Iowa and Beyond

We spent a night in Des Moines, Iowa, at Shirley's boyfriend, Shane's house. It is a nice house, and he is a good person. He hunts, fishes, gardens, and cans. Owen enjoyed chatting with him, as obviously, they share some common interests, since those are also some of Owen's favorite pasttimes. Shane sent us off with some venison jerky and a quart of his homemade, homegrown salsa. It makes me feel like home, and a little less sad about all the homecanned foods I had to leave behind in Alaska.

Iowa City is only a two hour drive from Des Moines, so we essentially had the next day off the road. Iowa City is an absolutely charming small city. Mike and his family live in the beautiful, historic section of town. Their house is gorgeous. Mike and his significant other, Cornelia, have two children, Amelia, who is Owen's age, and Kaehleb, who is 8 years old. Mike has remained in my memory for years, as one of the nicest people I have ever known, and a visit with him completely reconfirmed this memory. He has not changed from that memory and to add to it, Cornelia seems a perfect partner, as she is equally as nice. Owen and Amelia, both Montessori kids, were instant friends. It was a necessary, happy break for Owen, who is a very social kid, to have a friend to play with again. Their family story is one worth mentioning (and I hope that Mike will not mind my sharing it), because I felt like my heart was overwhelmed by the story of the resilience and strength of a family. Kaehleb, is Mike's sister's son, and is the youngest survivor of the September 11th attacks, during which time, Mike's sister worked at the Pentagon. He was 6 months old at that time. Mike and Cornelia took him in once they became settled in their home there. He said that it was a decision that the entire family supported. It is a good story, and I believe is a happy ending to a terrible tragedy. I am proud to know Mike and Cornelia, and I am proud of their decision, and I wish them all them all the best in this world. The sweetest moment of the trip was watching the three children snuggled together under blankets on the couch, Kaehleb in the middle reading a book to Amelia and Owen. They are all beautiful children.

Is any trip really great without a massive puking attack?

Ironically, after eating what was probably the healthiest, actual dinner of the road trip so far, I spent all of last night vomiting it and any bit of liquid I tried to keep down back out. It is as if the Gods of the Road are controling my fate and dictating that it is completely, simply not right to eat several whole fresh vegetables and fruits while on the road. And so, they struck back at me for my disregard of the rules. And now, I've gone an entire day without coffee to add to the insult.

However, that said, we did finally manage to find the Fargo Celebrity Walk of Fame. It is as entirely disappointing and sad as one would imagine. First off, despite the city boasting the Walk of Fame as one of it's important visitor attractions, they do not actually invest the time or effort involved in keeping the famed walk free of snow and ice. And so, we spent our time uncovering the famous names that we could, but never did find the most celebrated Man of the City's handprints. Indeed, we were fairly convinced that Jesse Ventura's block was buried under several inches of ice. So, we took our pictures next to the ice block that we imagined overlayed dear Jesse's handprint on the sidewalk. I will note however, that I was happy to discover Stevie Ray Vaughan's handprint on the walk, and had my picture taken next to that one, as an true fan of the man.

So, aside from another vomiting on the side of the highway episode, the trip from Fargo to Des Moines, Iowa was rather uneventful. We are staying here in Des Moines tonight with my Aunt Shirley, and tomorrow, we will trek over to Iowa City to visit my friend Mike Fallon and his family. Anyone who knows Mike Fallon is extremely jealous right now, I am sure.

I am thoroughly happy to be in Iowa. Iowa has a feeling of home to me, despite the fact that I've never lived here. And despite the fact that I would never settle down here (or so I think, but I've learned enough in my life of irony to never really hold to statements of never). And that feeling seems to grow as time goes by. I suppose it is the family connection, because both of my parents were born and raised in this state: my mom in Cedar Falls and my dad on the family farm in Waverly. I love looking at the fields of corn in the summers. I love the way a summer ligthning storm can decorate the expansive wide open sky here. And I love the feeling of contentment that comes from seeing family. Iowa is good!

