Dusty, dirty, a wee bit dangerous at times... we had endured the Canadian portion of the Alaskan Highway for two long days of driving and we were ready to hit our home soil again. This stretch of highway was the prettiest yet. The passage through Destruction Bay in the Yukon was like driving through another world. There were low hanging clouds and rugged grey mountains that were covered in glaciers. The road was gravel through much of the ride and was hugging the glacier lake, a lake that was more like a mirror than a body of water. I just wanted to pull over and sit down right on the shore of the lake and watch the clouds go by. It was cold, clean and remote. I could barely keep my eyes on the road. In all my travels I have never seen anything so raw and powerful.
The final 100 miles or so to the border were a wild and bumpy ride that we will never forget. Imagine going 70 or more miles an hour and all of the sudden turning a corner where half of the road is missing and there is just an orange flag letting you know. There were potholes that could swallow a tire whole! We got lucky and worked our way behind a motorcyclist that seemed to know the road like the back of his hand. This was not the place to break down or lose a tire. We were surrounded by mountains and had no cell coverage whatsoever. There were people pulled over and sleeping on the side of the road, probably beat from the experience. It seemed like the road would go forever, and it almost did, until we finally saw the "Welcome To Alaska" sign and the line backed up for the US customs. Back on our soil, we gripped the curvy road into the heartland of the final frontier. When we stopped in Tok, about 60 miles over the border, the first thing I did was call my grandmother and tell her she was right about the trip! She reminisced and shared stories with me about the ride she made 25 years ago. It was a great feeling. Sarah and I stopped at a great restaurant called Fast Eddy's and ate a big meal with voracious appetites! We would drive another two hours and make a stop in Glenallen for the night; it was too far to Anchorage and we were road weary and beyond tired at that point. We found the only motel in town, the "Caribou Hotel" for a solid night of sleep.
Awesome, man. I wish I was there with you; except that I am here in Honduras. A land where we, too, have no cell phone coverage and bumpy roads.
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