The ALCAN DRIVE

 Pic of the day;

 

  For today:

There can be troubles on trips, especially on the long ones in less populated areas.  It is good to get advice from folks who have made the same journey you plan, and much of it you learn comes in handy.

On the trip to Alaska for the driver it is a pleasure. Not only the scenery, such as the Canadian Rockies, but the traffic. It is hard to imagine driving an hour without seeing more 10 cars, trucks or RVs (at times 0)

This is Lake Louise in the Rockies,  but a good bit off the ALCAN but still a beautiful drive there (But Louise was a year or so later after our ALCAN drive)

One particular point a truck driver gave me, he said, “Not if, but when, you see a big Moose running or walking your way on the roadside, slow down to a crawl, if necessary, BECAUSE 9 out of 10 times he is going to cross in front of you.  That proved to be true at least 2 or 3 times.

These moose pic from net, cannot find ours.

One that about got me.  Every time you see a service station, regardless the price, FILL ER UP!, At times you may be 100 miles from a station.  We were traveling with My sister and hubby Dick. Both coaches were diesel. Somehow, I ran low and had to borrow 5 gallons from him.

I was told be ready for a cracked windshield, many are lost when meeting trucks as they at times throw gravel with their tires. I did not get a crack until we got back to the states. LOL.

Driving you also get SUPER surprises. It had been years since I even thought about a poem I had read in Mrs Grill’s 7^th grade, then I crossed “The Sam McGee Bridge!”

Did I read that right. AND then I saw a sign saying Lake Labarge, YES!!! and I started quoting:

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

      By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

      That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

      But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

      I cremated Sam McGee.

 YES Driving can cause one to think... 

Nite Shipslog

PS 

Thanks for all the visits  Love you guys I don’t expect you to take the time to read this but it costs nothing for me to just print it at a PS

The interesting parts I remembered are in highlight. The end is sorta funny,

 

The Cremation of Sam McGee

By Robert W. Service

 

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.

He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;

Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

 

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;

It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

 

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,

And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

 

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:

"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.

Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;

So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

 

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

 

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,

With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

 

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.

 

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;

And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;

And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

 

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;

Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

 

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;

Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;

The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;

And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

 

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;

And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

 

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;

But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;

I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.

I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.

 

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

 

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

      By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

      That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

      But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

      I cremated Sam McGee.