Borrowed Time

I am feeling resentful of my lost hours. I feel 3 hours older, and will be 4 hours older by the end of this trip. Theoretically, I've been living the last eight or so years on borrowed time, as I was 4 hours younger for all those years. But, going in reverse seems harsh. Maybe because I'm just really, really tired today. But, when I make my way back to Alaska, I think I should stay for good, and keep my four less hours.

Fargo has been good. Yes, the accents are really funny. Sarah, a fifth generation New Yorker, is frustrated by the slow pace of life here, but I don't really notice...well, not too much anyway, but I'm horrible with time anyway. I've chatted with some nice people here today. And the alcohol is cheap. Really, really cheap, thanks to Happy Harry's Bottle Shop. The children's museum was nothing spectacular, but Owen made some "new friends" and was happy running loose for hours. Supposedly, there's a swimming pool and hot tub in this apartment complex that we're staying in...so, sometime tonight, I'll get myself into gear and search the SkyBox 18 for a suit. Tomorrow, we'll explore a little more of Fargo, most importantly the Celebrity Walk of Fame, that we didn't make it to yet today. Then, we'll hit the road for Destination Des Moines, where we'll be staying with my Aunt Shirley!

Border Crossings and North Dakota

I am still in the northern plains. This is my first time traveling through these parts in the winter. I am impressed. Part of this stems simply from my love of the open road, knowing that something unexpected always lies ahead, and that no matter how well or not well a trip may be planned, something always goes differently than anticipated. The other part of this is that the extent of openness in the prairies is just phenomenal and the emptyness interspersed with an occasional farm gives a feeling of time standing still.

We started the day in Regina, Saskatchewan, drove to the border and then Sarah caught a ride with a fellow curler to the curling tournament in Fargo. We thought it better for her to ride with someone who could get her there on time, rather than trying to push the travel time with Owen and the dogs. It’s been wonderful having Sarah along, and especially helpful having the extra hands because I seriously don’t have enough hands for the four dependants that I am traveling with otherwise. As I say often, I am blessed in life with some amazing friends. However, still, it’s nice to experience a little “alone” time for half of a day. So, I guzzled coffee, cranked my tunes, sang along loudly, and found my own rhythm of the road for the day. But, this time, for the first time in my road trip experiences, my rhythm also included several rousing games of “I spy.”

I had intended, when I first started planning this trip, to title my description of my travels through North Dakota, “The Redemption of North Dakota.” But then, Michael wrote about the “Redemption of Houston,” and “stole” my imaginary title. Funny. But, I think it is appropriate anyway. I have been to Houston, and I definitely agree that it needs the redemption far more than North Dakota.

The winds blow constantly here, and after years of Fairbanks’ windless climate, it feels harsh. But, in the vast, empty stretches of road and in the warmth of the car, it brings something almost magical. The sun shines brightly, reflecting off the snow and adding to the brightness, in the clear blue skies, but the road is shrouded in the swirling mist of the constantly blown snow. It adds a mystical quality to the drive, the way it feels when taking a walk on a foggy day. Then, all hell breaks lose and the comforting feelings are swept away as soon as you open a door.

Each day of this trip, I am waiting in dread for the expected road-weary melt down of either the child or one or all of the dogs. So far, it hasn’t happened. Owen is a complete gem, happily entertaining himself for the most part in his own little world in the back of the car and the dogs seem content to just be warm and sleep in the back. I almost forget that they are there, except that Thunder occasionally feels the need to pop his head up and lurk over Owen. But, Owen seems to enjoy the bonding time, so all is good.

So, we made it to Fargo in time to “watch” some curling, or rather, for me at least, pass out in exhaustion on some seats at the curling club. Owen, when we got there, commented that, “Mommy, I thought that a curling club was a place where you go to get your hair curled, but it isn’t. I already have curly hair anyway, so I don’t need that.” Perceptive, isn’t he?

