After Jasper, I drove two long stretches without houses or gas or services through this landscape.
Then I ended up in a vast, post-apocalyptic wide open space called Grand Prarie. Technically, Grand Prarie's an oil-focused crossroads town of 60,000 in northwest Alberta, but my experience there had me looking over my shoulder for marauding hoards from Mad Max.
Wikipedia has this image of Grand Prarie from above.
That looks about right. The drive to GP, as it's known, is an experience. First there are beautiful rolling hills like the one above, but mostly you notice a muddy and pothole-laden road that is perpetually under construction in a neverending battle against the elements. Parts of the road literally just slide off the hill here and there.
The main feature of the road, especially as you get closer to GP itself, is trucks. Gigantic triple-cab logging trucks with logs piled impossibly high zoom in both directions. Oil and hazmat trucks rumble past and turn on and off various tributaries. Massive construction trucks are hard at work, or being transported to jobs on still larger trucks.
You also notice mud. Lots of mud. Most of the side roads are dirt or gravel, and every pickup and semi seems permanently splattered with mud. On a bike, it's hard to dodge the muddy gobs and smears. On a dry, windy day, the mud turns to very nasty dust.
Racing along the highway and contemplating the muck, I was none too pleased to see this cloud formation ahead, directly in my path.
I got the rain suit on in time -- though not before I was enveloped in a shockingly thick cloud of enormous mosquitoes. I made it through the storm, and when I came out the other side, on the final stretch to GP, I encountered some powerful wind. Really powerful wind.
At first, I didn't think much of it. I had handled windy days before. But this wind was different. It seemed to come from any direction, at any time. And it was strong. (I later looked it up, and gusts were solidly in the 60km/hr range.)
Turns out that wind can knock you right off your motorcycle. I didn't suffer that fate, but I came close a few times, and even at low speeds I found that a gust could scoot my bike sideways as I drove. It was unnerving, and I hunkered down behind my windshield and drove slowly on the shoulder to get to town.
GP itself seems like it matches the weather its inhabitants have to endure. The mud and dust and wind picked up, the skies threatened more rain, and nearly every car on the road was an enormous pickup truck or a logging/oil semi -- all covered in thick mud. To my astonishment, the first hotel I visited was completely booked, and it was a random Wednesday, even though they charged nearly $200 for basic rooms. Business is booming in GP despite the oil prices, and it took some further hotel shopping to finally find a bed and a $26 hamburger.
My hat's off to the truckers and oil and construction folks who live and work in this rough town. For my part, I was happy to get a rest, keep my head down, and move on.
Then I ended up in a vast, post-apocalyptic wide open space called Grand Prarie. Technically, Grand Prarie's an oil-focused crossroads town of 60,000 in northwest Alberta, but my experience there had me looking over my shoulder for marauding hoards from Mad Max.
Wikipedia has this image of Grand Prarie from above.
That looks about right. The drive to GP, as it's known, is an experience. First there are beautiful rolling hills like the one above, but mostly you notice a muddy and pothole-laden road that is perpetually under construction in a neverending battle against the elements. Parts of the road literally just slide off the hill here and there.
The main feature of the road, especially as you get closer to GP itself, is trucks. Gigantic triple-cab logging trucks with logs piled impossibly high zoom in both directions. Oil and hazmat trucks rumble past and turn on and off various tributaries. Massive construction trucks are hard at work, or being transported to jobs on still larger trucks.
You also notice mud. Lots of mud. Most of the side roads are dirt or gravel, and every pickup and semi seems permanently splattered with mud. On a bike, it's hard to dodge the muddy gobs and smears. On a dry, windy day, the mud turns to very nasty dust.
Racing along the highway and contemplating the muck, I was none too pleased to see this cloud formation ahead, directly in my path.
I got the rain suit on in time -- though not before I was enveloped in a shockingly thick cloud of enormous mosquitoes. I made it through the storm, and when I came out the other side, on the final stretch to GP, I encountered some powerful wind. Really powerful wind.
At first, I didn't think much of it. I had handled windy days before. But this wind was different. It seemed to come from any direction, at any time. And it was strong. (I later looked it up, and gusts were solidly in the 60km/hr range.)
Turns out that wind can knock you right off your motorcycle. I didn't suffer that fate, but I came close a few times, and even at low speeds I found that a gust could scoot my bike sideways as I drove. It was unnerving, and I hunkered down behind my windshield and drove slowly on the shoulder to get to town.
GP itself seems like it matches the weather its inhabitants have to endure. The mud and dust and wind picked up, the skies threatened more rain, and nearly every car on the road was an enormous pickup truck or a logging/oil semi -- all covered in thick mud. To my astonishment, the first hotel I visited was completely booked, and it was a random Wednesday, even though they charged nearly $200 for basic rooms. Business is booming in GP despite the oil prices, and it took some further hotel shopping to finally find a bed and a $26 hamburger.
My hat's off to the truckers and oil and construction folks who live and work in this rough town. For my part, I was happy to get a rest, keep my head down, and move on.
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