Ooh Canada!
by Doreen Orion

After Skagway, we headed back to our campground in Whitehorse. I think I forgot to mention that on the drive from Tok to Whitehorse, we kept seeing various RV tow vehicles covered with cardboard, plastic bubble wrap, and the like. Sure, this part of the Alaska Highway was rather rough, but that seemed a bit of overkill – or so we thought until we stopped at our campground in Whitehorse, just within the southeast corner of the Yukon border. Our intrepid little Jeep was caked with dirt inside and out (we had inadvertently left the windows open a crack). Its windshield had more stars than an Alaskan winter’s night sky. The Prevost was filthy as well, but the Jeep had clearly gotten the worst of it, dragged behind our behemoth of a bus, getting dirt kicked on it like a beach-bound ninety-seven-pound weakling who had yet to take the Charles Atlas course. And like that scrawny boy with the shattered eyeglasses, our poor, pip-squeak Jeep endured the added humiliation of two broken fog lights.

From Whitehorse, we drove 9.5 hours (including about ½ hour of stops) to tiny Steamboat Mountain and the RV Park there (the town didn’t seem to have much else). It was only 15 amp, but there was no way we needed a/c, and they had pull-through sites which was perfect for just overnighting. But, don’t count on it for your own trip: Before we left the campground, I chatted with the owner about the plethora of RV parks and restaurants for sale along the Alaska Highway especially noticeable once we entered B.C. While we talked, her Australian Shepard head-butted me, trying in vain to herd. Well, maybe not so in vain. I suddenly found myself standing awfully close to the woman. She said they were going to sell, too; that it had been really hard to make a go of it, especially that year with high oil prices driving down tourism (and remember, this was in the summer of ’05 – the notion of “high oil prices” then seems rather quaint, now, doesn’t it?). Adding to the difficulty, they have to generate their own power. Winters find them in nearby Fort Nelson (pop. 4,200) working for the oil rigs. She said it was a hard life. Not for the first time on our trip, I felt blessed.

Near Fort Nelson, be sure to stop at the Watson Lake Signpost Forest in (where else?) Watson lake. You kinda can’t miss it along the Alaska Highway. It was started in 1942 by a homesick GI who was working on the Alaska Highway. After he erected a signpost pointing the way and giving the mileage to his hometown, others followed suit and still do so.

We made Edmonton in less than a day. The mosquito situation had been bad enough in Alaska, but in B.C., if anything, they seemed even bigger and badder. I mean, these things would make the new Airbus jealous.

On our way through Alberta, the bugs flew into our windshield like a squadron of kamikaze pilots.

“We’re under attack!” Tim exclaimed. “Shields on full!”

“Aye,” I responded. “Full power to the shields, sir. But she canna take much more a this!” We carried on like that for several miles, our own impromptu tribute to James Doohan, Star Trek’s Scotty, who we’d heard had just passed away.

Our campground near the city Edmonton was notable for a particularly grotesque bug with more leg than a supermodel on stilts. With all my screaming, I’m sure I failed to do my bit to enhance the reputation of Americans around the world. On the positive side, the city boasted it had the world’s largest mall – it was in the Guinness Book and everything (although apparently the year before, it had been eclipsed and was now only North America’s largest). So we took the Jeep for a jaunt to the West Edmonton Mall. With hotels, an amusement park, water park (complete with a bungee jump over the wave pool), mini-golf, sea lions, sea caverns, arcade, casino, movie theater, replica of the Santa Maria, ice-skating rink, church (who said malls were godless places?), and, oh yeah, the over eight hundred stores, of course, we had to see it.

Next month: Alberta, Canada

Dear Readers: My memoir of our year on our bus, QUEEN OF THE ROAD: The True Tale of 47 States, 22,000 Miles, 200 Shoes, 2 Cats, 1 Poodle, a Husband, and a Bus With a Will of Its Own is an imprint of Random House. It’s available (in original trade paperback, so really, you have no excuse) as of June 3rd online and in bookstores everywhere. (In fact, Borders has chosen it as one of their book club picks for June!) Also, please visit my website, www.QueenOfTheRoadTheBook.com for reviews, more photos, my blog, videos, podcasts, book tour dates in your area (the “appearances and events” link - so far AZ, CA, CO, NV and OR), as well as local/national radio, TV and print appearances (the “news” link). I’d love to see you at a bookstore for my “Reading, Signing and Royal Schtick.” (The Elvis who renewed our vows in the bus will be there for the Las Vegas event.) Tiaras optional, of course. (And, if any of you happen to be Oprah’s bus driver, can we talk?)