To Ottawa and Out

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border, buffalo, Byward Market, Canada, Cleveland, Clock Tower, Erie, Habitat 67, Horloge Quai, Maman, Montreal, Montreal Port, National Gallery of Canada, National War Memorial, New York, Niagara Falls, Ohio, Ontario, Ottawa, Parliament, Parliament Hill, passport, Peach Street, Pennsylvania, Quebec, Rideau Canal, road trip, ships, snow, snowstorm, spider statue, Toronto, travel, weekend trip, winter, winter driving

Jess and I had our six hours of sleep rudely divided by a group of obnoxious kids who returned to the hostel at 4AM and could not keep quiet.  Regardless, she and I got up at 7AM and left Kyle when he chose to sleep in so we could see some sites along the waterfront.  We passed my car and laughed when we saw two feet of snow had stacked up on top.  We loaded our packed bags in the backseat and could hardly get the doors open from all of the snow around us.

Snow flingers we later borrowed as shovels to dig out my car.

Hostel’s kitchen.

Walking outside to load the car.

It looked twice as bad when we went to leave.

We then faced the wicked wind along the Saint Lawrence River and walked along the docks where we could photograph icy water, a ship, Habitat 67, and some squares with statues and interesting architecture.  We walked back up along the river to the Clock Tower, choosing a street better guarded by buildings from the wind.  Snow contraptions were attempting to clear the streets, but snow kept piling right back up.  We went to the Bonsecours area of town, past the market and the old Sailor’s church, then photographed the docks on that side of the Quais.  We headed back to round up Kyle and hop in our car after borrowing snow flingers from the hostel to try to pull enormous loads from my roof and windows.  It was fluffy enough that I could pull forward through the snow that was now up to my windows on the street side.  The water bottle I left in the car was completely frozen through.

Snow still coming down.

Wind-cut snow on cars near the river.

Habitat 67 across from the port.

The ladies now covered in snow.

Bonsecours Marche and church.

The backside of the church, a.k.a. “Sailor’s Church”.

Clock tower faded in the snow.

Decorative walls in the hostel showing the area on a hand-drawn, chalk map.

The light in the lounge.

We wasted some time circling the streets because 10 was shut down.  No maple syrup coffee for us, because the shop opened too late, but we still managed to do what we wanted to get done.  We finally made it to an open bridge and crossed over to the Biosphere “located at Parc Jean-Drapeau, on Île Sainte-Hélène in the former pavilion of the United States for the 1967 World Fair Expo 67”, as described on Wikipedia.  It was like a translucent Epcott sphere.

Next, we drove back to the main city and photographed the Olympic Stadium.

 

Our last stop was at the two famous bagel stores in town, St-Viateur and Fairmount.  We got 1/2 dozen sesame bagels at each.  I think Fairmount won our votes, but they were very similar.

Fairmount on the left, St Viateur on the right.

Inside the larger of the two, St Viateur.

Jess with the bags.

Sesame to compare.

The roads leaving Montreal.

The streets were still slick but the temperature was cold enough that our trip wasn’t too bad as we took off that late morning from Montreal and due west into Ontario, making a detour at Canada’s capitol city: Ottawa.

We only spent a short time in Ottawa.  We first parked so we could walk to Parliament Hill, then made a loop by the Canal and the National War Memorial, photographing the buildings and holiday decorations all around us.

We then drove over to photograph Maman in front of the National Gallery of Canada.  Maman is an enormous spider sculpture with 26 marble eggs under her.  We touched her and ran back to the car to find a place to eat at the Byward Market.  We walked around a bit inside before settling on a nearby seafood place, The Fish Market.  Then we took off out of the city in better traffic conditions, heading south for Q.E.W. 401.  The roads got much worse and we nearly ran out of gas before we finally hit the highway.

The church across the street from where we touched Maman

Maman

The market – and the whole district dedicated to it that surrounded the main attraction.

The rest of the night was so long and dull.  The weather was horrible and cars were wrecking everywhere around us.  Kingston took eternity to reach, then we ticked down the time until we hit Toronto.  It seemed like forever.  We made periodic stops to keep us feeling alive, but the drive was monotonous in the traffic and the road conditions.  We frequently had to dodge caravans of plow trucks which caused jams along the highway.

Pickle Doritos from one of the gas stations.

My license plate caked with snow and ice all day.

Finally, we skirted out of Toronto traffic and tried to pass Hamilton and follow the Q.E.W. all the way to the southernmost crossing in Buffalo to avoid bridge tolls.  We weren’t in the mood to see Niagara Falls again, not with the time it was getting to be.  When we finally made it to Buffalo for more gas, I let Kyle drive so I could sleep at least an hour.  He drove to Erie and we watched as a guy tried to pass us, lost control, and went wheeling into the snowy median.  Finally, we reached Peach Street where my mom met us and took Kyle and his things.  Jessica and I continued to last stretch to my office to retrieve her snow-covered car.  She chose to go straight to work as it was 3:30AM.  I debated sleeping in my car with my sleeping bag because I had to be at work in 3 hours, but I decided I’d sleep better at home.  I got back at about 4AM and woke up 2 hours later for work, tired but satisfied by our short but awesome trip.

