After three and a half straight days of driving, I have safely made it to the Outside (as Alaskans call the lower 48). Not only that but I’ve survived my 3-layover, around the world flight to Birmingham from Marquette, Michigan. But first, let’s start with the drive.
In my previous entry, I had said that Jennifer and I would be leaving on the night of the 24th of September; however, the weather gods decided to bless us with snow on the passes. I say ‘bless’ because typically I’m praying for snow, though this is one instance when I could have skipped the nasty weather. Rather than chance another driving disaster like we had on the drive up to Alaska, we decided to postpone our departure until the following morning when at least we could tackle the snow in the daylight. So on Saturday September 25th, we awoke early, loaded the 60 dogs and 5 puppies into the truck and trailer in darkness and rain, and hit the road by 7:00 AM. I was hoping to wear one set of pants and t-shirt for the whole drive back, but lifting 60 muddy, overly excited dogs right from the get-go didn’t help my cause. No amount of Tide pens or Oxi-clean could have saved my clothes. Dirty but excited, Jennifer and I (and our puppy copilot Tag) began our trek back to Michigan.
Not ten minutes outside of Skagway, Jennifer and I passed a snowplow heading down from the pass. Can’t say it was the most reassuring sight, but we continued on and hoped for clear roads. Farther up, the roads did indeed become snow-covered. Luckily, we made it safely over the pass and into Canada without any hang-ups or delays. Once down into Canada, autumn was in full swing with entire mountainsides blanketed in yellow brush. None of our photos could accurately portray the beauty of the Yukon. I could see how so many miners became entranced by the landscape and squandered their lives away tramping around the Yukon. At one point, as we were driving along and enjoying the scenery, a helicopter landed a quarter mile ahead, and the passengers jumped out and started flagging us down. My first thought was, boy I guess they really do check our speeds with radars- we’re busted. Then I realized we could barely drive over 55 mph with our loaded down trailer. Guilty conscious I guess. Jennifer thought that perhaps they needed assistance with a rescue of some sort. Her assumption was slightly more accurate because as we stopped, a man in an orange jumpsuit came jogging up to our car and asked for a ride to town. He said that he had to report in to the Canadian Search and Rescue in five minutes or else they would send out assistance to look for him. Apparently, once a year all the Canadian SAR participate in training exercises that last up to four days long. On this particular day, the clouds sunk so low they hindered the helicopter’s return. Our passenger explained that he was the equivalent to a United States rescue swimmer (like Ashton Kutcher played in The Guardian) except better. He was a paramedic, mountaineer, and rescue swimmer all rolled into one. Perhaps he wasn’t the most modest person I’ve ever met, but after hearing his stories, I’d be a tad confident too. At the very least, he made the next half hour of driving fly by.
My memory of the next forty-eight hours is a jumble of passing cars, bluegrass music, energy shots and gas stations. Four times a day, Jennifer and I would drop dogs, which means we would take every single dog out of the truck or trailer and then lift them all back into the truck or trailer. This might not sound like a chore, but with two people and sixty-five dogs, it could take a good hour to an hour and a half. Dropping dogs four times a day means that for five hours each day, we were lifting dogs in and out of boxes. I’ll just say that we didn’t smell like roses for long. As time passed, I began to live for the next gas station. At each gas station, I’d treat myself to a hot tea, peanut M&Ms (or the Canadian equivalent, Smarties), fruit, or one of those five-hour energy shots (they work wonders!). At one filling station I even found cottage cheese. Score! The only problem was that few Canadian gas stations are open throughout the night. It was a gamble every time we passed on by an open gas station with diesel fuel.
Finally, we crossed back into the lower-48 and met Sam. Sam was a fellow Nature’s Kennel guide last winter, and he had purchased two dogs, Hemi and Gandhi. The two dogs had accompanied Jennifer in Skagway while Sam arranged for a house in Denver. Now that Sam was all settled, he was picking up his dogs. It was great to see Sam and catch up on his whereabouts and new adventures.
From Montana, we crossed North Dakota (where we were pulled over for our lack of running lights; the dogs had chewed them), Minnesota, Wisconsin, and finally Michigan. As if we were a free highway sideshow, crowds of people would stop and mill about whenever we dropped dogs. Luckily, Jennifer was more patient than me and entertained the same questions that we had heard all summer long. Many of you might have heard Kate McLachlan’s famous Olson quote: “Nick and Ryne are like the same person, except Nick likes people, and Ryne does sometimes.” Well, our stops were prime examples of when I liked people sometimes.
Over three, nonstop days since the day we started driving, we arrived in Marquette where I had to say goodbye to my beloved dogs. I tried not to have favorites, but inevitably I’ll always remember a few better than the others. Hoover, Prancer, Greed, and of course, Alaska will always bring back wonderful memories. It was hard to say goodbye (to Alaska in particular), and I’ll never forget those amazing dogs. Yes, Alaska is the Alaska from the Durango school presentations. Before I turn mushy and start to cry, I’ll continue on with my story:
So now you know: I get so attached to my dogs that they are one of the few things in life that can make me cry. For others, like my newfound friend from the Atlanta airport, tears come much easier. I’ll explain: after a fun dinner with Maliko and Mallory and a fantastic stay with Caitlin, I flew down to Birmingham to see my family. My longest layover was in Atlanta, where I decided to pass the time watching the movie Gladiator. Although it’s rather bloody, gory, and manly, I’ve always enjoyed the movie. At the risk of ruining the ending of Gladiator for those of you who haven’t seen it, both Maximus and Commodus die in an epic final scene. I only had about twenty minutes left in the movie when I had this eerie feeling that someone was watching over my shoulder. The terminal was empty, and turning around, I saw a fiftish- year-old businessman sitting directly behind me watching Gladiator through the seats. I took out my earphones, and he said, “I love this movie. I must have watched it dozens of times and the ending always gets me.” “Yeah, it’s a tearjerker,” I agreed although I thought he was just exaggerating. Well, I reinserted my earphones, and right after Maximus died, I heard a soft sniffling noise. Discreetly, I peered over my shoulder only to find the mature, educated businessman balling his eyes out. Ok, perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration. At the very least he had red eyes and tears rolling down his cheeks. Might I remind you that the movie evoked this reaction without him even hearing the music or dialogue! I had my headphones on the whole time! I can understand crying during a chick flick or when Shadow tells Sassy and Chance to leave him in Homeward Bound… but Gladiator? Really? To each his own I guess.
Wednesday evening, I arrived in Birmingham and was welcomed by Mom and Tom. I was so excited to see both of them and as always, shocked to see that Tom continues to grow. While here in Birmingham, I’ve had the chance to see many of my Southern relatives, watch a couple of Tom’s soccer games, visit the lake house, eat to my heart’s desire, and catch up on some much needed sleep. I ate my fill of bar-b-que, meat ‘n three’s, and sweet tea. Only in Alabama is blackberry cobbler found with the vegetables and not the desserts. After visiting all my relatives and being addressed as sugah, honey, and even Ma’am (boy did I feel old) by everyone I met, I feel thoroughly loved. One trip to the South is enough to remind even the most pessimistic person that there truly are people out there that mean it when they say, “Have a blessed day.”
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