Don’t Wear Sweatpants on Sundays

So this last Sunday, in preparation for the Super Bowl Commercials, Alex realized we were out of beer.  Football commercials just aren’t the same without beer, so I volunteered to go to the store.

Since I never leave my house, I have a very comfy pair of sweat pants that are light gray, bleach stained, and show any type of wetness on them.  Strike one.

I also hadn’t showered yet this day because if I was going to be eating queso dip and drinking beer all night, I figured I didn’t need to shower quite yet.  Strike two.

And I get into my car, where I had left the windows open and it rained, so I sat down on a very, VERY wet seat.  Strike three.

I get to the gas station and everyone is actively avoiding me.  I know I probably don’t smell that pretty, I’m wearing sweatpants where the rear end was wet, and I looked like total crap because I hadn’t brushed my crazy hair yet and I was dressed like a hobo.

Seriously I had no idea what was going on.  Everyone in the store was actively avoiding me.  I get to the counter and the guy there, who is usually really friendly, couldn’t ring me up fast enough, then basically shoved me out the door.

I understand that it’s a bad idea to leave your house wearing anything but your Sunday’s best on a Sunday, but I didn’t think I’d be totally shunned.

So when I get home, I tell the story to Alex.  He hugs me, then pushes me away. 

“Are you wearing deodorant?”

I shake my head.  “No, I forgot to put some on this morning.”

“I hate to tell you love, but you smell awful.”

My eyes widen.  “Wait a minute… does my butt look wet to you?”

I turn around, and he starts laughing.  “Did you sit down in a puddle of water?”

I start laughing too, of course.

I’m pretty sure that everyone at the gas station thought I had wet my pants and was buying beer. 

This is why I don’t leave my house.

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How the Hunger Games Saved My Marriage: Part III

So we didn’t find a hotel in Montana.  And every hotel we went into between great falls and Medora, ND, had vacancy signs but the people at the desks were total dicks.  By the time we got to Medora, it was around ten in the morning and we decided to say “Fuck it, we’re just going to Grandma’s from here.”

I decided to drive from Medora to Fargo because I had done that drive before with my family. 

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Medora, if you ever get the chance to visit, I suggest it.  It’s in the bad lands in North Dakota and it’s a very pretty landscape of endless fields and the painted canyons.  The musical there is breathtakingly wonderful, the old fashioned pictures are great, and there’s lots to do if you’re there for a day or two.  I highly recommend it.  I’ve been there a few times and I would love to go again in the near future.

 

Anyway, since Alex isn’t really big on sight seeing, he decided to sleep while I drove.  While I had chosen to drive so he could enjoy the beauty that is North Dakota (I don’t care what anyone says, NoDak is beautiful).

At around one PM, we drive through Bismark, to which I decide it’s time to call Grandma and let her know that we’re halfway across NoDak.

Me: Hey Grandma, we’re in Bismark!

Grandma: Okay.  So when will you be here?

Me: Uh… How far is Bismark from Fargo?

Grandma: I dunno, not too far I don’t think.  I’ll have dinner ready at five.  Get here by five.

Me: Uh… okay.

 

So we keep driving and once we get into Fargo I am totally confused.  Fargo had doubled in size the last time I had gone there.  To which Alex, of course, is teasing me.

Alex: I thought you knew Fargo really well.

Me:  I’ve never known it really well, but nothing is the same.  WHERE THE FUCK AM I?!

So I go onto google maps which has caused Alex to take away my driving privelages, which is when we notice Luna.

Luna is shaking in the backseat.  Her tail is wagging and her ears are up.  We’re confused until we realize that the rolling fields of grass look like a giant dog park to her, since the dog park in Alaska was always in a large grassy field.

We roll our eyes.  She thinks that after four days of straight driving we’re at a giant dog park.  Poor girl.

We get to grandma’s to which we arrived ten to five, where grandma was putting food on the table.

Now, I’m pretty sure my grandma is a Wizard.

You see, she was a farmer’s wife for 47 years, and about nine years ago my grandpa died, but she never lost that farmer’s wife mentality.  On top of that, she’s a full blooded Norwegian and has a really thick Minnesota accent and honestly looks like a grandma.  She has the big glasses, short curly white hair, a few inches shorter than me, pleasantly plump, and has a very distinguishable laugh that I adore.  She fits into the grandma look and persona very well.

