The best way to approach the Rocky Mountains is from the east, where they appear on the horizon and capture your interest as they steadily rise and expand until they extend from as far as you can see to the left and right, their craggy peaks growing larger and larger until finally you're driving up into them and they rise all around you.
The mountain air was clean and dry. Enjoying good weather, with blue skies, little white clouds, and agreeable temperatures, we drove around and admired the mountains. These are the Rocky Mountains, same range as in Colorado, but the huge advantage here is that you're in narrow valleys within the mountain range, so you have mountains and peaks all around you, some forested, but many craggy with bare rock, and all of them rising way up.
Both Jasper and Banff Parks have wildlife, and all the tourists enjoy seeing bears, mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, moose, or caribou up close. The easiest way to spot them when driving around is to wait for a traffic jam: If a dozen cars are stopped in front of you, look around to see what they're looking at. We saw goats, sheep, and caribou that way.
The town of Banff is a ritzy place. Lots of hotels and lodges, fancy shops with designer clothing, and good restaurants. I seriously considered making a reservation at the Restaurant Beaujolais for their Table d'Hote Dinner (three courses at a fixed price of $69 Canadian, that's $65.50 US). You get to choose each course, and I had my eye on the Tasting of Pacific Salmon Three Ways for the first course, although the Cruisse de Grenouille Croquantes (Crispy Frog's Legs) sounded intriguing. For a second course, perhaps the Lobster Bisque en Croute, or the Alaskan Crab Crepe, or (if feeling very daring) the Alberta Wild Boar Civet (whatever that is), with black cherries, choux rouge and creamy polenta with sage butter. And for the third course, the Brome Lake Duck Breast and Leg Confit with maple-nut chutney, or maybe the Rack of Lamb Provencale au Jus. Oh, my head swam with the glory of it all!
As it happened, I was distracted by the restaurant at the top of the gondola lift, where their two-course dinner was a more affordable $28. I had their Curry Soup (delicious, almost as good as the Cambodian restaurant on University in St. Paul) and Beef Rendang (luscious -- the equal, in my estimation, of the Peninsula in Minneapolis).
It began with the gondola ride, a swift eight minutes up 2,500 feet, and at the top, the incredible 360 degree view of all the mountain peaks so close at hand. Then a relaxed meal at the restaurant, the ride down the mountain, and, to cap it off, a soak in the adjacent hot mineral spring pool. The water is 40 Canadian degrees, which is 104 US degrees. No one is swimming laps at that temperature — everyone is just relaxed and blissed out. This pool is a great leveler — no matter what country you're from or how much money you've got, each of us is just a human in a bathing suit enjoying the same water.
So, if you should find yourself in Banff one day and want to give yourself a treat, I recommend any of these establishments. Dinner, $69 or $28. Gondola ride, $25. Hot springs pool, $10. The mountain views — priceless.
Lake Louise is ritziest of all. The town consists almost exclusively of fancy lodges and hotels. The grand hotel is situated on the edge of the turquoise lake facing the incredible mountain and glacier. Its history dates back to the first railroads, when it was built as a resort to lure the wealthy to enjoy the scenery in style and comfort. After walking a bit on the trail around Lake Louise, I stopped in the hotel and had a bowl of soup and glass of beer in the pub ($20). It was delicious, but I thought it overpriced, so I stole several of their paper napkins. Next time I want to have dinner in the hotel's main dining room.
Jasper, by contrast, was much more family oriented, with lots of fast food joints, although, aftrer poking around a bit, I found tasty and innovative dinners at Dangerous Dave's and at Fiddle River, with entrees around $20.
In both parks we heard foreign languages spoken — French of course, since this is a bi-lingual country, but others too, such as German. We chatted with a woman from Holland, and saw tourists of color, or from the Orient, or wearing Islamic clothing. The beauty and splendor of these parks draw people from far, far away. (Have you been here yet?)
Next time I want to drive the Glacier Highway between Jasper and Lake Louise and tour the glaciers in the special glaciermobile. That is, if the glaciers are still around, next time I visit. (The Crowfoot Glacier, for example, has already lost one of its toes, and the other two are melting pretty fast.)
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
Menominee
Menominee, my cat and traveling companion on this adventure, is doing well. She has relaxed into the driving phases of our adventure, and now sleeps while I drive. She lives for the payoff at the end of the day, at the camp site, which she considers her domain, her territory to explore, her hunting ground. She has now caught a total of four small, furry, mouse-like critters, and is convinced she's a might hunter (and who am I to disagree?). We are thinking about trying a catch-and-release policy with her mice.
Jumping
Menominee soon noticed where I stored her food — in the cupboard along the ceiling over the couch — and began planning ways to reach it. The most direct means is for her to jump into the cupboard when the door is open, so I simply blocked it whenever it was open. But she also figured out that all the cupboards over the couch are connected, so she could jump into any open door and work her way over to her food.
One evening I accidentally left one of the cupboard doors open and sat on the couch watching a DVD on my laptop. Because the lights were off, I didn't notice her leap from the dining table four feet into the open cupboard, but I found out soon enough when, unable to secure a foothold in the cupboard, my ten-pound cat fell three feet onto my stomach. I told her I didn't appreciate that, but she offered no apologies, instead nursing a bruised ego because her magnificent plan had failed.
