Day 10-13: Calgary to Watson Lake

After a hearty breakfast of Tim Horton's (that's Canada's version of Dunkin Donuts, but with more of a cult-like following and far better bagels) we left Jen's place and headed to Banff National Park. Banff had been billed as Canada's finest, and it did not disappoint. We made camp by a bright blue river and hiked up to Lake Louise. The lake had been discovered by white people in the late 1800s and quickly became a wildnerness resort. It was absolutely stunning. Back at the campsite, I cooked a hearty dinner of chili and fried polenta. Later on we met our camping neighbors, Eric and Moniq, two 40-something Canadians, and their neice Melissa, who was our age. They invited us across the path for a drink, and when we found out they owned a spa and salon, I shared with them the new hairstyle I'd been contemplating: the #2 buzz cut. It would make for an easy month of camping, I jokingly reasoned. "Want me to do it?" asked Moniq. "Ummmmm..." I didn't want to cut off any of my fun curly hair, but Madison intervened- soon I was in the chair, and Moniq had plugged the buzzer into the power inverter in her 'Bago. I made Madison go next, so we match. He carries it well, but I think I look kind of ridiculous. Lance Armstrong in the Canadian Northwest.

All 5 of us were laughing so hard our cheeks hurt when a car rolled in to the campsite and two lads jumped out. They were struggling to put up their tent in the dark, so I went over and brought them our gas lantern. It's about as bright as the sun. They were thankful, and we invited them to join us and our new friends once they were settled. Their names were Frank and Frank (short for Francois, as they were Quebecois), and they brought a few beers over to what was quickly becoming an impromptu party. We introduced them to the Jersey Dent and to Corn Nuts, an EXTREMELY crunchy snack made of toasted corn. Apparently they don't have it in Canada. "WOW! I am amazed at the crunchingness!" exclaimed Frank, in his thick Quebec accent.

We left Banff, and had planned to stay in the park's more remote cousin, Jasper National Park, but it rained. Instead, we stopped for a couple of day hikes to Jasper's prime attractions and pushed through to Dawson Creek. Our route followed Canada's Ice Field Parkway, and any who doubts the legitimacy of global warming need look no further than these rapidly receding glaciers to realize that temperature change is no small threat. Glaciers everywhere are being reclassified as "perennial ice fields."

The rain day put us at Mile Zero of the Alaska Highway one day ahead of schedule, which will be much appreciated by the time we reach Alaska. In Dawson Creek we stayed at a campground where most of our neighbors were permanent residents in shabby old 'Bagos with flat tires. We pitched our tent next to a pretty suspicious trailer: every 20 minutes or so a car would pull up outside the campground's fence, and someone would climb through a hole in the wire to knock twice on the trailer door. After 2 minutes or so, they'd run straight back to their car and drive away.

Yesterday morning we left Dawson Creek for Fort Nelson, British Columbia. We've seen black bears, brown bears, grizzly bears, moose, big-horn sheep, and innumerable smaller fauna, but this section of the drive was so rife with big wildlife that we didn't even know if it was safe to stop the car, lest we wind up as grizzly snacks. Several days earlier, between Banff and Jasper, we'd seen a grizzly charge a group of tourists that had gotten out of their car to take her picture. They escaped, but the bear had definitely gotten the point across: "Stay outta my jam, fool."

Fort Nelson offered my favorite campground on the trip thus far, after Banff. Nextdoor to our site we found the Fort Nelson Heritage Museum, with a main gallery, several turn-of-the-century buildings, and a sprawling boneyard of old cars, trucks, engines, plows, bulldozers, generators, cranes, and more: the rusting hulks of more than a century of mechanical detritus. I was elated: if I could pick the theme for the ideal museum, it would be, "tons of old machines sitting around outside, that you're allowed to play on." No more perfect words could describe the FNHM. We played on old bulldozers, climbed in old trucks, pretended to dig holes with an ancient excavator, and generally made a playground out of the place... but when I say "we," I really mean "me." Madison laughed and ribbed me for running around like a little kid in what I perceived as a candy store. I met the curator, a grizzled old mechanic named Marl. He had a long grey beard and told me about driving his 1908 Buick from Fort Nelson to Whitehorse last year... a tough drive even for a modern car, and certainly a tough bike ride for Jen. "The roof leaks like hell," he informed me, gesturing to the car, which was open-topped, as was the style back then.

Today we drove to Watson Lake, Yukon Territory. It's an old gold-mining area, and there are plenty of nuggets on display at the visitor's center. We're going to try panning for our own gold sometime in the next several days. Who knows? It might fund the trip, or maybe a private jet back to Georgia. We also saw the signpost forest, where travelers from around the world bring signs from their hometown to nail up. There are more than 65,000 of them, all posted since a homesick worker on the Alaska Highway posted the first sign in 1943. This evening we'll make camp right on the lake. The scenery is beautiful, and we are experiencing excellent health.