Highway, and continued to get email, as well as a text or two, as much as 30 miles outside the town. It’s like everything started working the way it was supposed to work all along, but I still didn’t quite understand it.

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Sign marking the junction of the Alaska Highway with the Cassiare. I had a tough time deciding which way to go!

When I got to the junction with the Cassiare, I stopped and reviewed my maps one more time. The rain had let up a little, but one look at the sky told me there was a lot more coming, so I elected to stick with the familiar, as opposed to the strange, and kept driving toward Watson Lake. The stretch of the road I was on, between Whitehorse and Watson Lake, had been my favorite part of the drive on my way to Alaska. Amazing green mountains, billowing clouds, ice blue and green rivers. On this day, I was traversing the exact same territory, traveling in the other direction, but on this day it was raining so hard, with such a low ceiling of clouds, that I could barely see past the edge of the road. I was extremely glad that I’d had beautiful weather when I drove it the first time; otherwise, I would never have known what I’d missed!

I pulled into Watson Lake at about 3:00. Just like the first time, it was raining, but this time I knew in advance that there were numerous motel choices, just off the main drag, and I’d already decided that I’d stay in one of them. I chose the Bighorn, which was overpriced, but comfortable enough. The sun came out in the afternoon, so I took a lengthy stroll through the signpost forest. On my previous visit, I stood at the edge and snapped a couple of quick pictures. This time I really looked around, looked at the small details, and took much better pictures!

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The Signpost Forest in Watson Lake, revisited. This roadside attraction is interesting when viewed in its totality, but it’s fascinating when you look more closely, because every one of those tens of thousands of signs has a story to tell.

For dinner, I had the meatloaf at a restaurant called “A Taste of Home.” It was edible, but nowhere close to the meatloaf at MY home!

Day 41: Sunday, August 2nd

Didn’t sleep all that well, and felt the need to get moving, so I had a quick breakfast, gassed up, and hit the road. There was light rain as I drove south toward BC, and when the clouds broke I noticed beautiful light over the distant hills, so I stopped the car and ran to the top of the rise. In the other direction was a perfect rainbow.

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I took that as a good omen. The rain cut back to a light sprinkle, and the road stretched out before me, a ribbon of asphalt across a verdant landscape.

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Alaska Highway east of Watson Lake, headed back toward Fort Nelson

The drive was like a relay race. I got ahead of the line of traffic and stayed out front until Liard Hot Springs. Remembering how pleasant it was the first time, I stopped for a soak. When I paid my fee on the way in, the woman in the booth warned me that there were bears in the area, so bold that they had been nosing around all the way up to the hot springs pool. “Be careful!” she warned. “If you see one of those bad boys on your way in, back away slowly, and whatever you do, don’t run from them!” That was pretty sobering! I walked in anyway, paying very close attention. The hot spring was as awesome as ever, a little more crowded this time, and no bears showed up to spoil the pool party.

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Liard Hot Springs, British Columbia. Keep an eye peeled for bothersome bears!

Back on the road, I wound up stuck behind a long chain of RV’s and a couple of semis, so I passed them all, one by one. When I got to Muncho Lake, it was gorgeous, despite the cloudy skies, so of course I had to stop for more photos.

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Return to Muncho Lake

When I got back on the road, the RV’s and the semis had all gotten ahead of me again. There were several lengthy construction delays, the “pilot car tango,” and after one of those delays I got stuck right behind one of the big trucks. That son of a gun simply would NOT let me pass him. There were multiple patches of dirt and gravel road, and every time the semi hit one of those, he sprayed gravel at my windshield, and stirred up billowing clouds of dust so thick I couldn’t even see the road. I’d back off, and then I’d pull close again in hopes of sneaking around him, but he kept deliberately speeding up on the open or downhill stretches, pedal to the metal, so I never got a chance. Overall, I drove that section of road much too fast! I did get some good photos of a buffalo browsing through fireweed, and another of a family of mountain sheep.