A few days later she made use of a five-inch diameter hole in the face of the same cupboard — where a loudspeaker had once been. She jumped from the kitchen sink up two feet, left two feet, and forward two feet (for a total jump of four feet) and somehow landed with her front half in that small hole, leaving her hind quarters dangling in mid-air, up near the ceiling. It was a sight to behold! With her front paws she got traction among the cabinet contents and hauled her rear half in. What a cat... Some cat!
The Bird Call Incident
To pass the time while driving the prairies, I tried (usually in vain) to find a radio station, then put on a CD. One day I put on a CD of bird calls, intended as instruction for bird watchers. To hear the CD clearly (from the speakers back in the RV) I had to turn the volume up pretty high, and began listening to the various songs of the cardinal. Soon Menominee was on the driver's seat back, touching my shoulder with her paw to get my attention, and then meowing in my ear. This is unusual behavior, some kind of communication, so I took her seriously and examined the situation. Loud bird calls. Maybe hurting her ears. Maybe she thinks they're coming from really, really big, scary birds? Huge birds right here, in the RV? Whatever. I put the bird-call CD away and Menominee calmed down.
Jumping
Menominee soon noticed where I stored her food — in the cupboard along the ceiling over the couch — and began planning ways to reach it. The most direct means is for her to jump into the cupboard when the door is open, so I simply blocked it whenever it was open. But she also figured out that all the cupboards over the couch are connected, so she could jump into any open door and work her way over to her food.
One evening I accidentally left one of the cupboard doors open and sat on the couch watching a DVD on my laptop. Because the lights were off, I didn't notice her leap from the dining table four feet into the open cupboard, but I found out soon enough when, unable to secure a foothold in the cupboard, my ten-pound cat fell three feet onto my stomach. I told her I didn't appreciate that, but she offered no apologies, instead nursing a bruised ego because her magnificent plan had failed.
A few days later she made use of a five-inch diameter hole in the face of the same cupboard — where a loudspeaker had once been. She jumped from the kitchen sink up two feet, left two feet, and forward two feet (for a total jump of four feet) and somehow landed with her front half in that small hole, leaving her hind quarters dangling in mid-air, up near the ceiling. It was a sight to behold! With her front paws she got traction among the cabinet contents and hauled her rear half in. What a cat... Some cat!
The Bird Call Incident
To pass the time while driving the prairies, I tried (usually in vain) to find a radio station, then put on a CD. One day I put on a CD of bird calls, intended as instruction for bird watchers. To hear the CD clearly (from the speakers back in the RV) I had to turn the volume up pretty high, and began listening to the various songs of the cardinal. Soon Menominee was on the driver's seat back, touching my shoulder with her paw to get my attention, and then meowing in my ear. This is unusual behavior, some kind of communication, so I took her seriously and examined the situation. Loud bird calls. Maybe hurting her ears. Maybe she thinks they're coming from really, really big, scary birds? Huge birds right here, in the RV? Whatever. I put the bird-call CD away and Menominee calmed down.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Canada — Jasper National Park
As we approached Jasper, the weather was beautiful (see photo of magnificent cloud). We found a campsite in the campground near the town of Jasper and settled in. The next day was totally overcast and cool, so we spent the day driving around the park. Unfortunately the mountains and lakes weren't very pretty in the monochromatic light -- all in shades of gray. We drove all the way up to the hot springs pool, but by the time we got there it was cold and windy, so we didn't go in. Later, in an Internet cafe, I checked the weather forecast, which was for cloudy, rainy, and even colder for the next five days. Uf da! Here we were in the most beautiful parks in Canada and the weather was absolutely lousy! Then a sudden realization: We have no schedule -- we can postpone the parks until later, when the weather is nice. So we bailed right out of Japer Park, drove east, and headed for lower elevations farther south, hoping it wouldn't be quite as cold there.
That took us back in Alberta, north of Montana, in cowboy country. The highway we were on is nicknamed "The Cowboy Trail." We saw men in cowboy hats, and on the news stand, there were magazines like "Canadian Cowboy" and (I am not making this up!) "Cowboys and Indians." There were lots of shops that sell saddles and other horse gear, but the one that caught my eye had a sign, "Chiropractor available -- walk-ins welcome." Yes, after a rodeo, a cowboy just might need some attending to.
Two days later, we were camped in Red Deer, midway between Edmonton and Calgary, when the cold wave bottomed out at freezing temperatures overnight. We came through OK, thanks to an RV park that provided electricity to our electric heater, which we left running all night. What a weather oddity -- freezing temperatures in August, in the same province where a heat wave had us sweating and panting a couple of weeks ago!
Next day we explored Red Deer, the first town of any size we'd visited in weeks. It was a joy to have a selection of large grocery stores, hardware stores, and an actual big chain bookstore -- Chapters, a Canadian imitator of Barnes & Noble, including the inevitable Starbucks. I tried to buy a copy of "Are We Rome?" but they didn't have it. The clerk who helped me (a guy nearing retirement, reminded me of MPR's Tom Keith, without a bow tie) was a history buff, and we chatted about the similarities between ancient Rome and modern U.S., and then got off onto Islam, which he thinks will conquer Europe by the end of the century. An interesting exchange!
