Rocky and Bullwinkle, Called On Account of Rain
Trip Start
Jun 18, 2005
1
4
52
Trip End
Jan 01, 2006
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Healy,
Alaska,
United States
Monday, June 20, 2005
Rain pounded me without ceasing. Road construction reared its orange cones in the most unlikely places. Parks Highway is the 250-mile road that connects Anchorage and Fairbanks, with Denali National Park about halfway between. You'd think those factors would inspire enough lobbying around the Federal money pot to assure smooth roadways. I mean, TOUR BUSES, after all!
But it was a nasty ride. I held tightly onto the steering wheel, and since there were no villages along the way with glowing golden arches, I wolfed down all the granola bars I'd stashed in my pack. I needed a restroom pit stop too. I was getting grumpy.
Then the GPS and the odometer agreed -- I had made it to Healy! Sure enough, just over there on the left, set way back from the road, I saw the little motel where I had reservations for the night. According to the map, it was another 11 miles to the Denali entrance. But later for that. I wanted to quickly get into my room, and call my Dad. June 19 was Father's Day.
This place was not set up for the handicapped, just like back in Fairbanks. The reservation desk was a hundred-yard walk across a marshy, soggy lawn.
131 Restaurant with a ramp
There was a crudely constructed boardwalk to the door, semi-floating on the grass, but my fancy-schmancy wheelie luggage bobbed up and down in the water, bump dabump from board to board. My feet were going under too; three inches of rain-slosh flowed over and into my buckle-strap Naots. The lobby seemed overheated after that, a circular glass enclosure that on better days most likely framed huge mountain peaks. A giant moosehead watched from the wall as I squished across the carpet to the desk. The first thing I did when I got to my room was change my socks. Then the call. Why did I think my cell phone would work there? It didn't. So, I reached for the room phone and started to dial. It would not put through a long distance call. I went out to the desk and asked why. The nice young man said they didn't allow long distance. I offered to pay directly for the call if he'd let me use his phone. "There is no way I can bill you," he said. "You have to go buy a phone card." He suggested a grocery store "just across the street."
I went out the back door according to his direction and found myself in the woods. Down a muddy hill, up a slippery slope, past some rusting road equipment. Then I found the "street." About half a mile away I spotted the tiny wood-frame grocery store. After a hobble walk across rocky terrain, I stepped inside and politely asked for a phone card. "We're sold out," was the answer. "Been out a long time. Don't know when we'll be gettin' any."
Back to the motel, back to the front desk, WHERE ELSE can I get a phone card? "There's a gas station about a mile north," he said.
132 Trees on Stampede Road
"If THEY are sold out where else can I try?" I queried, aiming for a backup plan. "Another one about a mile south," was the answer. "It's walking distance."I smiled. The young and the old do define that differently!
OK, into the hatchback and across the muddy stretch of parking lot and a mile north. The gas station there was "sold out" too. So, a mile south and then another mile south. Now, here was a cozy place, plenty of gas pumps ($2.69 a gallon that day), a little deck with petunia pots, and inside, hot coffee on the brew. My heart was racing. My hopes were high! I'd find it HERE, for sure.
And I did. Back to the motel, back to my room, oops, one more trip to the desk to ask HOW TO USE a calling card. Geesh! I'm telephonically challenged. Opal answered the phone. She's my new stepmom. A real sweetheart, completely squashing every wicked stepmom rumor I'd ever heard. But, I was 65 when she came into my life, so she didn't have to raise me. :) We chatted and then my Dad got on the phone. Happy Father's Day! I love you Pop! I didn't tell him I was in Alaska. Even though I've driven all over the US of A by myself, he still worries about his little daughter. I'd tell him when I got back. And I certainly didn't tell him about the phone card adventure! Maybe he's reading it now....
OK, daughterly duty done, now how about some food. It had been a LONG time since my McDonald's breakfast, and those dry-crunch granola bars. I'd read about Henry's Coffeehouse on the internet, and had printed off the address. Just outside of Healy. I called (this was a local!) and confirmed that they were open for dinner.
The day was brightening. The pictures go forward from this point.
