It was with high hopes that I intended to publish another post in our RV ALASKA series this week. I’m “this” close to finishing up the trip, and have only a few posts left – including the final, “Alaska by the Numbers.” But, as it often happens, real life gets in the way, and I find myself up to my ears baking Christmas cookies, wrapping gifts and planning Christmas dinner. You can expect the next RV ALASKA post shortly after Christmas. For now . . .
When Alan and I left Ridgway State Park, we made our way back to Interstate 70 and headed east through the Rockies. We’ve crossed this magnificent mountain range many times, but one particular crossing stands out in my mind. It was late March of 2017, and Alan and I had just purchased the Creek Side in Everett, Washington. We were on our way home with our brand new travel trailer, and it was snowing on Interstate 70 in Colorado by the time we hit the Eisenhower Tunnel (elevation: 11,000'+). I still remember how bad the trailer looked covered in snow and mud. What a mess! This time around, we had a blue sky day that allowed us to relax and enjoy the spectacular scenery. We arrived at Inlet Bay Campground on Horsetooth Reservoir just outside of Fort Collins, Colorado, on Tuesday afternoon, excitedly anticipating the arrival of long-time friends who had booked sites just down the loop road from us.
Fortunes were made and lost in the old mining towns of the American west, and some fortunes just never materialized. Many towns went from boom to bust in only a few short years. Some of them turned into ghost towns – or disappeared entirely. Others not only held onto their history, but celebrated it, enticing tourists to visit or even relocate. Although we had passed through Durango, Colorado, on our way to Mesa Verde National Park back in 2010, we had never made it north to the other old mining towns of Silverton, Ouray and Telluride. The Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park remained an elusive check mark on our bucket list, as well. Nearing the end of our expedition to Alaska, we worked our way back east through Colorado to visit with friends and visit the destinations that had remained just out of reach for way too long.
Base camp for our explorations was the Pa-Co-Chu-Pak Campground in Ridgway State Park, located less than 20 miles from Montrose. With a population of just over 21,000, Montrose was an excellent place to reprovision, get the truck washed and enjoy a couple of visits to Culver’s for their scrumptious frozen custard. The weather was a blend of sunshine, clouds and showers, but the rain didn’t hamper our plans, and we managed to accomplish everything we set out to.
Our visit to Golden Spike National Historical Park was a long time in coming. It had been on our bucket list for a while, and was actually on our itinerary in 2021 when we took an extended trip to Idaho to enjoy a number of the state’s many biking trails. Back then, our scheduled visit to Golden Spike was preempted by the first inter-mountain snow storm of the year in the Rockies. Instead of stopping in Utah for our planned visit to the Historical Park, we continued on our way east, trying to stay one step ahead of the storm – and just barely managing to do so. Luckily, there was no snow in the forecast this September, and we not only marked Golden Spike as a completed bucket list item, but also re-scheduled our meet up with Chris Mamula, a fellow blog author who writes over at Can I Retire Yet. A three year delay wasn’t exactly to our liking, but better late than never.
Today’s post is less about the trip and more about the connections we make along the road. Our travels are not just about a check in the box next to a bucket list item, although making that little check mark (either literally or figuratively) always provides a sense of accomplishment. No, our travels include the joy of planning, the excitement of arriving at a new-to-us destination – or an old favorite, the flavor of fresh, local foods, the incredibly scenic vistas we’ve discovered in every single state we’ve traveled to – and the often transient connections we make with people along the way.
Months ago, Alan and I had agreed to book reservations on this extended expedition for those dates and places we thought we might potentially run into trouble – like Banff and Jasper National Parks in Canada and Independence Day and Labor Day weekends. I covered the Fourth of July holiday weekend with reservations at Denali State Park and Denali National Park. Y’all know how that turned out for us. For Labor Day weekend, I had booked reservations at Hood Park – an Army Corps of Engineers (COE) campground in Burbank, Washington. That was the first COE campground we had ever stayed that I crossed off our “Return To” list.
On our trek west across the country a few months back, Alan and I were focused on getting work done on our travel trailer and moving up into Canada as soon as possible thereafter. I didn’t factor in any real vacation-type breaks or visits with friends. We knew we’d have time for that later. Even though five months was feeling like too long a trip for us, Alan and I were happily anticipating the remaining stops on this lengthy expedition. Why? Because “later” was now, and we knew we’d be laying over at a couple of our favorite campgrounds, checking off a bucket list item that had been in the bucket for way too long, and making several stops along the way to hang out with some very special friends.
We found a place to call home! As Alan drove on through winds and rain that Friday evening, I continued searching for a campground that would hold us over until our reservations in Anacortes, Washington, kicked in on Monday. Although we were still annoyed at the woman’s behavior in the gas station in Hope, British Columbia, we were thankful to be out of the Thompson River Canyon and past the danger of severe rockslides. Before we hit the border, I had found an unlikely base camp for the weekend – and it reminded us an awful lot of Alaska.
When I was young, whenever our family ran into a difficult situation, I remember my dad saying, “It’s a bad day at Black Rock.” It wasn’t until well after he had passed that I wondered where that expression came from and did a little research. As it turns out, “Bad Day at Black Rock” was a 1955 film that was nominated for three Academy Awards – Best Actor in a Leading Role (Spencer Tracy), Best Directing (John Sturges) and Best Writing (Millard Kaufman). “Bad Day at Black Rock” has remained in my repertoire of often used expressions even though my dad passed almost 40 years ago. As we headed into our final days in Canada, I had no idea it was, indeed, about to become a Bad Day at Black Rock.
When Alan and I left Meziadin Lake Provincial Park on the morning of August 19th, we were flying by the seat of our pants. Until our reservations in Washington State kicked in at the end of August, we had no place to be and all the time in the world to get there. Our plan was to just keep working our way south through western Canada, stopping to enjoy any parks or attractions that caught our attention along the way. While I agreed that this plan made perfect sense, having to make reservations along the way continued to stress me out. That day, we’d be coming to the end of the Cassiar Highway near Kitwanga, British Columbia, and picking up the Yellowhead Highway east toward the city of Prince George. After guesstimating our approximate end-of-day location, I decided upon yet another provincial park. This one was a real gem, too!
Maybe our expectations were too high; maybe our timing was all wrong. Whatever the reason, our run down the Cassiar Highway – at least in reference to wildlife sightings – was definitely not all we had hoped for. The drive from Kinaskan Lake Provincial Park to Meziadin Lake Provincial Park was a delightful treat with beautiful scenery everywhere. It would have been much more enjoyable if some of God’s critters had made an appearance. My disappointment made me think of the old proverb, “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.” Meziadin Lake, however, did NOT disappoint!
It was not without trepidation that we set out along the Cassiar Highway. All the information I had read about it depicted it as one of the most remote highways in western Canada. Honestly, I don’t think it was any more remote than sections of the Alaska Highway, and we did see other vehicles on the road, many of which were RVs. Gas stations weren’t numerous, but they were available. (Expensive, but available.) We never felt that we were in danger of running out of gas. But, again, we were driving off just the top half of our tank – and we had an extra 10 gallons with us. That being said, there was an aspect of traveling the Cassiar Highway that was a bit disconcerting.
