The Last Leg of the Race, sometimes is the Hardest, written by Bambi Lynn

The last leg of the destination, the last day, the last push to get to the other side was the hardest part of the trip. The hours and hours without any kind of music, Internet, or any interaction with civilization. There was no coffee being sold anywhere except for coffee in the bottle, we were running empty, but we knew we needed to keep going and keep pushing. We just didn’t realize that the pushing was going to take us over the edge.

 We learned that there were icon signs along the side of the road that had cameras on it, and it finally dawned on me that those cameras were taking us to a place that would be cool to see, a cool experience. To places that help tell the stories of your surroundings. I am glad that I realize that, but I do wish I would’ve realized it earlier, it was a saving grace for this day, we were able to stop and see some goofy things, some old cars parked for a photo opportunity , see beautiful scenery of water and bridges and burial places that tell a story of someone's life, a tribute. Our walkie-talkies were another God sent. We talked back-and-forth. We were able to tell each other of the things ahead to see or to make sure you get out of the way. Sometimes we just had fun with them because we were getting delirious.

. We were running empty in many aspects, but the beauty of our surroundings and the information that we learned, reminding ourselves that this is a chance in a lifetime, to take it in and to breathe all the moments we could because who would do this again? We talked to the locals, finding out all about the Yukon and the people that live there, the roads that are closed early on in the season because they are preparing for the rain and the snow. Living in the Yukon is not for the faint heart. There is nothing for miles and miles, the last frontier is a great name for the Yukon. The roads are treacherous through the mountains and over the hill. Plus, the gravel roads that leave the person behind you in a dust cloud. This was summertime, I can only imagine what it was like in the winter, where it is the law to always have chains on your tires.

 Some of the gas stations close down along the Alaska Highway starting the second week in September, but we are still sending soldiers all the way into the end of October to take those roads and go around the mountains, the sharp turns that you’re just praying that somebody is not there.  There are no words to describe what your eyes see in the Yukon, the water is so blue and so fresh looking, it feels like you can drink it right from the lake. The old bridges that are along your path are incredible. I am a bridge person; I couldn't take enough pictures of the bridges. The flowers were blooming along the highways; these aren’t the highways like the lower 48. These are treacherous highways. These are gravel highways, these are cliff highways, but the beauty that’s alongside, they are to die for. The porcupines that are finding their way to the other side, the rabbits that are popping out and the chipmunks that sit on the road as if they own it. The blackbird Raven’s they are luring all around into the sky, finding its prey. But the silence is deafening to somebody that loves to talk, loves to communicate, the music that I play to try to keep my spirits up was no longer available. My grandchildren had already downloaded all of their movies, they would watch on their computers and on their phones, so there’s so much silence. After hours and hours of riding gravel roads and potholes maneuvering away to not get stuck in them or get a flat tire.

We finally see the Alaska sign. We had no plans or ideas what it was going to be like, we had no idea that there weren't going to be any hotels and civilization. Your mind can't comprehend that nothing is there to greet you. You’re used to thinking that there is stuff right on the other side. We take our pictures in pure exhaustion and in the clothes that we were wearing from two nights before, they weren’t pretty pictures, but we had made it, we had pioneered the Alaska Highway, we had conquered the Yukon and we had made it on American soil, Alaska,  all you want to do is get to a hotel to finally just crash, but there was no hotel in sight, We were supposed to stop and sleep at the town before customs. But out of my daughter's excitement she said “no” she wanted to get to Alaska. We had a few choice words; I wanted to take a shower and sleep and go over in the morning. Her determination made us get to the finish line. I was really angry. But not angry enough to change her mind. Looking back and at the pictures it did reveal the truth of that moment, we made it, even if we felt we crawled to the finish line.

 The exhaustion started setting in, as it felt like my skin was crawling and I just wanted to pull it off and rest. 

I hadn't felt that kind of exhaustion since being a young mother with babies. The tears started flowing as we realized there were no hotels. I told myself I was not going to go pee again outside; I told myself I wasn’t going to go into another Porta potty because now I was on American soil. But there was nothing again for miles and miles and miles. Like three hundred miles to be exact. We finally realized we were going to have to be on the side of the road again, my feet began to swell, as I was running out of water.  There were no bathrooms where we were parked and no bathroom anywhere in sight.  Once again, I had to pee outside this time with tears flowing down my face. I got pee all over my feet and on my pant leg.  This made me cry even more because now I had to go into the car to try to fall asleep with urine on my feet and on my pants. I also had to endure the snoring of three people in the car. All three of them made you feel like you were in front of a train station. There was nothing else I could handle. I cried myself to sleep. I cried like a baby, like a refreshing, and I cried of aggravation, and I cried because I didn’t understand. We woke up at five in the morning and I looked at my daughter and I said we have to find a bathroom, and I don’t even care if it’s a port potty again.  We finally drove on the highway in Alaska to finally find a place to pee. We had absolutely no Internet, no service, when I told my friend the scenario, when we finally got into a part of Alaska that we had Service, I called her on the phone and I told her my story and she told me the next time if I ever have to do that again, she was always told that a woman can just hug a tree and squat. There is no hugging a tree. I didn’t know where the moose were. I didn’t know where the bears were. I couldn't go out finding a tree for me to bend down and squat to pee. I think I can laugh about it a little bit now, but I felt like she was naïve to my situation. She was just trying to be kind and find a solution for me to help me to see the other side.

 I had a lot of apologizing to do to my daughter. She knew I was on thin ice. Nothing was going to get me out of my head until I had a bed. She gave me my own hotel room that I didn’t even share with a grandson. I could have some peace and get rejuvenated and realize that there is a story in all of this. There is a lesson that I am learning, and I wish I knew what it was at this time, but I know I will, I know that I will smile someday about this adventure of a lifetime. My grandchildren will tell their story of how their Nona went on this journey with them. to bring them to their newest destination and their newest adventure. Boy, I would do it again just for that. Maybe? I am not delirious anymore. I hope to never take the Alaska highway again even for memories of an adventure.