After leaving Valleyview in the Peace River District headed south to stay at a campground on the Athabasca River beside the highway in Whitecourt, the principal city before you reach Edmonton. Got gasoline at ESSO and shopped at IGA. The grocery store was well-stocked but nothing was very fresh as little is grown locally. Sagitawah RV Park was nearly fully booked with oil patch workers.
On Thursday, October seventh I continued south taking the Cowboy Highway recently celebrated in song by Corb Lund for the CBC. Highway 22 has been re-aligned and recently paved making it a dart straight roadway that lacks any opportunity to pull off and admire the Rocky Mountain Foothills it gives access to. Upon reaching Rocky Mountain House I encountered a horror of highway construction that continued as I drove east toward Red Deer. That great navigator and cartographer David Thompson would have had a hard time finding the remains of the Hudsons Bay Post at which he spent two winters. I managed to find the Visitor’s Centre/Museum and discovered its agents out to lunch. Sylvan Lake will be forever etched in my mind for the construction equipment and broken roads I had to maneuver downtown and the raised intersections along Lakeshore Dr.
For the next week I marked time at Ol MacDonalds Resort on Buffalo Lake north of Stettler. In the shape of an upside-down Buffalo the lake provides sandy beaches for several parks. A going concern in summer this place was shut down and the water turned off save for the electricity and on again/off again Wi-Fi. With no one else there for most of the time but the caretakers I enjoyed serenity and the howl of the coyotes at night. Spent a couple nights up by the beach and caught some beautiful shots and a visit from a pileated woodpecker. I wish I could say I had an opportunity to view the aurora but the bright lights of Edmonton to the North, Red Deer to the West, and powerful yard light to the east made that impossible.
Driving south from Red Deer I stopped at the Alberta Motor Association in Calgary to arrange Emergency Medical Coverage for the winter and headed south to Lethbrige. Henderson Lake Campground is located in the middle of a series of civic parks and next door to the Exhibition Grounds. On Saturday the weekly Farmer’s Market was overrun with electoral hopefuls vying for election, 3 for the position of mayor and 30 for 8 aldermanic seats. Loads of Brussels sprout trees and pumpkins on offer along with the usual baked goods, Elk and Buffalo Jerky, sausages, Mennonites and Hutterites in flowing beards, preserves, handmade soaps, and other handicrafts. Mead I know but alfalfa wine?
Sunday Morning made church at Immanuel Lutheran located in the new community located in an Oxbow of Oldman River. After service I headed off to the border at Coutts/Sweetgrass. After a 45 minute line-up I was asked to surrender my tomatoes. Three hour waits are not unheard of and three small tomatoes were a minor inconvenience compared to what might have been. That night Dick’s RV Park was located in a triangle of land between the Missouri River, Hwy 15, and the railway tracks with airport across the highway. At least the washroom across from my site was open.
Monday night in Billings Montana the water was shut down along with everything else but the hydro. Remind me that it is not a good idea to drive 300 miles in one day--not for me in any case. Following my GPS I headed down I-15 past Helena and the road to Missoula thinking the while of Norman MacLean and A River Runs Through It. Near the town of Cascade I made a stop at a pullout and overlook marking the Saint Peter’s Mission home for fourteen years to one Louis Riel who taught there before returning for the fateful rebellion of 1874. Later at the interchange with Hwy 90 another overlook gave views of Butte, ostensibly underlain by 10,000 miles of mine shafts which yielded millions of tons of gold, silver, lead and other minerals. Opposite on the heights stands a White Madonna and her chapel. Heading east most roads south lead to Yellowstone National Park but alas the place is largely closed at this point in the season. Yellowstone River RV Park was a peaceful respite from the highway and a walk to the river provided views of the rocky outcrops opposite.
On Wednesday October 20th drove uptown to shop at Albertsons passing the Women’s Prison, Police Station, Probation Service, and City Hall on the way. After a welter of one-way streets even my GPS couldn’t navigate made it to the Flying J Truckstop for gasoline and propane. Gas varies widely in price it seems. Heading south into Wyoming there is little to relieve the eye save for yellow-brown grass, the yellow leaves of the poplars near creeks and streams, purple sagebush, and blue-grey rocky outcrops. With a base of largely sandy soil there are so many bumps and depressions in the highway they don’t bother to mark them. The city of Casper, Wyoming is so-named after a Lieutenant Caspar because a city clerk couldn’t spell. The Fort Caspar RV Park occasioned my rant over Wi-Fi-Rv and with its ill-natured revolting signs made me come to describe the experience as mean-spirited. It was one place I was happy to leave.
