Inspiration for A Perfect Finish
The Genesis of A Perfect Finish
Assistance-in-Dying as a Book Topic
My maternal grandmother died of Alzheimer’s. I watched the disease attack her in slow motion. For years, she battled in confusion. Her final years in the nursing home must have really sucked. When I visited her, I could see the terror in her eyes. They milked her savings until her savings were nearly gone, whereupon she fell in the shower and died in weeks. It was a lousy ending to an interesting life. Her closing chapters got me thinking about the topic of assistance-in-dying and what choices I would make under similar circumstances.
Whitehorse: Such an Easy Place to Die . . .
In 2016 I took my almost thirteen-year-old son on a motorcycle trip to fish in Homer AK. It was during that trip that I first visited and fell in love with Whitehorse YT.
The ALCAN is short for Alaska Canada Highway. Canadians refer to it as the Alaska Highway. It begins in Dawson Creek BC and ends 1,387 miles later in Delta Junction AK.
A lot of people ask me how long it takes to travel the Alaska Highway. There are a couple factors. Allow me to digress and offer a few relevant details about that first trip.
To my surprise, my twelve-year-old son volunteered to go along. I mention this, of course, because travelling alone versus two-up can make a meaningful difference not just in travel time but also in daily departure times. On 26 June we departed Denver at 11:53 am MT. In order to avoid excessively boring the passenger, we stopped frequently and, upon request, stayed double-nights at posh spots (especially those with good internet). We had no reservations, and so as long as Hanna kept paying our credit cards, we could do whatever we wanted.
From Denver we took the 1,853-mile eastern route to the Alaska Highway, arriving at 2:33 pm PT on 2 July in Dawson Creek (Mile Zero), where the ALCAN begins. That’s the thing that some travelers don’t understand: depending on your departure point, it can be a long distance to Mile Marker Zero. The second thing some don’t know is that, although the Alaska Highway is a singular route, there are multiple routes to arrive at the start, Dawson Creek, depending on your point of departure. For those heading out from Seattle WA taking the western route, the journey to Mile Zero of the ALCAN is less than half as long as from Denver CO.
At 4:30 pm on 7 July we arrived in Whitehorse (total elapsed miles: 2,828) wearing sunshine smiles and shirtsleeves. According to my journal on the day we arrived:
Then there is Whitehorse. Wow! An outdoorsman’s paradise. Located on the Yukon River, it’s the capital of the Yukon Territory and really worth visiting. This was our first adverse experience with “no bookings.” We went to the Visitor Center and they phoned around for us and found us a room at the Westmark Hotel for $195–great location. Elk Stroganoff at Klondike Rib and Salmon was excellent, then Spiderman 3D.
Rounding Out the Trip, After Whitehorse
We arrived in Fairbanks, the end of the ALCAN (total elapsed miles: 3,449), at 4:45 pm on 9 July.
N, does it hurt being 12?
A little bit.
The journey was the destination, so we dithered around a lot, visiting Denali, Jeff King’s Iditarod show, and the Iditarod Headquarters in Wasilla, before arriving to our turning point of Homer AK (total elapsed miles: 4,060) at 4:12 pm on 15 July. Here is my journal entry for that day:
Upon arrival, in wind and fog, we went directly to the Homer Spit, a five-mile peninsula which encapsulates the docks, home to an eclectic collection of tourist shops. The weather conditions were nautical. I love it. We met new friends at Homer Ocean Charters and bought fishing licenses and derby tickets in preparation for a full day of halibut fishing tomorrow. Then to our hotel and dinner at the Beluga Restaurant and Bar, and boy did I finally fit in. What a fine collection of blue-collar rag tags, complemented by fishermen as they were returning from their boats. The food was fully as good as at the Captain Hook Hotel, with none of the snotty attitude. Maybe I could move to Homer . . .
