On May 31^st, 2011, I de-boarded my plane in Seattle, Washington, exceptionally tired owing to my 2:30 AM alarm clock signaling that I needed to get my butt out of bed if I wished to make my 6:00 AM flight out of Denver, Colorado.  I met up in the airport with Mimi and Evan (as already mentioned my two best friends who were to be my partners in crime for our big move to Homer, Alaska), who looked equally as tired as me.  Exhaustion aside, the three of us knew that once we walked out of that airport we were to begin our much anticipated road trip up north.  This road trip began as small talk in a bar in Breckenridge, Colorado, during the month of April, when all three of us pretty much had no utter clue what in the heck we were going to do for the summer.  Talk about committing to extravagant plans.  So here we were, based on a decision made instantaneously, packed to the max in a 2001 Silver Nissan Passat (the owner being Mr. Evan himself who had termed his speedy ride “The Silver Bullet”), ready to drive to Alaska, or more specifically, Homer, Alaska, over the next six days.  Adventure time…check!

I think the best overall word to describe the road trip from Seattle, Washington, to Homer, Alaska, is V-A-S-T….VAST.  EVERYTHING, including the forests, the valleys, the mountain ranges, the rivers, the road, seemed to stretch on for thousands and thousands of miles untainted by the ever growing destructive population of that rather clever race called humans.  For me, having that extensive reach, that feeling that nothing will enclose in on you, that nothing will over exert its existence on your space is one of the most exhilarating and liberating feelings ever experienced.  But that’s just me!

So, we began our road trip with Evan at the wheel, Mimi in the front seat, and me tucked away in “the cave” (a word we used to describe the cramped single open seat in the back of The Silver Bullet), ready for an easy three and a half hour drive (“easy” due to our long flight schedules experienced earlier that day), which would include a Canadian border crossing, and a stop for the night in the small town of Hope, British Columbia.

The next morning we woke to a foggy, glooming sky hovelled around lush, green peaks as we zipped away from Hope, BC.  That day we sped through a mountain pass, green pastures, windswept lakes, and hundreds of miles of open plains in order to arrive twelve hours later in the city of Dawson’s Creek (yep like the TV show), British Columbia.  This city was very close to the Alberta border and stood out in stark contrast compared to Hope, BC.  The air was at a much warmer and drier temperature and we were now encompassed not by lush mountains, but rather by stretching flat plains that created no depth perception as to where they began or ended.

We departed Dawson’s Creek the next day (now on the official Alaskan Highway which starts in Dawson’s Creek) ready for a ten hour drive that would end in the rarely visited province of the Yukon.  The more we pressed north the more apparent the empty vastness became as we crept deeper and deeper into the untainted wilderness of the North.  This was where the road began to decrease in condition as well as use.  At points we would have to slow our driving pace closer to thirty mph owing to the sudden loose gravel sections that would appear at random increments on the highway.  This road stretch truly depicted what the term “open road” really means, what with the sheer lack of traffic, the rarity of towns, and the VAST forests stretching into the oblivion (according to a recently watched episode of Planet Earth, the forests located in this northern stretch of the world—which circle the globe—are referred to as the Taiga and make up one third of all the trees on earth), which produced the obvious insight that we really were driving through one of mother earth’s last frontiers.  Throw in a dusting of snow, crooked trees that looked like they were the inspiration for Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax, jade lakes, rock-strewn mountain passes, gliding rivers, baby caribou, and wild bison and you have a clear picture of what life was like before the encroaching industry of mankind placed its iron grip on the natural world.  I think it is now apparent that I have more of an affinity towards the outdoors rather than cities…ha!

That night we stayed in the tiny town of Watson’s Lake, Yukon, at a hostel lodge that was owned and run by a jolly German man who loved the seclusion that the Yukon has to offer.  Everyone moves up here because, as the German put it, “It was just too crowded.”  This statement seems to be a constant theme, at least from what I have noticed, why many, now local Alaskans, moved up from the lower 48.  “Just too damn crowded!”

After departing Watson’s Lake, Yukon, the next day we drove off towards the capitol city, Whitehorse, Yukon, where we stopped at the Yukon Brewing Company to sample the local brews/take a breather from being in the car all day.  It also gave us the chance to indulge in some tasty grub from a recommended local’s favorite restaurant, which was a much needed breather from the typical road trip gas station food.  Then it was off again to Haines Junction, Yukon, which was GORGEOUS due to the panorama of a seemingly unending lake as well as a striking mountain range.  The next stretch of road, which would finally lead us back into the United States through the Alaskan border, was incredibly unmaintained and obviously rarely driven.  Frost heaves had gorged the road into an un-ending rollercoaster of pavement and gravel that did not relent until we finally crossed into our destination state of Alaska.  It was along this stretch of road that we laid eyes upon a very cute black bear that was rummaging through rocks for insects.

We easily made it across the border and zoomed towards the town of Tok, Alaska, where we would be staying the night after another long day of driving for ten hours.  After a greatly needed good night’s sleep (we didn’t have to get up as early because of the decreased number of miles we had to drive that day—only seven), we packed up the car, again, and began to drive through the Alaskan wilderness.  As we continued our approach on Anchorage, the immensely grand and breathtaking mountain range called the Chugach began to appear in the distance as well as our first sighting of a remarkably expansive glacier.  The Chugach Mountain range is IN-CREDIBLE because of how much vertical feet it noticeably gains.  We are talking about jutting from sea level all the way up to 18,000 ft right in front of your eyes: MASSIVE!

As we began to approach Anchorage, we were spit out onto a freeway, which had a little bit of commuter traffic.  All three of us found this slightly overwhelming because of our previous five day seclusion we had experienced through the wilderness.  Once in Anchorage we grabbed some great Italian food from Romano’s restaurant and headed towards Girdwood, the town at the base of the only real ski area in Alaska, Alyeska Resort.  Originally, we were planning on staying the night in Anchorage, but suddenly changed plans because of an offer from a newly acquired friend who said we could crash at his rental place for the night.  This is now going to require a background story so as to explain why in the heck we were able to stay for free at this rental place.

Back in Breckenridge, CO, during the month of May, I pinged my resume/cover letter off to a couple of heli-ski companies based in Valdez, Alaska, the epicenter for Alaskan heli-skiing just to see what would happen.  Surprisingly enough, I heard back from one of the companies, who asked me to give them a call upon my arrival in the big AK, hence the, now, offer on the table to stay for the night.  It is incredibly refreshing when generous hospitality is still apparent in this world!

So that was the reason that we seemed to find ourselves at this super sweet pad in Girdwood, Alaska, where the owner of the heli-ski company, in the company truck, showed us around the town including the ski area, took us to a local bar to hang out, and showed us the helicopters that they use to fly people into the Chugach Mountain Range, which is infamously known in the ski world as one of greatest Meccas of heli-skiing/skiing in general in the entire world.  It was one of those, ummm is this seriously happening to me right now moments?  Like someone please pinch me!  So ridiculously awesome!

The next day, after our outlandish night hanging out with the owner of the heli-ski company, we jumped back in the car very ready for our final four hours of road tripping, which would, at last, drop us into our much sought after destination.  Forty seven hours and two thousand six hundred and fifty nine miles of driving later, we had FINALLY made it to the town that we would now call home: Homer, Alaska.