The gloves come off

Day 14 -- Big Al puts up his dukes...

Up to now, the Alaska-Canada Highway (the "Alcan") has been a pansy. Oh, every now and then, I have had to slow from 65 to 60, but it's been mostly undemanding and uneventful. However, with just a few hours to go to the Alaskan border, Big Al put up his dukes and shouted "Let's get ready to RUUUMBLLLLE? He hit me with a vicious upper cut (frost heave) and then another, followed by a series of right crosses (ruts that got me rocking like a small skiff in the wake of a much bigger boat). I made a deal with Lucille. A fight plan, if you will. I agreed to ease up on the accelerator if she would agree to take everything that Big Al would dish out at us. The fight was on. It officially began when the flashing road sign said "Drive with Caution. Very rough spots. Here to Border". That was about 200 miles out. Most of the time we were holding our own at 50 mph, but occasionally, Al would hit us with a combination of punches and threaten to knock us through the ropes and onto the ditch-like canvas. Thity-five was our best defense at those times. It was a gruelling battle, but I was proud of Lucille. She had a rock hard jaw, and it seemed like victory was at hand as we were within striking distance of the Alaskan border. Surely Al will punch himself out, we thought. He must have known that he needed to win with a knockout, because for the first time since mile marker zero way back in Dawson Creek, he hit us with a low blow (a pothole). Several of them, in fact, followed by another first, hundreds of quick jabs (washboard gravel). That came as a surprise and it rocked Lucille. In desperation as the final bell was about to ring, Al stooped to a new low. He threw a massive amount of dirt in our face.

 We needed to regroup.  Just before the final round, we took a needed 10 minute time-out at Buckshot Betty's year-round cafe and bakery.

Lucille got some needed rest, and I got a piece of Betty's fabulous cherry pie. I asked my waitress if there was a real Buckshot Betty. "Oh, ya. She's hiding ute in the kitchen, eh? Betty must have overheard the question.  A short, rudy brunette in her 50's appeared and said "it's a wonder nobody's shot her, eh?"

Back on the road, Al gave a pretty good showing in the final round. It wasn't until we went to the corner at the border crossing that we learned that the fight had one extra round, which turned out to be the next twenty miles into Alaska on loose gravel and construction.  At last, we were escorted out of the ring, bruised but not beaten.  As we crossed over onto the new, freshly laid asphalt, it was like easing oneself into the warm, soothing waters of a hot tub.

Flashing back to last night, you might be interested in how my first cookout, first time using the Coleman grill, first time using the Coleman grill stand, went. Made several calls to Cindy both before and after the dinner: Do you know where the cooking oil is? Did you put a spatula in here anywhere? How much oil do you use? What do I do with the rest of a perfectly good onion? Okay, things were going pretty well. I got the grill all set up on its new stand and lit both burners. However, I needed to lower one of the side wings so that the frying pan would fit on the burner, and in doing so, I bumped it and the other side wing collapsed, thereby shifting the weight and balance and almost knocking the entire grill and stand over backwards. I caught it in time, but in doing so, the hand that was holding the frying pan containing the onions and potatoes tipped enough that a third of them flipped out onto the ground.

That's okay, I don't need that many anyway. Better add some salt. I wonder how much. Okay, steak is medium rare. Hopefully the potatoes are ready. Time to eat. WOW. Didn't need anywhere near that much salt. The potatoes that were cut at 1/16th of an inch weren't bad. Those cut at 1/8th inch thick should have been cut at 1/16th inch. Pretty starchy and you could sort of hear a snap as you bit into them. But the onions were superb, especially after my taste buds had acclimated to the high salt level. I'm thinking that the second cookout has got to be easier than the first.  Maybe French toast next.  How was the steak? Well, let's just say that cows up here in the Yukon have probably never even seen field corn, let alone had any of it in their stomachs. Canadian bacon, yes. Canadian hockey, great. Canadian fishing, fabulous. Canadian beef, not again if I can help it.  I think all a Canadian steer has to do to get a grade A score is show up for finals at the butcher shop.

One more story from Whitehorse.  As I was fixing the trailer, a big class A rig pulled in next to me and a fellow named Frank emerged down the steps. I knew his name was Frank because a double plastic pouch containing his passport and a name tag was hanging around his neck. His plastic pouch also had a purple ribbon below it with yellow lettering proclaiming him to be a "Team Captain". "Hello", I said. He nodded and said "You'll have to move that motorcycle over closer to you, as we have a caravan coming and one of our members of the group will be parking in that spot next to you. You've got a little something on your beard", he continued. I rubbed my chin, and saw a smudge of what appeared to be butter on my hand. As I grabbed a paper towel, two RV's with big numbers on white 7x10 inch sheets of paper located on their windshields pulled into the campsite. He rushed over to help numbers 6 and 11 get into their designated parking spots. I was chuckling to myself as he returned and said "Do you know you've got a bunch of tools on your back bumper?" "Yes, I just put them there." "Well", he advised, "don't forget about them and drive off in the morning with them still there." "Boy", I thought to myself, "am I glad I'm not experiencing the Yukon wilderness with a double-pouched ID holder hanging from my neck and a big unit number on my windshield, so my team captain, Frank, can make sure I don't mess anything up or go through the territory with food on my face."

The drive around Kluane Lake today rewarded me with breathtaking scenery.

I kept noticing a mountain with a huge amount of ice on it.

Turns out it is the Kluane Ice Range, which happens to be the largest non-polar ice field in North America. The ice, which is over 700 feet thick, is what is left from a Glacier that receded between 29,000 and 12,500 years ago. Interesting thing about this beautiful lake. It had always drained 140 miles to the south into the Pacific Ocean. Three hundred to four hundred years ago, melting ice caused it to rise 30 feet and since then, it's drainage is now 1,500 miles north into the Bearing Sea.  The mountain peaks here are the highest in Canada. Six are at 16,000 feet and one is at 19,000.

Those of you who remember the 70's may recall the song "One Toke Over the Line". It's been in my head today as I've been driving to my present location, Tok, AK, just over the line between the two countries.  Tomorrow's destination is  Anchorage, only 375 more miles.  Smooth ones, I hope.

Favorite road sign of the day: