I was desperate to close my eyes and sleep. I could have slept in the car, no problem.
But the scene demanded my attention.
“This is the road my dad took to work. This is how most of the people from Wasilla drive to Anchorage for work. It’s called the flats” I told Chris.
I looked around. It was a little different. “There used to be a whole lot of standing dead spruce trees. I never knew why. Now there is just a few…See? Like that one.”
I kept on remembering. “This road was considered really dangerous. You can imagine, the flat swamp to the one side that lets the wind rip over the highway. Plus, in the winter when it’s dark, moose can wander in front of you whenever they like.”
At the moment–4:30 am on a Sunday–the road was completely clear.
“Now you are going to see some real Rivers, not the skinny seasonal trickles we have in Los Angeles,” I told Chris. “There are three bridges ahead. Watch how wide the rivers are.”
We were upon the first bridge. I remember this river, the Little Susitna never froze in winter. It was fed by a hot spring. Not hot enough for spa treatments, but just hot enough that it didn’t freeze. The bald eagles would hang out there during the cold months and eat the rotting salmon.
The gravel river beds holding the water spread very wide. The three bridges must have covered the same river, because I only ever saw one name identifier. It was a wide, wide water flow into the inlet.
I knew after the three bridges came the turn-off onto the Park Highway. that was highway number three of Alaska’s three highways. It was the main street of Wasilla.
But what the heck was THIS?!? Ther was an overpass! This was new. At most, this turn off had be a T in the road, with a turn lane. I couldn’t recall if it had a stop sign or a stop light, but this massive overpass was a futuristic addition I had NOT been expecting.