Canada Bound, 1994

The long-dreamed-of vacation was almost in order. Final preparations were un­der way. ’Twas a jolly good thing that Larry got a new Cummins turbo diesel engine for his crew cab, because I don’t think the old diesel engine that used to be my father’s would’ve made it to Grand Island. That poor old camper was hunkered down low, struggling valiantly beneath the tons and tons of canned food, along with the monkey wrenches, piano benches, and house finches, I had stowed away inside.

As it was, we didn’t make it to Grand Island before a vacuum hose for the turbo blew off. But that was minor, and that part of the story came later.

Two days before we departed, Teddy’s birthday presents came in the mail. I had been worried! We were planning to be gone on his birthday, and I wanted his presents wrapped and stowed away secretly somewhere in the trailer.

The kids were all helping me haul things out to the camper. “Just a minute,” I called to Lydia, who was three, “I need to tuck in your blouse!”

She came to a stop. “Yes!” She nodded in emphatic agreement. “’Cuz it doesn’t look so very pretty tucked out!”

We had a pop-up pickup camper in which the boys, Keith, Teddy, and Joseph, ages fourteen, eleven (almost), and nine, were planning to sleep. Be­hind the pickup we were pulling a very well kept ’66 Holiday Rambler. As I was putting the boys’ clothes in the pop-up camper a couple of days before we left, I suddenly no­ticed: there were no curtains on the windows! I rushed in to my handy material closet, pulled out some old curtains which I’d saved, just in case, and with a few snips and stitches, Voilá! Curtains! They were even insulated!

Next, I rushed off to a garage sale--and if I didn’t hit the jackpot: an entire rack of nice shirts, in Larry’s exact size. I bought the whole works. So that solved the problem of what Larry would wear.

After that, a friend of ours brought fifteen (!) shirts that used to be her husband's--and they just fit Keith. And I’d just made him four new ones. One was navy with white Japanese or Chinese or Vietnamese or Philippinese or Singa­po­reanese or Somethingese splashed all over it. He thought perhaps he should not wear it at the National Parks, since there were so many foreigners there, and one of them might be able to read this scribble-scrabble, and we didn’t know what in the world it said. And they might.

We promised my mother that we wouldn’t leave before we test-drove the pickup for at least a week... So Larry worked on the pickup all night Sunday night, all day Mon­day (we’d planned to leave Sunday night), then he slept for about five hours, and worked on the pickup again Tuesday morning. And then, at noon, we were off!--in a pouring rain.

So much for the test-drive.

The pop-up camper with its little table and seating all around proved to be stornry useful (that’s Tigger’s word for ‘extraordinary’); within half an hour of departure time, the children who were seated back there around the table were already lavishly spreading bread with peanut butter and jelly, and passing them through the sliding window to the passengers in the forepart of the rig. They ate the last of the popovers I had made the previous night, although the chocolate-pudding filling was long gone.

On the outskirts of Grand Island, there was a sudden, loud, BANG!, and smoke--or something that looked mighty like smoke--billowed out from under the hood. Larry, calm as ever, coasted gently into the parking lot of the nearest station. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, and the sun had come out.

It was nothing serious; just the vacuum hose on the turbo popping off. Larry bought a better clamp in the station, recoupled hose with hose, and off we went again, new Cum­mins turbo diesel running like a sewing machine. Well, a bit louder.

Ten miles past Grand Island, the right rear wheel on the trailer broke off. Luck­ily, the low skirts on those old-fashioned trailers kept the wheel from flying off to the moon. So there it was, stuck between pavement and trailer, churning up billows of black smoke. We plowed our way onto the shoulder, leaving a deep furrow in the road.

Now, that took several hours to repair. We unhitched from the trailer, took the wheel off, and headed into town to find somebody to help us. The studs had to be bored out and replaced, and the man whom we finally found to do the job was in no rush.

The children found an entire family of baby mice to play with, while a red-tailed hawk perched high on an electrical pole kept a close watch, occasionally uttering a high-pitched, keening complaint, because he couldn’t get to his dinner without coming uncomfortably close to the children. We happened to be near the airport, so incoming and outgoing planes added further to the entertainment. The children were unconcerned at the loss of time. After all!--we were on vacation!--and theirs had already begun.

