From: gwb
To: Hank Blakely
Sent: Saturday, January 19, 2002
Subject: My Yukon adventure
 

It was a gray mornin'. It was a cold mornin'. Bitin' cold. Piercin' cold. Icy, frigid, frozen,. bitter cold. Way below zero. Frostier 'n a witch's brassiere.
 
What I'm tryin' get across here is that it was real cold.
 
"So where was you," I hear y' askin', "That it was so cold, and how was you there?"
 
That's easy. I was in the Yukon, and I was on the lam.
 
I know you're gonna think it's strange that the Kahuna a' Nation One come to bein' a lammister. But I done it the usual way: I fell in with bad companions.
 
It all come about through my famous oil expertise. Karl and Dick C. wanted to send me up to the Northwest Territories to scout up some new drillin' prospects so we could make America energy-independent in the hopefully not-too-near future.
 
Karl says to make some recommendations so's they would know what to do. Karl ain't as smart as he thinks I think he is, and I could tell from the way he said it that they was gonna do the exact opposite a' whatever I suggested. But I didn't mind, 'cause least I got a free trip outta the deal.
 
Turns out I got a lot more than that, most a' which I didn't want. But I did learn a coupla important lessons which I'm happy to pass along:
 
     1. Never French-kiss a sled-dog.
     2. Never arm-wrestle with no woman calls herself "Grizzly Alice."
 
I started my Canada job lookin' for any resources we could use. Canada gives us lotsa stuff 'cause we're allies and way bigger than they is. I love the Canada people. And I've had some great meetin's with their Prime Minister whose name escapes me at the moment.
 
I spent the first night in a little town called Yellowknife, where I run into a bunch a' itinerant geographers from some school down in British Columbia — as hard-partyin' a group as ever I hope to meet.
 
'Fore I knew it, they'd talked me inta goin' with 'em into the Yukon Territory — said it'd be a great adventure, and I owed it to myself to see it. They seemed like a great bunch, and I'd always wanted to see the Yukon.
 
So we went.
 
We took a private plane inta Dawson City. And no sooner did we land, than our merry group was off to a little dive run by a woman name a' "Klondike Katie." Katie's place was "The Savoir Faire," (I think it's a chain, 'cause you see 'em ever'where you go up there.) I don't know why the place was so popular 'cause it was a total dump: bare walls, a few seedy types sittin' at tables drinkin' or playin' cards. The floor was mostly covered with drunks and sawdust. I had a lotta non-alcoholic beer that night just tryin a' keep up with that crowd.
 
Along about one in the mornin', in comes the 'fore-mentioned Alice — a big untidy woman who swept inta the room like a battleship. I don't know if "Grizzly" was about her size or her appearance. A little a' both, I think.
 
Soon's she comes in, her eyes bangs down hard on little Georgie and she rolls up to me like a M1 tank — a big ratty-lookin' malamute sled-dog behind her. She says I looked familiar but she couldn't place me. Just as well, I figures.
 
She was wearin' a big shaggy fur coat that musta' set the local raccoon — or rat —population back quite a bit — there couldn't a' been too many uvvem left after it was made
 
After a few minutes a' starin' down at me she asks do I wanna arm-wrestle. I was demurrant and said no, at which point she commenced raggin' on me 'n sayin' I was too skinny anyway, 'n lotsa other personal observances.
 
Nobody says somethin' like that to Georgie, and so without benefit a' sufficient thought I agreed to take her on.
 
At close quarters, Alice was not what someone called "the prospect that pleases." I could see that she was not big on the bathtub arts, 'cause she had patches a' dirt all over, and some uvvem seemed to be rubbed in permanent.
 
And now I thought I knew the source a' that strange smell in the room.
 
The worst part was that Alice appeared to own very few clothes, and what she did have wasn't all that securely fastened. As I say, she was a big woman, and, as she moved 'round, I got glimpses a' things I believe will take starrin' roles in my nightmares for some time t' come.
 
Well, plain and simple It was not my finest hour. Alice won three outta the four matches.. She'd push my arm down like a see-saw 'thout even raisin' a sweat (thank God). The one time she lost was on accounta some drunk had been botherin' her, and she lost her concentration while usin' her other hand to bash his head 'gainst the table a few times. Even then it was a near thing.
 
