Tuesday,
Day 10
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| two cocker girls |
A
van called Dora, loaded with five cocker spaniels, a basset hound named DoDog
and a blonde wanderlust rolls out of Woodinville around 10:30 AM in search of
Alaska. We say our goodbyes to our
Woodinville connection and squeeze a box of specialty foods into the back of
Dora, destined for L’aroma’s Bakery in Anchorage. Determined to make record
time and get on with it, we cruise along country road 542 looking for the
border. Near Abbottsford, Washington we slide through Canadian customs without
even a hiccup, and there definitely could have been one regarding the illegal
canines onboard. I always get health certificates for the dogs – they are only
good for 30 days and cost lots of money. When I arrive at the border I have
them ready to show customs but they just ignore me and wave us on through.
Grrrr! I have taken this trip at least nineteen times and have only been asked
for their papers once, and then I don’t think they knew what they were looking
for. They barely glanced at them, just wanted to be sure I had them. Last fall
the health certs were $264 for six dogs. This time I decided to just hope for
the best and wing it. Well you guessed it, they didn’t ask. Yippee! We are in
Canada!
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| border crossing in Abbottsford |
We
make it all the way to Prince George and I am reminded of a childhood prank
that goes something like this: Call the drugstore and ask: “Do you have Prince
Albert in a can?” When she says yes then the reply is: “Well, you better let
him out!” Of course I never did this, only heard about it. Memory is
interesting. You never know when some thing is going to jolt you back to
another time. Getting back to the Prince at hand.
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| Canadian flag |
The
billboard about thirty miles back said: Super 8, Truck Parking in Prince George.
So, we stop at Super 8 to park along side the eighteen wheelers like always,
but there are no trucks anywhere. I go inside to ask the attendant and he said
truck parking is only for his customers. “Where do the truckers park around
here?” I want to know. “I have
no idea but my lot is only for my customers,” he replied. Okay, but truckers don’t usually rent
hotel rooms. Never mind, this is going nowhere so we leave, in search of a
place to sleep since it is now after 9 and very dark on the road.
It’s a busy
highway and there is absolutely no place to pull over and park Dora. I finally
pull into a gas station right on the freeway with a teeny spot off to the left.
We are tired and desperate, and determined to make this work. We pull forward
and back in as close to the railing as we dare and as far away from the highway
as we can get. Two girls are working, this is the part of Canada that still
pumps gas for the customer and I love it. I ask if we could stay over and they
both said sure. They explain the station is closing at 10 PM but will be open again
at 6 AM. No worries I will be asleep by 10 and won’t need the potty again until
past 6 AM tomorrow morning. “Is it safe here,” I wondered? “Oh yes,” she said.
“No one locks their doors around here.” Enough said . . .
So
as it were, a van called Dora is parked near the freeway where 6 happy dogs are
walking out back on the grass, and will have dinner under the stars, and
next to the cars. We will soon be tucked in under the down comforter for a much
needed rest so we can wake up and do it all over again! Tomorrow, we will reach
the Alaska Highway, only 1,500 miles to go!
Goodnight!
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