Eventually Slowpoke R. Deadbeat completed his tedious job, and we drove back to the Interstate, where we’d left the trailer. It had to be jacked up on the low side and the wheel put back on. Eighteen-wheelers kept sailing past, rocking the boat.

And then the jack began slipping, the trailer began rolling. . . . .and I was inside it, warming up soup for our supper.

Larry calmly (did I mention that he was calm?) got everything back under control, put the wheel on, and let down the jack.

BOOM!

It went down faster than he expected. Understand, my heart was already pound­ing.

“Oh!” I cried. “Are you all right?!!”

He stuck his head in the door and looked at me. I considered putting the pot of soup over his head, just to show him how relieved I was.

As we drove off a few minutes later, he said to the kids wonderingly, “Mama really cares about me!”

We found a tiny campground northwest of Lake McConaughy later that night-- and the price per night was only six dollars. We showered and tumbled wearily into bed. Hop­ing that the following day would be the beginning of a No-More-Problems Vacation, we started by putting a new hitch on. Now, with the trailer no longer aimed at the moon, perhaps the wheels would stay nicely attached like they were supposed to.

We drove past Courthouse, Jail, and Chimney Rocks, finding ourselves especially underwhelmed with those first two. Chimney Rock was striking, but it was ninety de­grees, and the humidity was running it a close match--too hot and muggy to care.

Shortly thereafter, we stopped so that Larry could fix the ceiling lights inside the pop-up camper. Next, as we were once more traveling gaily along, the fuel tank in use at the mo­ment went dry. Larry pushed the switch to change it to the other fuel tank--and it failed to make connection.

We coasted to a stop on a small cow-path of somebody’s private drive, which, fortunately, they didn’t need to use at the moment. Then, while Larry made fuel fountains under the hood, I cranked the starter and considered starting the cranking. But after about forty-five minutes of doing this in one-hundred-ten-degree weather, the most amazing thing happened: the engine started before the battery wore down!

On we went. Aleutia entertained herself by coming through the window from the camper into the pickup, looking both sheepish and friendly at the same time.

As we were traveling through the lovely Wind River Valley in eastern Wyoming, a beautiful rainbow appeared, stretching from horizon to horizon. Rainbows, as it turned out, are not promises for Trouble-Free Travels.

But it didn’t flood.

After camping at Fort Caspar Campground in Casper, Wyoming, we passed through the middle of Wyoming on a route that took us through the High Country, part of which is barren and desert-like; and part of which has lovely forests on all sides. Ante­lope were everywhere we looked. We could see the Rockies to the south, the Bighorn Mountains to the north.

Suddenly, up ahead, we saw a sight that made us forget all about any troubles, present or future: the Tetons! The Grand Tetons, towering majestically over us. They were absolutely beautiful. We drove along parallel to them, Jackson Lake glittering be­tween, scarcely saying a word for awe at the majesty surrounding us. We stopped and ate a supper of split peas and ham, and grapefruit.

Some time later, we entered Yellowstone National Park. Unfortunately, we were arriving late in the afternoon. By the time we got to Old Faithful Geyser and the Visitor’s Center, the sun was on a rapid descent toward the horizon.

Larry needed to fix a problem with the park lights and running lights, and Caleb, who was nine months old, was asleep in his little car seat, so the older children and I went to Hamilton Store, leaving Larry working on the lights and trying not to waken the baby.

In the gift shop, several of the children purchased small cedar boxes with moun­tain scenes or wild animals etched into the lids. Dorcas got a little cedar grand piano that played It’s a Small World. I bought my favorite souvenir: postcards. I also found a cedar “bald man’s brush” which I thought I absolutely had to get for Larry’s Uncle Clyde, who had lost a good quantity of his head fleece. The ‘brush’ had no bristles.

Leaving the general store, we walked on the boardwalk all the way around Old Faithful. I began worrying about Caleb asleep in his car seat, and Larry slaving away un­der the dash, and it was fifteen minutes past the predicted time for the eruption. The geyser was showing no signs of any forthcoming spouting, so we finally gave up waiting for it to blow, and headed back to the parking lot.

