Of our first stop in Alaska, Ketchikan, Tim says he's never seen such dense forest. I wouldn't know.

Tim getting the bus on the ferry. He's an animal, I tell you!

Loading the bus on the ferry to Alaska.

Border chic

ALASKA – both of us were a little worried about going, albeit for different reasons: Tim was concerned about the trip up through Canada. He thought, given how Americans are perceived in the world these days, that we’d encounter nothing but hostility. Then again, he had also never had a burning desire to go to Alaska. I was the one who said, even before we ever headed out, “Well, if we’re doing this bus thing, then we should at least go to Alaska.” What an idiot.

At least now I’m not just restricting my fears to the bus. Oh, no. Now, I’m terrified of the roads (are they even paved?) hitting a moose, getting mauled by a bear (I had a dream we both were the night before we left Seattle). And, since my bus phobia had generalized to any moving vehicle, I’m also a little nuts about the ferry rides. I love boats and the water, but I’m actually fixating on the stuff in the bus crashing around, (just like I still do when I’m riding in it) even though we’ll be topside. I’m a wreck from worrying: did we have all the paperwork we needed to take a bus, a Jeep and three pets across the border? How will we navigate (our GPS has no CDs for Canada)? Why didn’t we bring a gun (for bears)? Tim says we just have to make noise in the woods while we walk and that that’s why people carry bells. Well, we don’t have any bells, do we? He says we don’t need them with my mouth.

I was half hoping we’d be turned back at the border, but we weren’t. They didn’t even ask about the pets’ vaccinations, trusted us on the ridiculous amounts of alcohol Tim said we had (a few bottles of wine, less than a 12 pack of beer and 1 bottle of hard liquor. Right. That’ll be my consumption the first night – if I survive). Tim says one look at me and the border guards knew no self respecting smuggler/terrorist could possibly dress this way (see the picture above for my tres bus chick outfit: pink track suit with big pink furry socks).

I guess that’s why they didn’t even bother aboot us.

Driving to the Oregon coast from Portland, we pass through Scarpoose and the “peace candle;” really a peace silo, painted red with a giant fabricated flame on top.

I could just feel the world drawing closer together as we whizzed by on Hwy 30.

More bus phobia. I now realize why psychotics engage in “self quieting behavior” such as rocking, repeating words, etc. My new mantra, as we twist over Hwy 199 East from CA to OR is “kill me kill me kill me kill me.” It’s all mindless until I suddenly realize what I’m saying. It’s not that I’m afraid of dying, it’s that I’m afraid of dying like this. So, my new, new mantra; “kill me, but not like this… kill me, but not like this…”

Finally, I can’t wait anymore. I say I’m just going in the back to kill myself. Tim replies, "so, I guess you'll be back there trying to slit your wrists with your electric razor." What an empathetic guy. I guess he gave at the office.