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Fireweed Bison

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Mountain sheep, posing for a family portrait

I arrived in Fort Nelson at about 3:00, elected to NOT push on to Dawson’s Creek, which would have meant another 5 hours of driving, give or take. Checked in to the Blue Bell, which cost $30 more than the place I’d stayed the last time, but it was a little nicer, and it had Wi-Fi! I spent a quiet evening watching a couple of dumb movies on a cable channel.

Day 42: Monday, August 3rd

Last leg of the Al-Can, from Fort Nelson to Dawson’s Creek! I took my time packing up and getting ready to go, knowing that I’d only be driving five or six hours this day. The rain was pretty steady starting out, and got infinitely worse, pouring hard in some sections, and never really letting up. This is the most populated section of the road, so traffic was correspondingly heavy, the most commercial traffic I’d seen in a single day, and that was not a good thing. Numerous stretches of the road were undergoing repair, and the pavement had been removed, leaving a dirt and gravel surface. That, plus the heavy rain, plus the heavy truck traffic was a recipe for disaster. Every northbound truck that passed me going the other way drenched me with the muddy rain water that was standing on the road in deep puddles, to the extent that I could scarcely see. The Jeep got dirtier than it’s ever been, and the constant spray of muddy water obscuring my windshield caused a fair bit of white-knuckle anxiety, enough that I was getting bad cramps in my hands. I didn’t stop even once for photographs. Didn’t even think about it!

When I arrived in Dawson Creek, I was struck by how big it seemed, especially when compared to my perception of it my first time through, less than a month earlier. Back then, it looked so small, a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere, but after driving to Alaska and back, my perceptions had changed quite a lot! The Comfort Inn was probably the best motel in town. When I stopped and asked how much, the gal at the desk knocked $30 of the published rate, which made it quite competitive. I had a few days to kill before meeting my friend in Edmonton, so I booked for two nights, glad at the chance to just stay put in one place long enough to catch things up and relax a little. In the early evening there was a whopper of a thunderstorm—an inch and a half of rain in less than an hour. I was quite glad to be indoors watching the storm, not driving, and not camping!

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No amount of rain will wash off this kind of road grime!

After the rain stopped, something really strange happened: it started getting dark, and somewhere between 9 and 10, the sun went down! I was finally far enough south, and it was long enough since the solstice, that I was finally away from that whole “midnight sun” phenomenon. I’m not sure I could ever get entirely used to that—I definitely didn’t like it much! That night in Dawson Creek was the first time I’d seen actual darkness in almost a month, and it was very reassuring!

Next up: On to Edmonton (to pick up my co-pilot)!

Day 43: Tuesday, August 4th

The next morning, I had the free breakfast offered by the hotel—the all-too familiar business travelers special: mass produced scrambled eggs from a carton, weird bacon, day old pastries, make-it-yourself waffles, cereal in plastic dispensers, and tasteless fruit. I practically lived in business class hotels when I was working, and lord, I did NOT miss that routine! I think that may have been the moment that it actually struck me: all of that stuff was in the past tense. I wasn’t simply on an extended vacation. THIS was my life now, and I was never going back to the office again! I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat back, with what must have been a silly grin on my face, while I watched the Canadian morning news. It was very similar to what I was accustomed to seeing back home, but with a different slant, much milder in manner. There was an election coming up, and all the politicians were so polite! I could definitely learn to like living in Canada—if it wasn’t so darned cold in the winter!

I did laundry at the hotel, then went out and about, changed money, bought supplies, and then stopped by an automated car wash, only to find it out of order. I located the “Milepost 0” monument that I somehow missed on my first trip through Dawson Creek, right in the middle of a busy intersection in the downtown area. Found a parking place, got out, and took a picture.