We were only half a block away when it erupted.

Rats. Bother. Humbug. And Caleb was still asleep anyway. But at least Larry didn’t miss something we’d had too much fun viewing.

Well, time was a-wastin’, and we wanted badly to see Jasper National Park, and since we’d been to Yellowstone just the previous year, we reluctantly decided to head on north to a campground in Montana. The brakes on the pickup weren’t working right, and the right rear trailer brake smoked up the mountains nearly as well as a nearby forest fire. Larry said unconcernedly that the brakes were computerized ‘smart’ brakes: they were programmed to veer madly to the left in case of sudden stops, thereby avoiding the right-incoming moose we were probably braking for anyway, and sending us quickly away from the edge of the cliff. He did not explain how this would prevent us from smacking headlong into any oncoming traffic.

The children took turns sitting in the pop-up camper, and, when night fell, they made the beds and whoever was sleepy crawled right into the feathers and went to sleep.

We stayed at a combination ranch and campground near Big Sky, Montana, and the whinnying of the horses, anxious to start their morning trail rides, awoke the children the next morning. They were delighted to discover themselves right next to the stables. The sky was blue as a sapphire, and the fragrance of the pines was fresh and invigorating.

We ate a filling breakfast of cooked cereal and fruit, and were soon headed north. It was easy to see why they called that area “Big Sky Country”; the scenery stretched on forever. Wheat fields glowed golden on incredibly high plateaus.

And what a day we had that day.

The gauges--heat, alternator, and so forth--were not yet set up to work with the new engine, so we didn’t know it was heating up. Now, the reason it was heating up was this: that Cummins engine is big. Too big. So, Larry had to raise the cab, in order that when he slammed the hood, the engine wouldn’t make strange humps in it. This, of course, made the engine closer to the frame at the bottom of the cab. Too close. So the fan belt rubbed on a sharp edge of the frame, and, eventually, it went the way of all shredded fan belts. So the fan was no longer able to cool the engine. This, you understand, is not good for the temperature of the engine.

At the top of McDonald Pass, north of Helena, the engine got so hot it quit.

Larry thought his brand-new Cummins turbo was totally ruined. He quickly put a little cold water into the radiator and started the engine, in order to circulate the water through it. He turned it back off, added more water, and started it again. He kept this up, adding more water little by little, so as not to crack the head by cooling it too fast, until he got it cooled down. He put a new fan belt on, and we continued--rather quietly, I must say--on our way.

While there on the pass, a man from a nearby village stopped by and of­fered to help. Learning where we were headed, he showed us on our map a good route to Glacier National Park in Montana. Then he went on down the mountain to his home--and came back with some good hand cleaner and store-bought hand cloths! By this time, we had come to the conclusion that he was a trustworthy individual, so we took him up on his offer to leave our guns at his house, for, although we had known we couldn’t take guns into Canada, and we’d planned to leave them at home, we had forgotten to get them off the gun rack behind the rear seat.

We left the man a master brake cylinder that we’d bought in Helena which had proven to be the wrong one, telling him he could return it and keep the money as payment for keeping our guns, and also to pay for boxing and mailing them to us in case we didn’t happen back that way.

As we continued our journey, and kept checking the oil and other integral com­po­nents, we finally came to the conclusion that overheating the motor had not hurt it. It had just as much power as ever; no water in the oil; and it was running fine. And!--the remarkable thing--it quit using oil!

Larry stuck out his chest and made a pompous face. “Well,” said he, flexing his biceps, “I fixed that!” Everybody laughed except Lydia, who looked quite serious throughout this entire ordeal.

Fifteen minutes later, as we were traveling along, Lydia said sincerely, “My Daddy can fix anything.”

Saturday, the thirteenth, Teddy’s birthday, started with Teddy looking in amaze­ment at a big pile of wrapped birthday presents on the table of the camper. We were camped in a lovely campground beside Swan Lake, just east of huge Flathead Lake, and a little southwest of Glacier National Park. Ponderosas, bristlecones, evergreens, yews, and aspens sur­rounded us. Chickadees flitted about, filling the air with their cheery “deedeedeedee.” Nuthatches spiraled headfirst down the trees, uttering their nasal “ank ank ank.”