We rather liked Red Deer, not because it has any jewel-like qualities, but because it's big enough (80,000) to have the amenities that smaller towns lack, yet small enough that people are relaxed and friendly.
That took us back in Alberta, north of Montana, in cowboy country. The highway we were on is nicknamed "The Cowboy Trail." We saw men in cowboy hats, and on the news stand, there were magazines like "Canadian Cowboy" and (I am not making this up!) "Cowboys and Indians." There were lots of shops that sell saddles and other horse gear, but the one that caught my eye had a sign, "Chiropractor available -- walk-ins welcome." Yes, after a rodeo, a cowboy just might need some attending to.
Two days later, we were camped in Red Deer, midway between Edmonton and Calgary, when the cold wave bottomed out at freezing temperatures overnight. We came through OK, thanks to an RV park that provided electricity to our electric heater, which we left running all night. What a weather oddity -- freezing temperatures in August, in the same province where a heat wave had us sweating and panting a couple of weeks ago!
Next day we explored Red Deer, the first town of any size we'd visited in weeks. It was a joy to have a selection of large grocery stores, hardware stores, and an actual big chain bookstore -- Chapters, a Canadian imitator of Barnes & Noble, including the inevitable Starbucks. I tried to buy a copy of "Are We Rome?" but they didn't have it. The clerk who helped me (a guy nearing retirement, reminded me of MPR's Tom Keith, without a bow tie) was a history buff, and we chatted about the similarities between ancient Rome and modern U.S., and then got off onto Islam, which he thinks will conquer Europe by the end of the century. An interesting exchange!
We rather liked Red Deer, not because it has any jewel-like qualities, but because it's big enough (80,000) to have the amenities that smaller towns lack, yet small enough that people are relaxed and friendly.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Canada — British Columbia
British Columbia, which is directly north of Washington state, is beautiful. Soon after we crossed the border, we noticed the difference: bigger hills than we'd seen in weeks — more like mountains. Terrain that makes use of the vertical dimension pleases the eye. Seeing a mountain range on the distant horizon evokes desire, snow-capped mountains (in August!) inspire wonder, and sheer walls rising into the sky are simply awesome. We were pleased to be in BC.
Our first stop was in Dawson Creek, an old crossroads that became the starting point for the Alaskan Highway in 1942, and thrives today as a vibrant community of 10,000. They have the first bookstore I'd seen in weeks, and I quickly went in, chatted with the proprietor, and bought a book (Jack London, "White Fang.") They also have the best restaurant I'd eaten in in weeks, the "Legendary White Spot*, Since 1928." (Recommended) Who would have suspected that they'd be serving sweet-potato fries with chipotle mayonnaise way up here? We excitedly enjoyed this interesting little hub, visiting the Alaskan Highway "Mile Zero" sign and taking a picture of Cruisemaster next to it. So progressive is this community that they provide free Wi-Fi Internet access, not only at the visitors center but also throughout downtown, and we indulged in lots of emailing and web surfing.
The Alaskan Highway enticed us to follow it for 43 miles north to Ft. St. John, which proved to be the northernmost point in our adventure, 56.3 degrees north latitude, according to the GPS. We felt the tug of the Yukon and Alaska, but that road is a long one and we decided to leave them to another adventure. We left the Alaskan Highway and began our journey south through beautiful scenery to Prince George, which bills itself as "Capital of Northern British Columbia" and advertises itself in a slick 38-page travel guide as a jewel of a place. (Thereby setting expectations so high that disappointment is likely.) The setting is nice — a river runs through it and pine-forested hills surround — but the stone proved to be fake. Oh, they have their Walmart and Home Depot, but downtown has decaying buildings, vacant storefronts, and street people. The Visitor Center gave us false information — the Cariboo is not actually open for lunch on Saturdays — and the Waddling Duck pub served pretty-good food for above-average prices with below-average service. (Although I suppose that people living up here could be delighted with any restaurant that isn't franchise fast-food.)
In the evening, we had an excellent chat with neighbors in the RV park, a couple from Vancouver who were quite happy to talk about BC, Vancouver, Jasper, and beer. It was our first extended conversation with native Canadians and we enjoyed it very much. They warned us that the road from Prince George to Jasper is a long drive through beautiful wilderness, and they were right..
*I later found out that the White Spot hasn't been in Dawson Creek since 1928 — it's a chain that started in Vancouver — but the food was still a treat.
Our first stop was in Dawson Creek, an old crossroads that became the starting point for the Alaskan Highway in 1942, and thrives today as a vibrant community of 10,000. They have the first bookstore I'd seen in weeks, and I quickly went in, chatted with the proprietor, and bought a book (Jack London, "White Fang.") They also have the best restaurant I'd eaten in in weeks, the "Legendary White Spot*, Since 1928." (Recommended) Who would have suspected that they'd be serving sweet-potato fries with chipotle mayonnaise way up here? We excitedly enjoyed this interesting little hub, visiting the Alaskan Highway "Mile Zero" sign and taking a picture of Cruisemaster next to it. So progressive is this community that they provide free Wi-Fi Internet access, not only at the visitors center but also throughout downtown, and we indulged in lots of emailing and web surfing.
