Whether or not I really wanted it, I’ve gotten my day off.
This rancher owns all 220 building lots of a Saskatchewan ghost town.
I just don’t know exactly where I am.
After a few shots, I realized that she wanted me to continue painting stonily away while she cavorted around me making victory signs, as if I were a rock or a sign that read “Welcome to Moraine Lake.”
In general, Canadians are polite and friendly people. It seemed a pity to want to mow them down with my car, so I retreated to our hotel.
Last year, we counted off the signs of civilization as we lost them. This year, those same amenities crowd back into our vision like not-particularly-welcome relatives.
I’m not sure who’s suffering more, the car or Mary. I’ll push the liquids at both of them.
Mary’s illness gave me the opportunity to paint rock-flour water, so I backtracked to Muncho Lake and the Toad River. Good mother, egh?
There is something about this land that brings out self-reliance, or perhaps it attracts the self-reliant.
Our last major dirt road was the Taylor Highway in Alaska, and it was a doozy.