Mama had taught me to tell the difference between these two little mountain birds when I was only three: “The chickadees are little motorcyclists! See their little helmets and chin straps? And those nuthatches! They’re little bandits! Just look at their little black masks.”

We gave Teddy a waist bag with the National Parks logo on it, a watch with a picture of a horse on it and a horseshoe that revolved around the dial once each minute, and several books we’d purchased at Hamilton General Store in Yellowstone National Park.

Before leaving to tour Glacier National Park, we skipped a few rocks across Swan Lake. Lydia liked this new game. She drew back, heaved the stone with all her might and main, and then cried, “I skipped it!” while the rock was still in midair.

Since trailers are not allowed to cross Going-to-the-Sun Road in the Park, we unhitched, put the day’s food supplies into the pop-up camper, and then were off to Glacier National Park, stopping first to see Hungry Horse Dam, the biggest dam, except Hoover, I’d ever seen. At a small gas station, Joseph and Hester bought themselves small sou­venirs--plastic pencil sharpeners and rulers with the words Glacier National Park printed on them, and pictures on all sides; and a couple of sparkly pens with Montana etched on the side.

Lydia was sleeping and did not go into the station, so I decided I’d better buy her a souvenir. But since it was just a small gas station, the inventory was somewhat lacking, and it seemed that Joseph and Hester must’ve bought up the last of the gifts. I was about to give up when I spotted a pretty pink-speckled coffee mug, the lidded type that is espe­cially for traveling. On each side was a picture of an elk, and under the picture it said, “Montana.” I bought it, thinking that perhaps it would do until we were able to find the child something better.

We never needed to find anything better.

It was Lydia’s favorite souvenir of all time, and, furthermore, it has outlasted all the other souvenirs. It is still used with fondness to this day.

Just before we entered the Park, we slowed to let a wild turkey hen with a flock of fluffy chicks cross the road. They kept looking worriedly back toward us, uttering small “peep peep peep peep peep”s. Lydia crooned, “It’s okay, little chickies; we wouldn’t run you over!”

In Glacier National Park we observed the most amazing scenery I’d ever seen in my entire life. Those Rockies were awesome. No picture can do it justice. The hanging gardens were alive with all colors of blossoms. Mountain goats browsed amongst the rocks, and the babies were every bit as sure-footed as their parents were.

Bright red old-fashioned tour buses were driven by young drivers who raced furi­ously over Going-to-the-Sun Road, evidently in hopes of giving elderly people heart at­tacks, thereby alleviating the population crush, and to enliven the lives of the mid­dle-aged, who have a tendency to get in a rut. We walked around the visitor’s center at the top of the pass, taking pictures of the children with Mount Clements in the back­ground. Mount Clements, right at the top of Logan Pass, is called The Crown of the Continent.

“Bwight! Bwight!” exclaimed Caleb, squinting in the mountain sunlight. He was ten months old, that very day. After crossing Logan Pass at the top of Going-to-the-Sun Road heading east, and arriving at St. Mary’s Lake, we turned north and headed to Water­ton National Park. These two national parks abut each other, and they are jointly christened Waterton-Glacier Peace Park, referring to the peaceful coexistence of these two great countries, Canada and the United States. As we stood viewing Chief Moun­tain, a unique square-shaped mountain with a flat top, a Rufous hummingbird came whizzing out of the trees, whirred around my head, hovered near Teddy’s red-clad arm for several seconds, and then darted right through the triangle his arm made as he stood there, hand on hip. Teddy was enthralled. Soon we headed back the way we’d come, slowing to allow a herd of cattle to cross the road.

We ate supper in a picnic area by McDonald Lake. The moon and evening star were reflected in the river beside us. Warnings about bears were posted at each nearby trailhead. Teddy and Joseph headed for the rest rooms. It was getting dark. Just then, a lady unexpectedly popped around from the other side, and they both jumped out of their hides and yelped a small duet, whereupon the lady obligingly growled ferociously, after which the boys jumped even higher and yelped even louder. Their siblings didn’t get over their mirth for a long, long time.