Snowshoeing in Denali National Park

Tags

AISES, Alaska, alone, Anchorage, bridges, Case Western, Denali, Denali National Park, Fairbanks, Healy, hiking, huskies, ice, Iditarod, Mt. McKinley, mushers, mushing, Native American, park, Pennsylvania, sleds, snow, snowshoeing, snowstorm, solo travel, student, winter, wolves

Behold: The official main entrance of Denali National Park.  I had originally intended to spend the night here, but I was glad I stayed closer to civilization instead.  Following some winding paths up through the park, I was shocked to find several cars in the parking lots.  One couple was even sleeping in the back of theirs.  Like I said, it takes a certain kind of person… I turned to find the welcome center.  Walking on to the porch, I realized the lack of footprints and saw that it was closed for the winter.  My face knitted up into confusion; I knew they offered free snowshoe rentals in the winter, but why was the center closed?  That’s when I turned to see a bear sleeping 10 feet from me and I silently leapt a few feet into the air, startled.  My heart rate soared.  I froze.  The bear was silent and covered in snow.  I squinted my eyes, then laughed out loud – a bronze statue!  Curse you, park rangers!  What a cruel trick!

Walking back to the truck, I decided to check out the place where most of the cars were parked.  Sure enough, a building tucked behind some pines was the winter welcome center.  Inside, I paid a National Park Service fee of $10 and checked out my free snowshoes.  The woman raised her eyebrows at my personal information on the rental form which listed my home as Pennsylvania.  “You’ve come a long way!” she said, and I nodded, thinking, Hasn’t everyone come a long way to get here?  I rushed outside with my shoes, grabbed my camera, and began hiking, map in hand.  I wanted to do every trail, but I quickly realized how out of scale the map was and limited my goals: Find and take pictures of the bridge, then go find the husky pens.

I took off on one trail and, within minutes, was lost.  I turned around.  I took another trail.  It looped back to where I had started.  There were trails before me that weren’t even listed on my map.  I became furious.  The woman had told me to be careful, that hiking was dangerous, especially alone.  You could get stranded and no one would find you for days, the park was so enormous.  I tried to listen to her advice and be careful for as long as my patience would let me, so for about 15 minutes.  Then I shoved the map angrily into my pocket and took off, literally running down the trail.  The work out felt great and I only passed one other lunatic on the trail.

I ran down a slope and into a valley.  Above me, I saw a bridge of sorts.  It was not the one I was looking for and it did not even appear on the map.  Nonetheless, I decided to cross the stream in front of me and go just a little farther.  Standing on the footbridge over the frozen stream, I stopped and took in my surroundings.  I held my breath.  Dead silence.  Then, suddenly, horrible cracking and humming sounds.  I jumped and spun around.  It was the gurgling brook, trapped by the ice.  It creaked and moaned and made me feel more haunted than anything else I had seen so far.  I took off over the next knoll and stopped, staring at miles of tree tops in front and no indication of where I was.  There were little paw prints scattered through the snow, but no indication of animals.  I froze at one point when I looked down to see large wolf-like prints that vanished at the base of the tree.  I looked up into the tree.  Nothing.  Puzzled, I turned around and began the trek back, frequently looking over my shoulder.

I was watching my time, and it was swiftly ticking away.  If I wanted to see the huskies, I knew I had to get going.  I thought I had been retracing my steps, but, as I walked around a trail, I was perplexed to find that my footprints were gone and that nothing but fresh snow and bird tracks lay before me.  Maybe I wasn’t following my own steps after all?  I continued down the trail and found the distinct point where footsteps had stopped and turned around.  I remember having done this and recognized the intersection.  I chose to continue in the direction I had refused to go and found myself rapidly approaching the winter welcome lodge from a different side.  Looking over the trees of the forest where I had just come from, I saw bright pink and purple mountain peaks, hazy with a localized winter storm terrorizing their landscapes.

I returned the snowshoes, thanked the lady for my first snowshoe experience ever, and pet some wolf pelts on my way out the door.  She had indicated on my map where to find the husky pens, and I was relieved to find this road easier to follow.  I drove my truck a couple miles up a mountain side where I was greeted by signs about mushing, huskies, and the Iditarod.  Here was where they kept and trained dogs for mushing.  As funny as it might sound, Alaska was my first time snowshoeing, but I had mushed once before – in Pennsylvania!  Seeing the dogs and sleds brought back fond memories of racing through the woods in Ligonier when I was a teenager.  The man tending the dogs pointed out which ones were out for me to see, and I went around petting and hugging the happy, furry guys.

Huskies are so pretty.  I kept thinking about wolves and dog genealogy as I greeted each one by name, and laughed at how different their personalities were.  Each one would greet me with different degrees of friendliness, but all of the huskies licked my hands aggressively as I tried to move away to the next one.  I got a kick out of the yellow ice that had built up on the sides of the male huskies’ huts.  I was fortunate enough to see one dog who wasn’t in a pen; she was tied to a chain in a village of little, uncontained husky huts.  I hugged her and she was soft and warm.  Then I walked inside the building to marvel at the various sleds inside.  Checking my watch, I decided it was time to move on.

I was sad to leave the dogs and the park, and to turn my back to the unknown that lay north of me.  I wanted to keep going.  I wanted to go to Fairbanks, to meet people, to climb more mountains… but I knew I had a plane to take at about midnight.  I encouraged myself to hurry back by saying, “If you make good time, you can go to a nice restaurant in Wasilla a see a few sites before you go!”  And that’s exactly what I did.  Kissing a handful of postcards for my family and friend Keith, I dropped them in the mailbox on my way out and embraced my next few hours of winding roads.