Day 6 -- Whitecourt, Alberta, to Fort Nelson, B.C.

Gorgeous Doomesday
Finally, the end of the prairie. No more wheat fields. No more dull, brown landscape. The mighty evergreens were lining the road. Between them, there were majestic green hills rising and falling amid the foggy skyline.

And all I could think was: “Oh, God! I’m gonna die! I’m gonnadie! I’mgonnadie!”

Yup, there’s nothing like driving a modern-day Yugo with a full load of cargo through the Rocky Mountains.

My first glimpse of true Alaska Highway scenery came during a 9-percent-grade slope on a wet road. Fully appreciating the view required a spastic rhythm of: look up, watch road, look up, check speed, rearview mirror, look up, ect.

I was confident that I had some knowledge of mountain driving -- but when you compare steering an SUV in the foothills of the Smokies on a dry summer day to swerving a compact economy car through rain in the Rockies, there are a few subtle differences.

For example, when you remove your hands from the SUV’s steering wheel, your fingers generally don’t tingle with the return of blood to their veins. This, as a well-accredited doctor explained to me, is due to the fact that the fingers were not engaged in a “death grip.” In the compact car, however, a death grip is necessary to prevent hydroplaning into a ravine.

Also, in the SUV, the engine doesn’t make a slight laughing noise followed by a grunted “Yeah, right!” as you pass a “maximum 100 km/hr” sign while traveling uphill. This is because: A) The SUV is able to accomplish this speed on an incline and B) the compact car must make the laughing sound to deter you from noticing that it is barely going 40. My Kia is a little insecure.

And yet, that bone-chilling terror was completely worth seeing massive rock formations burst through the fog, followed by the rest of an imposingly beautiful mountain every five-or-so minutes. The danger is just the price of admission. Plus, I’ve always appreciated vacations that can double as survival stories.

And it wasn't that bad. It's not like there'a a stretch of the Alaska Highway called "Suicide Hill" that has a sign saying "Prepare to meet thy maker" just as you go over the edge...

Well, not anymore, at least.

Here’s all I could see at some points:

And here’s what I was able to see at others:
I just want to wait for this town to be over
I had tossed and turned all night from a cold I caught in Regina, but that didn’t keep me from making a brisk escape from Whitecourt. A few citrus teas and Tylenol put me back on track and ahead of schedule. I crossed into Pacific time at 1 p.m. (which then became noon) and I only had about 4 hours to go. So why not stop for a leisurely lunch in Dawson Creek?

I got my meal at White Spot, a Canadian version of Ale House which tries to be a bit more upscale by ignoring the customers for as long as possible. I had an empty glass that never got refilled for about an hour, which in my state of mind, was enough to walk out sans payment.

Luckily, there were the Smiths.

To kill time as my check was being printed, I was writing yesterday’s blog post ... when a young boy and girl asked me, “Are you doing your homework?” I didn’t know how to respond and anyone under the age of 18 makes me nervous, so I said, “Uhh, yeah.” And just like that, I had two new friends with a lot of questions.

Before I knew it, I was caught up in conversation with their mother, too. She gave me good recommendations for where to stop on the Alaska Highway, tips on their hometown Fort St. John and even invited me over for dinner. I’d have taken her up if that didn’t entail driving the Rockies at night afterward.

A second sister -- who was still reeling from some dental work -- and their grandmother joined in the conversation. Yup, the whole clan was there, observing the Florida boy in his unnatural habitat. As for me, I was delighted to speak to anyone face-to-face, so a whole family was a bonus.

But that was where my good times in Dawson Creek ended. I needed air in my tires and it took me 10 stops at gas stations to find a functional air pump. The pump didn’t have a pressure gauge, so I needed to buy one, but that gas station didn’t sell one. I had to go to a station with a faulty pump to buy one and then go back to fill my tires.

I left Dawson Creek at 3:30, and now had to race to beat sunset in Fort Nelson. But I wasn’t worried, how hard could the drive be?