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A couple of blocks away, I watched tourists taking selfies by the “Word Famous Alaska Highway” sign. I was a seasoned veteran now, so I went over and chatted with some of them, telling of my experience, and answering a few questions. I went back to the carwash, and the guys working on the equipment still weren’t sure if they had it fixed. They offered me a free wash if I’d be willing run my Jeep through the machine to test it for them. Sold! The machinery worked fine, and, just that quick, the Jeep was nice and shiny again. I bought a bumper sticker at the visitor’s center: “I drove the Historic Alaska Highway”. A badge of honor my Grand Cherokee can wear quite proudly!

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I also bought myself an Alaska Highway Survivor T-shirt, which I can wear quite proudly!

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Back at the room I balanced my checkbook, paid some bills, caught up my field notes, all sorts of things I’d been putting off. All in all it had been a pretty good day, and a nice pause for reflection. I’d actually driven all the way to Alaska and back! And speaking of backs, mine was actually holding up, so much better than I expected! I was proud, relieved, very satisfied, and more than a little exhausted. The home stretch was coming right up: the next day, I had to drive 585 miles to Edmonton, where I’d be hooking up with my friend Carl. The two of us would be driving south through the Rockies, and a whole string of National Parks, most of which I’d never seen. Traveling with a friend, someone to talk to, someone to share the experience with (not to mention the driving); that was going to dramatically alter the whole dynamic of this journey, and I was really looking forward to that change of pace!

Day 44: Wednesday, August 5th

Got up fairly early, but took my time getting ready, figuring there was no real reason to hurry to Edmonton, even though it was quite a long drive. Got on the road at probably 9:00 or thereabouts, and headed east out of Dawson Creek. I drove through a whole different section of the town that was actually larger than the area I’d come to know, with more hotels, more food choices. Dawson Creek is actually quite a good-sized community by BC standards, and it was obviously growing! The road was a basic two lane starting out, but before long it expanded into a divided highway with two lanes in each direction. Not a freeway, exactly, because it wasn’t limited access—but definitely an expressway, a high speed road the likes of which I hadn’t seen (in Canada) since turning off the main Trans-Canada Highway just east of Vancouver. I’d seen a couple of short freeway-like stretches in Fairbanks and in Anchorage, but other than that, since leaving Washington State, the whole trip had been on the venerable old two-lane routes—or worse! My drive east was completely uneventful, through mostly flat farmland, reminiscent of the prairie heartland of Nebraska and Kansas—and indeed, these prairies in Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba are an extension of exactly that same geography—little to distinguish it from the upper Midwest. They have freezing cold winters throughout that whole broad swath of the world. There are no mountains to divert the frigid air rolling south out of the arctic, so it just flows through, turning the whole place into an icebox. I’d have to say, after all the amazing things I’d seen, that stretch of road was not much of an inspiration! I could have taken a few pictures of bucolic farms, the fields with the rolled up bundles of harvested hay scattered about in interesting patterns—but that type of expressway just isn’t conducive to pulling over for photos. Net result, I didn’t take a single picture, all day long.

As I approached Edmonton it started raining pretty hard, and that continued as I negotiated heavy traffic through the town. I’d written down some cryptic road junctions that would lead me toward the area near the Edmonton airport, where I hoped to find a reasonable room; much to my delight that actually worked! The distances between exits were longer than expected, so I continually doubted whether my hand-written turn-by-turn instructions were accurate, fearing the signs wouldn’t match my notes, but I ended up in downtown Leduc, the Edmonton suburb nearest the airport, which was right where I wanted to be. I drove around a bit in the pouring rain and heavy traffic but couldn’t find any of the hotels I’d jotted down. Desperate, I switched my phone to Data Roaming so that I could hook to a cell network and ask for a little navigation assistance. I’d already used up my allotment of roaming megabytes, so using the GPS was going to cost me—but it worked like a charm, and I ended up at the Super 8, where I booked a room for the night for a mere $120 Canadian. I was exchanging texts with Carl throughout the day, making sure he got on his plane, making sure it would be on-time, but suddenly, there was a big problem! It seems Carl had packed his Passport Card instead of his Passport, because he wanted to travel light. He assumed the Passport Card would be all he’d need for Canada, and that would have been true if he was traveling by land. Unfortunately, he was traveling by air, and the Passport Cards are invalid for International Air travel. Net result, he was at the airport in San Francisco with his luggage, but they wouldn’t allow him on the flight. He had to re-book for the next day, a mistake that no doubt cost him big bucks. I was disappointed by the delay, but honestly, I was pretty whipped from the long drive, still not feeling all that well, so I just went to bed early, glad that I wasn’t going to have to make a midnight run to the airport!

