Road work is a constant in the far north, and the Alaska Highway is the prime example in North America.
The construction zone we had encountered at Liard River the previous day was one of the largest and roughest we encountered on our trip, but it was mitigated by the fact it was out in the middle of nowhere, compared to some other locations where we had to contend with local traffic being caught up in the same backlog as the through traffic. Also, it happened relatively early in the day, whereas on Day 5 the worst backup we encountered was later, and in a fair-sized town.
We left Fort Nelson after another splitting up for errands, which included — finally — a visit to a Canada Post location where I dumped four postcards into the mail. On the way out of town I saw the first signs of the North American rail system, a sign indicating a BC Rail depot. Alaska has a railroad, but it’s isolated; the powers-that-be up there need to get motivated to link up with the rest of the continent, but are too interested in projects that only look big — in the small-scale way of thinking many of them are afflicted with. If a link is ever pursued, Fort Nelson would be the southern terminus of the new rail line.
We were now in the northern part of the Peace River country, one of many Canadian river systems that drain into the Arctic Ocean by way of Great Slave Lake and the Mackenzie River. The land was still heavily forested, and punctuated with ridges and bluffs that could be quite impressive. Settlement gradually became more common and less widely spaced. Gas prices had finally begun to drop close to what we had paid in the Yukon Territory, apparently because with the rails distribution became more economical.
The last couple of nights I had forgotten to recharge the NiCd battery pack on my radio, and it gave out sometime around noon. We had to drive incommunicado for some time, and things didn’t go so well. It was during this period that an eighteen-wheeler passed us both just before a long, steep uphill grade, and we discovered, creeping along behind him, that he was not running empty.
After that, I noticed that the pace had fallen off, and after several miles of this and being unable to call Chris to request she get back up to speed, I finally passed her and set a pace more acceptable (to me) for the next several miles. When we reached a little town called Wonowon, I kept a careful watch in my rearview in case Chris needed to stop — but she made no signal of any kind, so we drove on. Later we approached a rest area, and this time I did see her make as though to turn off, but then continue to follow me. As soon as it was safe to do so I pulled over and, with some difficulty, used hand signals to get her up next to me for a quick powwow — after which I led the way back to the rest area, and Chris gave me some batteries to put in my radio until I could recharge the NiCd. We had no further difficulty in communicating.
At length we came to Fort St. John, where we stopped so I could refuel, but as we passed on through town and prepared to cross the Peace River we encountered a road project that kept us backed up for quite some time, and then allowed us to cross the bridge and climb the opposite bank only slowly. But from then on to Dawson Creek things went more or less smoothly, and when we got to that town — the southern end of the Alaska Highway — I had to stop in the downtown area to get pictures of the Zero Milepost.
It’s right in the middle of an intersection about a block away from the actual Route 97 through town. We found some diagonal parking, and I divested myself of a Canadian nickel in a parking meter before the parking agent came along to let us know that non-B.C. plates get a pass on the parking. Well, in U.S. money the nickel was only worth about 3½¢.
After I got pictures of the post, and a grain elevator, and some B.C. route markers, and some RCMP patrol cars (the only pictures I took on the whole trip!)*, we got back on the road to head for our overnight stop, across the border in Alberta. On the way we passed through a little town called Pouce Coupe, and we wondered what the name means. Chris’ comment echoed my own thought that the name recalled an old Beach Boys tune. In little Pouce Coupe, we don’t know what they got…
Crossing into Alberta meant another time zone change — there would be two more before we reached our ultimate destination — and the discovery that cars with Alberta plates that had driven docilely behind us from Dawson Creek suddenly crossed the yellow line to shoot past us despite the fact we were holding close to the legal limit. At least one such driver came close to a head-on before swerving back across to safety.
The country had flattened out considerably but was still more of a rolling, forested plain than actual prairie — despite the large and growing number of cleared fields under cultivation. In fact it wasn’t until we were within a few miles of Grande Prairie that the land really came to resemble open prairie. The city sat sprawling upon the plain in Alberta’s section of the Peace River region, its skyline visible for miles in the latening day. When we found and checked into our hotel we were truly wiped out, and barely had the strength even to decide where to eat, let alone get ourselves there.
We were planning an early departure the next day, because we had to be at a certain place in Edmonton by one o’clock in the afternoon, where we were meeting a cousin of mine for lunch. I was worried that we wouldn’t make it, especially given the long day we’d just had.
*And of course, as stated here, those few pictures were lost as a result of a camera malfunction when I tried to pull the film to have it developed. Now I only take digital photos.
