July 7
North Dakota was more of the same: long, open plains of “nothing.” “Nothing” is in quotation marks because it is not that nothing is there but rather it is full of things so mundane that the feeling of nothingness washes over you. I scrolled through a few radio stations, being far too tired of audiobooks and podcasts. As I turned on the radio, a French song came through. “Well, that’s interesting; North Dakota apparently will play a French song on occasion.” But after the song ended and the DJ began speaking in French, I realized I was approaching the US/CA border. I breathed in deeply, like one atop some high point above the water before jumping. I had never been to another country before. I wondered about street signs, laws, or driving customs—all things that could be and very likely will be different from home. For a brief second, I wondered if stop signs would look the same. But I was too far to turn back and had declared to too many that I was leaving. No, I could not turn back without shame. So I jumped from the high place and crossed the border into Canada.
Canada was more of the same topography. I entered Saskatchewan from North Dakota at the northern border. After pulling up to the gate and answering a few questions, I was off. The moment I crossed, my phone lost all service. No phone calls, no new music, and worst of all, no GPS. I was lost. I knew I needed to head north, so north I went. A little way down the road, I saw a Subway and knew they typically had free Wi-Fi. Plus, I was eager to meet my first Canadian who wasn’t a border crossing guard. To my dismay, it was an Indian behind the counter. And so was the guy in front of me. (Sad to say that’s been the norm of my trip so far, but I’ll get to that later.) After getting lunch and using their Wi-Fi to get a global pass on my phone, I was off. I drove for about eight hours that day. My thoughts were as empty as the plains I drove past, and so I arrived at my hotel without much to report. I pray the next day will be interesting at the very least.
July 8
Another day on the road lay ahead of me. I knew sooner or later I would have to leave the comfort of my hotel room, and I was dreading it. I lay in bed, and my thoughts turned towards home. I thought about my old bed, the ease of mind one has when home, and my beloved Mary Holland Park, with its simple lake and sidewalk. How I longed to be back in my own country and my home. But again, I knew that if I turned around, then I had wasted the last six months of preparation for nothing more than a vacation. So, with a sense not of eager drive towards the destination, but a pragmatic frugality, I arose from bed and began packing my things.
My next destination was the Alaskan Highway Mile Marker Zero. I did not care to see the sign that stands there, but I knew it would make for a fantastic photo to share on Facebook to ease the worries of my aunts and uncles. As I drove, I began to notice the change in scenery. The long sweeping plains of Saskatchewan began to turn to trees and woods. For this, I was very thankful. After two days of driving through the Great Plains, thick woods were a great comfort. The Alaskan Highway sign came into view around lunch. I pulled in, grabbed some “pics for the gram,” and proceeded on my way. As I drove from Alberta into British Columbia, a heavy smoke clouded the sky and roads, and the air smelled of burning trees. I hoped it was just a controlled burn, but I feared wildfires. Thankfully, my fears were unfounded. An elderly Korean store clerk informed me they were doing a controlled burn far away on some mountain, and the smoke was just drifting here. Relieved, I pumped my gas and sped on to Fort Nelson. It was about seven and a half hours away, the longest I’ve driven since leaving Florida. But up here, the sun does not set till the next morning and rises only a few hours later. So driving late into the night is easy, though very difficult to catch sleep when the sun shines through your window.
I did not have many thoughts today. Hopefully, it’s only because I have been on the road so long that my mind is weary, but I fear it may be that I have had all the interesting thoughts I could have. But that alone was a new thought, so I put the fear from my mind and turned my attention to Canada. Oh, Canada, truly a beautiful land! I have been continually amazed by my continual sense of amazement on this drive. Whether it’s because I have not seen much beauty or that I am just easily impressed and likely to call every new thing beautiful because it is new, I do not know. But no other land has given me such a desire to write poetry and paint pictures as the northern Rockies. I drove through with my mouth open, breathing as if every breath was a gasp of awe at God’s creation. Flowing rivers with shades of blue I’ve never seen before, white-capping at bends and then flowing into wide lakes that sit abank mountains—some covered in jagged rocks, stones rolling as goats climbed, others rich and lush with trees so green you question if you’ve ever really seen green before. And the peacefulness of it. At one point, I stopped my car and walked over to the edge of the road to take pictures and take in the view. And there was not a sound. No bugs buzzing in my ears, no engines roaring in the distance, not even the sound of wind blowing across trees. It was a pure and natural silence that felt unnatural. I wonder if that has to do with the terrible “advancements” we’ve made in speakers, leading to music being constantly played at all hours and all locations save adoration. And now that I’ve said that, the mountain did feel like adoration. It was unnervingly quiet, so much so that I swear I could hear my heart beating in my chest. I felt the love of God in that moment. I am not one often taken up in fits of mysticism, but the beauty of the mountains cemented in my heart more than I thought possible that truth that God loves us. After a few more hours on the road and some nearly fatal incidents brought on by blinding sunlight and a smudged-up windshield, I made it to my hotel. This beautiful log cabin resort. My room has a balcony facing the mountains. That is where I am currently sitting as I write today’s events. The sun is setting behind the mountaintops, and I feel moved to try my hand at poetry.
“Of river waters crystal clear,
And dear mountain sky so near,
Heal my weary heart right here,
Till I return again next year,
My heart forever holds you dear.”
As I sit, I have already made up my mind that I will come back here next year and try to spend a week at this hotel, climbing mountains, taking a canoe down the river, and exploring.