Whitehorse – Capital City of Yukon, Canada

We sputtered into Whitehorse low on petrol and with a whining fuel pump. There was no mistaking that eerie sound. It was immediately clear to us both that Jerry would soon need some mechanical attention. It was late on a Friday night and we could only hope that the local Napa Auto Parts store was open on Saturdays and that they would have what we needed in stock.

Opting to splurge on a hotel room rather than camp for the night, we were soon checked in at the Westmark Whitehorse Hotel. The accommodations were top notch, aside from the patchy WiFi in our room. We enjoyed a delicious dinner at the Klondike Rib & Salmon BBQ Restaurant just down the street. The meal was bit pricey but worth the expense, and the service was simply phenomenal.

Lady Luck was on our side in the morning. Napa was open and they had a fuel pump and filter on hand for us. We even met a retired VW mechanic at the shop. He gave me his business card and we chatted for a few minutes. It was a rather serendipitous encounter, and I left the store feeling confident about the last leg of our journey.

Jacob and I decided to wait on the fuel pump repair job until we were sure of imminent failure, which turned out to be about 20 miles down the road. It was cold and rainy but we found a dry spot off the road under a tree and got to work. We were back on the road in less than an hour and Jerry was running like never before.

I think that old fuel pump was on its way out since Virginia, it had been talking to me since day one. The new pump was nearly silent, emitting just the slightest hum. Poor old Jerry was thirsty and had been struggling to drink for over 5,000 miles.

A herd of bison mulls about along the highway.

"Would you guys quit f#*%ing around!" - Uncle Dean Bean

Seriously

Entering the Yukon Territory.

The sign forest at Watson Lake, a good place to ditch the oddball hubcap.

Sign forest Sasquatch sighting.

Liard River Hot Springs Provincial Park

A tropical oasis lies hidden deep in the forests of Canada's northern British Columbia. This magical place is known as Liard River Hot Springs Provincial Park. It is located about 180 miles west of Fort Nelson, BC and about halfway between Seattle, WA and Girdwood, AK. What a great destination to rest and relax before finishing off our trek.

On my first drive north to Alaska in 2001 I had traveled the Cassiar Highway, which is a more westerly route and does not pass by the Liard Hot Springs. Back then, Mauri and I considered backtracking the 120 miles from Watson Lake but ruled against the idea. This decision has always been a small regret I have harbored about that trip. As such, I was not about to make that mistake again and Liard Hot Springs has been a much anticipated destination ever since.

We eased into the parking lot of the restaurant across from the hot springs campground following a leisurely drive from Fort Nelson. After a satisfying buffalo burger, we reserved a campsite for the night. Kipp Cavalier, a friend of Jacob's from Tennessee, was supposed to be meeting us here so we tried to find a visible spot. Kipp and his dog Frank were traveling a separate route through Canada and entered a media blackout when Kipp forgot his cell phone in Grande Prairie, Alberta. We hadn't heard from him since, so we weren't sure if he'd make it.

We wasted no time changing into our swim trunks and headed for the pools. It's about a mile walk from the campground along a wooden boardwalk to the springs. Wow, what a dream come true! Liard Hot Springs lived up to – and surpassed – all of my greatest expectations. So relaxing, soothing and delightful. I was in heaven.

We marinated for 2.5 hours before slogging back to camp. It wasn't long before Kipp and Frank showed up and we were once again on our way back up the path for an evening soak. That night we all slept like logs with a heavy case of "Jacuzzi Bones". In the morning we ate breakfast and made one more trip to the pools. The hydrotherapy session was great for the mind, body and soul and we hit the road revitalized and refreshed.

The campsite at Liard.

Kipp and Frank.

Jacob and Kipp, a couple of joke-offs.

Beautiful sunset over the swamp.

Morning swamp shot.

A Canada Goose enjoys the warm waters of the swamp.

The upper end of the pool is the hottest. Try to stack a rock on the pile.

The waterfall to the cooler lower pool.

Sweet hot spring panorama.

The wooden boardwalk.