Nevertheless, she said I 'd won at least one match, somethin' nobody 'd ever done before. And to show her high regard for me she was gonna carry me upstairs and let me have my way with her.
 
I tried to be diplomatic, but I'm afraid some a' my true feelin's may a' leaked out (I keeled over backwards in my chair, and whimpered like a Pekingnese puppy). My reaction seemed to strike a unhappy chord in her thoughts, and sudden she was standin' over me, red-faced and a lot bigger 'n she'd been a minute before.
 
Grabbin' me by my shoulders and liftin' me into the air like a lovin' cup, she had me to know that, as she put it, I could do her or I could do the dog.
 
It would be a understatement to say that she was annoyed by my eventual selection.
 
I had hardly begun smoochin' the pooch when she let out a roar that caused several a' the patrons to faint, and started for me with her hands reachin' for my neck.
 
Bein' a fella uvva athlete turn a' mind I jog nearly ever' day -- a regime I never so much appreciated as in that moment.
 
'Fore she'd took her first step, I was outta there quicker 'n a Congressional pay-raise. And right behind me was the malamute, who'd seemed to 've developed a fondness for me.
 
When I hit the sidewalk, I tried to run down it both ways at once, 'til I noticed a big Cherokee with the keys still in it. The ol' Bush luck was holdin'. I jumped in — with the husky right behind me — and burned rubber like Wile E. Coyote.
 
And in a pickup right behind me come ol' Alice with a bunch a' guys from the saloon.
 
In a coupla minutes we was outta Dawson headed down the Klondike Highway, But even so, Alice n' her buddies kept up after me. I was I was duplexed. I knew I'd upset her some, but surely not enough to make her keep pursuin' me. Then I noticed the name-plate on the dash. It said simply "Alice."
 
Looked like the ol' Bush luck was goin' on the sick and injured list.
 
To put it mildly, it was a night a' terror. For near two hours I gunned that Jeep like it was a Formula One. The gears 'd started to whine, and I think I saw smoke risin' from the floor. But I was makin' some headway; Alice n' her friends was fallih' behind a little more each mile, and after a while I could just barely see their headlights.
 
Still, I couldn't keep it up forever. They knew the area better 'n me, and what little luck I had hadda run out sooner than later. I hadda think a' somethin' fast.
 
Here's the plan I come up with. I don't say it was a good plan, but it was all I had on me at the time.
 
What I wanted to do was get to a little town, about a hundred or so miles south a' Dawson City, name a' Stewarts Crossin', which the bunch from BC 'd made some tenacious plans to go later. The town ain't much more 'n a luncheonette n' a bus stop, and I figured to grab a bus and scoot on outta Yukon quiet without causin' some sorta innernational accident..
 
Somehow I'd got it my head that a road they call the "Silver Trail" started north a' Stewarts and run more or less parallel to the highway. So I figured to take the next turn-off and kinda run shadow to the highway with my lights off.
 
And it woulda worked, too, 'cept I ran outta road.
 
Happened just like that: one minute zoom. Next minute zilch. No more road. No more nada.
 
I was so frusterated that I felt — not for the first time that night — like cryin'. I think I did a little bit. I was too bone-weary to turn 'round, and I kept thinkin' about all the different arrangements Alice might make a' my various parts if she got the chance.
 
The Jeep was pretty warm, what with me n' the malamute in it, so I snuggled up t' her, pulled my coat over both a' us, and went to sleep.
 
          * * * * * *
 
When I woke up, my first thought was that I'd gone blind. I couldn't see nothin' beyond the car. After a while I saw my screamin' was startin' to make the dog nervous, and I calmed down enough to realize that it just had snowed overnight.
 
Deep, too. After a while, I managed to force the car door open, and kinda half jumped, half crawled out.
 
The entire road and the surroundin' landscape 'd gone total white. There was no hope a' diggin' the car outta that, and I saw I was gonna have t' hoof it the remainin' four or five miles to Stewarts Crossin'.
 
But I figured that it might be the longest four or five miles a' my life.
 
It just wasn't fair! I hadn't done nothin' to deserve this kinda treatment! I felt very dis-taught But as usual, yellin' and shoutin' at nobody in partic'lar helped calm me down, and even warmed me up a bit. After a while I realized that I'd best get if I was gonna go.
 