The reason I say that she’s a wizard is because the food she makes tastes like she used the tears of angels to season it with, all cream based food, with a pistachio dessert that is to die for.  And we were so full.  And we woke up full the next day, 14 hours after we ate.

Like, not even kidding, I’m pretty sure I was going to die.

Now, my grandma is 80 years old and has lost her filter, giving her quite a bit of spunk that she’s never had before.  She mentions about how she doesn’t like animals in the house.  My dogs are passed out on the floor in the living room.

Me: Do you want me to put them outside?

Grandma: No, they can be in here.  But I really don’t like animals in the house.

Me: So tell me, what was it like growing up in the dirty thirties?

Gramdma: Well we had nothing.  No television, no food, hardly any clothes.  Dust everywhere.  And we never had animals in the house. (these are her exact words)

Me: I told you I can put them in the garage or outside.

Grandma: Oh no, they’re fine.  I just don’t think animals belong in the house.

 

I posted on facebook that Alex and I had made it to Grandmas after four days of driving, to which it seemed a lot of my cousins decided to stop by to say hi.  Alex came out to say hi then retreated to the bedroom to pass out.  My cousins and aunt were confused, until I explained that we drove for over 30 hours from Prince George, British Columbia, all the way to Minnesota.

When they realized that I had been awake for close to 32 hours, they wished me luck on the rest of the trip and left.  But only after mooching some dessert from Grandma.

Next morning at 7:30, grandma had breakfast for us.  And we were still full from the night before.

Seriously, she’s a damn wizard.  We forced ourselves to eat the freakin’ delicious breakfast she made, fed the dogs the leftovers, to which she told us how she doesn’t like animals in the house, we gave her a hug, and off to Minneapolis we went.

I had Alex drive most of the way, but there is one place, in Clearwater, that is possibly the best truckstop ever.  The Nelson Bros. Truck Stop and Bakery.  They serve wild rice sausage, everything smothered in gravy, two breakfast platters of food that’s cheap, and their apple fritters are about a pound from how freaking huge they are.  This is a favorite of Alex’s to stop at when we go to Minnesota, so we stopped in and got some pastries and sausage, immediately regretting the fritters because we were still full from Grandmas.

Now, I understand this is a fairly boring post so far, but it’s about to get entertaining.

Since I’m originally from Minneapolis and I used to steal my moms car at two in the morning to drive around, then fill up the gas tank so mom wouldn’t notice (sorry to break it to you this way mom), I like to think that I know Minneapolis pretty well.

Except I forgot that I haven’t lived in Minneapolis in five years and I hadn’t been to Minnesota in the summer for the past five years. 

And every single fucking highway was closed for construction so I had to take the FUCKING SIDE ROADS.

But I couldn’t tell Alex this.  Because he said if I got lost once, I wasn’t allowed to drive the rest of the trip.

So we were on I-94 from montana and it goes right through Minneapolis, which is perfect.  But in order to get to my home town, which is technically a suburb of Minneapolis, I have to hop onto 694.

I saw a sign for 494 and for 694.  I got excited because I was like OH MY GOD I RECOGNIZE 494 SO THAT MUST BE THE ROAD THAT GETS ME TO MY MOMS HOUSE!

Oh, how wrong I was.

I take 494 and after I’ve gone thirty miles south of my mom’s house and end up in fucking Minnetonka, I decide to tell Alex that we’re horribly lost and I have no idea where we are.  And we need to call my mom.

Alex: Hey, we’re in Minneapolis and we’re lost.

Mom: Haha, Leah’s driving isn’t she?

Alex: Yes, actually.  We’re in… Minnetonka?

Mom: WHAT THE HELL?!  How the hell did you end up in Minnetonka

Step-dad (who was listening to mom): They took 494 instead of 694, didn’t they?

Alex: I heard him say that, yeah we’re on 494.

Step dad (who takes the phone from my mom): Alex, why did you let a woman drive?

Me: (while driving into the town I was born in, Crystal) OH MY GOD I KNOW WHERE WE ARE!

Alex: What?

Me: I’M SIX BLOCKS FROM MY DADS HOUSE!  SCREW YOU GUYS I KNOW HOW TO GET HOME!

 

To which all the roads had changed names and locations because of the construction in the past five years, so we had to look on google maps on how to get to my moms house.  To which my entire family teased me relentlessly for the entire eight day visit in Minneapolis.

