Had we driven straight to Alaska it would have been 4,370 miles from where we lived to Anchorage, but we made the drive three hundred miles longer by going to Ohio first so Mary could spend a few days with her parents. If there was any doubt that Mary's family hated me it was gone when we announced we were moving to Alaska. I didn't realize how upset they were with me over this move until the last morning before leaving for "The Last Frontier." Mary, Emily and Cody the infant had used our tow car to have an early breakfast with her mom, so I had the rest of the kids in the two adjoining hotel rooms we'd rented. I had Clay, Becky, Luke, Kelly, and Janie. Mary left early so I woke to a wrestling match in my bed. The kids were all excited about going to Alaska so were wired up and ready to go. They were also hungry.

Mary was due back soon so I told the kids to hang on for breakfast. I couldn't easily feed them because there wasn't a restaurant we could walk to, and to drive the van I'd have to remove the car hauler attached to it, which I didn't want to do. A half hour later Mary still hadn't returned and the kids are singing "Feed Us." There was a convenience store in sight, but Clay was the oldest present and he was only seven, so I really couldn't leave them alone to go to the store, and walking them all there was out of the question, so again, I said wait for your mom.

As we waited there was a knock on the door. Outside were two uniformed police officers. Someone (one of my relatives) had called the police and accused me of child abuse and possession of illegal guns. The child abuse was related to our kids not being in school and that we were "dragging them across the country to Alaska." The cop explained this at the door and asked if he could come in. I sent the kids into the adjoining room and let them in. I explained that we homeschooled our children, which, though not legal in Ohio was legal in Georgia, our official residence. I also explained that some of my in-laws didn't like us moving to Alaska, which, though I understood, was not their call.

The cop was sympathetic, but he had to follow up. He asked if he could talk to the kids and I said sure. So I called the kids and they all marched into the room. The first question the cop asked was directed to Clay, the oldest, "Are you hungry?" Clay didn't hesitate, he said, "Yes, I'm starving but dad wont feed me." This was not a good start. It's made worse by the fact that Clay's heart condition jacked up his metabolism to the point that he was always ultra-thin. His normal look is that of a kid being starved. Fortunately the cop had kids of his own so he asked when was the last time he'd eaten and what he'd had and other stuff like this. At my urging Clay explained that we were waiting on mom to return. Our children have always been open and friendly. We encouraged them to think and say what was on their mind, which comes through when you meet them. This was apparent so the cop didn't get the feeling our kids were abused so he sent them back into the other room.

When they were out of earshot he asked me about the guns. I asked why that was his concern. He explained that the report said I had guns in the van. He said he knew I was a convicted felon, then explained it was illegal for a convicted felon to posses guns under Ohio law. When I didn't answer he asked if he could search the room. I said no. He asked if he could search the van and I said no. He said he could get a search warrant. I said he probably could but the charge wouldn't stick. No probable cause. The call he received was anonymous and there wasn't any evidence to support the allegations. He looked at me funny after I said that. I said, "This isn't my first encounter with the law. I know my rights. You can't search my stuff."

The cop really was a decent guy trying to do what was right. He wasn't trying to harass me, but he wanted to be sure everything was okay here. So he asked if I knew anyone in the area who would vouch for me. I don't' know why, but I gave him Mary's dad's name. I knew other's in the area, but Mary's dad popped into my head first and I'd learned to trust my instinct. The cop said, "Is he a ham radio operator." I answered by saying, "K8DOH," which was Art's ham radio call sign. The cop pulled a portable ham radio from his belt and called my father-in-law using his own call sign. I am certain that Mary's dad didn't like a lot of what I had done, nor did he like the fact that I was moving his daughter and grandchildren to Alaska, yet my father-in-law vouched for me. He told the cop I was a good guy who loved his family and would never abuse them. The cop said he had been told that I had guns, including an AK-47, so he asked Art, a Methodist pastor, if he had seen me with an AK-47. I had in-fact showed my father-in-law a superb Sako bolt-action hunting rifle the day before, but not an AK-47. So he told the cop, "I've never seen my son-in-law with an AK-47." That was good enough for the cop so he left us alone. Had my father-in-law been there I would have kissed him on the mouth.

When Mary returned we loaded the car on the tow trailer and headed out. I did stop by a McDonald's for breakfast to go, but the next time we stopped we were well clear of Ohio. I planned to drive the 4,036 miles from Warren, Ohio to Anchorage, Alaska straight through. Once we crossed into Canada at Great Falls, North Dakota we had two lane highway the entire trip, most on the famed Alaska Highway. In 1989 large sections of the Alaska Highway were still dirt or gravel and none what I would call a good road. It was a long hard drive. We drove straight through. We didn't stop to sleep for the next three days. Mary drove some while I slept but I drove 80% of the trip. I was too anxious to get there to sleep.

