Written by Elissa Ebersold on July 16, 2019

Watch Your Glaciers, Alaska…

Road Trip . Travel

…because global warming is real and we’re coming in hot!

Driving to Alaska once is something that many people think is pretty nuts already. Doing it twice, and in less than a year, well that might just be clinically insane. (Jury’s still out on that one though).

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Now, I’m actually posting this after the trip has come and gone. I guess that’s a good thing. I had absolutely no time nor energy to write a blog at the end of the day. Those “spare” minutes I had went towards driving another 100 miles, or seeing something new. But of course, it allows me to reflect on everything with the benefit of hindsight. But two weeks in a car blurs together like its been seamlessly stitched into a film reel, so it’ll take some real studying of my photos and my Google timeline to tell me when and where I was on what day. So here it goes!

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Thursday, June 27th 2019
My friend Niki and I left on our 4,700-mile journey. Our first day was surely an ambitious one. I wanted to drive all the from our launch point in Albany to the Windy City. Authentic deep dish pizza is a must. That’s well over 12 hours of just driving alone, but Niki had a destination in mind for lunch, and that was a “garbage plate” out in Buffalo. For the lay man, a garbage plate is “the worst nightmare for someone who hates their food to touch,” or a messy assortment of all the greatest, greasiest, hangover-curing foods one could dream up. Burgers, fries, grilled cheese, pulled pork, chicken tenders, all piled on top of each other with a generous serving of meat sauce slathered on top. It is both absolutely disgusting and absolutely delightful. It is an eager understudy myocardial infarction waiting in the wings on opening night.

Once out of of New York State and somewhere in what I believe was Indiana, we encountered a swirling supercell of a storm. It towered above us, dark and menacing. The darkness was so immense that if I had gone to sleep in the car and woken up while underneath it, I might have assumed it was night. But its bark was worse than its bite. Despite its swirling, billowing arcus formations, there were only a few flashes of lightning and some rain. Before we knew it, the overcast light of what would have been golden hour, cast through the windows of our car.

By some miracle, pure determination, and the luck of time zones, we did eventually make it to Chi-Town. Unlike my last trip, the GPS took us smack dab downtown. The skyscapers towered above us, their illuminated windows stared down on us like thousands of eyes. The city is beautiful at night. Despite the weather earlier in the day, and the light pollution, a select few stars and planets sparkled above us and it was relatively comfortable.

With our bellies full of deep dish and our eyelids full of weariness, we retired to a room out by O’Hare.

Day 1 Mileage: 851 miles

Friday, June 28th 2019
Our drive on Friday offered us more opportunities for exploration, however short they may have been. Our first stop garnered our attention by none other than a roadside sign (of course! what would you expect?) It was nothing more thing than a cheese shop in Wisconsin, but if Wisconsin is where the good cheese is at, then it’s a good a place as any to taste good cheese. I really liked the spreadable cheeses, but Niki seemed super into the cheese curds. Can’t blame her, they were tasty. My mouth is watering thinking of some of them on poutine….

Our second stop was in Minnesota’s state capital, St. Paul. Dripping with sweat and baking in the sun, we made a quick stop at the Capitol. The building was most definitely up to par with most of its constituents with towering columns with their Corinthian capitals, marble facades, dome, and gilded sculptures. The art historian and architecture appreciator in me was delighted.

Our third stop was also in St. Paul, a sight you can see rising majestically above the city down the corridor from the capitol building. The sun glinting on its copper dome certainly didn’t aid in keeping it from my sights. If you know me, then you know precisely how much I love church architecture. The Cathedral of Saint Paul, a massive stone building constructed in gothic revival style, did not disappoint. It was flanked on all sides by gorgeous stained glass. Sunlight poured through them, casting colored lights on the pews in its path, and most notably, on the altar and pulpit. Divine light, so to speak.

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Our day ended very late at a “Quality” Inn in Fargo. It was boiling hot inside the lobby. Our eyes were red with exhaustion and we waited in line for much too long as a baseball team checked in ahead of us. The guy behind the checkout counter was overwhelmed and seemed to be on his last legs of sanity. He was working alone, new at the job, the room key writer was not working, his computer was slow and somehow there were more reservations than rooms available, and the lady behind us was giving him some serious lip. I felt bad for the guy, but not for long. Once I got a key that worked, I was asleep much too fast to further care about the state of the customer service happening on the floor below.

Day 2 Mileage: 558 miles

Saturday, June 29th 2019
Up and at ’em with relative ease (and discovering Niki’s bed was broken), we started on our way for our EOD destination, Maple Creek, SK. This is where our journey began to diverge from my adventure last year. Last year the drive with my brother took us through Portal and up through the great plains of Saskatchewan. However, this time, the plan was to check another state off of my list. We would drive west into Montana and then head up north.