As I was gingerly stepping out of the pop-up camper, arms full of dishes and food, Lydia, watching me, said anxiously, “Don’t try to hurt yourself, Mama!”

Hester, who was five, pointed at a small yew bush. “Is this poisoned Ivan?” she inquired innocently.

This brought another moment of hilarity, since we all knew a person by that very name who could quite properly be characterized as ‘poisoned’.

Returning to our trailer, everybody showered in the delightful little log-cabin shower rooms. We tucked everybody into bed. . . Then, listen. . . wolves! We were exhilarated to be able to hear real, live, honest-to-goodness wolves!

I opened the windows in our bedroom, the better to hear them.

But we were wrong.

It wasn’t wolves.

It was ‘music’ from a bar a mile down the road. Bother. I closed the window.

The following day, which was Sunday, we washed clothes. Yes, yes; I knew it was the Lord’s Day, a day during which we were supposed to rest; but I didn’t think we shouldn’t run around bare, either; and that’s what we would’ve been doing shortly, had we not washed some clothes. We foolishly chose a little mountain laundry with only four washers and four dryers. That is not a timesaving agendum when there are nine loads of clothes to be washed. So everybody wound up having a bit of a Sunday rest beside a pretty little pond, after all, while the ancient machines chugged away with our clothes inside them.

And then we went to Canada! We told the children that now they could say they’d been to Canada twice--once to Chief Mountain in Alberta, and now as we passed into British Columbia. When we went through Customs, the man asked our nationality. I, trying to look intelligent, said knowledgeably, “American.”

He nodded and smiled indulgently, and I realized he was every bit as American as I was. So I ended up looking sheepish instead.

Immediately across the border, we stopped to take pictures of the funniest-looking black and white llama.

At a quaint little country general store, we overheard the proprietor talking with the only other customer. Hearing the phrase “Going-to-the-Sun Road”, we stepped closer to listen in. We learned that the day after we had gone over the pass, a pickup had driven over the edge of the road and tumbled down the mountainside! There were three people in the cab, and one in the box. It seems they’d met up with a large motorhome on a tight, narrow curve, mountain wall on one side, deep chasm on the other; and the driver of the motorhome, in an attempt to keep from scraping his vehicle on the rocks to his right, had veered into the other lane.

The pickup driver, endeavoring to avoid a collision, swerved to his right.....too far. Over it went. The man in the back jumped out. The pickup somersaulted and rolled sickeningly. One hundred fifty feet down, the pickup hit a tree, and the people in the front, who luckily were not strapped in, fell out. The pickup went on down the steep, rocky slope another 1200 feet, winding up nothing more than a wadded ball of metal. And the worst injuries were a broken wrist, and a broken rib!

After camping beside the ninety-mile-long Lake Koocanusa, whose name comes from its location--partly in Kootenay National Park, partly in Canada, and partly in the USA, we proceeded on to Kootenay National Park. The air smelled strongly of smoke, and we knew that somewhere nearby were forest fires. We had been driving through for­est on relatively flat land when we came to the entrance of the Park. A large, beautiful brick gateway welcomed. We rounded a cor­ner--and suddenly, there we were, traveling along in a dark, narrow crevice of a canyon with rock walls on either side. The tempera­ture abruptly dropped ten degrees. The trees went up...and up...and up. A Dall sheep stood beside the road, chewing its cud placidly. On a small pond, we snapped photos of ducks that were a cross between a mallard and a black.
Traveling through Kootenay, we went on into Banff National Park, then over to Yoho National Park. This trek was comprised of a twisting course that took us from British Columbia over the mountains to Alberta, and then back again to British Columbia on a narrow, scenic road that crossed the Great Divide several times and had a pretty picnic area up on top, right between the two provinces.

We’d seen absolutely no cars on this little out-of-the-way road, having gotten on it entirely by accident while looking for a nice place to eat. This Search For A Picnic Table had its beginning at the beautiful Lake Louise Hotel, where we had unintentionally turned onto the curved drive that led right up to the ornate front doors of the enormous, graceful old hotel. The grounds of the inn were lovely and picturesque, and refined gen­tlemen and aristocratic ladies were strolling the promenade, several of the women even sporting Battenburg-lace parasols.

