Al Hansen
Well-known member
While leaving Alaska one fine early June morning heading for the Lower 48, I was just past Palmer, AK, when I came to a flagman standing in the middle of the road. I came to a full stop and could see that there was a construction project up ahead. The young man walked over to my truck and said, “Sir, you might as well turn off your truck because it will be a while.” Well, being the curious sort I then asked, “What might you mean by a while?” He looked at me and said, “3 hours.”
Funny how some can bitch about having to wait, others just bite their lips to absorb their frustrations, and then there is me. I got out of my truck, dug in to my supply of goodies in back under the topper, that I always bring along for “just in case” things that might happen. I grabbed my tripod, spotting scope, took out my binoculars from the front seat, poured a cup of hot coffee out of the thermos and proceeded to look for animals. It wasn’t long before I spotted a black bear looking for breakfast up in the alpine area of the mountains. Back a bit farther I spotted some Dall sheep--- a small band made up of ewes and their new born lambs. It was a great morning and the time passed by quickly for me. The one thing that Alaska taught me in life was to know all about p-a-t-i-e-n-c-e. I quickly learned that you take it one day at a time. Heck, I hadn’t even reached the Alcan Highway yet and I already knew that it was going to take me at least 3 days to drive over it—that 1,000 + miles of an all gravel road. It held mysteries around every bend, little things like, I wonder how long this stretch of potholes will last when I would be forced to drive 15 miles an hour and know that was too fast? Or, how can it get any dustier than this and just then an 18 wheeler would blow by you? All you could do was slow down to a crawl and wait for the dust to settle down.
That all made me think of the time I broke down on the Alcan out in the middle of no-where. I had no idea where I was other than I knew I was somewhere close to the middle of the Alcan. When I finally got a ride from this older couple who stopped to see if they could help me, with luck they got me to a 24 hours gas station and restaurant. I’ll bet we hadn’t gone two miles. Anyway, it was at this station where the owner told me that I had about 400 miles to go to Whitehorse, which is in the Yukon Territory. He had already told me that he could not fix my car and it would have to be hauled to either Dawson Creek, BC or Whitehorse. Just then a bus came into the station and the passengers got off to stretch and maybe buy some snacks. I asked him how often it came through and he told me once every three days. I then made a decision to buy a ticket and head back to Fort Nelson where I could catch a CP Air to Whitehorse, then off to Fairbanks, and finally to Anchorage. I already knew that I would have to buy another vehicle and drive back to pick up my car.
I sat in the first seat on the right side so I could see down that road and get the best view. The bus driver was of the talkative sort so the time went by about as fast as any trip on the Alcan could go. About half way to my destination we came around this bend to a long straight stretch and way in the distance, we could see the construction equipment on the highway. He muttered a few “expletives” and said, “Oh my God, this can’t be happening to me again,” as he came to a stop. The flagman looked at him and said, “I’m sorry sir, but this one will take some time, maybe 4 hours or so.” The backhoe operator had just set up, was level and was about to begin digging a trench across the highway to replace an old battered culvert that was put in when the Alcan was first built back in the early 40s during the war. In a split second, the driver was clambering out of his bus and sprinting for the backhoe operator. I could see that there was a lively conversation going on just because of the hand gestures. He came hustling back with a subtle smile on his face just as I saw the backhoe pick up his levelers and move his rig out of the way so we could pass on by. I often wondered if that cost the bus driver a case of beer for that favor. Oh, by the way when I finally got home, I bought a new 1972, yellow Chevy Luv truck and the following day headed back to get my car. It was 1,315 miles to that station. Yes, and I brought along a case of beer for the owner.
The Alcan Highway back in the 1960s was always a challenge to drive. People from the United States that were heading for Alaska often had a hard time with it. Some wanted to sue the Canadian government for the damage it did to their campers, R-V, pickups and or cars. It was almost hilarious to listen to them complain because none of them were prepared for what was happening to them. How can you tell some one about all your blow outs because you drove too fast, broken windshields, broken head lights, paint chips galore on the front end of your rig, and then there was the dust. Dust that somehow got into your suitcases packed with clothing that you put inside a plastic bag----then sealed it----and yet that dust seemed to find its way in. My gosh, I loved those 6 times I drove the Alcan. The scenery was always changing and if you have never been in this country it will quickly show you what a mere speck of sand you really are in this beautiful world we live in. Never in my life have I ever seen such a magnificent expanse of sheer beauty. How can one really try and tell another that you just saw thousands of square miles of land that was most likely uninhabited and that it left you speechless for finding the right words to describe it?
Al