We headed west on 94 out of Fargo, driving head-on into the churning black of an oncoming storm. We had to stop and take a photo, and in doing so were almost blown over from the strength of the wind. I could see for miles, and in those miles mammatus clouds bubbled and boiled over us, threatening rain and lightning. The sprawling plains in the distance were black with the cloud cover, and the waves of grass rippled with the tides of wind. It was positively majestic, and I honestly wanted to see a funnel cloud reaching down towards the earth. Just to witness it, just once. But I’m also smart enough to know not to hang out and watch a brewing storm in a wide open plain. Returning to the car, we drove headlong into the storm.

The weather didn’t allow us to stop at the World’s Largest Buffalo in Jamestown, but we were able to glimpse it through the rain that began to pummel us before long. The visibility that we had been allowed just moments earlier vanished, and the sheets of rain turned into opaque walls. The highway slowed, flashers pulsed, and the cars became highway submarines.

But when you’re travelling hundreds of miles, and several states, every day, it’s amazing how many storms and weather patterns and squalls you can outrun. By the time we reached New Salem, ND, it was as if it had never rained at all. The sun was warm and bright, the ground was dry, and it allowed us a picturesque view of the North Dakota landscape when we stopped to see Salem Sue, the world’s largest Holstein cow. I must admit, I wasn’t as enthused by the cow as Niki was, but the view from that hill was spectacular.

At a quarter of noon, Niki and I pulled to a stop in what was listed as the North Dakota State Capitol in Bismark. We got out and spun in a circle, searching for a majestic building comparable to its other capitol counterparts; a building of marble or textured stone in Gothic Revival or Greek Revival or some other stylish building. Instead, we were greeted with a geometric art deco building a la Alfred E Smith Building in NY’s Capital. Actually, less beautiful than the Smith building. It was disappointing, but I guess I can check North Dakota off my state capitals list. From there on out, we referred to anything that had the prospect of being super cool and ultimately disappointing us as being “Bismark’d.” Don’t worry, we think we’re funny and that’s all that matters.

Our afternoon took us both into an unexpected national park and then into a new state: Montana. The former was the North Dakota Badlands Painted Canyon, or Theodore Roosevelt National Park. It was the beginning of some of the truly stunning landscapes we’d see on this trip. While the the erosion-sculpted landscape of the Badlands slowly waned back intoflat plains over the next few hours, it was just as beautiful in a different way. There’s something to be said for being able to see miles and miles and miles of flatness, blanketed by neon yellow flowers.

Golden hour in Big Sky Country didn’t disappoint, and we spent it driving on the lone road up to Canada. Being an hour or so from the nearest town allowed us peace and lonely roads. Save for the many head-on collisions we had with some birds, and close encounters with some prairie dogs, it was a remarkably beautiful couple of hours. We sang John Denver at the top of our lungs. We saw groups of pronghorns, golden grain rippling in the wind, and clear skies.

Of course, this isolation became very evident when we arrived at the border crossing to find no one in sight. There were no American travelers, no Canadians, and no border patrol of any sort. We were met with nothing but an eerie sun-falling silence, the whisper of wind through the grasses, and a barricade of orange cones.

Niki got out to look around and I gave a ring to my friend Jimmy, who I knew could look up information since I didn’t have any data available. I watched Niki try each of the locked doors, peer into windows, knock on the glass panes and wander around the building and towards the next one. She even, yes, looked up at a security camera, waved her arms over her head shouting, “We come in peace!” Both Niki and Jimmy came back with the same answer: that this border crossing has business hours. There had been no indication whatsoever that this was the case; there were no signs or anything on the ride over. Well, color me frustrated. We had a hotel reservation two hours north…in Canada!

Niki, innocently enough, offered to just move the cones and we could “just drive around.” I, with an incredulous chuckle, replied that “we could get arrested and that we should just go back to Havre (MT) for the night.” We’d have a longer day tomorrow, but it was doable. So we swung the car around, and headed back in the direction we came from guided by the long shadows from the rapidly descending sun.

We had been driving for maybe ten or fifteen minutes when we spotted a pinprick of headlights in the distance. They approached, and Niki exclaimed that we should warn them about the border being closed.

“Seems unlikely its a random civilian this late at night this close to the border,” I had offered. I flashed my lights at them and came to a stop. Low and behold, it was American Border Patrol. He held the same expression of humor and mild incredulity I had sported earlier. The conversation that followed I’ve paraphrased below.