The Alaskan Highway enticed us to follow it for 43 miles north to Ft. St. John, which proved to be the northernmost point in our adventure, 56.3 degrees north latitude, according to the GPS. We felt the tug of the Yukon and Alaska, but that road is a long one and we decided to leave them to another adventure. We left the Alaskan Highway and began our journey south through beautiful scenery to Prince George, which bills itself as "Capital of Northern British Columbia" and advertises itself in a slick 38-page travel guide as a jewel of a place. (Thereby setting expectations so high that disappointment is likely.) The setting is nice — a river runs through it and pine-forested hills surround — but the stone proved to be fake. Oh, they have their Walmart and Home Depot, but downtown has decaying buildings, vacant storefronts, and street people. The Visitor Center gave us false information — the Cariboo is not actually open for lunch on Saturdays — and the Waddling Duck pub served pretty-good food for above-average prices with below-average service. (Although I suppose that people living up here could be delighted with any restaurant that isn't franchise fast-food.)
In the evening, we had an excellent chat with neighbors in the RV park, a couple from Vancouver who were quite happy to talk about BC, Vancouver, Jasper, and beer. It was our first extended conversation with native Canadians and we enjoyed it very much. They warned us that the road from Prince George to Jasper is a long drive through beautiful wilderness, and they were right..
*I later found out that the White Spot hasn't been in Dawson Creek since 1928 — it's a chain that started in Vancouver — but the food was still a treat.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Canada — Alberta
Soon after we crossed into Alberta we came to Cold Lake, a boomtown with "help wanted" signs, new subdivisions, and high housing prices. It had its amenities — a bank, two supermarkets, a bookstore (although we couldn't find it) — and we enjoyed our overnight stay in the nearby Provincial Park campground. We continued westward and northward to Lac la Biche, where we stopped at the library to access the Internet, and met two happy, gregarious, and helpful library staff. They were soooo accommodating, trying my laptop on three different networks until I could check my email. (Thanks, Candice!) Later we spent the night in Blueberry Hill RV Park in Athabasca, although we couldn't find any blueberries (too early in the season for them — at the end of July!) .
Ever northward and westward, we came to Slave Lake, and, while looking for a camp site, we got stuck in some soft dirt. Soft, as in Very. Soft. Dirt. Stuck, as in up to the hubcaps on the right side. We couldn't go forward, couldn't go backward. Stuck, but good. What to do? It was four in the afternoon, the sun was hot, flies were buzzing, and there was no breeze. I walked around Cruisemaster, surveying the situation, when a Canadian came by and stopped. He offered to pull me out with his Jeep, but before we could hook up, another Canadian came by with a better idea: use his Caterpillar bulldozer. With great clanking sounds he brought the bulldozer around, hooked up Cruisemaster with a very heavy chain and slowly, slowly, pulled us out and we were freed. Whew! What an adventure! What kindly Canadians! To calm down, I needed some serious comfort food, so I bought and ate an entire 350 gram (3/4 pound) bag of chocolate chip cookies, washed down with two cans of beer. (Burp.)
From the place names in all the provinces we've driven through, we see that French explorers and traders once lived here, and that Native Americans (or First Nation, as they call them up here) have lived here for a long time.
Checking the GPS at Slave Lake, I found that we were just above 55 degrees north latitude, which is ten degrees (about 720 miles) north of Minneapolis, sixteen degrees (1150 miles) north of Washington DC, twenty-one degrees (1500 miles) north of Los Angeles.. More dramatically, this is the same latitude as Hudson Bay — if we had driven northeast from Minnesota, by the time we had gotten this far north, we'd be in the water at Hudson Bay. More dramatically yet, we are north of most of Canada's population, north of most of North America's population, north of most of the world's population. We're way far north, we are!
Even this far north, the terrain has lakes, trees, and crops (including canola). But we have the definite feeling that we are near the edge of civilization, as we pass through isolated hamlets, some with a gas station and maybe a cafe, few with a grocery or library. We see few cars on the road and notice that campgrounds have more oil-field workers than tourists. We are getting tired of the prairie and are ready for the scenery to come.
Ever northward and westward, we came to Slave Lake, and, while looking for a camp site, we got stuck in some soft dirt. Soft, as in Very. Soft. Dirt. Stuck, as in up to the hubcaps on the right side. We couldn't go forward, couldn't go backward. Stuck, but good. What to do? It was four in the afternoon, the sun was hot, flies were buzzing, and there was no breeze. I walked around Cruisemaster, surveying the situation, when a Canadian came by and stopped. He offered to pull me out with his Jeep, but before we could hook up, another Canadian came by with a better idea: use his Caterpillar bulldozer. With great clanking sounds he brought the bulldozer around, hooked up Cruisemaster with a very heavy chain and slowly, slowly, pulled us out and we were freed. Whew! What an adventure! What kindly Canadians! To calm down, I needed some serious comfort food, so I bought and ate an entire 350 gram (3/4 pound) bag of chocolate chip cookies, washed down with two cans of beer. (Burp.)
