Someone declared Sunday to be a day of rest, and I sent thanks. I felt much better, actually waking Dad up for the first time on the trip. When the light streamed in through the thin doghouse curtains, I felt good.
We drove more non-stop miles, but I enjoyed it much more than the prior few days. An alert mind always helped. The Glenn Highway played a great scenery movie, and the road was motorcycle curvy. The southwest section was a nicely paved winding road through mountains, after which the northeast section became bumpier and the mountains and glaciers became distant. The happy dilemma of the day: enjoy the scenery or enjoy the road.
Getting hungry, we pulled off to a roadside café. The backside of a building presented itself, but an arrowed sign said “We’re open – come around!” We did, and later found that the road had been moved from the front of the building to a new, straighter route behind. The old highway now served as the café owner’s driveway.
A large, built-up shack housed the café, kitchen, bathrooms, and bar. We had our pick of the three tables since we were the only customers, except for a younger family member taking up one third of the table selection while reading a newspaper. A friend of the owner’s wife, who was on an extended visit from Tennessee, served us in a genuine and friendly way. I could hear her prepare everything we had ordered since the kitchen was right beside us, around the edge of an open doorway.
When she came out with food or a soda can, I needed to consciously avert my eyes from her pronounced half-circle belly. Talking to her was pleasant, though she sometimes randomly switched to aloof. The owner, wearing a cap and beard and sipping a cup of coffee at the bar, told us about the problems of small business in these little traveled parts of Alaska. Not just lack of customers – that was expected and accounted for – but also the rules made in Juneau that favored the big numbers operations. Dad agreed from his experiences as a small business owner, and we left with a pleasant “Stop in again sometime” following us out the door.
The Glenn Highway emptied out onto the AlCan, where we backtracked toward Haines for the intercoastal ferry. Our speeds were faster than coming; we had seen this stretch before and were cranking out miles again. The change in direction definitely changed the view, however. The sun was not in our eyes. The mountains on our traveling side of the road took new prominence over those on the left. A section of forest looked dark and ominous, hiding something back in the branches. Most of our attention was on the frost heaves, which were coming upon us much quicker this time. The swerves were more severe and the suspensions were repeatedly mushed and bottomed out. Of course, the gravel and potholes had not left, either.
Due to the lateness of the hour – and not wanting to get stranded without a dinner – we stopped into another café. A mildly wispy-in-the-head man took our orders. I thought he was interesting, but Dad could not handle the “space cadet”.
The woman who owned the café cooked up our vittles from an open, visible kitchen. She showed who was in control when two Americans tried to con the third person there, an older man who worked the gas pumps, talked, and watched TV between business. We never figured out what all the heated arguments were about, though it was obvious it had something to do with change that was given and the exchange rate. We saw the plump argument-initiating couple later at the Kluane Wilderness Village; they moved on because it was deemed too expensive. The Prices stayed.