Let's drive to Alasaka, he said.

by Alika Rogers (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown USA

“Alaska! Really?” When I’d asked Ben where he wanted to go, I expected him to choose something closer to Tahoe. San Francisco or Yosemite would’ve been a reasonable choice. I had to pick my lower jaw from the floor when he said Alaska. Ben was from New Zealand and had traveled to Tahoe to join ski patrol for a winter. That’s where we met. He shared his place with me when I traveled from the bay to my weekend job on the mountain, saving me a fortune. Hotel rates aren’t cheap in South Lake. In trade, I promised to take him on a road trip. When the ski season ended, we had fourteen days to make the trip before his Visa expired and he’d have to return to his island. Only an insane person would attempt the epic trek we were about to make in a pickup truck older than dirt itself expecting to make it back in fourteen days. We were just the crew for the job. Traveling with a Kiwi is much like traveling with a toddler, overly enthusiastic about everything and difficult to understand when they get excited. I couldn’t pass a squirrel on the road without Ben jumping out of his seat waving his arms like a maniac screaming, “Squirrel! Squirrel!” I guess they don’t have squirrels in New Zealand. His eagerness was delightfully contagious and at times I felt as if I were experiencing my first squirrel sighting right alongside him. With our gear packed neatly into my rusty old Toyota, our road maps unfolded gently across our laps, and no real plan, we set out for a leap into the great unknown. So many roads and wonderful places to explore scattered across the maps. Our eyes grew big and the hunger in our souls gave way to wild determination. We were going to see it all. From the ancient dinosaur bones in Utah, to the Old Faithful geyser in Yellowstone, up into Glacier, eventually carving our way through Canada towards the snowy peaks of Mt. McKinley in Alaska. Averaging close to a thousand miles a day, we made our way north. I was fascinated with the eclectic shops and stops along the desolate highway. Where you’d find bubblegum and mints in a California gas station you find arrowheads and trinkets forged by true Eskimos in Yukon. Yukon is trippy. We’d drive for hours along the icy tundra with no sign of life and then “BAM!”, in the middle of Nowheresville, a signpost forest with a gazillion street signs from all over the world. The Yukon stretch felt like the longest, but it was also the most mystical. The night stretched longer the closer we came to the Northern pole. It was my turn to drive and I chose to drive through the night. With Ben fast asleep in the passenger seat, Radiohead’s Pyramid song playing softly on the radio, and nothing but snowy roads and starry skies for as far as I could see, I sank into the peaceful ambiance. That’s when it happened. It was like magic. Brilliant green lights appeared ahead and began dancing across the sky. I slammed on the brakes, stopping dead center of the lonely highway. “Ben! Ben! Wake up! You’ve got to see this.” Ben popped up. Startled, he rubbed his eyes, unsure if what he was witnessing was real or a dream. We watched in awe for several minutes as the lights completed full pirouettes above our heads. The lightshow requisitioned my eyes the way a mermaid enchants the sailors. Goosebumps covered my arms and my body surged with electricity. This was more than mere excitement. I felt the lights throughout my entire body as if they were a part of my being. God had just pulled back the curtain and graced us with a sneak peek into heaven. The encounter with Aurora Borealis was breathtaking and left me pining for more. It’s no wonder why they’re named after a Goddess. We had our hearts set on seeing many things, but seeing the light never crossed my mind. This single experience made every challenge I’ve ever faced that led me to this one moment worth it all.