Muncho Lake Provincial Park

A truly breathtaking sight along the road between Fort Nelson and Liard Hot Springs is Muncho Lake, part of Muncho Lake Provincial Park in British Columbia, Canada. Here we made a pitstop along the lake to snap a few photos and stretch our legs.

Jerry takes a break at Muncho Lake.

MC Squared stylin' & profilin'.

Bail-Dog and his trusted mighty steed.

Fort Nelson – Home of the $100 Oil Change

Another long haul brought us to the community of Fort Nelson, nestled amongst the serene wilderness of northern British Columbia. As we rolled to a stop in the campground parking lot the van's oil pressure light came on. A glowing red ball of death square in the middle of the instrument panel, this is every traveler's worst fear.

"Turn it off" Jacob told me, with just a slice of urgency in his voice. I killed the engine praying old Jerry would fire back up when the time came. Jacob went inside to secure a campsite for the night and a bucket of fried chicken for dinner and I headed to the bar. Two bottles of Labatt Blue, one shot of Jack Daniel's and 8 minutes later we were settled down and ready to tackle a crucial mechanical dilemma – the stereo.

Our sound system was sadly lacking in performance and the serious nature of the oil light was just too much to deal with right away. So we pulled the head unit from the dash and found some faulty wiring going to the rear speakers that was shorting the system. We had decent sound after that and it was getting late so we figured we'd better quiet down. We got the campfire burning nicely and jumped on the campground WiFi to research the oil light issue.

What makes the oil pressure light come on? First off, it is NOT an indication of low oil level and there was plenty in the pan to prove that. Bad oil pump – about the worst case scenario. Low idle – possible best case. How many miles since the last oil change? Over 5,000 miles – BINGO! Thank you Dad for keeping such extensive maintenance records. Jerry needs fresh oil and a new oil filter, in a very bad way. This was kind of a face/palm moment for me and Jacob. Hopefully it was the solution to our problem.

The next morning we were grateful to discover that the local Napa Auto Parts had just what the doctor ordered. It came as no surprise that the type of oil we needed was $12.99 a quart. Five of those bad boys, a good quality filter, a drain pan, a funnel and some shop rags totaled out at $95.22 all said and done. Ouch!

We got out of town, found a nice spot off the road, and took care of business. It wasn't long before we were barreling down the highway without even a tiny glimmer from that nasty little red bulb. Jerry's transfusion had healed his aches and pains and with the pristine lifeblood pursing through his system he was purring like a kitten. Hallelujah!

Jacob at Bijoux Falls.

We spotted a good sized bruin just off the side of the highway.

Jacob contemplates the oil pressure light quandary.

Camping at Walmart

Not the most ceremonious of occasions, I admit. Our first official night spent in the Vanagon was in the Walmart parking lot in Quesnel, BC. We put a lot of miles behind us and considering the delay at the border, we did quite well to get that far.

Leaving Vancouver and still in a bit of a fog following the border crossing, we traveled to the east mindlessly obeying the orders of the "Church Lady" (as Dean Bean had dubbed her), our on board GPS unit. We had programmed the shortest route as opposed to the fastest, and were well rewarded for our mistake as we headed north on route 1 out of a town called Hope. It was an unexpected and much appreciated deviation. This path proved to be somewhat of a happy accident and the serenity of the lesser traveled road did much to soothe our psyches.

Aside from that, the drive was largely uneventful. By the time we hit Quesnel, we were both pretty worn out. It was getting late and raining pretty hard. The site of the Walmart parking lot was a welcome one and we were quickly in our beds and off to dreamland.

Captain Bail-Dog cruises Canada's back roads. Photo by Jacob Crawford

Spectacular scenery along route 1. Photo by Jacob Crawford

Spectacular scenery along route 1. Photo by Jacob Crawford

Getting Reamed at the Border

Crossing into Canada was an absolute nightmare. I should preface this by saying it could have been much worse. That said, we were treated like criminals. Even though we had no good reason to be concerned, Jacob and I were extremely nervous and uncomfortable as we sat in the waiting area anticipating our interrogation.

