Dispatch From the Alaska Hwy. Day 1

Dispatch from the Alaska Hwy.

Disclaimer: 2 people were hurt in a single semi-truck accident during this day.

The time is 6:30 am Pacific Time Saturday mourning, the sky looks like the opening scene from Days of Thunder, orange and purple hues. Just like when Cole Trickle’s Chevy has an oil leak before the Daytona 500, the Tacoma had an oil leak about the size of my fist, not good when you are trying to set out on the Alaska Hwy for a 600+ mile day! Bare with the NASCAR references, the day would prove to be one hell of a ride.

After the fine folks at Wal-Mart lube and tire looked at the work they had done the day before, and I know what some of you are saying, “that’s what you get for going to Wal-Mart”, I feel good about leaving town. Since Canada is not as litigious as the US they allow me to go under the car lift and see for myself that everything is tight and leak free. Turns out that the oil is from the spilt oil from removing the filter, but anyway on to the drive.

The Hwy starts in Dawson Creek, BC, Mile “0”. I hit the round-a-bout that leads towards Delta Junction 1390 miles to the North-west. The first 283 miles to Ft. Nelson are a breeze, not the Hwy that I have read about; smooth asphalt, 2 lanes, and passing lanes on the hills. The amount of gas and oil mines in the area indicates what is paying for such a nice road.

Some back story, I left Marietta, GA on Monday with a day layover in Charlotte, NC. So Charlotte to Dawson Creek, BC 2,779 miles, coca-cola did not do the trick, always drowsy from the sugar, big red gum ate up my mouth. The trick to driving and staying awake, sunflower seeds and coffee, along with music that some friends made me. One night at my Uncle Bill’s in Chicago, 1 night in the bed of my truck outside Fargo, ND and another in Loydminster, AB. 12-16 hours driving per day, cake by Saturday, so back to Day 1 on the Hwy.

Obviously my truck is dwarfed by the Canadian rednecks, get this, the preferred way to transport their ATV and snow-mobile is on a platform above the bed as if they might crawl out the sliding glass window and launch off the truck while still in motion. The trucks look like “P.O.Ds” on wheels. That is not “Green”. This would make Early of the Squidbilles turn in his truck-boat-truck. After passing a weasel the size of a Lab I pull into the mining town of Fort Nelson.

The mining communities throughout Canada, Ft. Nelson being not different reminds me of Mos Esley of Star Wars. Am I going to go into the local restaurant and be harassed by the locals because I do not have enough oil on me or because my truck is not dirty enough? I sure as hell do not have Obi Wan traveling with me to cut off the Pig Man’s buddy’s arm should I need. No the people thus far have been great, talkative and tired looking; I guess after a long winter of little sunlight anyone would look worse for ware.

So from Ft. Nelson, the Hwy. according to the book is “rough” in places. Few vehicles follow me out of town, except a Hwy patrol car passing at Mach 1 and another following a few minutes later. Domestic call or something I think. The high plains are great, rolling hills; the Rockies will not come until later in the day. The sky is blue without a cloud. Only about 25% of the service stations and stops are open, so I am cautious as to how much gas I have. For 2 hours I have the road to myself, what better than driving to Alaska, but to feel as if no one else is going. I am whizzing along at 70 mph when I come up on Toad River station and I top off the tank, $1.43 CA about the same US/ liter and I am off. A few miles down the road, traffic is stopped. Apparently a truck has rolled over in a sharp curve. Everyone is out of the cars and trucks talking, waiting for the accident to clear. I run into a guy moving to Homer, AK for retirement. He is driving a 1969 Ford 250 truck pulling a home made trailer with a Kubota Tractor on board. 8 mpg he has been getting, smoking hand rolled cigs stored in a home made case, a life time of timber trucking has made him “grizzled” in his brown coveralls and nicotine stained mustache.

A guy from Washington is driving a big rig behind me and explains why he was not trying to block me from passing earlier but merely avoiding fallen rocks. I heed his advice and let him know that as soon as I saw the rocks I got it. The traffic starts moving and as I round the corner I see the worse jack-knifed tractor trailer accident. The truck has rolled over with the cab swallowed in a ditch, destroyed. 2 helicopters have been in and out already. The next 70 miles would prove to be the best driving experience I have had since I first got my license.

The entire drive thus far have been signs warning of bison, elk, caribou, moose, and rams crossing the road. Now we all have seen signs warning of deer, etc, but how often do you actually see them? I think to myself. “When I see it I’ll believe it”. Turns out the signs were not warnings but aluminum premonitions, like reflective Yodas. The road is clogged with back traffic due to the accident. I am making my way pass slower moving vehicles, old man “grizzled” waves me by. I find myself behind a rig towing 2 trailers of gas. The ass end of the trailer is throwing up gravel and dust so I keep my distance. After 20 miles of this I am ready to pass.

I approach the side of the tanker and what is that! I can not see a thing; he has fish tailed into the gravel. It is like when Cole Trickle and Rowdy Burns tangle during Days of Thunder. I do not have a spotter to talk me through the dust. I can not see the rig and there was a Ford behind me and I can not see him, the dust is that thick. I quickly think to go for the pass anyway, but just as quickly decide against that, are my lights on? If they are then maybe the rig and the Ford can see me and make the proper adjustments. Is there a Bison standing in the road in front of me like the reflective Yoda stated? Is there another vehicle coming from the other direction, there was not before? Finally I slow down enough to duck back in behind and rig let some space clear the dust. That was close, my heart is beating and I could use a change of shirts, but there are miles to cover.

I finally approach a down hill and hit 85 to pass the truck all the time worrying if there is going to be loose gravel, sheep sleeping in the road, bison grazing, or any other animals out to destroy me? If I hit a bison while doing 70 mph, hopefully it is not one of Ted Turner’s because he will have put a disclaimer on the menu stating that, “this bison may or may not contain trace amounts of a 28 year old male and Toyota truck”. The pass is successful. In NASCAR a rookie gets yellow tape put on the rear bumper of the car to warn others of their inexperience. That trucker might not have been a rookie on the Hwy but his near rollover shortly before passing him is an indicator of how tricky this road can be. My “yellow tape” is my Georgia plate. The next 50 miles are crazy and hectic. I am pinned in by trucks on sections of road without guardrails, feet from cliffs and semi-frozen water, waiting for more animals to be in the road. I come around a corner, a family of sheep, miles later is that, yep a bison that has been turned inside out by a semi, then group of rams, 3 caribou and 3 moose. The only animal, which has not decided to try and stop my truck, is the elk and deer and I am sure that will happen by the end of this trip. I can not pull off since the road is narrow and turn-offs not marked. I am taking pictures on the road, through the windshield, holding the camera out the window etc. Finally, I am able to get out of the trucks way and pull off for a few pictures and a break. The valleys and mountains are covered in snow with much of the rivers still frozen. The road opens up after the steep and curvy mountain section. A few hours to Watson Lake for the night and I am enjoying the Pink Floyd play list recounting the days events. A greasy gas station burger and 2 Labatts and I am going to retire to the truck bed for the night.

More to come,

Mike