So, this morning, we are in Fargo, about to hit the town, in search of the following: a place for an oil change, the children’s museum, the dog park, Happy Harry’s Bottle Shop (a great name for a liquor store), and the Fargo Celebrity Walk of Fame. Fun for all!!!

Day Number Whatever – because I’m in road trip mode and have lost track of time, or what limited concept I had of it to begin with anyway: Travels in Canada

Canadian grocery stores have fantastic names. There’s “The Real Canadian Superstore” of Whitehorse, the “Overwaitee” of Fort Nelson, and the “Extra Foods” of Dawson Creek. Overrwaitee is just a ridiculously wrong name for a grocery store. And as for Extra Foods – what the hell does that mean?! Do you need to buy more than you need? Or is it extra stuff that they had lying around that they want you to purchase even though you don’t need it?

We are driving mostly in Alberta today. I like Alberta. But, it is sort of an ironic beauty. Irony, of course, is a central theme in my life anyway, so I like it here. It’s logging/agricultural/oil/etc region. Basically, natural resources. And rather flat. And though we crack jokes at the flatness, such as sign that pointed off to the left of the highway marking “Saskatoon Mountain” where nothing more than a hill rose as far as I could tell, or the excitement at cresting the summit of “Hilltop Road,” these jokes are made with a bit of restraint. We know what comes next. Alberta’s flat land is nothing in comparison to that place that lies ahead.

Grand Prairie is a town that, if it could magically disappear somehow off the face of the planet, I would jump for joy of never having to go through it again. But, it is a hideous string of box stores, strip malls, traffic lights, and houses that all look identical. It needs to be escaped from as quickly as possible, but, given all the traffic lights, it is not possible to escape quickly enough. Poule Coup looks exactly like the type of town you would picture when you hear that name. The town of Hythe, proudly displays it’s two town slogans: (1) The town where wells flow and (2) The volunteer capital of Alberta. What people are volunteering for there, is beyond me. But, the town has a beautiful, old, blue grain elevator. The town of Beaverlodge boasts it’s main attraction proudly before you enter: “Giant Beaver Attraction.” We of course, took pictures, of both the sign and the giant beaver attraction.

Moose crossing road signs are not standardized from province to province in Canada, nor within a province. One type looks something like the silhouette of a dog with moose antlers. Another, we have dubbed “The Thanksgiving Moose” or “Barbie Moose.” He is very top-heavy and has ridiculously thin, nearly nonexistent legs that could not possibly support his massively disproportionate upper body. Owen will be incredibly sad to realize that he will no longer be living in moose country, which is a bit of a heartbreaker. They are, of course, along with rainbow trout, his favorite animals. Because both are “so beautiful” as well as “really yummy.” I sometimes wonder how I managed to give birth to such an angel.

Tonight we head to Calgary to visit with Jaspreet, who was my first and closest friend when I first moved to Fairbanks.

We just passed a sign that said “Important Intersection Ahead.” Whew…good to know. I don’t know what makes it important – historic event? Home of a government official? Parade? But they say it is, so there you go.

To get to Calgary, we have to go through Edmonton. Which is yet another place that I wouldn’t mind somehow wiping off the map. I’ll let you know how it goes. We may gry some farm roads around Edmonton just to not experience that hell again.

Notes From the Flat Lands of Canada:

Edmonton was successfully navigated by Sarah’s discovery of a bypass, just to spite Edmonton by not going through it, due to our shared feelings on the topic of Edmonton. I enjoyed seeing Jaspreet. She is a great person and a good friend, though our stays in Fairbanks only overlapped by a few months, now many years ago, I felt a little like time stands still when reuniting with friends. Calgary is a likeable city. Big, by my standards, with a population around 1 million, but it has nice views of mountains, so that alone puts a likeable quality into a city in my book.

