Moms: A Semi-True Story

Editor's note: The Friday Rant is taking this week off so we can offer you a special, Mother's Day, Semi-true story. Enjoy!
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As I've mentioned before, in 1996, immediately after graduating from high school, a friend and I hopped in my 1990 Chevy S-10 and drove to Alaska.  The trip has given me plenty of semi-true stories.  One in particular has always stuck with me, and seems especially appropriate, given this weekend is Mother's Day. 

We had been driving for exactly one day when it happened. Just outside of the Little Bighorn Battlefield in Montana. We were cruising down I-90 when several Mule Deer jumped across the road and up the hillside. I successfully swerved around all of them - except one. WHAM-O!

I pulled into the parking lot of the Little Big Horn Battlefield and rolled to a stop. Nervously, I looked over at my friend Jason. "This could be the end of the road...Just like Custer." We got out and looked around. I had been going pretty slow (becauase of the deer), so the deer smashed my grill out, bent up the hood and bent in the headlights, but that was about it. My radiator was completely exposed and the headlights could be adjusted, so we were still in business.

We hopped back in and started down the road across Montana. Carefully. Our objective for the day was to drive all the way up to Calgary, Alberta. As we drove we realized we were going to need a grill - something to keep all of the bugs out of the radiator. Before we crossed into Canada, I stoped at a hardware store and bought a roll of mesh window screen to fabricate into a grill.

That night we made it to Calgary, but it rained the whole time. We decided to put on the "new grill" the next night - in Fort St. John, B.C.  From Calgary, we drove north through Edmonton and then cut northwest, in the general direction of Alaska.  The beauty of the drive can't be understated.  We drove all day long and found a small campground on the edge of Fort St. John, B.C.  We got all set up for the night.  As we sat there eating our dinner we noticed right next to us was this funny little camper.  It was a van, actually.  But a very strange van/camper combo.  As I recall, it looked a lot like one of those old-school aluminum windstream campers, only, a van - everything was very rounded.  We sat and talked about how goofy the van was and kind of laughed - only in Canada...

After dinner we went over to the truck and began to "fix" the truck.  Up north there are a LOT of bugs.  We unrolled the screen and began to screw it into where the old grill had been.  It wasn't pretty, but it worked.  As we were finishing up, an old guy from the goofy camper next to us walked over and introduced himself.  He was a really nice guy - a retired Colonel in the Canadian Air Force, he said.  He asked what we were doing and we explained the whole story - George Custer, the deer, Montana and Alaska.  He thought it was all pretty cool.  He explained to us that he and his wife were on their way to Alaska, too.  Just out cruising around in their retirement. 

We sat there for a long time talking about stuff - like we'd known each other for a long time.  He told us a few old Cold War stories (of which, we had none).  Talked about Iowa - I remember he had been to the Air Force base in Bellevue, Nebraska, once.  His wife eventually came out of the camper, where she'd been cleaning up from dinner.  She was amazed at how "young" we were.  I guess we were just a couple baby-faced Iowa guys, fresh out of high school.  She made sure that we had plans to call our Mothers and keep them updated on our travels.  We promised we would. 

We all turned in for the night, got up in the morning, waved good-bye and left the campground.  From Fort St. John, we still had another two days of driving before we'd reach Tok, Alaska - just across the border from Canada.  Giddy-up.

From Fort St. John, the trip really turns into an adventure.  Through the mountains of British Columbia, the forests of the Yukon and, eventually, the Alaska border.  We pulled into Tok for the night...we made it. 

As we'd been doing for the past week, we pulled out our gear, set up camp and got settled in.  I think I had Dinty Moore beef stew that night.  It was a forested campground - a KOA, I think.  But as I sat there, taking a look at the surroundings, there it was.  We had driven over 1,200 miles, since Fort St. John, crossing a good chunk of North America, but that weird old camper was sitting right across from us again.  Unbelieveable.  It wasn't long before the old Colonel and his wife came walking up the road and noticed us.  One of the craziest coincidences of my life...or was it?  We welcomed the old Canadian to America and asked them how their trip had been.  We talked about the last couple days, everything we'd seen and how tiring it had been. 

The old lady asked us if we'd called our Mothers.  You could almost see her imagining herself in the same situation - wondering where her kid was.  She asked us if we had enough food (we did) and if there was anything we needed (we didn't).  You could tell she cared. 

At the end of the night, we all went our separate ways, sure we wouldn't ever see each other again.  The next morning we were getting all packed up and there she was, coming out of their little camper, walking across the road towards us.  In her hands she was carrying two enormous muffins.  To this day, I haven't seen anything like them - let alone while I was out camping.  She walked up to me and handed me the plate with these two gigantic, piping hot muffins.  She wished us luck and we thanked her for the food. 

She turned back and said, "Just remember.  You can alway get away from your mother.  But, you'll never get away from a mother." 

True enough.