The last time I saw Thompson Pass, it looked like this. It was the month of March and we were headed back to the lower 48. It was a clear day, but the winds were howling and no sooner did we get halfway up the pass, we got stuck. The lord must have been looking out for us that day because the plow made one last run, found us, got us unstuck and we were on our way.
The rest of the trip home was much easier than the trips we made in June over the slippery gumbo, or trying to stay on top of the ruts left by huge trucks and most of all the wading through washed out roads while mom drove the car. In the winter, the roads were frozen solid and so cold that tires almost stuck to the road.
Mom drove the Alcan starting in 1952 with just us kids and our dog, Lassie. Our meals consisted of canned soup, right out of the can, peaches right out of the can and lots of mosquito bites on our behinds because there were no roadside stops. I wouldn't trade those memories for all the treasures in the world, but I don't know how mom had the guts to do it with 3 kids and a dog.
Maybe because dad had no doubt she could.
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