Lisa's Journal Saturday, August 19th, 2006
I'm driving to Fort McPherson down a muddy cheese grater called the Dempster Highway and sending good vibes to the car rental lady who suggested I rent a four-by-four SUV instead of a car. A truck whooshes past spraying something akin to lentil soup on the windshield. I click on the wipers and try to get some washer fluid going. Nothing. I've got about three hours of driving ahead and nowhere to buy fluid. I stop at a campground and exchange Toblerone chocolate for windshield fluid with two kind ladies and, relieved, I head south again. Still no fluid. Either the pump isn't working or there's a hole in the tank. What a drag.
The Demptster Highway.
The next time I need a windshield wash, I slow down, lower the driver's side window and try to splash water on the windshield from my water bottle. The wiper swishes the muddy soup across the windshield, through my open window and onto my lap. I'm pleased again with my choice of brown pants but I'm no longer sending good vibes to the car rental lady. I'm sending Tony Soprano.
"I stop at a campground and exchange Toblerone chocolate for windshield fluid with two kind ladies."
I arrive alive at Fort McPherson's Peel River Inn and gas station but the teenage receptionist can't find my room key. She gives me the master key and makes me promise not to lose it or she'll get in trouble. I assure her I can be trusted and then spend the evening resisting the urge to open every single door I see. The hotel's restaurant, the only one in town, isn't open. I knew this ahead of time so I brought a can of soup which I warm up in the restaurant kitchen. OK, I pilfered a few packages of crackers and a teabag. At $200 a night, I figured they owed me.
