I started planning my route across the country towards the Land of the Vast Cold with the idea that I would spend my nights in rest stops, or Walmart and Cracker Barrel parking lots. Shortly after, I realised something.
As a solo female traveler, that was a really fucking stupid idea.
Consequently, I began to debate the finer points of road trip accommodations. I already planned on camping in the vehicle rather than staying in hotels. For one thing, parking lots are free, and free is good for my wallet. On the other hand, I’d be sleeping in a Walmart parking lot, with all the joys a mostly empty Walmart lot could bring. However, I also didn’t want to spend the money on a hotel. That’s money I could find better uses for, like not potentially sleeping in the world’s spermiest bedding.
Shawshank‘s parents would always drive down here, making long road trips out of their visits. I mentioned driving up to his mom, and she suggested camping at actual campgrounds. Well, shit. There’s a fucking novel idea. I started looking into campgrounds and national parks asking the way. Then, a few days after I started planning the basic drive – west, then north at Bismark – I found the one place I needed to stop and stay in.
Grasslands National Park.
It seemed perfect- at first glance, that is. It’s right over the Canadian border, and is only about five hours from his parents’ town. One of my favorite memories is sleeping under the stars in upstate New York, thus I was super stoked about staying in a dark sky preserve. Plus, it’s one of the largest and darkest reserves in Canada. Unfortunately, last night, I noticed that Grasslands, while only about five hours from my destination, is also five hours past the town. When I was looking into parks in Saskatchewan, I had been looking in the part of the province we wanted to eventually settle in. I wasn’t looking at my primary destination.
Now, there’s a decision to make. Do I want to get there, and to him, as quickly as possible? Or, did I want to do something for me, something I probably wouldn’t get another chance to do for a while.
I want both, so I did some plotting on the route. If I push myself, I could finish the trip in five nights instead of four. During my Friday night call with Shawshank, I mentioned my dilemma, and how annoyed I was with myself for the miscalculation.
“It’s an extra day or so,” he said, the voice of logic, as always. “Do it.”
And that’s how my crammed, four night road trip is now at six nights.
It had better not fucking rain.