 

My defense: They never told me there was insane amounts of construction in Minneapolis.

Their retort: It’s Minnesota in the summer, of course there’s construction.

 

The fourths and final part shall be posted next week.  Give your thoughts on this installment of the trip.  While this part was slow, it’ll pick up for the next piece. 

Comments? Thoughts?  Suggestions?  Cockroaches?  LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS BELOW!

How the Hunger Games Saved My Marriage: Part II (The drive from Alaska to Louisiana)

If you haven’t read part one of How The Hunger Games Saved My Marriage, then please go read that before starting this.  Otherwise you will be as confused as a democrat at a republican conference.

Also, very very long again.  Can’t say I didn’t warn you.

Upon leaving Takhini Hot Springs, we got into the actual town of Whitehorse, Yukon, and our breath was stolen from us.  Seriously, it’s fucking windy there.  Oh, and really pretty.  We stopped at a little truck stop and had an AWESOME waitress from Ontario who was more than helpful on the fastest route out of the area, what pet stores had the flea and tick medication for the puppies, and where we could take our dogs to run so they weren’t so anxious, to which we just didn’t have the time.  She basically just sat and chatted with us, wishing us luck on our trip.  We left her a great tip, and someday, I hope that she could be my waitress again.

Seriously.  Best waitress ever.

We used the leftovers from our breakfast to sneak the dogs the sedatives, to which Luna passed out and Sahara took a twenty minute nap.  We drove for the next 400 miles into British Columbia, driving on some of the most beautiful roads I have ever seen in my entire life.  At one point, we saw a lake where the mountains reflected perfectly into the lake, making it look like a perfect mirror.  So we ruined the perfect mirror lake by letting the dogs run through the water.

That's right, we ruined the picture perfect water... Bwahahaha

That’s right, we ruined the picture perfect water… Bwahahaha

When we were driving, we ran into another hot spring.  Liard River Hot Springs Provincial Park.  It was perfect for us who had been driving for two days.  We tied the dogs up to the cables, not caring that they hated being on the cables, and took a dip in the hot spring.

We talked to a guy who told us he would never eat food in restaurants because he’s a raw vegan who doesn’t drink alcohol.  I tried to reason with him, saying beer is basically water so he could drink it, but he disagreed.

Seriously, beer hardly counts as alcohol.

We patched the hole in the air mattress with duct tape (note, duct tape is a horrible air mattress sealant).  We ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner, afraid to eat the chicken salad wraps.

There is something I really learned on this trip.

Chicken salad on bread or tortillas for more than a day is a horrible idea.  It tastes funny, it makes everything soggy, and it will even smell funny.  And when you’re driving through Canada where their public bathrooms are wooden outhouses where you supply your own toilet paper, you do NOT want the runs.  Those were HORRIBLE pit stops.

On the plus side, we were only half way through the Hunger Games books and no arguments… so far.  We were seriously disillusioning ourselves into thinking we were the best married couple ever.  Insanely long road trip with no fighting?  Definitely proves that we’re perfect soul mates.  We still had another three days until we got to Minneapolis.

We were awake at around 6 AM, we packed up the car, the dogs, and drove off.  Today, we were hoping to get at least 700 miles in.  We were determined to get to Alberta this particular day, but failed.

We stopped around 8:30 at night, after 13.5 hours in the car, only stopping to go to the bathroom.  We ended up in Prince George, BC.  We got there and decided that we needed a real bed to sleep on.

For you see, the military packed up our stuff a week before we left, so we had been sleeping on an air mattress for over a week.  We yearned for a soft bed.  We wanted a shower.  We wanted real food.

When we got into Prince George, we found, quite possibly, the only shady hotel in all of British Columbia.  Maybe even all of Canada.  I’m trying to figure out how we didn’t get shanked.  It’s probably because we were in Canada.  Nothing bad happens in Canada.

Where you'll be murdered politely

Where you’ll be murdered politely

Right next to our hotel room, about 200 feet away, was a liquor store.  We got a case of beer and some junk food, turned on Family Guy, and relaxed.  When I went to go take a shower, we found that the shower didn’t work.  Luna was hiding under the bed and we didn’t see her until morning.  Sahara had her head on the pillow, refusing to get up.  Our clothes were sweaty and dirty from sitting in the car, the room was tiny, the beer was warm.  The lady at the liquor store told us where the dog park was, even giving us a cheap map of Prince George so we could find it easily.

