We left California in the late 70’s. We drove the Ford through the redwoods, along the Oregon Coast, through Washington coastal lands and up into Canada. We waited for word on the AlCan Highway and found out it had washed out. We decided to take the Cassiar Highway; an untamed, solitary, one lane, gorgeous drive. We awoke to voracious mosquitoes and ran to the truck for cover. We wandered through the Yukon. One spot offered up electricity and running water; a true, true luxury. The Ford pulled the trailer up and down hills, past lakes and valleys, and we landed amidst the permafrost stunted forest of the Alaskan border. I cried. It was ugly and desolate.
The Ford took us to Fairbanks and a small cabin outside of town. No garage. No running water. In the midst of winter, the truck had to be plugged in for hours before we could venture to town.
We left the following July and drove down the AlCan. Mud, dust, frayed nerves. The entry into Bellingham, Washington was overwhelming. I cried. It was such a big city.
The Ford dragged the trailer for several camping trips on Whidbey Island. Whidbey was a welcome respite from the city. The ocean, forests and small towns were wonderful. Who knew we would land there so very many years later? Not me.
The Ford made trips to California, Colorado and back to Washington. The final trip, our weathered vehicle earned a ride to Colorado. Imagine! The trailer had to be sacrificed. I cried.
The Ford sat in retirement in the Black Forest these past many years. It was somehow comforting to look out the kitchen window and see her there. But, it is time for the next move and she, too, needed a new adventure. Adios. May new adventures be in your future. I will never forget you.