From the place names in all the provinces we've driven through, we see that French explorers and traders once lived here, and that Native Americans (or First Nation, as they call them up here) have lived here for a long time.
Checking the GPS at Slave Lake, I found that we were just above 55 degrees north latitude, which is ten degrees (about 720 miles) north of Minneapolis, sixteen degrees (1150 miles) north of Washington DC, twenty-one degrees (1500 miles) north of Los Angeles.. More dramatically, this is the same latitude as Hudson Bay — if we had driven northeast from Minnesota, by the time we had gotten this far north, we'd be in the water at Hudson Bay. More dramatically yet, we are north of most of Canada's population, north of most of North America's population, north of most of the world's population. We're way far north, we are!
Even this far north, the terrain has lakes, trees, and crops (including canola). But we have the definite feeling that we are near the edge of civilization, as we pass through isolated hamlets, some with a gas station and maybe a cafe, few with a grocery or library. We see few cars on the road and notice that campgrounds have more oil-field workers than tourists. We are getting tired of the prairie and are ready for the scenery to come.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Canada — Manitoba and Saskatchewan
Manitoba
We went over the border into Manitoba, our second province, directly north of North Dakota. Here the landscape changed from mountainous dense forest to agricultural plains and deciduous trees, and my GPS told me that we are at latitude 50 degrees north, which is five degrees north of the Twin Cities.
There's a crop being grown here that mystifies me. It looks for all the world like a weed, yet it's grown in huge fields for miles and miles. It's green, short — maybe eighteen inches high — and is topped with small yellow flowers. What's disconcerting about it is the sickly greenish-yellow color that fills your field of view — that and the smell is enough to give you a headache. The stuff smells like the intersection of agriculture, pesticide, and oil refinery. It definitely isn't wheat, but what is it? A Visitor Information Center provided the answer: It's canola, that cooking oil that's good for you, and you can tell from its very name (can + ola) that it comes from Canada.
We sailed through Winnipeg, verified its existence as a city, and kept going north of town to spend the night at Bird Hill Provincial Park, the huge park that hosts the Winnipeg Folk Festival. (Why, you might ask, didn't I plan to be here during the festival? Because it took place two weeks ago, and getting here for it would have required planning and reservations and rushing... in other words, not in the spirit of this adventure.)
I really wanted to find that accessory for my PC, so next day I turned on my GPS and asked it to find "Best Buy." It found two of them in Winnipeg, so I told it to plan the route to one of them. I easily followed the route from the park, but when the GPS announced that the destination was on the right, I saw only a Wendy's. Thinking I must have missed something, I drove a bit further and around a corner and asked it to route me there again. And it took me right back to the same Wendy's! (Humph! Thanks a lot, Garmin!) I turned the GPS off and headed for a Staples office supply I'd spotted visually and easily bought the accessory there for $20. One of the advantages of a city: stores with stuff you want in stock.
At a stoplight, I glanced at the lane to my left and was astonished to see a Yamaha Vino motor scooter, the very same model I had considered buying last month. Impulsively I smiled and said "Hi there, how do you like your Vino?" The rider turned to me and rattled off all the things she liked about it, and as the light turned green, sped off with "Love it! Highly recommended!" Sigh. I still want one.
Feeling hungry, I stopped at a McDonald's for lunch. In the men's washroom I discovered there was no soap. I looked for the little sign, and there it was, "...please tell the manager immediately." I found the manager standing talking with a customer. "Excuse me," I said politely. "There's no soap in the men's room." To my surprise, the manager, a short, dark-haired fellow, shot me a withering look and sneered, "I'm on my lunch break." Hmmm. Not the level of customer service I'd expected, and I seriously doubt that any management training seminars will change his surly character.. Then too, the campground's staff had seemed stressed and anxious. Am I just noticing the difference that a city makes? In any case, it was time to exit Winnipeg, and we headed west.
Manitoba's terrain is remarkably similar to Minnesota's: agricultural prairies in the south, wooded hills in the north. By driving northward, and gaining altitude, I hoped for cooler weather, but unfortunately that was not what we found. A heat wave extended far and wide, and we were unable to escape it. The weather was grimly similar to the Twin Cities, hot and humid. The best we were able to do is find a forested campground in a provincial park and relax until nightfall — say, around nine PM — when a cooling breeze brought us around.
Next day we continued northward to a village with the lovely name of Swan River, and stayed at a private campground. Did some shopping in the morning, including a visit to a Manitoba liquor store. It was a lot like any other liquor store, apart from its minuscule size, tiny selection, and high prices — eight dollars for a six-pack of Labatt's, nine dollars for the cheapest bottle of wine. The library offered Wi-Fi Internet access, but for some reason I couldn't get the access to work with my laptop — why is it that technology installed to help the public can be so temperamental?
