Been there, done that

Rest Area, HWY 16, way past McBride, before Prince George, British Columbia, Canada
As we're packing the van up, we see GIANT deer come through our campsite. We marvel at them, then whip the camera out just in time for blurred photos as the deer, startled at our flailing arms, dash away. Two blurred photos and one in-focus photo of the van's curtain, a blurry deer ass in the background. We have NO in focus deer pics. Not after months and months on the road.

The Canadian Rockies are stupifying, absolutely stupifying. We drive around, trying to turn Dervish into a convertiblge, trying to develop x-ray vision so we can see MORE. We say things like Insane, Amazing, They're Just So Jagged. The Canadian Rockies are in the same gallery as Glacier National Park, Yosemite, The Grand Canyon, but so different. Foreign, even. I've never seen a real glacier before, and Skip has only seen them from afar. You can feel the quiet, grinding power of them; you marvel that this is July, summer, that a girl from Florida can stand to be this close to this giant proof of bad weather.

It takes FOREVER to get through the National Parks; we have to race to get from one to the next one before 4pm so we don't have to pay the fees again. There are no other roads, none at all. We pay exorbitant gas prices in the national park, too, and I'm pretty tired, verge of exhaustion, the wonderful hot springs and newfound love for Skip wearing off quickly. Not good. We plan a business day for the next day in Prince George, British Columbia (we'll be in Alberta until we're out of these magnificent parks). Need to shop before the Yukon, need to change the oil, vacuum the van, etc.

We spend the night in a lovely rest area just a bit east of Prince George. Canadian rest ares in this part of the world are sheltered from the highway, next to a lovely stream or even a rushing river, desolate, have flush toilets and hot water, and politely ask you to limit your stay to eight hours. All the signs in Canada seem this polite.


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