Yukon Road Trip Part One: Wisconsin to the Canadian Border

After Jeremy and I returned from our honeymoon, it was time to begin the 3,000-mile journey to our first home together. It was difficult for me to leave my familiar Wisconsin town, but I looked forward to having a place of our own, waking up to mountain views, and creating new adventures in the Yukon.

The Supplies

I am not a minimalist. After Jeremy and I got engaged, I started sending suitcases of my things back with him every time he visited me. All in all, I think about ten suitcases packed with kitchen supplies, clothing, winter gear, various pieces of decor, and a few necessary stuffed animals made it to the Yukon via checked luggage.

There were still quite a few things that would need to get packed in my car for the drive up – bulkier items such as my pressure cooker, as well as an entire trunk full of my artwork. Thanks to my engineer dad, who installed both a roof rack and a hitch rack onto my little car, I was able to take everything I had planned to take, except for an ice cream maker, which I was probably not going to need for a few months anyway.

In case you ever wish to haul most of your belongings on a 3,000 mile road trip, the equipment my dad installed all worked without a hitch (except for the hitch rack, which required a hitch). Everything got up to the Yukon safely despite strong winds, blizzards, ice, and rain. This is what we used:

Roof rack from General Motors (designed specifically for my car)

Roof rack cage – Haulmaster brand from Harbor Freight

Hitch – Curt brand from Rock Auto

Hitch rack – Reese brand from E Trailer

Day One: Appleton, WI to Jamestown, ND

The first few hours of the drive went by quickly. Suddenly we were in Minneapolis. Unfortunately, that was the only leg of the journey to go by at that speed. It seemed to take forever to get to Fargo, North Dakota, but we kept pressing onward until we reached Jamestown, where we spent the night.

Day Two: Jamestown, ND to Malta, MT

North Dakota

I must say that the vast majority of North Dakota is intensely boring. We hardly saw a single other person as we made our way across the empty state, save for the cowboy hat-wearing old man we had met in the hotel that morning, who was apparently driving his camper all the way to Oregon. We passed him on the road and then had the rest of the drive to ourselves.

Finally, hours later, we found ourselves in the badlands outside Williston, North Dakota. The change of scenery was rather abrupt; the empty flatlands gave way to what looked like the Grand Canyon.

After visiting with a relative of Jeremy’s in Williston, we drove out to the ranch where Jeremy’s mother grew up, down a long, dusty road near Bainville, Montana.

Montana

The wind howled as we got out of the car to look at the ranch, and it was growing bitterly cold. As we finished the drive to Malta, Montana, snow was coming down hard.

Malta, Montana consists of a couple streets, a couple sketchy motels, a couple bars, and a dinosaur museum. We pulled into one of the motels and walked up to the front desk. A somber old man in flannel looked us over. “We’re looking for a room,” Jeremy said. The man eyed us again and walked over to a cluttered desk to look at his hand-written notes. “The place is pretty full up with hunters.” Jeremy and I looked at each other, wondering why a hoard of hunters would choose this run-down town in the middle of nowhere, and in a snowstorm, to do their business. “But,” the old man continued hesitantly, “I do have one room available.”

Our room was behind the front desk, and we quickly saw why this was the only room available. The sheets on the squeaky mattress were stained. The bathroom door didn’t close. There was no way to adjust the heat in the room, so it was close to the temperature of an oven roast. The only light other than the fluorescent ceiling lights was a bedside lamp that didn’t work. The motel was right beside a very active set of train tracks. Not to mention the whole place was very dirty. But, it was a blizzard outside, and we had a very warm place to sleep, or at least try to.

Downtown Malta

We still needed to find a place to eat dinner, and I was eager to get out of that room. We drove to one of the two restaurants in town. I imagined it would be a very quiet pub and grill. After all, we had hardly seen anyone in the town so far. We trudged through the snow on the empty street toward the entrance. Outside the door were two men wearing black leather coats, cowboy hats, and long, handlebar mustaches. They stared at us as we approached. One drawled, “It’s pretty full in there.”

We opened the door and found ourselves in a loud, rowdy bar containing the entire population of Malta. All eyes were on Jeremy and me as we walked around like lost sheep, looking for a table. Every person was either wearing flannel or hunting attire, and many wore cowboy hats.

Two rousing games of pool were happening in the center of the room. Everyone seemed to know each other and were calling out to each other from across the room. Nice shot, pops! Save me some wings, Bill! There was one arcade-style game in the corner that kept showing a clip of stampeding buffalo. I said to Jeremy, “I’m experiencing cowboy culture shock.” When we finally got the one waitress’ attention, we both ordered the night’s special – a greasy combination of chicken, pineapple, and barbeque sauce that gave me an immediate stomachache. I looked forward to returning to our ghetto motel room.

That night, the room got so hot that neither of us could sleep. We had to keep getting up and opening the door to the 5 degree Fahrenheit outdoor air. Through the paper-thin walls, we could hear the guy next to us periodically doing the same thing.

Day Three: Malta, MT to Calgary, AB

When it was finally morning, there were several inches of fresh snow on the car, and it was still snowing. The rest of the drive to the Canadian border was a complete whiteout. At one point, I handed Jeremy a blank piece of white paper and said, “Look, I drew a picture of Montana.”

I was extremely nervous to cross the border, afraid they would tear apart our meticulously-packed car and then make us repack everything in the snow. I annoyed Jeremy with a constant stream of questions. “Can you take paintings into Canada? Can you take carrots into Canada? Can you take pressure cookers into Canada?”

We pulled up by the border agent’s window. He asked the usual questions. “How long will you be in Canada? Do you have any explosives with you?” I calmly said all the right things, and then he said, “Alright, pull off into the parking lot and go see Immigration.” We proceeded inside for another hour of questioning. First they questioned me alone. “Where did you two meet? Which dating site? When did you first meet online? When did you first meet in person? How many times did you visit each other?” And so on. I had already answered all of these questions in detail in my application for permanent residency. Then they questioned Jeremy alone, then us both together. Finally, they seemed to be able to tell that we were upright, law-abiding people, and they gave me a one-year visitor’s visa.

When we finally got back in our car to officially enter Canada, the sun came out. We saw the sky, as well as the road in front of us, for the first time that day – a small blessing from God.

After finishing the drive to Calgary, we were grateful to spend the night with Jeremy’s aunt and uncle. We slept much better than we did in Malta!