Saskatchewan
Next day we drove yet farther north, turned west, and crossed into Saskatchewan, our third province, due north of Montana. The terrain was still agriculturally cultivated prairie dominated by that sickening mystery crop, and the weather still hot and muggy. I had originally suspected that driving across the prairie might be boring, but little had I realized how far north it extended, or how obnoxious it would be. We finally stopped for the night in Tisdale, a lovely name (doesn't it evoke tea and crumpets, or maybe a semi-soft cheese?) for a small prairie town with a municipal campground. Although Internet access was available at the library and an Internet cafe, both were closed on a Saturday morning. (The Internet never sleeps, but apparently access does.)
Next day we passed through Prince Albert, a city only slightly larger than Moose Jaw, and continued fleeing northward to Prince Albert National Park, the northernmost in the province. We spent a quiet night in one of the campgrounds, although the mosquitoes there were the most numerous we'd encountered. In bed, I fought off several attacks, and as I fell asleep, I heard an actual humming chorus of mosquitoes coming, thankfully, from the other side of the window screen. In the morning we discovered the lakeside village of Waskesiu, a tourist destination of lodges, cabins, restaurants and Wi-Fi hotspots — Saskatchewan's equivalent of Minnesota's Grand Marais.
We continued northward and westward but the heat continued — one afternoon it hit 33 Canadian degrees (that's 90 US degrees) and we really felt it. Sat in the shade in a provincial park campsite and waited for nightfall, when a little rain fell and the temperature came down — the heat wave had broken at last..
Menominee has been a remarkably good traveler, considering that she never naturally took to rides in cars or RVs. She seems to understand that this time it's different — We're on an adventure together, and the RV is her home. So she has learned to relax when we're on the road, even napping sometimes. When we stop, she's curious to look out the window and see what's there, and of course if it's our camp site for the night, she's ready to go out the door and explore it. She really loves the outdoors, and especially the forested outdoors, with its trees, shrubs, grass, insects, and small furry creatures. When she caught a small mouse-like animal one evening and played with it, she was one happy cat, and the next day she had a noticeably improved attitude about the adventure.
We went over the border into Manitoba, our second province, directly north of North Dakota. Here the landscape changed from mountainous dense forest to agricultural plains and deciduous trees, and my GPS told me that we are at latitude 50 degrees north, which is five degrees north of the Twin Cities.
There's a crop being grown here that mystifies me. It looks for all the world like a weed, yet it's grown in huge fields for miles and miles. It's green, short — maybe eighteen inches high — and is topped with small yellow flowers. What's disconcerting about it is the sickly greenish-yellow color that fills your field of view — that and the smell is enough to give you a headache. The stuff smells like the intersection of agriculture, pesticide, and oil refinery. It definitely isn't wheat, but what is it? A Visitor Information Center provided the answer: It's canola, that cooking oil that's good for you, and you can tell from its very name (can + ola) that it comes from Canada.
We sailed through Winnipeg, verified its existence as a city, and kept going north of town to spend the night at Bird Hill Provincial Park, the huge park that hosts the Winnipeg Folk Festival. (Why, you might ask, didn't I plan to be here during the festival? Because it took place two weeks ago, and getting here for it would have required planning and reservations and rushing... in other words, not in the spirit of this adventure.)
I really wanted to find that accessory for my PC, so next day I turned on my GPS and asked it to find "Best Buy." It found two of them in Winnipeg, so I told it to plan the route to one of them. I easily followed the route from the park, but when the GPS announced that the destination was on the right, I saw only a Wendy's. Thinking I must have missed something, I drove a bit further and around a corner and asked it to route me there again. And it took me right back to the same Wendy's! (Humph! Thanks a lot, Garmin!) I turned the GPS off and headed for a Staples office supply I'd spotted visually and easily bought the accessory there for $20. One of the advantages of a city: stores with stuff you want in stock.
At a stoplight, I glanced at the lane to my left and was astonished to see a Yamaha Vino motor scooter, the very same model I had considered buying last month. Impulsively I smiled and said "Hi there, how do you like your Vino?" The rider turned to me and rattled off all the things she liked about it, and as the light turned green, sped off with "Love it! Highly recommended!" Sigh. I still want one.
Feeling hungry, I stopped at a McDonald's for lunch. In the men's washroom I discovered there was no soap. I looked for the little sign, and there it was, "...please tell the manager immediately." I found the manager standing talking with a customer. "Excuse me," I said politely. "There's no soap in the men's room." To my surprise, the manager, a short, dark-haired fellow, shot me a withering look and sneered, "I'm on my lunch break." Hmmm. Not the level of customer service I'd expected, and I seriously doubt that any management training seminars will change his surly character.. Then too, the campground's staff had seemed stressed and anxious. Am I just noticing the difference that a city makes? In any case, it was time to exit Winnipeg, and we headed west.
Manitoba's terrain is remarkably similar to Minnesota's: agricultural prairies in the south, wooded hills in the north. By driving northward, and gaining altitude, I hoped for cooler weather, but unfortunately that was not what we found. A heat wave extended far and wide, and we were unable to escape it. The weather was grimly similar to the Twin Cities, hot and humid. The best we were able to do is find a forested campground in a provincial park and relax until nightfall — say, around nine PM — when a cooling breeze brought us around.
