“To a place where we’ll be safe”

We could see the fires as we drove along Highway 5 in British Columbia, Canada. We weren’t in danger, but we were exhausted.
As the sun set and a huge orange moon rose, we could see the leaping flames even more clearly. My heart sank as I thought about the trees lost and the people and animals in danger.
We’d known about the wildfires in Canada before we left Blanding on July 19th, but we had a month-long break from some of our major obligations, so Ted, our little schnauzer, and I set out on what would prove to be the road trip of a lifetime.
After stopping in Idaho Falls, ID the first night and Kalispell, MT, the second and third nights, we crossed the Canadian border into Alberta despite my worry about not being allowed into our neighboring country with our dog.
Elated, we stopped at the Welcome to Alberta, Canada sign and bailed out. Although I’m usually camera shy, I picked up Kenidee, and Ted took the obligatory tourist picture.
We weren’t alone. An excited young man from Kentucky, who’d been on the road for six days, said he’d never been in Canada and asked me to snap his picture for his mom.
We spent that night in Pincher Creek, Alberta, and headed out the next morning to explore Jasper National Park with its mountain goats, cougars, and grizzlies.
We planned to end up in the nearby Valemount, British Columbia, where we booked a room. It was a fairly straight-forward, gorgeous route along Highway 93, but fate had a different plan for us.
The skies were smokey and the traffic terrible. We traveled through Banff National Park where we stopped to pick up lunch at a convenience store, but before we’d gotten too far up the highway, a barrier blocked it with a sign that read, “No Access to Jasper.”
We turned off the road to scrutinize the map and realized we had no choice but to take a detour, a very long detour, through the Thomas River Valley toward the city of Kamloops.
Along Highway 1, traffic became even more snarled. We edged forward, then stopped, edged, stopped. Vehicles were backed up in both directions for miles — or rather kilometers.
Finally, after about an hour, we inched forward enough to see two crumpled vehicles. As police officers directed us around the scene, an ambulance and firetruck sirened up the highway.
Finally, we picked up speed. As we drove mile after mile through that vast landscape with its grasslands, sagebrush, and a few ponderosas, we didn’t stop for food but took occasional bathroom breaks.
We finally pulled into a couple of motels at Revelstoke, hoping we might get a room, but everything was booked.
We kept on truckin’. After we got to Kamloops, we turned north onto Highway 5, and I called our motel in Valemount to make certain they knew we were still coming.
“It might be late,” I said, explaining the accident and detour.
“No problem,” the clerk replied.
The sky darkened around 10:00 p.m., and an enormous tangerine moon rose. We could smell the smoke even with our windows closed and see fast-moving flames consuming trees on the Canadian Rockies.
Our backsides and hips ached, and by now we were the only vehicle on an unfamiliar road.
Ted finally blue toothed his playlist over our car speakers. The music, an eclectic collection of rock ‘n roll and spiritual songs, energized and lifted us.
The lyrics of “The Prayer,” sung by Canadian Céline Dion and Italian Andrea Bocelli, especially touched us as our headlights made a narrow tunnel through the dark.
Celine sings,
I pray you’ll be our eyes
And watch us where we go.
And help us to be wise
In times when we don’t know.
With that prayer in our hearts, we kept driving. Finally, at 11:30 we pulled into Valemount, but our phones worked only sporadically, so Ted couldn’t pull up our motel on Google Maps.
We drove around town, looking in vain for the Rocky Inn. Ted stopped by one of the motels, and I ran in to ask directions, but the lobby was completely deserted.
By the time, I returned to the 4-Runner, he’d pulled up the map, and we soon found our motel.
As we pulled into the driveway, the doors on an APEX van opened and several men jumped out and marched into the lobby. They were swearing up a blue streak by the time I made it to the front desk.
One man said, among other words, “We have to go to work in 15 minutes.”
Unfortunately, their firm, a mining company, hadn’t booked enough rooms, but after a colorful discussion with their boss, they disappeared.
The clerk, who spoke limited English, maintained her composure, graciously checked me in, and issued the room keys.
I’d never been so grateful for a motel room. After brushing our teeth, we fell into bed and didn’t wake until 7:30 a.m.
Later that morning, we learned that Jasper’s 5,000 residents along with 20,000 visitors had been evacuated, 33,000 hectares or 1,055 square miles of the national park burned, and 30 percent of the town still smoldered in flames.
As we packed the 4-Runner for the short trip to Prince George, I couldn’t help but think about the accident victims, the angry men without accommodations, the courageous firefighters, and the thousands of evacuees and animals who had fled for their lives.
Céline Dion’s words echoed in my mind and merged with my petition for all:
Let this be our prayer
When we lose our way
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
To a place where we’ll be safe.