Next up: Jasper National Park in the Canadian Rockies

Hi Rick.

Loving your adventures. Question for you. Do you get Breakfast thrown in when you stay at Choice brand motels and Super 8 Motels in Canada and Alaska like you do in mainland USA? Here in Australia you dont. Or i havnt seen one yet. I know where you can get a fantastic steak in Las Vegas on the way home. hehe.

Keithg

Keith:

The Choice Hotels and the Super 8's in Alaska offer essentially the same amenities as their counterparts in the lower 48. The only real difference is the price of the rooms, particularly in the high season (which is the all-too-short summer, from June to about mid-September). So yes, you do get the breakfast. Not exactly gourmet fare, but you can fill up on it, and it's a nice perk, because the cost of just about everything in Alaska is on the high side.

I've been to that place in Las Vegas that you mentioned. Didn't have the steak, but the hospitality was first rate!

Rick

Day 45: Thursday, August 6th

I talked the folks at the Super 8 into letting me stay in my room well past their 11 AM checkout, since Carl’s plane wasn’t due until 3:00 (or later). They were quite nice about it—even let me go back into the room after it was cleaned, which gave me a chance to catch up a bit on photos and notes. Carl’s plane was delayed at least an hour before it even left the ground in San Francisco, so I made my way to the airport at about 2:30 or 3:00, just killing time. After the plane landed it was another hour before the passengers cleared customs, but you know what? Despite the wasted day hanging around Edmonton, and despite the lengthy delays, it was an awesome relief, seeing my friend come through that door. Our rendezvous at that airport was a remarkable accomplishment, when you considered the distance we both had to travel, and the coordination that it took to arrive at the same date and time in a city that neither of us had ever been to before. I will say that with cell phones and text messages and all the other modern-day options for communication, that sort of thing is a WHOLE lot easier than it used to be! I traveled the world extensively when I was a young man, long before the age of mobile phones, long before the Internet, before GPS systems, before hotel booking sites, before any of that stuff we now take for granted. Communication was mostly by letter or by postcard, or on very rare occasions, by telegram. Even a simple exchange of basic information could take weeks, as opposed to seconds, and yet, we still managed. I even pulled off the occasional miraculous rendezvous with friends in places that were far more remote and dramatically more unpredictable than the Edmonton airport. I often stayed off the grid and out of touch for months at a stretch, and that didn’t bother me a bit. Today, I get cranky if my hotel doesn’t have Wi-Fi, or when I drive through a dead spot where there isn’t any cell service! Would I ever want to go back in time to that simpler era? In a heartbeat! (But I would really, really miss my smart phone ;-)

Carl and I had a spirited reunion with a lot of back-slapping and high fives, and the minute we retrieved his suitcase, we hit the road. It was already 4:30, going on 5:00 in the afternoon, but we didn’t have all that far to drive. The first stop on our Rocky Mountain Odyssey was Jasper, which, along with Banff, ranks among the crown jewels of Canada’s National Park system. These are very popular places, not just with international travelers, but with Canadians on summer holiday. The eastern gateway to Jasper was the town of Hinton, just under 200 miles west of Edmonton on the Yellowhead Highway, (Alberta Route 16). This was the peak of their peak season, and that created a serious shortage of hotel rooms. Knowing that to be the case, I’d done some checking in advance, and reserved us a double at the Hinton Holiday Inn. (As an aside: that was the first, and, as it turned out, the only advance hotel reservation that was made on this entire two-month trip!) We drove straight to it, arriving at our hotel in Hinton at about 7:30. I was certainly glad I had the reservation, because at that point, the hotel was booked to capacity, and people ahead of me in the line at the front desk were being turned away. Once we’d secured our room, we shopped for supplies, had some dinner, and crashed. (Boom! Out like a light.) This was another rare day when my cameras stayed in their cases, and I took no photos at all.