We made a fabulous detour today to the Royal Tyrrell Museum. It is an amazing dinosaur museum located in the badlands of Alberta. Owen, of course, thoroughly enjoyed the museum, as did Sarah and I, because, well, let’s face it, who doesn’t love dinosaurs? We also enjoyed a great little nature hike where we got to enjoy some views of the badlands and finally stretch our legs again.

So, driving in eastern Alberta and Saskatchewan, I feel like I need to really speed. And I can’t possibly drive as fast as I feel I need to. I’m not sure if it is because I feel the need to escape the plains or if it just because I am mentally not well adjusted to the concept of how long it takes to reach a point on the horizon, given how far away the horizon is. And driving in the northern prairie puts one, as Sarah expressed it, in “prairie driving mode,” which can’t really be well explained if you have never done it. But it is something like a feeling that is similar to entering a time warp, where all thoughts, feelings, and a general sense of being become sucked into a black hole and are forever lost until the reappearance of topography. It reminds of a Landolfi story, where the real fear is that nothingness exists.

We just made a quick tour of the Village of Piapot. We were looking for a bathroom, and the name just sounded right. But, something felt a little too off. Perhaps if we had actually gone in to the local bar, we would have met some wonderful characters, but it is hard to find the gumption to chat it up with the locals when you have a car full of people and pets who need to pee.

And, on that topic, I have noticed that in this region, the number of Speedometer Check Sections of highway far outnumber, at a ratio of roughly 20 to 1, any form of rest stop or outhouse. In a place where there is no topography or sizeable vegetative forms and one must consume massive doses of coffee to keep awake, this seems a bit unfair. Unless the Canadians are trying to force people to stay awake through severe discomfort. It really seems like they could have saved a little money on the signs and surveying required for the excessive number of Speedometer Checks and put in an occasional outhouse. Really, I’m not asking for much, but it’s kind of hard to explain to passing vehicles that they just need to turn their heads for a moment. It reminds me of doing field work in Barrow, when I was trying to explain to my work companion, who was a Japanese scientist with relatively poor English language skills, “Could you just not look in this direction for a couple of minutes?”

Medicine Hat, by the way, I shall just mention, for the sake of record keeping, is yet another city that caused us to feel like we needed to run away screaming from. Apparently, the shining glory of Medicine Hat is that it is home to the World’s Largest Teepee. It is a metal frame replica of a teepee. I took a picture of it out the rear window as we were driving away from it. It seemed like the perfect setting for such a structure.

It just started snowing. We are in Saskatchewan. I am convinced that Saskatchewan does not want to redeem itself in my regards. (Although, despite all my complaining about it, I actually really do love driving through the plains. It is a good feeling.) And I’ll sign off, as we head off to a night in Regina at the home of one of Sarah’s friends’ parents. It should be nice.

Oh, and I should mention, that there was an embarassing debacle with the car, just outside of Marmie's Den, a restaurant in Hebert. The customers of the restaurant and the general community of Hebert, about half of whom must have been involved in our rescue, are amazingly nice people. Someday, I will go back there. But, at the very least, I intend to look up the address of the restaurant and send a nice thank you postcard from Virginia, addressed to the residents of the community of Hebert, Saskatchewan. Canadians are just ridiculously nice.

The epic road trip story really begins in Fairbanks, Alaska, several days before the road trip began. It starts with the purchase of the SkyBox 18. The 18 means that it is 18 cubic feet in volume. I bought the SkyBox at Beaver Sports. Yes, I know, I hate Beaver Sports for many reasons, but time was limited and it is conveniently close to the university and I knew that they sold the SkyBox, because several of them are on display outside the front door.