I looked 'round the car to see if there was anythin' 'd be a help on the trek. All I found was a carry-all bag containin' a matchbook with just three matches in it.
 
And about a hundred thousand quarts a' beer.
 
Alice's dietary requirements seemed to 've been pretty simple.
 
I felt a little queasy about it, but I figured I'd better carry some a' the beer with me. It looked like malts n' hops was all I was gonna get that day, and it didn't seem to be no time t' worry about The Pledge,. 'Sides, if ever there was a time t' be a little fuzzy 'bout your predicament this was it.
 
Hard goin'. The dog n' me sloggin' through snow for hours but not really seemin' to get nowhere. We mighta even gone in circles a bit.
 
The real disasters started 'round noontime.
 
All of a sudden there was this big KABOOM! A sound that mighta been a military jet. The noise startled the mutt so bad she jumped up into my arms, whimperin' 'til it went away. Thing is she also smashed into the carry-all hangin' from my neck, causin' most a' the bottles to break. And 'fore I knew it I was Budweiser all over.
 
It didn't take more 'n a minute after that for the cold to hit my sudden wet body like a fist. I realized right away I was in very deep manure. I hadda get dry and warm right quick or my situation was gonna turn completely serious.
 
I needed to build a fire, and all I had on me was three matches and a itch to be somewhere else.
 
I managed to scrounge up a little dry brush from under some fallen timber and tried to light it, but was so excited and breathin' so hard I blew the match out.
 
Two left.
 
I sat real quiet for a long time. Finally, I lit the second match, but my hands was tremblin' so, it near leaped outta my fingers, fell into the snow, and fizzled out.
 
I knew exactly how it felt. One left.
 
By now I had a new problem. I'd got so cold I couldn't feel my extremes. Seemed like all the warmth a' my body shriveled into a little spot in the center a' my chest. Only thing I could feel was the steady mountain a' terror.
 
I'd read somewhere about unfortunates in my predicament keepin' warm by stickin' their hands in the cut-open bodies a' animals, which made me think about the pooch a lot. Even though hated to end a beautiful friendship, I hadda admit that didn't sound like a half-bad idea. Thing was, I didn't have no weapon a' any kind, just a mess a' beer bottles...
 
... broken beer bottles....
 
Slowly, I reached inta the carry-all, and fished around 'til my frozen pinkies closed on what I'd hoped was a long piece a' broken glass. Then I called real sweet to the Husky.
 
But she wasn't havin' none a' it. She didn't know what all was wrong but she'd never knowed me t' act nice to her 'fore now, and I guess she was suspected.
 
It was no good. I realized there was no way I was gonna be able to catch her, wrestle her to the ground and do what had to be done. Then I looked down and saw I'd cut my hand on the glass. There was blood all over the snow.
 
Well, that pretty much untied the blanket for me. I slumped back against a snow bank. There wasn't no point in goin' on. It occurred t' me that if I just dogged put one foot down after the other, puttin' aside my pain and discomfort, I might could get to Stewarts Crossin' anyway. But what was the point? I prob'ly wouldn't make it, and it'd just be a lotta trouble for nothin'. Plus I didn't have the energy; me n' the dog hadn't had nothin' to eat all day. Better just to let go and have it over with.
 
The dog seemed t' sense me givin' up. She perked up quite a bit at that, and I noticed how that she was starin' at me in a strange new way — like she was at a butcher shop 'n tryin' a' figure out which steak was the tenderloin.
 
All my fear and blubberin' 'd wore me down to a frizzle, and I begun thinkin' about how nice it'd be get a little nap. I'd started to warm up a little, and I knew it'd be the best nap I ever had. Last thing I remember, as I started to drift off, was the dog comin' toward me, low to the ground, with her ears flattened back against her head, and growlin' way down in her throat...
 
          * * * * * *
 
I woke up in a hospital bed with two nurses and a Secret Service standin' over me. Seems when I didn't return, the BC gang 'd called the Mounties, and they'd tracked me down.
 
But it'd took a few days, and nobody could figure out how I lasted that long. The dog 'd run off, and I'd managed somehow to get a fire started and found enough to eat to keep me goin'. Ever'one said it was a miracle.
 
Later that evenin' they brought me a little hot tea and some soup and crackers. It didn't taste bad, not bad at all.
 
A hell of a lot better than roast malamute.