Please Don't Leave The Light On

Straight, strong, and mud-like coffee keeps us going as we navigate the blinding white, hard-packed gravel road, heading north. We have crossed the sixtieth parallel and use peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches thickly spread on rye bread, along with long strands of red licorice, to stave off hunger without stopping for breaks. For amusement, I stick one end of a string in my mouth, and he takes the other end. We chew it until our cheeks touch. No worries about refrigerating a sandwich with mayonnaise in it, in these cold, below-zero temperatures. The quart-sized stainless thermos of java is shared between us; I drink from the lid, and he slurps out of his oversize Alaska Railroad mug. I've never drunk so much coffee in my life, but we want to get to Anchorage and are driving nonstop from the Lower 48. It's a good thing we both have young bladders and can hold off for five to six hours before taking a potty break.

Our trek takes place in the dead of winter, late January, and the thermometer reads -49°F. The cold is brutal. A few times exhaustion overcame us, and we stopped for two-hour rests. We used multiple sleeping bags piled on top of us to stay warm, usually in the parking lot of a closed roadhouse. Many times, tire tracks were visible in the parking lots, showing others had stopped. The places were closed up for the winter, owners gone to warmer climes. One place had a large sign that warned against letting personal pets roam loose due to the presence of dangerous wildlife. Fuel stations are few and far between in the Yukon, but our map is marked with the precise mile markers for each one.

Jimmy fell asleep, and I'd been driving our bronze Dodge van for three hours. I carefully watched the radiator gauge for signs of overheating, as the cardboard placed in front of it was intended to prevent freezing and warm the engine. That procedure could cause the radiator temperature to rise. A paradox, I know.

Twelve hours remain to our destination, barring flat tires, blizzards, and animal or other hazards. I don't want to wake my redhead lover, but I need to pee, and there was absolutely no way I would pull over near an avalanche sign. It seemed the coast was clear now, and I couldn't hold it much longer.

"Hey, wake up. I need to pee. I'm going to stop."

"Huh?"

"I'm going to stop and pee. Then you drive. Pour some coffee and get ready."

Checking the rearview mirror, I saw no headlights approaching and slowed down. Rolling about ten miles per hour, I peered upward at the sky, watching the curtains of pink and green swirling over our heads. "Look out the window. The Lights are out! Amazing!"  I smiled as his red hair ruffled in the wintry gusts when he stuck his head out the window, until I felt the blast of unbelievably frigid air. I almost changed my mind about peeing outside. We had a milk jug in the back, but it seemed easier just to do it in the road. "I'm going to pee in the middle of the road, right behind the van, so you get in the driver's seat." He was gulping the hot coffee and poured some into the lid for me to drink when I returned.

Watching the sides of the road and the culverts on both sides for wildlife, I trotted to the back of the van. There were no headlights behind us, and none coming from the front. The pitch-black sky was filled with large and small cut-outs, twinkling jewels in the sliver of a moonlit sky. On cue, an enormous curtain of Aurora lights covered the Milky Way in magenta and malachite, fading to white, then pulsating to pistachio green. I squatted near the bumper, pulling my thick flannel-lined winter pants only down far enough to pee quickly, feet spread wide, staring at the light show. Yep, I peed and left a yellow mark on the Alcan in the middle of the Yukon at -49 degrees! It didn't freeze like water, because, well, you know, it was 98.6 degrees coming out. Bragging rights in the Yukon!

I jerked my pants up, tugging at the frozen zipper, and ran to the passenger door, my nose icy and my eyes feeling like frozen peas. "Damn, it is so cold. My eyes feel frozen."

"What about your other end?" He smirked at me, and I burst out laughing. "Ready? Buckle up, it's time to go. Hold your coffee, off we go." He shoved the van into drive, and as he gave it gas, it fishtailed on the ice until he straightened it. An alabaster landscape spread far and wide, with no trees in sight. The Northern Lights swirled in front and above us, sheer curtains of changing colors with bright crystals twinkling between the swirls.

"We're close to home now, Babe."

"WOW! Did you see that purple curtain? Look, now it's green! I never get tired of watching the Lights." We grinned at each other and kissed, his tongue a nutty coffee lushness in my mouth.

"You want me to drive?"

"Nah, I'm good, just fill my mug again, please." I filled his mug with coffee from the second thermos, tossing the empty one behind his seat. My watch now said eight thirty. The magical Aurora Lights had concluded our private display as daybreak approached. Right as we were about to head through some hilly terrain, I saw movement on the side of the road.

"Look, caribou!" A small group of caribou jumped a fence alongside the road, one at a time. He slowed, and we watched the adults leap the fence from a standstill, in single file, while the youngsters required a short running start. The enormous antlers on the males and the smaller ones on the females resembled the branches of Sumac trees. As they leaped the fence and trotted off, their cream rumps displayed in the reflected light of the snow, similar to the faces of Arctic hares. Two large chestnut porcupines used the reindeer hoofprints to climb under the fence, and we watched as they waddled off into the dark.

Close to Anchorage, the sun began to break through the winter sky with weak beams, like a flashlight on low battery power. The minutes ticked by, and the sky turned gold and pink with streaks of blue. It was ten in the morning when the sun finally cracked out of the horizon fully and sat low on a bluebonnet sky. The goldenrod color of the downtown Sunshine Mall glittered through the six-foot rack of a bull moose strolling across the main street.  

"Bullwinkle still rules downtown," he said, and we high-fived each other, glad to be home.

Copyright ©8/14/2025 by Andrea O. Corwin

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