Officer: You crossed the border illegally. You set off our trip wires and alarms. WTF?
Niki: Since you’re here…….can you let us in?
Officer: -facepalm-

I mean, even if he was cute enough to bring a new meaning to stamping a passport with some quid pro quo, the guy was American and it’s Canada we had to enter! Joking aside, I thanked the officer and we made haste for Havre. We left the officer in our tailwind was pondering the real mystery of where, exactly, he materialized from. There was one main road. We were still about forty five from Havre and only had left the border crossing about fifteen minutes before he got us…so where did he come from? We watched him follow us for miles and miles, and eventually he pulled into a gravel notch in the road, one which went nowhere. Our question remained unanswered, but we guessed he might live in one of the farms that surrounded us.

Our place to sleep that night was the Super 8, and the lobby was empty except for us, the receptionist, and a young woman clad in a beautiful blue dress and cowboy boots. The beautiful young woman, Faith, was restless. She kept adjusting her weight from side to side, peering out the window, and wringing her hands. It didn’t take long for her to spill her feelings. She was quite distraught. She was the maid of honor from her friend’s wedding, and she had broken up with her boyfriend. He was not a nice man, and he was drunk, and he was heading back here. I gave her a big hug and said that we’d watch for him while she checked in. She was in the clear, and she would be fine. She seemed pretty strong. Once Faith vanished to her room, the conversation then turned to the receptionist, who turned out she was from New York herself. Oswego, specifically. I wish I could tell you what more we talked about, but between the heat, the weariness, and that time and distance that has now been put in between us and the Super 8, I remember nothing further about that evening except the residual laughter from our interactions at the border. Well, okay, I do remember actually plotting out our days going forward so to avoid a very very long driving day like I had last year, but that’s a less interesting paragraph ending. And yet, here we are with a not interesting paragraph ending.

Day 3 Mileage: 787 miles

Sunday, June 30th 2019
With the unexpected extra time we needed to make up, we were up early. Calgary was the where we needed to be, and the only stops we made were for gas and lunch. However, the GPS took us to another(????) border crossing. Although I guess by providing us an alternate route, we avoided a group of officers laughing at us. Our late lunch was at this cute railroad themed restaurant in a town call Strathmore. It was here that Niki was asked if she’d like gravy (with her fries) and it became evident that she was “not from around here” since Niki was unaware that gravy was a Canadian-french fry staple.

We had planned to have dinner with my friend Kelly (again!), but we wanted to see something in Calgary. We ended up going to the Botanical Gardens…although, I feel that we got Bismark’d a little bit. It was more of a walk through a beautiful park, a faux-tanical garden if you will. And it was good for Pokemon catching in Pokemon Go 😉 There really were some beautiful flowers, and there was a labyrinth that I thought was actually very peaceful to navigate.

We had dinner at Kelly’s mom’s house, a dinner filled with smiles, laughter, and easy conversation. But just like last time, travel forced our rendezvous to be all-too-brief. Weariness sets in heavily and rapidly, and the promise of a very long and very active itinerary the next day certainly didn’t help, we were forced to say our goodbyes. It was so good to catch up with her, and I am so fortunate that I’ve gotten to hang out with her twice this year. I really am very lucky that I have friends everywhere in the world. Hugs were exchanged and goodbyes were said, and we promised we’d see each other soon. (Hey, maybe sooner than you think! I certainly didn’t think I’d be back in Calgary 10 months later!)

However, I had a serious hankering for a root beer float. We drove in CIRCLES trying to find an A&W for me to grab one. The GPS kept pointing us to one that didn’t exist. After wandering for probably fifteen minutes, we found it. Directly. Across. From. Our. Hotel. But when it was in my hands and the straw was in my mouth…Satisfaction! It was just what I needed.

Day 4 Mileage: 350 miles

Monday, July 1st 2019 :: Canada Day
The Great Plains gave way to the blooming blue silhouettes of the Rocky Mountains, and although not a new sight, it didn’t fail to take my breath away. The first stop would be in the town of Banff, which even if you didn’t know it was a tourist/resort town, you would be able to tell it was one. Building code-adjusted restaurant chains, sidewalk sale souvenir shops, and given the national holiday, flocks of people lining the sidewalks in wait of the parade dressed like if Captain America was….well Captain Canada. They were waving the Maple Leaf about them, Some had it tied around their necks like a cape. Most were overall celebrating their country.