I really need to talk about the liquor store lady.

She was half Texan, raised in Canada.  Overly friendly, recommended us to go to Tim Horton’s for breakfast*, gave us directions to the dog park, then later knocked on our hotel room door to give us air fresheners for our car because she knew we had been driving for two days.  I don’t remember her name, but she was wonderful.  She was the true definition of Canadian hospitality.  Because of that woman, I seriously want to consider living in Canada.

Actually, I noticed every person I’ve met from Canada, including my Newfie friend Donna, are absolute joys to be around.  They’re sarcastic, caring, can drink me under the table, and don’t care that I’m not classy.  Seriously, more people need to be like Canadians.  There would be world peace if everyone was like Canadians.

Back to the story.
The hotel room was awful.  The room was tiny, the shower didn’t work, the bed was lumpy and hard, the lights were dim, we could hear the neighbors through the paper thin wall, we were right off a busy street… and because we hadn’t slept in a real bed for over a week and we were exhausted from not getting any sleep over the course of two days, it was the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in.
And for as long as I live, that was probably the best hotel room I’ll ever stay in.
I found out later that my mom was getting kind of mad at me for not calling her, but to my surprise, my phone did not work in Canada after the first three text messages.  Something about Sprint not wanting to work with our phones.  Thank God that we didn’t break down.  We finished the Hunger Games books about two hours outside of Prince George.

The next morning around ten, we checked out of our hotel and went to the dog park for about an hour and a half… but only after stopping at Tim Horton’s.  Maybe I’m a fatty (this is probably the case), but those donuts were awesome.  Coffee was great too.  I don’t understand why Tim horton’s isn’t in the states.  Seriously.  The dog park was fantastic, everyone there came over and were chatting us up, Luna was so giddy that she was shaking while waiting for us to take off her leash.  Sahara laid in the grass with a big, dopey smile on her face.  After an hour at the dog park, we were off.

So then we had to talk to break the silence because we were idiots for not downloading more audiobooks.  Oh, and if you’re not in a city in Canada, there is no radio.  At all.  So nothing but complete silence in the car.

This is where the bickering began.

Me: Alex, you should let me drive.  You’ve driven the past 1500 miles.

Alex: Nah it’s okay.  I don’t mind.

Me: Why won’t you let me drive?

Alex: Because you’ve flipped a car before.  And you hit parked shit all the time.

Me: I haven’t hit anything parked in a few months, I’ll be fine.

Alex: I don’t believe you.  And you refuse to sleep.  How about this, when we get into North Dakota, you can drive.

Me: Why not until North Dakota?

Alex: Because you’re from the fucking Midwest, I figure you know your way around.

Me:  Fine.**

We cross the US border around 10 pm, and it’s still two hours until we get to Great Falls, Montana.  The US border took our apples, but we were still able to bring Bananas through because we completely forgot we had them.

We smuggled bananas for you, Mom.

We went into the first once through the US Border and while I was going to the bathroom (the first rest stop with running water on this voyage!), fucking NPR started to blast the bathroom.

I was terrified.  I thought that someone had turned it on because they were sick and wanted me to die by torture.  I was certain that a serial killer was in the bathroom, about to dismember me horribly because my husband was already dead by his hands.

I was going to die at the hands of a Republican.  This was the only thing that ran through my mind.

I was terrified that I was going to die at the hands of someone who thinks rich people should get tax breaks.  So I screamed, pulling my pants up as I was running out of the bathroom, to see my husband waiting for me.

“Were you afraid of getting shanked too?” Alex asked me, just as freaked out as me.

“Why were Canadian rest stops less creepy?” I said, calming down, realizing that the radio in the bathroom just turned on out of nowhere, probably ghosts.

“Because Canada is nicer than fucking Montana.”

Touché, my love, touché.

This is the end of Part II.  The rest of it will be posted later this week.  Thoughts or comments?

*Now, if a representative from Tim Horton’s is reading this, please, for the love of God and all that is holy, OPEN A TIM HORTON’S IN LOUISIANA!  They were the BEST FUCKING DONUTS!  And the coffee was great.  And the service at every single Tim Horton’s we went to was amazing.  And it was CHEAP.

**Of course, I’m being unfair considering the actual argument involved a lot more cussing and arguing.  We both smelled bad, we were ready to be done.  Also, I was a lot meaner than I’m letting on, but I can’t remember what I said.