So, at Beaver Sports, with Sarah, I was being helped by a saleman there. He showed me the list of SkyBox models and the prices for each. For each size category, there is a SkyBox and a SkyBox Pro. The difference, apparently, is $200 and a “fancy” silver finish. Sarah was particularly confused by this, and kept asking pointed questions, such as “Is the Pro more durable?,” “Wait, I must be missing something…is it more aerodynamics?” “It must have better features, right? Easier to open?...Better latches?...” To each of these questions, the salesman, who happened to understand the ironic humor in this situation, kept patiently responding, “Nope. Just the color.” So, now, anytime I see anyone driving down the road with a fancy silver SkyBox Pro, I will be laughing, because I will now know that they paid an extra $200 for the silver color.

So, the reason that I include this as a monumental event for the start of the road trip, is because I have had a life long dream of making a road trip in a station wagon with a cargo top (or hamburger box, as I called them when I was a kid). I don’t know why I have always felt like this would be the dreamiest way of traveling, but the impression was burned in my memory from childhood, perhaps on one of the long family road trips out west when I was young, I saw some other family in such a set up and was jealously looking out from the back of the 1971 mustard yellow Datsun or the 1973 blue-blue Audi sedan, fighting for space between the back seats with my older sister. So, now, with a SkyBox 18 on the top of my 1999 green Subaru Legacy Outback, I feel like a Kind of the Road…ready to hit the road in the ultimate, vehicle-of-my-drams, road-tripping vehicle. Owen, unlike my childhood dream, does NOT however, have all of the space in the world to play. Some dreams stay unfulfilled, I guess.

Day 1:

Sunday, February 15, started out later than planned, of course. For some reason, saying goodbye to my friends and home, packing, and getting myself together in general, took longer than expected. So, we started from Fairbanks at around 5:30 pm, and headed out for the highway. SkyBox full with winter clothes, camping and survival gear, for just in case, back seat full of toys and food, back of the station full of Spirit, Thunder, and Fire, and front seats full with me and Sarah. The drive, was a drive, and we pushed it late into the night to try to make up for lost time and also because there is really not much open on the Alcan Highway in winter. Well, it’s a long time between stops in summer sometimes anyway, but even less is open in winter.

We crossed the border rather uneventfully, though the maybe-slightly-older than high-school border official was not impressed by our jokes of irony. “Do you have anything to declare?” “Well, our clothes, camping gear, child, road snacks, the dogs.” “Do you have health certificates for the dogs?” “Why yes, I do!” (I proclaimed this very proudly, because the “Pet Passports” folders containing the dog’s certificates from the vet are just ridiculously cute.) “Do you have any firearms?” “No.” “Do you have any pets?” “…do you mean, other than the ones we just showed you the certificates for….?”

So, once in Canadia, our late night driving talks focused around defining the different types of snow and ice that exist on the road. There’s black ice, texturized black ice, snow pack, patchy snow pack, texturized snow pack, …we were up to about 18 categories and counting. I am, by the way, already planning to use this for my excuse for when I get pulled over for speeding in the lower 48. I will explain, “what, speed limit? But…the road is clear, I don’t get it…I thought I was driving at a safe speed.” Sarah drove between Delta and Tok, and successfully avoided hitting the token moose-nearly crossing the road just as the only other car that we’ve seen for hours is about drive past us going the other direction. She also successfully navigated the “Corridor of Death,” a stretch of highway with an uncanny number of upturned hooves. The drive was mostly uneventful, until the stretch after Tok…

At Tok, we switched drivers and it was my turn to drive again. Then, the road became frost heavy, slow, icy, and late. Owen started getting frost-heavy car-sick and vomiting. I drove with constant nervous glances back to see if he was going to be sick again. We had made some plans to stop at one “lodge” that clamed to be open year round, but wasn’t, and were forced to push on for several more hours to Kuane Lake, which WAS opened, but not at 3 am when we rolled in to town. But, at this hotel, after driving around and knocking on several doors of nearby residences, we found an unlocked door to a laundry room, and out of desperation, from being overly-tired and the vomiting child, we started blowing up an air mattress on the floor of the hotel’s laundry room. But, Sarah then went off to find a pee spot and on her way back, found a room with a tv on, and knocked. She did find a hotel employee, or rather, one vague, and rather scary employee who referred her to another door where she could wake up a sleeping, but helpful hotel employee. So, we nonchalantly whisked the air mattress away and slept for the very short night.

