We want to get high up into British Colombia so we can drive down through the Rocky mountains, so straight of the ferry with Dad driving we head up through Whistler the ski resort. Everything looked brand new here, lots of Alpine lodges. We passed a few dudes carringing boards and ski's. There was no snow on the ground but the surrounding mountains still had some.
The road continues forever after Whistler but what a drive!!! We climbed so high up the mountains my ears were popping like I had a mouthful of spacedust. At some points there was still loads of snow still at the roadside. As we climbed the mountains most of the road had been cut into the rock. It was like one of thoses I've only seen in movies with the steep drops into oblivion! Dad was still driving ..... Nothing against his driving but in this situation you want to be in control of your destiny! After 1000,000 miles of seat gripping fun we came out of the mountains quite suddenly into open farm land with old barns and Ranches dotted about. We passed through a few Indian reservations, theses were easily identifiable buy all the rusty old cars lined up outside their broken down shacks, we saw 3 Wig-wam tent things.
Stopped for fuel or 'gas' as we call it now in a little town called Lilooet. This town has no dentist or optician and the lad who worked at the Gas station (Cleitus) clearly needed both. We asked for directions and that just confirmed there was no school around these parts either. We were hungry so i got a pizza and Dad got a Banock? This was simply fried cardboard ..... It went to the fishes at the next river.
Just as day light was fading we nipped off the main road to a place called Lone Bute looking for digs. There was no motel, but there in front of us was a Moose just standing in a garden chewing on the bushes.... Awesome.
Back on the main road to find a Motel, we found one at "90 Mile House", the rickety old lady said "yeah I have a room, you may want to see it first though" then she showed us to the sty. I would have slept in the barn at this point but Dad has higher standards than me. "What are 2 English men doing out here in hick country?, you be safe now!?" even her own advice was to drive to the next town for a better Motel. So away to "100 Mile House" which believe it or not was 10 miles up the road.
At the next Motel the bloke in reception was a bit of an American hating know all, he'd been everywhere and done everything, he started talking politics and this seriously bored me so I stared at him for long enough to make him stroke his funny little goatee beard.