Please comment on what you liked or disliked!  Has anyone ever had a weird experience traveling?  Did you once fear being murdered by a Republican?  Let me know!

How The Hunger Games Saved my Marriage: Part 1 (the drive from Alaska to Louisiana)

Just to warn you, this is going to be a loooooooong post.  And it’s only part one of probably three or four parts.

Can’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

I think I’ve mentioned how Alex and I drove from Fairbanks, AK, to Shreveport, LA, over the course of two weeks.  My husband is an enlisted man, and we adopted two dogs, as I’ve mentioned on several occasions.  They’re fantastic dogs, and I did not ever have the intention of giving them up once laying eyes on them. In addition to this, military families have a horrible reputation for giving up their pets after leaving a base, and considering my dogs had both been abandoned once before, I knew that they would have broken hearts if we left them.  So because of this, when we found out that we were getting stationed in Louisiana, I had eight months to figure out exactly how we were going to bring the dogs with us.

My husband briefly mentioned how we could find new homes for them considering how expensive it was to ship them, to which I told him he would be divorced and die mysteriously if he ever suggested that again, to which we both looked into the two options of moving our pups.

The little devils

The little devils

The first would be flying them from Fairbanks to Shreveport, to which the military would not help us with, and it would be over $1,000 per dog.  When told this, my first question was “Are they riding in first class?” and when the woman said they’d be in a kennel next to each other in the cargo area.  Apparently they would have a layover in Minneapolis and Houston, then from there in Shreveport.  They would not be flying on the same planes as us, possibly getting there hours before or after us.

This was basically a hell no.

We considred flying to Minneapolis for a few days to visit my family and from Minneapolis, driving down to Louisiana, but flying a dog to Minneapolis from Fairbanks cost about the same as flying a dog to Louisiana.

Once again, this was a hell no.

My husky mix Luna is… special.  She’s way too smart for her own good, and incredibly beautiful for a dog.  As my vet in Alaska put it, “She’s perfect and emotionally damaged.”  She’s afraid of her own shadow, and took six months to be able to approach us in the house for belly rubs. While she’s much better than she was when we first got her, she’s a very skittish dog.

Luna is not amused by your shenanigans.... ever

Luna is not amused by your shenanigans…. ever

So after much fighting and debating, we decided we were going to drive the 4,200 miles across North America.  Luckily, we were driving in early August so we hoped that the roads wouldn’t be too horrible and we thought, for sure, it would only take two days to get through Canada.  We were planning on driving at least 700 miles a day, just trying to get through Canada as fast as we could.  Maybe stopping to take pictures.  We were going to camp out in a tent every night to save money, bring our miniature gas stove so we could cook eggs on that in the morning and we got a small cooler and I spent two days making sandwiches and getting freezer packs so we wouldn’t have to eat out.  Ever.

Of course this didn’t happen, but we will discuss that later.

Luckily, the military will pay you for driving down, so we bought an SUV, hearing of how the mountain roads are a little rough, loaded up the back, got all the doctor appointments out of the way, got seatbelts for the dogs, and bought The Hunger Games Series audiobooks to listen to throughout the drive.  Thank you Suzanne Collins.

Now, if anyone has ever met me or my husband, you would probably wonder why we would ever need audiobooks.  My husband is the chattiest person I have ever met.  He will talk for hours upon hours and never quiet, and while not as chatty as him, I’m pretty chatty.  My mother has commented how there is never a quiet moment when we’re in a room together.

But when you spend ten days in a car together, there’s a chance that you’ll run out of stuff to talk about.  To ensure that we didn’t stab each other on the drive, we bought the audio books, thinking that those books would be more than enough for the drive.  We even got The Hobbit audiobook to ensure that if we did run out of the first choice books, we wouldn’t be totally at a loss.  We had lots of Christopher Titus on our phones, nearly memorized, and we commented that NOBODY can ever get tired of Christopher Titus.

So my last day in Alaska, I went to my work, hugged all of my previous coworkers, cried a little bit, tried to see all of my friends before I went (and failed miserably, I’m sorry Marissa), and cleaned our apartment to within an inch of its life.  Seriously, I mopped the walls so nobody could say I didn’t wash the walls.  Only to find out they were going to paint the walls and I didn’t need to do that.  We got our full deposit back, and our Landlady hugged us and told us that if we ever moved back to Alaska, we could rent from her again.