Day 2:
We saw elk along the road and had a little side-jaunt into Whitehorse (including a walk to Sarah’s favorite landmark of Whitehorse, the “skyscraper log cabin”), a little shopping trip for supplies at “The Real Canadian Super Store” (as opposed to the fake one?), where we bought snacks with labels in English and French Owen was rested and well, the sun was shining, it wasn’t too cold, and Owen continues to be thrilled at the idea of being in Canada. At one gas station in the Yukon, the store owner gave Owen a bag of chips, because “Canadians are just nice.” We found a decent, but overpriced, but most of all, open, hotel in Watson Lake and spent the night. All was good.

Day 3
The lesson of the day is that one should NOT leave a full, unopened can of diet Coke in the drink holder of the car overnight when the temperature dips down to 20 below (F, even though we’re in Canada). Sometime in the late afternoon, the last the mess thawed off the windshield and visibility was improved. With that and a lot of mopping with a roll of toilet paper “stolen” from the hotel room the night before.

Liard hot springs made a wonderful stopping point, despite the pain involved in getting into and out of the swim. But, yet another sunny day, Owen continues to be an absolute trooper, the dogs are happy, we saw lots of bison and beautiful scenery, and all is good in the world.

As a side note, Canadians tend to display some slightly weird road signs. For example, a “landfill” sign with an arrow pointing into a forested gully (it was actually down the road a little way). My favorite of the day, however, was a yellow diamond sign with a picture of a truck on a triangle. Nothing else. No indication of percent grade, no caution warnings, no “check your brakes,” no…nothing but a sign with a picture of a match-box truck on a triangular-shaped building block.

And I will now sign off and get ready for my next driving shift with my cold mug of coffee that wasn’t good even when it was fresh and a few handfuls of Wasabi almonds, purchased at the Freddie’s back in Fairbanks. This trip has been characterized by excessively strongly flavored foods: such as the dill and sour cream potato chips Sarah bought in Whitehorse that seem to have gotten the flavor of dill and sour cream with excessive vinegar and dill, the Wasabi almonds, and the candied ginger that kept me awake on the late night shift of Day 1 by a ginger flavor so strong that my eyes watered and my throat felt like it was on fire. You can always count on pure discomfort to keep you awake.

We had “dinner” in Fort Nelson at the Backstreet bar, restaurant, and liquor store. The food was good and it was one of the few non-chain restaurants in the town. The town that we almost missed in the course of a sentence, by the way. The restaurant is located, after turning around, before the ball park, according to directions given to us by a local. Of course, this means that you pass the turn, with this manner of giving directions. But, passing it allowed us to pull into the turn for the Fort Nelson Heritage Museum and dump station. Yes, they are both located off the same turn.

Dinner brought out one of life’s important lessons, which is that not all things improve with time. In this category of things are: my marriage and squirrel and dumplings stew. Trust me on this. They absolutely do not improve with time.

I also almost violated my most important rule of driving the Alcan today, which is: Always park your car in the direction you intend to be going. Lesson learned the hard way on my first trip. But, this time, I am, in fact, wiser, and caught myself mid-turn and did a nice 360 before stopping.

Today we also bought the most expensive gas, I hope, of the trip. Because we pulled into a gas station/store that was literally, just in the process of opening for the winter. The gas pump was not quite yet plowed and the man at the store offered to fill the tank for us. But, then, I found out that they were selling the gas at last summer’s prices. But, I figured it is more like a donation to some folks trying to make a go of keeping the store going through the winter than a rip off. Plus, we got to use the bathrooms in their home because the power wasn’t turned on at the public ones yet.