Destination: Anchorage

February, Alcan drive, the Alaska-Canadian Highway, destination: Anchorage.

At Blaine, Washington border, Canadian officials inquire how much cash I have.

“$950.” He stares; I stare back.

“Not enough, but I will let you pass.”

I drove through with my dog Eddie and cat Mimi curled up close in the passenger seat of my four-wheel drive Jeep Wagoneer.

We wound through the Fraser River Valley and Canadian Rockies. Jagged glacier-covered peaks stood out in the blue skies. Snow gauges read fifteen feet in places, so I stayed middle of the road; four-wheel wouldn’t get me out of a deep ditch.

From a high point, I looked down on the Yukon River, snaking along, frozen in places. Everything white from horizon to horizon, the snow glare tried to blind me, but my polarized sunglasses saved me. Passing headlights blinked in a howdy, friendly gesture in the barren, frozen tundra.

I stopped briefly and shoved the cardboard in front of the radiator to keep it from freezing, hands covered in heavy mittens.

Marking the time, I drove again, eyeing the radiator gauge, knowing the makeshift protector would have to come off in a bit. Driving while eating, we made good time despite the snowy road.

Large flakes of snow fell, blotting out the horizon and the sky. In the blizzard white-out, I stopped to pee with Eddie. Suddenly, the snow parted to reveal seven caribou, a misty cloud blowing from their nostrils as we stared at each other, surprised, in the snowy wonderland.