We woke up this morning to more fog. There are mountains to the west as we head further north, but we can’t see them, although the sun breaks through the fog from time to time. Every tree and blade of grass is coverd in hoarfrost. Everyone in Alberta appears to drive giant pick up trucks, most of which are hauling a pair of snow mobiles riding atop a big metal plate that’s mounted on top of the bed walls. We’re currently following one that’s carrying a 4-wheeler instead. Wow! We just escaped the fog and can see the peaks!

We spent most of yesterday driving in fog, our eyes searching for the next post along the road. Eastern Montana doesn’t have many trees (big sky country), so those were our only refernece points to differentiate between the snow on the gound and the fog in the air as to where the road went. Whenever we got behind a slower moving car we were half relieved at having a much better reference point and half annoyed at being completely unable to safely pass them in the fog. Finally, we got to Great Falls, where we descended out of the fog. We stopped at an autoparts store (my car drinks nearly a quart of oil with every fuel fill-up), and my retractable ariel was caked in ice on the leading edge and would not descend into the trunk.

In Great Falls we had lunch at Bert & Ernie’s, which had Moose Drool on tap and great poutine. Poutine is Canadian comfort food that’s rather hard to find in the U.S. It’s French fries topped with gravy and cheese curds. We also split a burger that came with ham and a fried egg on it. There was apparently some confusion about whether the hostess or the waitress was supposed to get us drinks, and then the waitress apologized that she had twice as many tables as normal. It took forever for us to get the burger, and when the manager came by and asked me how the food was, I said, good, and when she asked how the service was, I said a little slow. She offered us a free beer or dessert, but I really wanted to get going, as I didn’t see how we were going to be able to get to Banff by nightfall, which had been my plan. So she said she’d take 10% off. This apparently made getting our check take even longer, and our waitress just took the beer off instead. We still tipped her 20% of the entire check, guessing on the price of the beer. I got a box and finished my half of the burger in the car.

We’re now heading straight for the jagged peaks of the Canadian Rockies on TransCanada 1, or Maple Leaf 1, as Berck calls it. Berck is amazed that Canadian drivers keep in the right lane except to pass, which makes driving so much more pleasant. “That’s it; I’m moving to Canada.” Everyone also seems to be driving exactly the speed limit.

From Great Falls we wound around more flat Montana and more fog on an incredibly empty road.

Now we’re stopped at the Banff National Park gate waiting to pay to get in. The TransCanada Highway just stops at the park gates. If you have a park pass, you can apparently bypass it in one lane, but the rest of us have to wait in line. It’s about $20. Oh! A new lane just opened up! And we’re second in line!

Finally, mountains appeared out of the mist, the back side of Glacier National Park. We were going to take a back road through a corner of the park, but it was covered in snow, so we continued on the not-quite-as-back road we were on. We eventually arrived at a very lonely customs station where a Canadian border officer asked if we had any alcohol, tobacco, firearms, firewood, or $10,000 in cash. “I wish,” said Berck. She did not seem amused. She asked us to take off our glasses while she peered at our passports, then disappeared with them for a bit, then returned them and told us to have a nice day.

The last time we tried to drive into Canada, the officers asked for proof of auto insurance, and that’s when we discovered that we had the insurance card for Berck’s mom’s car, not his. They then searched every single bit of the car and told us that as soon as we started driving, they’d call the cops and have us fined for not having insurance. We then turned around and reentered Minnesota.

When you enter Alberta by road, you’re met with a series of signs that inform you of all the things that are illegal, including importation of firewood that includes bark (to prevent the spread of Dutch elm disease). I turned off my phone, and Berck turned off roaming and data (so he can still use wifi on his phone).

We immediately noticed a difference in Canada. The roads are far wider and much better maintained. All the houses, even those in the middle of nowhere, are neat and tidy and well kept. There aren’t those piles of fallen barns in the middle of fields. And of course, the signs are all slightly different. We have fun trying to guess what the pictograms indicating what awaits travelers at each exit. In the U.S., we’d say, “GAS, LODGING” etc. But here there’s a picture of “an uncomfortable bed with a triangle above it,” as Berck says. Guess what an uncomfortable bed topped with a triangle over a slash over an egg in a soft-boiled egg holder means?

I had altered Berck’s original route to go by the mountains instead of through Calgary. Unfortunately, when we got to that road, we were greeted with A) gravel B) a sign that said the road was closed in 100 kilometers. So we had to turn around and go back the way we’d come and go up a less interesting road. But we did get to see the Frank Slide, which, as Berck said made it almost worth going out of our way for. At least we got gas, because there were no towns and no gas for a very, very long way. Provincial Highway 22 is beautifully empty (and much more interesting than the highway that goes straight up to Calgary).

It eventually led us to a town with two hotels, but there was a bigger town a little bit further up the road, so we continued on. The next town of Black Diamond also had two motels. One of them looked like it had at one time been a string of double-wide trailers but looked cheap. The other one was called the Black Diamond Hotel, which was called the Black Diamond Bar via a different door. It looked more expensive, so we went back to the cheaper looking motel, which displayed two signs that said VACANCY and one that said OPEN. We opened the office door that said OPEN to find a dark room. An old Chinese man came up behind us and asked if he could help us. We said we wanted a room, and he said that he had just let out the last one three minutes ago. I suggested he change the vacancy sign, but instead he just went into the office.

So we went to the Black Diamond Hotel. I went inside to ask how much rooms were. Inside was a gigantic bar, a kitchen, and a band playing country covers very loudly. I walked all around looking for a front desk, but finally asked a bartender if there were rooms. She said yes, but there was absolutely no smoking or pets. I went outside to report to Berck, who wasn’t convinced this was really a hotel. We decided to stay there. The bartender showed us on the menu about the rooms and then we completed the transaction and took our stuff up to a very comfortable room. Then we headed down to the bar, found the seat furthest away but still in sight of the band, and enjoyed our second dish of poutine for the day, which had excellent gravy and grated mozzarella instead of cheese curds and some meatballs with Buffalo sauce for dipping. We also tried some Traditional, which is a beer made in Calgary and liked it so much we had a few more. The band never stopped playing, though it rotated through several lead singers, most of which also played guitar. One guy sang old rock and roll songs, but the rest of it was country. Several couples did the swing energetically on the dance floor. It appeared all of Black Diamond was in this one place, enjoying a Saturday night out. We finally went back upstairs to our room, still able to hear exactly what song the band was playing from down below (they played Footloose twice, several hours apart) but fell sound asleep anyway.