Several days into our trip up the Alcan, it's been a hell of a journey by anyone's standards — surely not a Sunday drive "down the shore."

Most of the folks we met along the way were retired road nomads; the first vanguard of the pilgrimage north to the "Last Frontier." Fortunately, there were enough friendly travelers heading to Alaska, because — as we discovered later — we would need their help.

In the morning before leaving Liard Hot Springs, we checked with "The Milepost," and it said: "Improved highway conditions northbound. Watch for buffalo on the road the next 73 miles northbound. Use extreme caution at night or in any fog conditions."

The warnings were accurate. We had not driven many miles when we began to encounter huge beasts, and yes on the highway — bison walking, standing, even lying down on the pavement. It certainly made for nice photo opportunities.

Mountain Wood Bison. (Photo: Diane M. Owens)

For the next 100 miles we followed the Liard River and began a westerly travel where the Alcan zigzags between British Columbia and the Yukon prior to reaching Teslin Lake. We also became aware of a new term as "The Milepost" warned: "Watch for frost heaves!"

Frost heaves are a common experience for people living in the Canadian Northwest, but most uncommon for us.

"Diane, what does a frost heave look like?" I asked. "I need to watch for them."

In this cold wintery region, frost beneath the highway create dips and rises in the roadway — crossing the highway and in some places running with the highway. At one point, we were doing "dippy do's" and other times twisting and turning sideways. Sometimes, we did both at the same time.

We were pilgrims in this country and found the frost heaves difficult to see until we were upon them. Cars and motorcycles seem to handle frost heaves without too much trouble — mostly a minor annoyance — but for motorhomes pulling a tow, it slowed our travel.

We were cruising along when suddenly the "Jacks Down" light came on. I hit the return switch and pulled into a roadside turnoff. I don't know what caused the alarm, but perhaps it was frost heaves. The next morning, I watched the jacks closely and the right rear jack rose very, very slowly.

The Jacks Down light was something new. However, our real surprise was yet to come.

Traveling northwest, we descended a significant hill then ascended the opposite side at a 7 percent grade in third gear. At the top of the grade, I returned to cruise control at 54 mph when suddenly we heard a noise from the rear of the motorhome.

"What the heck was that?" I asked.

I checked the rear camera and noticed Jeep was following too closely and was pulling to the right. I began a downshift and applied my brake softly when there was a terrible sound of ripping metal followed by a bumping, crashing sound.

The rear camera showed a large hunk of metal bumping along the road, and our safety cables were the only thing keeping the Jeep on the road. As I slowed down, the Jeep was sweeping recklessly from left to right, tugging on the rear of my coach.

We slowed our forward movement and got totally off the road to inspect this sucker. We were fortunate to stop safely. This incident could have been a real disaster.

What’s left of the base plate to frame? Nothing. (Photo: Diane M. Owens)

Talk about surprises, the last thing we expected to happen happened. The entire base plate attached to the frame exploded — I mean it literally came apart. There was only one bolt out of six holding the tow bar. The separation of the base plate from the frame and subsequent drop to the pavement totally destroyed the Blue Ox tow bar.

The Moodys, a couple from Ohio, were also on their pilgrimage north following at a distance, and they watched with anxiety as this event unfolded. They said they were fearful we would lose the Jeep completely. Thankfully, God was my co-pilot that day.

Mr. Moody stopped behind us and immediately was under the rear before I realized it. He was so helpful getting the remaining base plate off the Jeep and Beast. Within minutes, another coach pulled off the road and offered assistance — heavy tools and a hacksaw if we needed it.

I thanked him, but everything was coming apart without difficulty. Actually, there wasn't much left to come apart as most of it was lying in the dirt.

Well, the only thing to do was to separate the vehicles, pick up the pieces and drive both to the nearest town for repairs.

Although it seems to be the case at times, you really are not alone out here. On this highway, people care. If you have trouble, they stop and offer help.