Forty-seven years ago today, two naïve youngsters were married in a small church in Hinesville, Georgia, just outside Camp Stewart. It was a tiny ceremony as late afternoon sunlight through stained glass windows created a surreal atmosphere. A gazillion miles and 22 homes later they are still trying to make this work.
Today, it was a late start. That woman never would leave me alone; that’s just one of the reasons I still love her. We were on the road by nine and the miles zipped by, even though most of them were vertical. Twice, I saw fresh moose tracks along the roadside. At the little parking spot Betty picked for lunch there was an old buffalo chip just outside the door. We again crossed into British Columbia. In mid-afternoon, it was a race to get to our planned meeting site before black thunder storm clouds dump there bounty on us. We just made it. Betty picked a beautiful site, a Rest Area high above the Liard River. It is called Allen’s Overlook because years ago a guy named Allen and his band of outlaws would watch this wide view of the river and descend upon riverboats. There is also a small monument here in honor of the surveyors who, in 1942, laid out this wilderness road.