Choosing the Site of Alamea’s Accident
From the first glimmer of an idea for the book, I knew where the accident would occur. It’s mentioned in my journal entry on 28 July, as it relates to our return via Tok Cutoff after fishing in Homer AK:
Beaver Creek to Destruction Bay is the meanest road on the ALCAN. Combine that with the nastiest weather and that was today. We were the chicken in the cold noodle soup. We got wet slowly, and each mile we hoped it would clear just around the next corner so we could avoid riding around in trash bags. At the gas station he said, “You should have put your rain gear on sooner.”
Beyond the killer potholes, the frost heaves surprise you–N almost came over the windshield with me. We know how the popcorn kernel must feel in its moment of surprise. The RVs go especially slowly for long stretches of popcorn bumps, trying to keep the microwaves in the cabinets, but then they ride our tail for long stretches of chipseal. Except for one Mercedes RV which we actually had to pass in chipseal. Was he worried about paint chips or was he transporting a paraplegic cross border without a seat belt?
Returning to Whitehorse–The First Kernel of A Perfect Finish
I find in my entry for our return to Whitehorse in which I document the genesis of A Perfect Finish:
And we return to wonderful Whitehorse, the activity center of Canada. Think of a scruffy Boulder, with Crocodile Dundee as mayor, the Duke as judge, and Navajo running the school board. Venison stew at Klondike Rib and Salmon, then the movie Dunkirk.
There are two sides to this Whitehorse coin–we saw only summer. Many a miner saw his last winter in the surrounding Klondike wilderness. If you’re young, don’t forget to visit Whitehorse (and Ios) in the summer. Outside of Ireland, it’s a great place to meet a Galway Girl (N’s playlist).
From Whitehorse, why does the road NW suck so bad while the road SE is so perfect?
New Biz Idea: Yukon Autumn Spa, a breathtaking experience
A week of pampering in our spa, then the opportunity to die a unique adventure death. Packages include a week of tailored spa treatments, then a final butter and honey spa, a burlap poncho, sandals, and deluxe salmon lunch to go. Unique adventure deaths in the historic wilderness. Choose roadside drop-off, heli-wilderness drops, or for those not ambulatory, a wheelchair ride to the cliff’s edge (please bring your own chair). All successful visitors are guaranteed an obituary write-up describing the heroic death of an adventurer (that’s you). Imagine being the only person in your class who was actually eaten by a bear.
Including Bears in the Story
During our return, we had a harrowing experience with a family of black bears (a sow and two teenage cubs). South of Watson Lake, I was searching for the turnoff from the Alaska Highway to head toward Vancouver, then Crater Lake where we were to meet up with Hanna and M. It was getting late in the day and N was grumpy because we may have missed our turn. I stopped on a roadside stretch of wilderness to study maps and N refused to get back on the bike. I casually ignored the protest by taking out a deli club sandwich and eating it roadside, as though it didn’t matter to me whether we moved on or not.
“N, you do realize that there might be bears here?”
“You’re just saying that to get me back on the motorcycle.”
“We should probably watch for them.”
As I chomped the sandwich, I scanned the roadside. Nothing lurking on our side, but as I turned and looked across the road diagonally, I saw the cutest bear cub peaking over a bush at us. Its head bobbed down and right next to it another head bobbed up–a twin. I pointed them out to N, but they seemed far away–we weren’t sufficiently concerned enough to get back on the bike. The bears disappeared for ten or fifteen minutes, during which time I made progress on the sandwich, but we were otherwise at an impasse. I didn’t see the bears again until they were on our side of the road, 270 degrees from where they had been. Somehow they had managed to cross the road and circle around behind us without us seeing them. Mamasita was leading the charge, with the dynamic duo tagging along at her heels. They were sauntering directly towards us at quite a lope, with serious intent it seemed. Luckily, N finally opted for dashing or we might have ended it all playing ring around the rosey-blue-bike. By the time we began mounting up, the bears were no more than thirty yards away! We were lucky they approached from the rear, not the front, or we may not have gotten by them. Here is the journal entry about the experience:
Black bears! We saw two cubs w/ ma in two separate batches today. The second batch was sauntering over to investigate our club sandwich as we parked roadside. At 30 yards, we booked out of there.
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