Next day we continued northward to a village with the lovely name of Swan River, and stayed at a private campground. Did some shopping in the morning, including a visit to a Manitoba liquor store. It was a lot like any other liquor store, apart from its minuscule size, tiny selection, and high prices — eight dollars for a six-pack of Labatt's, nine dollars for the cheapest bottle of wine. The library offered Wi-Fi Internet access, but for some reason I couldn't get the access to work with my laptop — why is it that technology installed to help the public can be so temperamental?
Saskatchewan
Next day we drove yet farther north, turned west, and crossed into Saskatchewan, our third province, due north of Montana. The terrain was still agriculturally cultivated prairie dominated by that sickening mystery crop, and the weather still hot and muggy. I had originally suspected that driving across the prairie might be boring, but little had I realized how far north it extended, or how obnoxious it would be. We finally stopped for the night in Tisdale, a lovely name (doesn't it evoke tea and crumpets, or maybe a semi-soft cheese?) for a small prairie town with a municipal campground. Although Internet access was available at the library and an Internet cafe, both were closed on a Saturday morning. (The Internet never sleeps, but apparently access does.)
Next day we passed through Prince Albert, a city only slightly larger than Moose Jaw, and continued fleeing northward to Prince Albert National Park, the northernmost in the province. We spent a quiet night in one of the campgrounds, although the mosquitoes there were the most numerous we'd encountered. In bed, I fought off several attacks, and as I fell asleep, I heard an actual humming chorus of mosquitoes coming, thankfully, from the other side of the window screen. In the morning we discovered the lakeside village of Waskesiu, a tourist destination of lodges, cabins, restaurants and Wi-Fi hotspots — Saskatchewan's equivalent of Minnesota's Grand Marais.
We continued northward and westward but the heat continued — one afternoon it hit 33 Canadian degrees (that's 90 US degrees) and we really felt it. Sat in the shade in a provincial park campsite and waited for nightfall, when a little rain fell and the temperature came down — the heat wave had broken at last..
Menominee has been a remarkably good traveler, considering that she never naturally took to rides in cars or RVs. She seems to understand that this time it's different — We're on an adventure together, and the RV is her home. So she has learned to relax when we're on the road, even napping sometimes. When we stop, she's curious to look out the window and see what's there, and of course if it's our camp site for the night, she's ready to go out the door and explore it. She really loves the outdoors, and especially the forested outdoors, with its trees, shrubs, grass, insects, and small furry creatures. When she caught a small mouse-like animal one evening and played with it, she was one happy cat, and the next day she had a noticeably improved attitude about the adventure.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Canada!
As you approach Canada, northbound on highway 61, there's a point where you crest a hill, and the elevation gives you an incredible view to the north. It's picture-perfect and says, "Ahead lies Canada — It's wonderful!"
At the Canadian border, we were met by rather stern border guards. We were grilled about our nationality, residence, purpose of trip, and contents of the RV. Menominee was required to show her certificate of vaccination (thanks, Dr. Julie!) and I had to go indoors to meet with an Immigration Officer. I pleaded "eight-week vacation" but he seemed suspicious that I might have other designs. Eventually, almost grudgingly, he allowed us in. Whoo-hoo! We're in Canada now! As we approached Thunder Bay, we heard thunder overhead.
Western Ontario
After a night camped in Thunder Bay, we headed west on the Trans-Canadian Highway. Suburbs give way to wilderness, and I mean real wilderness. The highway goes along the border of Quetico Provincial Park, the wilderness that is neighbor to Minnesota's Boundary Waters Canoe Area. The road is two lanes of blacktop heading west past dense forest. There are no cars in front of you, none behind you, as far as you can see. It's just you and the wilderness, which is deep and dark and gorgeous and enticing, but you can't go in — there are no roads into the wilderness. You can't even stop, because there's no place to stop. No scenic overlook, no rest stop, not even a turnout for a side road, and the shoulders are so narrow, by the time you'd pulled off the road, you'd have tumbled into the ditch. You just gotta keep going, on and on, watching the beauty go by.
Nearly out of gas and daylight, we arrived at Atikokan, a village of cheerful people, one campground, and one Internet cafe. (In short, perfect!) It was here that I first heard the "eh?" expression used by a Canadian, and it didn't make me laugh! It seemed perfectly normal and natural, a grammatical construction as understandable to me as to him.
Another day of driving past rugged forests brought us to Fort Frances, across the border from International Falls, MN, and Rainy Lake — yes, the weather was a bit rainy. Had dinner at a KFC and discovered that the Colonel uses a different recipe up here in Canada — very mild — and there's no choice of original, crispy, or grilled. Well, here I am, living like a Canadian!
Mosquitoes? Yes, Canada has them too, and they aren't much different from Minnesota's, although I did see one that was big enough it looked like it could be growing feathers. We like to think of Canada as a purer, better place, but, as a tourist brochure suggests, Your vacation will be more enjoyable if you use insect repellent. Menominee loves to hunt and catch and eat moths and dragonflies, and I had hopes that she might hunt mosquitoes too (and earn her keep). But no, she ignores them. I held a dead one under her nose; she sniffed it and turned away — unappetizing, I guess.