We got the dogs in their seatbelt harness, told them we were going for a car ride, and we were off.

We had sedatives for them, but we wanted to see if we could go without.  For you see, they are usually excellent car dogs.

The first two hundred miles in Alaska went very smoothly.  The roads were uncongested, our cooler was fully packed, the windshield didn’t have any chips in it, the tires weren’t flat.  Really, you couldn’t ask for more.

But the dogs were a little miserable.   You see, whenever we took them on a car ride, they expected the dog park for an hour and a twenty minute drive home, followed by a giant rawhide and belly rubs for the rest of the evening.  After two hours in the car, seeing terrain that was unfamiliar to them, Luna looked like life had totally and completely defeated her.  Sahara was in a full blown panic.  She was whining and shaking and trying to crawl into my husband’s lap.  She hated her harness to the point that she twisted herself in her seatbelt so badly that she was stuck and howling.

Oh, no dog was more miserable than Sahara.  Hell hath no fury like a Sahara who is tangled in her seatbelt and homesick.

 

Don't let her misery fool you, she's just looking for attention

Don’t let her misery fool you, she’s just looking for attention

So we decide it’s time to give them the sedatives.  Luna reacts very well to the sedative, being asleep for 12 hours from it, or waking up with hazy eyes and curling on my lap, her face similar to “I love you so much mom.  You’re so awesome.  I love belly rubs. And ears.  My ears are awesome.”  Basically, Luna was stoned out of her mind.  She even had the munchies.  While Luna didn’t really need the sedatives, we knew she was scared and wanted her to feel relaxed and realize that it was just a very long car ride through Canada.

Sahara was not so lucky.  The sedative worked on her for a half hour.  Then she was whining even more.  Being even more miserable than before.  Her expressions were more like “I took a nap, TIME TO GO INTO BATSHIT CRAZY MODE!  WHERE ARE THE BEARS?!  THEY SHALL BE MURDERED BY MY RAZOR SHARP PAWS!”

When we got into Canada, the roads went from smooth and pristine to pothole city.  We went over one pothole, causing the service light to go on in our car.

How we looked and felt considering we were only three hours into the two week drive

How we looked and felt considering we were only three hours into the two week drive

We stopped the car, looked around the car and saw nothing wrong, but the words “Perform Service” kept popping up.  The road was bumpy, we were terrified that we’d get a flat tire, and we were slowed down to a crawl because of all of the potholes.  But not to worry, the potholes turned into GRAVEL ROADS WITH BIGGER POT HOLES with around 80 miles between towns.  Yukon Territory really believes in spacing out their towns.  Occasionally we would see signs for Pie and Coffee, to which we never turned down.
We stopped driving around midnight in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory.  A beautiful little town, we stopped at Takhini Hot Springs, and spent ten dollars on a tent site, tied the dogs up outside, blew up the air mattress, and curled up.

To which the dogs began to bark and cry, freaking out that they were being forced to sleep outdoors.  Sahara was a rescue who spent, likely, several months in the Alaskan wilderness with her puppies, so she always liked to sleep inside, on the bed, head on the pillow, between my husband and I.  She’s very particular like that.  Luna tends to sleep on the couch with one leg straight up in the air, tongue hanging out of her mouth, sometimes with a blanket on the lower half of her body.

No spoiled dogs of mine were going to be forced to sleep outside!

Afraid of waking up other campers, we brought them into the tent with us.

Now, please keep in mind, my husband is close to 6’7” and he’s pretty solid.  I’m round, and it was a “4” person tent. The queen size air mattress took up most of the floor space in the tent.  The dogs, of course, had to be in the bed with us.  So a blow up queen mattress, which is actually a full size, a very tall, solid man, two german shepherd mixes, and myself on this TINY air mattress.

Then there was thunder.

There is no such thing as thunder in Alaska.  At least not in Fairbanks.  My dogs had NEVER heard thunder in their short lives.  So they go into a full panic.   Not only did they puncture the air mattress, they almost destroyed the tent, attacking the side while howling and snarling, trying to scare the thunder away.

We were awake at 7 AM, having only gotten a couple hours of sleep, smelling awful from not being able to take a shower.  We decided to not go to the hotspring to soak, and we found a truck stop to have some breakfast.

The story will continue in part 2 of this epic tale of traveling through Canada.

What are your thoughts so far?