The trip was an adventure, but one thing stood out. On an isolated stretch of highway I spotted what I thought was a dog on an elevated brim of the road. Closer we realized it was a timber wolf. A majestic animal. He looked down at the ribbon of road like he'd never seen such a thing before. The wolf looked at us like he didn't know what we were. My impression was that this was the first road, vehicle, or people the wolf had ever seen. He continued to watch us pass, never moving. This would be the only wolf any of us would see in the wild.

I have yet to mention what I planned to do in Alaska. Four years earlier I'd earned my pilot's license and in those four years I had built over a thousand hours of flying time. I loved to fly, I loved the wilderness and I was sure I would love Alaska. To satisfy my various loves I would become a bush pilot. I had my licenses, considerable experience and enough money to buy a decent Bush Plane, so this wasn't an unrealistic expectation. So when we stopped for gas the first time in the great state of Alaska and the owner asked about our plans it was only natural for me to tell him I was a pilot. He said, "So am I." I hadn't expected that from a guy who was clearly a small time gas station operator. Then he continued, "My sister's a pilot, so was my dad and brother." Mary was listening to this conversation too so I wasn't happy when the guy continued talking. "My dad died in his Super Cub up in the Wrangell Mountains when I was a kid, my brother died last year landing his Taylorcraft on the Cooper River's bank. I don't fly anymore."

By the time we reached Anchorage the next day I had stopped saying I was a pilot. Everyone we met in Alaska was a pilot and all had stories about relatives who'd died in a plane. Mary hadn't said anything yet, but I knew she was thinking my planned vocation was a bad idea.

We stayed in Anchorage overnight to rest and get our bearings. Our destination was Homer, which is appropriately called "The End of the Road." I'd heard of Homer because of the radio voice for Motel 6, Tom Bodette, a fellow with a deep voice. I'd heard in an interview that he'd been a DJ for a small radio station in his home town of Homer, Alaska. After reading about Homer the place called me to it. Mostly I liked the idea of Homer because it really was "the end of the road." Alaska's Highway One ended on the Homer Spit. You just couldn't go any further.

We drove south from Anchorage, down the Seward Highway, across the Turnagin Arm, and through the high Chugach Mountain pass. We turned right on the Sterling Highway and drove for another hour then stopped for gas in the small community of Cooper Landing. This random stop would change our Alaska experience. From the gas station we couldn't tell it was a community because the only house we could see was a small log cabin on a nearby hill. What we saw was the breathtakingly beautiful Kenai Lake, a lake surrounded by mountains. The gas station was across the road from the lake and behind it were more mountains. Next to the gas station sitting up on a high ledge of land was a niece lodge and on the edge of the lake was a small restaurant. The trip through north-west Canada and hundreds of miles of Alaska made you a little immune to breathtaking vistas and scenery, yet Cooper Landing was still exceptional.

The fellow who came out to pump our gas was the station's owner who I'll call Red. Anyone who lived on the Kenai Peninsula will know who Red is, but in consideration of his grandchildren I'll not mention his name for what comes later. Red was in his early 70's but fit and spry. I was thirty-three and in pretty good shape, but Red was not a man I'd want to fight. He was a rugged, hard man, but he was also quite charming. Like everyone we met north of the Dakotas, Red took one look at us and knew we were moving in so he asked who we were, where we were going, and what we were going to do when we got there. Being a private guy I'd been uncomfortable with this at first, but by this point I'd accepted this was how folks up here were, so I answered Red's questions. Red accepted this and, changing the subject asked if I'd seen any dull sheep on our trip. I said no, but I've been looking for them. Red said I hadn't been looking in the right places then.

Without turning he pointed his thumb to the mountains behind him. All I could see were tiny white dots high on the mountain slope. My rifle was closer than my binoculars so I pulled it out and used the scope to view the sheep. Sure enough, high on the mountain I spotted mountain sheep. Cooper Landing had it all. Emily saw what I was doing and asked if I was going to shoot them. The sheep were a mile away so I assured her I wasn't. Red asked if he could take a look. I thought he meant at the sheep so I handed over my rifle. Red wasn't interested in the sheep, but he was interested in my Sako .338 Winchester Magnum. "Very nice," Red said. "I've heard of Kailas Scopes, but this is the first I've seen." The rifle was an impressive $900 weapon, but I'd paid twice that for the scope and I'd bought it used.

Red was the oldest registered guide in the state of Alaska. He'd homesteaded the patch of ground I stood on the same year I was born and he'd been a hunting guide since then. His was a world of fine rifles, so he knew mine for what it was: the very best money could buy. As Red returned my rifle he took another look at me, and at our van. We didn't look like we had money, but the rifle said otherwise. Only then did he offer his hand and introduce himself. Mary and I both commented on how nice a guy Red was as we drove on south.

We were on our last leg to Homer, but were getting tired so we spent the night in Soldotna. Red had recommended a motel and restaurant there so there we went. In the morning we continued south. Destination, The End of The Road.