But as much fun as I knew it would be to see the parade, I wanted to make it to the Sulphur Mountain gondolas. The Gondola takes you over a mile above sea level, where you can see everything. We only waited in line for a hot second, and then the cable cars took us overtop the treetops of the Canadian Rockies for a vantage point I hadn’t seen yet. Once at the top, we decided to continue on down the boardwalk to a point called Sanson Peak, an old meteorological station used to study cosmic rays. I knew my knee wasn’t going to be happy, as it was already complaining from my walk through the gardens the day before. The path to the building on the peak looked like a lot of steps, but I needed to. The views were already stunning and as we went I was so glad we continued. The sun gleamed, and the skies were blue and hardly hazy. You could see for miles; you could see the snow caps on the sharp peaks, see the patches of cloud shadows woven into the tree canopies, and see the Transcontinental Highway carving through the verdant valley. Breathtaking. It was on this boardwalk I dropped our our return ticket for the gondolas between the slats of the boards. It wasn’t too far below us and it was nestled in a bed of gravel, but I figured that a) we really shouldn’t climb over the railing to get it and b) they weren’t going to make us stay up here. I was right, of course, but before heading down the mountain we ate lunch, still ogling the vistas the Rockies provided for us.

Although I need to talk about this one guy. THIS ONE GUY. We were staring at a flock of longhorn sheep and I made this joke right as one of the sheep (the baby I think but they were all doing it really) started pooping in my photo. I said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You know, because a baby goat is called a kid and the animals we were looking at look like goats. The guy next to us goes, “But they’re sheep.”

I quoted my uncle, “It doesn’t have to be accurate it just has to be funny!”

Then I’m not even out of earshot yet when I hear him steal my damn joke. SIR. I BEG YOUR PARDON. THAT’S RUDE.

I’m still a tad salty about it. Guess I crave that mineral. #memethrowback

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We set off shortly after lunch (and some time in the gift shop) for Lake Louise. Naturally, we had to park in the overflow lot, but what I didn’t expect was to stand in line and wait…and wait…and wait…for a shuttle that never seemed to come. We stood in line and chatted with this couple that was moving from Massachusetts up to Alaska. She was in the military and was being stationed much farther south in Alaska than we were headed, to a town called Homer at the bottom of the Kenai Penninsula. For nearly an hour we stood in line waiting to board the shuttle, and much as I thought Niki should see Lake Louise, I didn’t think it was worth the wait or the money we’d have to spend. There were other landscapes to see, ones that I certainly thought would be on par with Lake Louise, and so we bid farewell and good luck to our fellow east coast travelers, and hopped back in the car.

We headed north, past those countless towering rock faces, switchback and hairpin turns, precipitous cliffs, and “Entering Avalanche Zone” signs. The farther north we went, the cloudier and mistier the air became. We pulled into the lot for Bow Lake, the lot I had been looking for since we left the Lake Louise lot. It was much busier than it was before, but that didn’t stop me from experiencing the tranquility the space offers. The walls of snow-capped mountains, the aquamarine waters lapping against the pebble beaches, the bitter cold waters biting at your bare feet if you decide to brave them, and the mist creeping in and grabbing the dark rock faces like ghostly hands. I could have spent hours there.

It wasn’t long until the cool mist caught us, and the rain came down. We hustled to the car, racing the rain all the way through Jasper National Park and its famous ice fields. We watched the dashboard thermometer plummet into the high 30s/low 40s, and I was fairly certain there were some snowflakes tossed in with the rain. This was later confirmed by a pair of motorcyclists, but we’ll get to that later. While the rain didn’t offer us much extensive mountain views, it did offer us atmospheric and moody mountain scenes that were equally as beautiful in their own way.

Jasper’s resort town (still obviously such, but not quite as obvious as Banff) offered us a meal. Not a cheap meal, and not a very good meal, but a meal nonetheless. It was also here I began my quest for some good poutine. If you know me, you know I love my poutine. The fries have to be crispy and seasoned. The gravy has to be creamy and salty. The cheese curds have to have some bounce and squeak. The poutine I ordered? Well, it had none of that. Mushy fries, shredded cheese, flavorless gravy…. Strike one!

We spotted our first caribou heading out of Jasper and onto the Yellowhead Highway. They were grazing in a herd in a field. They are such beautiful, majestic animals.

We finally outran the weather as we left the mountains. We were greeted by golden hour as we wove through the foothills of the mountains, past the lit torches announcing access to oil pipelines (I think), and swerving to avoid daredevil coyotes. At just about 11:30, our day came to rest in Grand Prairie, a much bigger town than I imagined. And this Quality Inn? Well, it was actually quality this time.

Day 5 Mileage: 538 miles

So I’ll stop this blog here for now, that way you get some time to breath before you decide to move on to the next chunk. So here’s the bookmark you’ve been waiting for. See you next time, kids.

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