Due to seasonal road closures (snow, mud, road construction, etc.) some of the maps displayed in this thread are not displaying properly or you might see pop-up windows reporting errors found with the route. Unfortunately, the map data used to create these maps enforces these "Time-outs" if a particular road segment is closed. In the case of the pop-up windows (alerts), please click the "OK" or "Close" button and the rest of the page will display properly. In the case on some of the maps where the route seems all jammed up -- reloading the page where the map is displaying seems to solve the issue. All of these problems go away once the winter closures of the roads end. So, everything will look fine in the North American summer months.


Click here for this RTA Library Map
(This map shows Rick's route between Jasper, Alberta and Mount Revelstoke, British Columbia.)

Day 46: Friday, August 7th

From Hinton, it was another two hours to the middle of the huge national park, but the drive west was gorgeous.

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The Yellowhead Highway, AB-16, headed into Jasper National Park

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The Athabasca River, as seen from the Yellowhead Highway on the long, beautiful drive into Jasper

The whole area was quite crowded, and most of the campgrounds were already full up. Here’s what we were told: the Canadian Dollar was relatively weak that summer, which was great for us, because it gave us more “loonies” for each of our U.S. dollars when we changed money, but it was obviously bad for Canadians, because it meant that their money didn’t stretch nearly as far when they traveled outside of Canada. Net result, most Canadian families were vacationing “in-country” that year, which put a LOT of extra pressure on their national parks! Most of the tourists we saw were, in fact, Canadian, mostly from Eastern Canada, as we heard a preponderance of French being spoken. Of the others, a significant percentage were from China--no doubt taking advantage of the favorable currency exchange. Tourists from the U.S. were conspicuous by their absence, though I honestly can’t say why that would be.

My opinion: the Canadian Rockies are world-class extraordinary, and completely accessible, so any of you RoadTrippers traversing the northern tier of the United States, especially anyone passing through Montana, should STRONGLY consider taking a few extra days for a detour north into Canada. There are no less than seven Canadian National Parks within a few hundred miles of the border. If you’ve never been there? You have no idea what you’re missing!

We drove around a bit, enjoying the scenery. Snowy mountains and ice blue lakes never fail to stir my soul. Perhaps I have an ancestral memory of such a place lurking deep within my lizard brain. More likely, it’s the photographer in me, always on the lookout for a stunning composition. Either way, places like Jasper National Park make me very, very happy!

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We managed to locate a decent camp site at Kerkeslin, 30 km south of the town of Jasper. We set up the tent and paid the fee, then headed back toward town. From Jasper, we took a drive out to Maligne Lake, which was quite lovely.

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Maligne Lake, Jasper National Park

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Canoes and kayaks on Maligne Lake, with a stunning backdrop of ice-clad peaks

Spent some time in the town of Jasper, and had dinner at a place with an outdoor upper deck, where we watched the sun drop low in the sky, creating beautiful light on the mountains.

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Sun going down over Jasper

From there, we drove back to our campground for a pleasant evening camping in the tent. We built a small fire, did a lot of reminiscing, and slept reasonably well. There was no rain that night, and that of itself was a joy, considering my recent experience with heavy weather. I’d have to say that this day was some of the best fun I’d had on this whole trip. Carl and I have been friends for half a century, and when we travel together, we do a whole lot of laughing. That not only feels good, it's good for the soul!

Next up: The Icefields Parkway, Yoho, Glacier, Kootenay, and Mount Revelstoke!