The Adventure South in Dora the Explorer

Day 5

The road up

Dear Snow: You are beautiful, pristine and magical, but I am so over you.  I no longer want to pay to have you moved, shovel your ass, or be stuck in you. I’m done, ok? It’s over, and I’m out of here. You cannot make us the next Donner Party because we are fighting to get through your ass to warmer country, and we will persevere.

The Herd

After the drive today I feel like throwing up. But instead I am having a beer and then wine. It started out at the gas station this morning when I asked how the roads were and how far it was to Fort Nelson. The cashier proceeds to tell me it’s a good six hours, but of course there are lots of animals on the road and there was a winter storm with lots of ice and snow, and she hasn’t seen any traffic coming from the west yet today. The roads are twisted, steep and raw. 600 miles from hell was her parting comment. Great. Now what to do? I thought about the options: I could stay put for another day or move forward. If I stay in Watson Lake, what if it gets worse instead of better? It’s a 50-50 chance, right? We decide to go for it. As we head out of town there is a neon flashing sign that says: Heavy snow, icy roads, proceed with caution. Great! Maybe I should reconsider? Three hundred + miles to Fort Nelson, I make a pact with Dora. We will go the first 100 miles and if I’m not scared out of my wits by then we will continue forward. Otherwise we will turn around.

First 100 Miles

The first 100 miles are okay, a little icy but still very doable. We move on to Muncho Lake essentially the halfway point. I talk to the gas attendant and he said there is more snow closer to Ft. Nelson and it will take another three hours at least to go the last 150 miles. No problem, we are ready. Or at least I thought we were.

We continue on to what become unbelievable whiteout conditions where it is impossible to see where the road ends and the tundra begins. There are times when I have no clue whether I am in the middle of the road or on the edge. I want to stop but cannot. It is completely a blanket of white. Where is left, where is right, where is up, where as down? The only redeeming grace is the sand – if there is sand on the road then it looks brown, so I can see the path. Up, down, around. Huge semi trucks flying by, blinding us for a few seconds each time. I cannot begin to explain how it is. Just when it gets really bad it clears a bit and we see sand tracks leading the way. In the meantime the snow continues to hammer us causing drifts along the sides that empty into deep ravines where the bottom is invisible.

Over the edge

Love the sand trail

I talk to Dora, tell her how grateful I am that she was in charge and that I trust her to show us the way. I thank my spirit guides and the universe for keeping us safe. The dogs sleep, until the end when they too can feel my panic. About 30 miles before Ft. Nelson, Woody starts his demand barking that in retrospect, is a welcome distraction. He cannot see or hear very well so he communicates with his bark. He is scratching the door. After living with this guy for 14 years I know he wants a drink, communicating loud and clear. There is no way to stop Dora, no place to pull off.  He continues to bark as the semis fly by and the other dogs are on alert. Ten miles out, I start counting them down outloud. He’s still barking. I feel bad, he needs water. The water bowl has been empty for a couple hours but I still cannot stop. I find my coffee cup and pour bottled water into it and offer it to Woody and Luce on the floor behind me. It works,the barking subsides.

Whiteout

As I write this I have found Boston Pizza in Fort Nelson and am having a beer followed by wine. When I decompress enough I may have a pizza, but right now I still feel like throwing up. There is no Internet, but who cares? I am so happy to arrive safely. I have no idea what tomorrow holds – it is still snowing. Look out Alaska, this is highly unusual and it’s coming your way. In fact I spent my 50^th birthday in Ft. Nelson (just last year, J) and there was no snow. But now, it looks like Homer did last winter. We have no worries in a van called Dora who will take us where we need to go. I have my six canine companions to comfort and keep me warm. I know there is light at the end of this snow tunnel somewhere down the road, and the road is SOUTH. I am so happy to report:

Anne is happy to share the frontseat

Day 5 is behind us, and only sunshine for the future. Well, assuming we make it to Dawson Creek without yet another blizzard! And if that happens, Dora will again show us the way. Namasté