We were questioned profusely by a young "gentleman" with zero personality, the van was thoroughly tossed, and about an hour-and-a-half later we were safely on our way to Vancouver. The horrible feeling stayed with us for quite some time and resurfaced in full not 30 minutes down the road when I was pulled over by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Flashing lights in my rearview mirror were the last thing I wanted to see. At least I knew we were clean and legal, but my worst fears started to mount as I speculated as to the reason for the stop.

Apparently there is a group of people who refer to themselves as "Freemen" who believe the laws don't apply to them. They go around doing whatever they please and have even killed police officers in the past. The RCMP who pulled me over suspected we were a part of this group because of the odd license plates on my vehicle. The van has antique plates from Virginia and in his defense, they look totally homemade.

It only took a few moments of conversation to defuse the situation and Jacob and I agree that this fellow was by far the nicest policeman we had ever encountered – just a really great guy. We talked about our border crossing experience and he told us the U.S. guys do the same thing to Canadians all the time.

It's a real shame that's what it has come to. I remember driving into Canada from Vermont as a young man without incident on numerous occasions, it was barely any different than crossing state lines. I understand the need for security, but in the wake of 911 and with new laws like the Patriot Act, we have taken our concern for safety to absurd and unwarranted heights, in my opinion.

Seattle – The Halfway Point

Before we left Coeur D'Alene I spent the morning fiddling with the brakes, bleeding them and making sure all was well before hitting the highway. Word to the wise: don't repair your brakes shirtless in the hot Idaho sun.

We finally left Coeur D'Alene around 4 p.m. It was supposed to be a relatively short drive to Seattle, but it proved to be a daunting one. First off, the brakes did not work very well at all. I figured there must have been some air left in the line. Secondly, the Snoqualmie Pass was a force to be reckoned with, especially when your brakes don't work very well. The drive proved to be more worrisome than dangerous. With the weather conspiring against us we made it safely to Seattle and found a room for the night.

In the morning we headed to the rental car facility to secure a vehicle for Dean Bean for the remainder of his trip. We would part ways here in Seattle. He would head south toward Santa Fe, NM and I would head north to Alaska with my buddy Jacob as my copilot/on-board mechanic. Jacob arrived on an 11:30 a.m. flight from Tennessee and met us at the rental area. Dean Bean dropped Neeners off downtown and met up with me and Jacob at my brother Duglas and his girlfriend Hazel's place.

Duglas and Hazel are amazing and wonderful people and I only wish we had more time to spend with them. I look forward to visiting with them in the years to come and making up for time lost. Before Dean Bean headed south we went out for a delicious lunch at a place called the Square Knot. After that Hazel showed us around her incredible shop where she does her amazing metal work. This is also where Jacob and I would attempt to fix the brake problem on the van once and for all. Jacob, being the virtuoso of mechanical devices that he is, was able to isolate the problem with the brakes and get them working properly. Bravo Jacob, you are the man!

It was very sad to say goodbye to my Uncle Dean Bean. We had a great time on the road. I always enjoyed the times we had together, but we had never done anything like this before. I feel closer to him than ever and I know now that we will continue to share a special bond that we otherwise never would have had. Here's to Uncle Dean Bean!

That night, Duglas took me and Jacob to the city center in Seattle for the final night of the Folk Life Festival. It was a lot like the Girdwood Forest Fair that we do back home only much, much bigger. There was plenty of live music, dancing, food, craft vendors and so on. I really enjoyed the scene and just spending time with my big brother. On our way back to the loft we picked up some fantastic Peruvian food and spent the evening chatting, laughing and goofing off as if we had done so for years.

It was such a pleasure to spend time with Duglas and Hazel and I look forward to many more such occasions in the not-too-distant future. I see so much of our father in Duglas, and I feel so blessed to have him as an influence in my life.

Duglas and Jacob.

The fountain at the city center.

The Space Needle reflected in the EMP building.

Jacob scarfs down a deep-fried s'mores sandwich at the Folk Life Festival.

Captain Duglas at the helm of the Vanagon.

Me and Duglas catching up at the loft.

The face of the old Rainier Brewery near The Square Knot Restaurant.