The Dangerous Breath
In the month of October, Canada is at its most stunning. Devoid of trees, there is a distinct lack of color in the sky, and the roads are deserted. When the sun sets, the aurora borealis is generally in full bloom. The road to Alaska is covered in a blanket of fading greens, pinks, and purples. Caribou graze by the roadway, while ravens scavenge the carcasses of any animals that are unfortunate enough to meet the wheels of the diesel behemoth. I had one of the most frightening experiences of my life when driving from British Columbia to the Yukon Territory on the Alaskan Highway.
In the vast North, fuel is a highly sought-after commodity. As soon as I spotted a gas station sign, I would pull over and fill up my tank. Before I saw another station, I learnt that it might be anywhere between one and two hundred kilometers. After the beginning of October, most of the little shops close their doors. There are a lot of signs advertising gas and other services, but relatively few businesses are really operating. I saw a sign that said 'Next gasoline 245 kilometers'. I had just over half a tank of petrol left in my tank as the sun was beginning to set. Just by chance, I had enough petrol to make it to the location on the sign. The thought of not being able to get in made me a little nervous. As soon as my vehicle ran out of gas in the jungle, I became an instant member of the food chain. I was running out of time. sojourned on When I arrived at the final location, I prayed and hoped there would be enough petrol.
After another two hours of driving, I arrived at Toad River, California, with just a quarter of a tank of petrol left in my tank. A post office, a restaurant, and a double-bay garage were all located in the same structure. I saw there were no other cars in the parking lot as I made my way into it. I parked my pickup next to the dilapidated red petrol pump and got out. Upon exiting the truck, the aroma of food wafted up to greet me. As soon as I learned the restaurant was open, I felt a sense of relief. I was certain that I would be able to get gas for my vehicle and maybe even something to eat. I went to the gas pump. This red-faced creature has a message that said 'CASH ONLY' affixed to it above the flap numbers. There will be no cheeseburger and fries for me tonight.'" was my thinking as I started pumping gas for all the cash I was holding. A chilly wind stung my beard as I stood in front of a bright orange sodium arc light and scanned the metal digits that indicated the price and the quantity of liters. There were no customers around, so I walked across the deserted parking lot and noted that all the windows had their shutters closed.
Once inside, I sat down on the couch. Even though the restaurant was packed, the noise level dropped as soon as I walked in. A good thirty individuals were seated in the eating area. Silence fell over the room like a heavy drape. Every one's gaze was drawn to me, the unfamiliar face. Is it possible that I've disrupted a secret meeting? All of a sudden, there were none to be found. Where were the residences? As I neared the checkout counter, I started to feel a sense of impending dread in my gut. A modest, open kitchen was located behind the register. As I peered into the ermine-colored eyes of the chef, his steel gray hair was pomade-slicked to one side. In his left hand was a dripping fry basket, and his attention was fixed on mine. I tried to inform the counter lady how much petrol I had purchased, but my voice broke horribly as I attempted to do so. She received my money without establishing eye contact and issued me a receipt that was badly printed. Patrons did not make a peep as I left the establishment. While running toward my pickup, I did my best to avoid looking back. I was aware that these people and their invisible automobiles were keeping an eye on me, and I was on the list for whatever they had in store for me. When I got to my pickup, the engine roared to life. The gas pedal was already down when I moved into first gear.
Since then, I've only returned to Toad River once, but that's another story. Knowing that a little mountain hamlet in the vast North is home to a community of individuals engaged in their own personal pursuits keeps me up at night. They may still be there, preparing and never speaking to anybody outside the group. When I think of my vehicle speeding away from that isolated outpost as the fading green aurora borealis spread out across the eerie countryside, my heart pounds.