The nearby National Historic Trail Centre was the one place the gal at the Wyoming Welcome Centre told me I had to see, the free coffee there was poured down the water fountain as undrinkable. After a multi-faceted audio-visual presentation utlilizing covered wagons and even the nose of a train the exhibits circled the theatre giving one a chance to cross the Platte River in a covered wagon as it jolted with the crossing displayed on a screen in front of one. A treadmill and handcart gave one the opportunity to experience what it was like to pull one 16 hours a day for 2000 miles--too slow or fast and you’ll never make it, just right was a gruelling effort. Even after two years of retirement my hackles still raise at talk of the pony express. The coming of the railroad finally ended the overland migrations of nearly half a million settlers. Outside overlooking the Platte River Crossing Elk fed on the prairie grass.
An hour-long drive over more undulating highway got me to the town of Glendo which owes its existance to coal and the reservoire created by damming the Platte River and the State Park which surrounds it. The privately owned RV Park is on a side-hill west of the ‘lake’ and still under construction. The owner’s welcoming attitude was in complete contrast to my last experience. I’d have glady stayed longer but for the unrelenting coal train traffic and sirens plus the threat of an approaching fall storm barrelling up the Pacific West Coast. I did not relish riding out a storm on that exposed side-hill.
Driving along Interstate 25 past historic Fort Laramie in a modern automobile may not equate with the covered wagon train experience but the scenery is little changed since their day. Cheyenne, the capitol of Wyoming is located on the Colorado Border with government and the military its principal employers. In summer wild-west shoot-outs are still staged for the benefit of tourists. Nearby Fort Laramie was the site of the Matthew Shepard fatal gay-bashing. If one were to be seeking red-necks and trailer-park trash this would seem to be a good place to look. How can 5 people live in one 35-foot trailer? The trailing vines covering the mini-golf fairways are indicative of the overall decrepitude of the parks here but any port in a storm. I didn’t know people still used those continuous-roll hand towel systems any more.
Described as a fall storm the Pacific West-Coast is being deluged by 5 inches of rain followed by high winds and a deep freeze. With the threat of heavy rain and thunderstorms, winds gusting to 70 miles an hour, a cold snap and possible snow I deemed it prudent to stay put until the storm blew past. Over the past weekend I was beginning to wonder if I’d panicked; rain in any amount is an event around here but the thundershowers failed to materialize and when this morning dawned with the temperature at 54ยบ F it gave me pause. However during the day the wind has picked up and the thermometer has been steadily dropping. Around 3 the first of two snow squalls hit followed by a period of sleet around supper time. Several gusts of wind have made it feel like someone was outside rocking my van. South of me at higher elevations the conditons are move severe so I feel vindicated.
Reminder to self, at 6062 feet it takes longer to boil spaghetti then at sea level.
On Thursday, October seventh I continued south taking the Cowboy Highway recently celebrated in song by Corb Lund for the CBC. Highway 22 has been re-aligned and recently paved making it a dart straight roadway that lacks any opportunity to pull off and admire the Rocky Mountain Foothills it gives access to. Upon reaching Rocky Mountain House I encountered a horror of highway construction that continued as I drove east toward Red Deer. That great navigator and cartographer David Thompson would have had a hard time finding the remains of the Hudsons Bay Post at which he spent two winters. I managed to find the Visitor’s Centre/Museum and discovered its agents out to lunch. Sylvan Lake will be forever etched in my mind for the construction equipment and broken roads I had to maneuver downtown and the raised intersections along Lakeshore Dr.
For the next week I marked time at Ol MacDonalds Resort on Buffalo Lake north of Stettler. In the shape of an upside-down Buffalo the lake provides sandy beaches for several parks. A going concern in summer this place was shut down and the water turned off save for the electricity and on again/off again Wi-Fi. With no one else there for most of the time but the caretakers I enjoyed serenity and the howl of the coyotes at night. Spent a couple nights up by the beach and caught some beautiful shots and a visit from a pileated woodpecker. I wish I could say I had an opportunity to view the aurora but the bright lights of Edmonton to the North, Red Deer to the West, and powerful yard light to the east made that impossible.
Driving south from Red Deer I stopped at the Alberta Motor Association in Calgary to arrange Emergency Medical Coverage for the winter and headed south to Lethbrige. Henderson Lake Campground is located in the middle of a series of civic parks and next door to the Exhibition Grounds. On Saturday the weekly Farmer’s Market was overrun with electoral hopefuls vying for election, 3 for the position of mayor and 30 for 8 aldermanic seats. Loads of Brussels sprout trees and pumpkins on offer along with the usual baked goods, Elk and Buffalo Jerky, sausages, Mennonites and Hutterites in flowing beards, preserves, handmade soaps, and other handicrafts. Mead I know but alfalfa wine?