On a grassy incline in the middle of an attractive courtyard, a Scottish man in a red-plaid kilt stood playing a long wooden horn. It was approximately twenty feet in length, shaped like an elongated smoker’s pipe. The man was very skilled, for when he played the instrument, the sweetest, most dulcet tones one could ever imagine issued from the wooden bowl. The song he was playing sounded like our hymn, Hark the Voice of Jesus Calling.....but I am not sure, for, you see, we were driving.....

A Cummins turbo diesel.

And pulling a ’66 Holiday Rambler. We sounded mighty similar to an old John Deere tractor, circa 1933.

So there we went, rumbling loudly up the circle drive, heading straight for the low awning--and the Cadilacs, Porsches, and Mercedes parked under it.

People stopped strolling and stared at us in amazement and, no doubt, with ire, because of the drowning out of the melodious strain, and probably also with a good deal of apprehension as to just whether or not we would actually be able to fit through the passageway we were making toward with steady resolution, without sideswiping their high-priced carriages or bringing the awning down upon them.

I slid down low in my seat and donned sunglasses, so that if I met up with any of these people in another, more distinguished life, they shouldn’t possibly recognize me. The children had no such compunctions; they remained at the windows, noses pressed to the glass.

We made it through the corridor, causing great anxiety among the scant quantity of air molecules between those gleaming vehicles and us, and between awning and us.

Escaping that embarrassment, we somehow wound up on a narrow, blacktop road along which, we hoped, we would find a place to eat. When we came to the picnic area on the province boundary lines, we assumed we’d found the perfect, secluded hideaway for supper.....until the tour buses started coming through. And stopping.

They came at the rate of one every three minutes, I think. All the people piled out and rushed madly about, exclaiming frenetically in French, peering hungrily into our dishes, taking pictures of anything and everything, including us. I suppose they figured, by our attire and our transportation, that we’d been planted and paid to stage an old-fashioned family, picnicking and traveling “the way it was done back then”. We continued eating with a little more decorum than usual.

Finally getting back on our route, we went back to Banff, then on up to Jasper National Park. Glaciers hung over every peak. The lakes were turquoise green from glacier silt, sometimes called ‘flour’. It was still twilight at 10:30 p.m., and we often saw elk at the side of the road. Larry thought he caught a glimpse of a moose in the Ath­abasca River; I thought it was a large bird. “I think I can tell the difference between a moose and bird!” he ex­claimed.

“And I think I can tell the difference between a bird and a moose!” I retorted.

The debate was never resolved.

At River Crossing, a big truck stop and gift shop, the children all bought sou­venirs. They thought I’d really pulled the right lever when I handed the clerk a one hun­dred dollar bill to pay for our purchases, and, as change, was given one hundred twenty-eight dollars and forty cents. Imagine how deflated they were when it worked the other way around when we re-entered the States.
We camped in a remote park just a little south of the town of Jasper. The river’s torrent, only a hundred feet from our campsite, sang an untamed melody throughout the night, and, at the first light of the dawn, myriad varieties of birds warbled cheery cho­ruses.

Later in that morning, as we were pulling out of a gas station, Larry suddenly asked, “Where’s Aleutia?”

I looked up and got a strange start: there was a big black and white Husky watching us with interest from the other side of the road! We came to a stop and were starting to open our door to load the dog back up again, when we realized Aleutia herself was sticking her head through the back pickup window from the pop-up camper where she rode, ears up, wondering what we wanted.

In the middle of Jasper, right in the business district, a couple of elk were saun­ter­ing down the sidewalk as if they were ordinary tourists heading for the next gift shop. While we were there, we decided to improve our image by running both trailer and pickup through a truck wash. But what a nasty trick to pull on all the tourists there!--of course it always rains after we wash our vehicles. And that day was no exception. If fact, it poured. But the unique phenomenon during this squall was this: the sun shone on. What a rainbow that spawned! And, as noted before, it didn’t flood.

To be continued...