South to Alaska

[Day 48, July 24]

I was jolted from my sleep by a loud diesel engine, the beep-beep-beeps of a truck in reverse, and the loud, sharp squawk of a midwestern female. I got up and walked over to where she was talking to Scott. She was driving a fifth-wheel, which is the RV lingo for a truck-and-trailer combo, as compared to an all-in-one RV that you can drive. She offered us drinking water and homemade cookies, and we talked for a while. She and her husband were very friendly, but like most RVers, they wanted to rack up some mileage. They were eager to add a magnetized Alaska outline to their metallic map depicting states they'd driven through and were hankering to skedaddle. We ate some oatmeal and left. After ten miles and a long uphill in the intense heat, another RVer pulled in front of us and asked if we wanted anything to drink.

“Water?” they asked.

We hesitated.

“Coke?” they asked.

We almost agreed.

“Beer?” they asked.

We jumped.

He handed us an ice-cold Miller Draft and invited us in. The RV wasn’t big or new but very comfortable with plenty of amenities. We drank our beer, chatted, and left. After twenty or so miles, we stopped to eat PBJs. I felt like a blob. It was hot, bugs were everywhere, and a beer was the last thing I needed for energy. We somehow took a nap then rode on. We doused off in a creek after a mile and rode the rest of the way to Kitwanga. We went inside Mina’s Café, hoping desperately for a cool place and a cold Coke but found neither. The place was stuffy and hot, even hotter than outside. I was sweltering. There were cigarette fumes, the Coke was lukewarm, and they were out of ice. I wanted to cry, but instead, I ordered a ham and cheese sandwich and fries.

We left quickly and rode sixty miles until we stopped and took photos of some old totem poles. We rode twenty-six more to just outside of New Hazelton. We ordered pie and coffee and procured a place to camp in the backyard. I stayed and read till… I don’t know… late. When I tried to sleep, I realized I’d had way too much coffee to sleep in the high heat and humidity, but I knew I’d better try, or tomorrow would be hell. I woke up in the middle of the night because water droplets were covering the ceiling of my tent, because I hadn’t put up my fly, because I was too lazy. I peeked out and looked at Scott’s tent—his fly in place—and heard him snoring.

[Day 53, July 29]

I got up at eight and rode back to the pizza place and ordered ham and eggs, hashbrowns, and coffee. I sat there reading for two hours, waiting for Scott, then talked to a big man with a large round head, jet-black, slicked-back hair, and lamb-chop sideburns. He was with three of his seven children. He owned a body shop specializing in paint jobs. He told me in much more explicit detail than I could comprehend about a job he was doing now on a ’74 Plymouth Satellite. He described the engine, carburetor, interior, exhaust, fuel system, and paint job. He explained the stripping, remolding, base, and each successive layer of paint. For each layer, he described the composition of materials. He was careful to warn me not to be confused between the cheap, stock candy apple red and his rare but sharp, special-order, TRUE candy apple red. He talked about cars and motorcycles, then about the waitress. She was blond, young, and especially well-endowed, which I believe was the attribute that captivated my friend. He asked her if she had any children. Then he looked at me and snickered, “I’ll give her a few more.” He asked her a few questions about her boyfriend, then told her, “You’ve been around that young man so long… ” and when he saw that she wasn’t listening to him, looked at me and finished, “… that she wouldn’t know how to handle a real man! Heh, heh, heh.”