Goodbye Canada, eh?

We got off to a bit of a later start the morning after our gambling/golfing/salooning adventure as can probably be expected. We had planned to cross the border early, putting the chapter of strange Yukon towns and cute Canadian accents behind us; however, we decided to take one last ferry ride over the river to say our final good-byes (ok really just to get food). Lucky for us it turned out to be First Nation Day and we soaked up some sun while enjoying free fried dough and watching little kids trying to jig. A note here, it became obvious that my unique style of dance can now be categorized as children trying to jig. Pressley, one of the young jiggers, seemed to be too preoccupied with his cookie to jig, clearly he was our favorite.

During this time I found $2.50 Canadian money and reasoned (quite logically I think) that the only thing to do with it was to head back to the casino. We waited until 2 p.m. when the casino opened and were the first ones there along with the serious gamblers. We deposited the quarters into what was once thought of by us as a free money machine and our quarters were lost in the endless abyss, reunited with the quarters we had deposited the previous night in what I can only imagine as some giant quarter orgy.

Anyway, soon enough we were off along the dirt road aptly named Top of the World Highway. Because of the winding dirt roads it took far longer than usual to cross the short distance, but at last we approached the flapping American flag. The border consisted of a single dirt road passing a small wooden cabin and a single customs officer. We were home, or at least somewhere where we could no longer respond to the question where are you from with, “The States.” Our handy mile post guide instructed us where the next gas station was, about 5 miles from the border. We were in desperate need of gas and had yet to pass a single gas station.

It was Rachel’s turn to pump so Isabelle and I remarked on how ridiculous the old pumps looked and took pictures until a panicked Rachel returned with the news, the station was closed. Not just closed for the night but closed. Permanently closed. Forever closed. Quite a predicament seeing that the gas light chose this moment to mockingly alight and we were 50 miles from the nearest “town.” We have relied on the kindness of strangers throughout this trip, something difficult for a bunch of current city dwellers, and considered how to do this now. We could hitch in and pick up gas, but too risky in case we couldn’t get a ride back. It would have to be the United States government that came to the rescue. We drove the short distance back to the border and I put on my most helpless and pathetic face before approaching the cabin. Luckily the station had extra gas and was willing to sell it to us. I’m sure it was the most exciting thing that had happened there that day. Mid-fill, however, a man seemingly out of the blue tried to cross the border by foot with no baggage and a mere T-shirt, especially curious because the nearest town was the one which we had driven approximately 2 hours from.

The first piece of civilization we came across in Alaska was Chicken. Chicken, Alaska, how do I even begin to describe you? It is essentially a three building center with a wicked sense of humor. Every building includes a hilarious story and some ridiculous reference to chicken (apparently the original settlers couldn’t spell Ptarmigan and thus settled on Chicken). After one of their hot and delicious famous cinnamon rolls we were back on the road again ready to begin the second chapter of our journey.