Sunday Morning made church at Immanuel Lutheran located in the new community located in an Oxbow of Oldman River. After service I headed off to the border at Coutts/Sweetgrass. After a 45 minute line-up I was asked to surrender my tomatoes. Three hour waits are not unheard of and three small tomatoes were a minor inconvenience compared to what might have been. That night Dick’s RV Park was located in a triangle of land between the Missouri River, Hwy 15, and the railway tracks with airport across the highway. At least the washroom across from my site was open.
Monday night in Billings Montana the water was shut down along with everything else but the hydro. Remind me that it is not a good idea to drive 300 miles in one day--not for me in any case. Following my GPS I headed down I-15 past Helena and the road to Missoula thinking the while of Norman MacLean and A River Runs Through It. Near the town of Cascade I made a stop at a pullout and overlook marking the Saint Peter’s Mission home for fourteen years to one Louis Riel who taught there before returning for the fateful rebellion of 1874. Later at the interchange with Hwy 90 another overlook gave views of Butte, ostensibly underlain by 10,000 miles of mine shafts which yielded millions of tons of gold, silver, lead and other minerals. Opposite on the heights stands a White Madonna and her chapel. Heading east most roads south lead to Yellowstone National Park but alas the place is largely closed at this point in the season. Yellowstone River RV Park was a peaceful respite from the highway and a walk to the river provided views of the rocky outcrops opposite.
On Wednesday October 20th drove uptown to shop at Albertsons passing the Women’s Prison, Police Station, Probation Service, and City Hall on the way. After a welter of one-way streets even my GPS couldn’t navigate made it to the Flying J Truckstop for gasoline and propane. Gas varies widely in price it seems. Heading south into Wyoming there is little to relieve the eye save for yellow-brown grass, the yellow leaves of the poplars near creeks and streams, purple sagebush, and blue-grey rocky outcrops. With a base of largely sandy soil there are so many bumps and depressions in the highway they don’t bother to mark them. The city of Casper, Wyoming is so-named after a Lieutenant Caspar because a city clerk couldn’t spell. The Fort Caspar RV Park occasioned my rant over Wi-Fi-Rv and with its ill-natured revolting signs made me come to describe the experience as mean-spirited. It was one place I was happy to leave.
The nearby National Historic Trail Centre was the one place the gal at the Wyoming Welcome Centre told me I had to see, the free coffee there was poured down the water fountain as undrinkable. After a multi-faceted audio-visual presentation utlilizing covered wagons and even the nose of a train the exhibits circled the theatre giving one a chance to cross the Platte River in a covered wagon as it jolted with the crossing displayed on a screen in front of one. A treadmill and handcart gave one the opportunity to experience what it was like to pull one 16 hours a day for 2000 miles--too slow or fast and you’ll never make it, just right was a gruelling effort. Even after two years of retirement my hackles still raise at talk of the pony express. The coming of the railroad finally ended the overland migrations of nearly half a million settlers. Outside overlooking the Platte River Crossing Elk fed on the prairie grass.
An hour-long drive over more undulating highway got me to the town of Glendo which owes its existance to coal and the reservoire created by damming the Platte River and the State Park which surrounds it. The privately owned RV Park is on a side-hill west of the ‘lake’ and still under construction. The owner’s welcoming attitude was in complete contrast to my last experience. I’d have glady stayed longer but for the unrelenting coal train traffic and sirens plus the threat of an approaching fall storm barrelling up the Pacific West Coast. I did not relish riding out a storm on that exposed side-hill.
Driving along Interstate 25 past historic Fort Laramie in a modern automobile may not equate with the covered wagon train experience but the scenery is little changed since their day. Cheyenne, the capitol of Wyoming is located on the Colorado Border with government and the military its principal employers. In summer wild-west shoot-outs are still staged for the benefit of tourists. Nearby Fort Laramie was the site of the Matthew Shepard fatal gay-bashing. If one were to be seeking red-necks and trailer-park trash this would seem to be a good place to look. How can 5 people live in one 35-foot trailer? The trailing vines covering the mini-golf fairways are indicative of the overall decrepitude of the parks here but any port in a storm. I didn’t know people still used those continuous-roll hand towel systems any more.
Described as a fall storm the Pacific West-Coast is being deluged by 5 inches of rain followed by high winds and a deep freeze. With the threat of heavy rain and thunderstorms, winds gusting to 70 miles an hour, a cold snap and possible snow I deemed it prudent to stay put until the storm blew past. Over the past weekend I was beginning to wonder if I’d panicked; rain in any amount is an event around here but the thundershowers failed to materialize and when this morning dawned with the temperature at 54ยบ F it gave me pause. However during the day the wind has picked up and the thermometer has been steadily dropping. Around 3 the first of two snow squalls hit followed by a period of sleet around supper time. Several gusts of wind have made it feel like someone was outside rocking my van. South of me at higher elevations the conditons are move severe so I feel vindicated.
Reminder to self, at 6062 feet it takes longer to boil spaghetti then at sea level.
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