Our radio reception to this point had consisted of Minnesota Public Radio throughout Minnesota, and even after we crossed into Canada we could pick up one MPR station or another (Houghton, Bemidji). But as we headed north and left the border behind us, we found slim pickings. Usually there were one or two local stations playing popular music, but CBC wasn't always there — it makes no attempt to cover all of Canada. Makes you appreciate the way MPR and NPR cover their territories.
Still in beautifully wooded hills, we stopped for the night at Caliper Lake Provincial Park, a real gem out in the middle of nowhere.(Recommended) I guess its secret is being far enough away from civilization to keep out the riffraff, because on this July weekend the campground was only a third filled. Quiet, peaceful, on the shore of a pristine lake, and at sundown the call of the loon. The following night we stayed at Rushing River Provincial Park, whose hundreds of campsites were nearly filled by families with kids. Evidently it's close enough to Winnipeg that the city folk like to come here for vacation.
Next day we explored Kenora, population 16,000, picturesquely located on the northern shore of Lake of the Woods (yes, the same Lake of the Woods of Minnesota repute — it extends way up here). Little Kenora has obvious potential for excellence but unfortunately the town government is going about it in the wrong ways — for example covering downtown with parking meters and building an ugly concrete parking ramp. Sigh. I found an electronics store here and inquired about an accessory for my PC, but they didn't have any. Asked also at the WalMart, but they didn't have any either. (Makes you want to order it on the Internet, doesn't it?)
At the Canadian border, we were met by rather stern border guards. We were grilled about our nationality, residence, purpose of trip, and contents of the RV. Menominee was required to show her certificate of vaccination (thanks, Dr. Julie!) and I had to go indoors to meet with an Immigration Officer. I pleaded "eight-week vacation" but he seemed suspicious that I might have other designs. Eventually, almost grudgingly, he allowed us in. Whoo-hoo! We're in Canada now! As we approached Thunder Bay, we heard thunder overhead.
Western Ontario
After a night camped in Thunder Bay, we headed west on the Trans-Canadian Highway. Suburbs give way to wilderness, and I mean real wilderness. The highway goes along the border of Quetico Provincial Park, the wilderness that is neighbor to Minnesota's Boundary Waters Canoe Area. The road is two lanes of blacktop heading west past dense forest. There are no cars in front of you, none behind you, as far as you can see. It's just you and the wilderness, which is deep and dark and gorgeous and enticing, but you can't go in — there are no roads into the wilderness. You can't even stop, because there's no place to stop. No scenic overlook, no rest stop, not even a turnout for a side road, and the shoulders are so narrow, by the time you'd pulled off the road, you'd have tumbled into the ditch. You just gotta keep going, on and on, watching the beauty go by.
Nearly out of gas and daylight, we arrived at Atikokan, a village of cheerful people, one campground, and one Internet cafe. (In short, perfect!) It was here that I first heard the "eh?" expression used by a Canadian, and it didn't make me laugh! It seemed perfectly normal and natural, a grammatical construction as understandable to me as to him.
Another day of driving past rugged forests brought us to Fort Frances, across the border from International Falls, MN, and Rainy Lake — yes, the weather was a bit rainy. Had dinner at a KFC and discovered that the Colonel uses a different recipe up here in Canada — very mild — and there's no choice of original, crispy, or grilled. Well, here I am, living like a Canadian!
Mosquitoes? Yes, Canada has them too, and they aren't much different from Minnesota's, although I did see one that was big enough it looked like it could be growing feathers. We like to think of Canada as a purer, better place, but, as a tourist brochure suggests, Your vacation will be more enjoyable if you use insect repellent. Menominee loves to hunt and catch and eat moths and dragonflies, and I had hopes that she might hunt mosquitoes too (and earn her keep). But no, she ignores them. I held a dead one under her nose; she sniffed it and turned away — unappetizing, I guess.
Our radio reception to this point had consisted of Minnesota Public Radio throughout Minnesota, and even after we crossed into Canada we could pick up one MPR station or another (Houghton, Bemidji). But as we headed north and left the border behind us, we found slim pickings. Usually there were one or two local stations playing popular music, but CBC wasn't always there — it makes no attempt to cover all of Canada. Makes you appreciate the way MPR and NPR cover their territories.
Still in beautifully wooded hills, we stopped for the night at Caliper Lake Provincial Park, a real gem out in the middle of nowhere.(Recommended) I guess its secret is being far enough away from civilization to keep out the riffraff, because on this July weekend the campground was only a third filled. Quiet, peaceful, on the shore of a pristine lake, and at sundown the call of the loon. The following night we stayed at Rushing River Provincial Park, whose hundreds of campsites were nearly filled by families with kids. Evidently it's close enough to Winnipeg that the city folk like to come here for vacation.
Next day we explored Kenora, population 16,000, picturesquely located on the northern shore of Lake of the Woods (yes, the same Lake of the Woods of Minnesota repute — it extends way up here). Little Kenora has obvious potential for excellence but unfortunately the town government is going about it in the wrong ways — for example covering downtown with parking meters and building an ugly concrete parking ramp. Sigh. I found an electronics store here and inquired about an accessory for my PC, but they didn't have any. Asked also at the WalMart, but they didn't have any either. (Makes you want to order it on the Internet, doesn't it?)
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