|
Off the Yellowhead west of North Battleford the Burke Road stretches northward across the North Saskatchewan's mighty vale into a green parkland of prairie drumlins that rise in the midsummer heat in waves of landform cut by its long gravelly line and the river's ferried width. The road lies unused, no residual dust-cloud hangs in the humid calm and the frantic blacktop traveler is invited to ruffle its even surface bordered by vetch and seneca, oat grass and clover and drive up the Burke Road. He slips into a lower gear and turns noisily onto the textured stones -- the rear tires power out a little sway and the tinny pops of the aggregate against his fenders and gas tank trigger a long-unused skill to compensate for the subtle changes in slip and grab. His contracts with dry earth and blue sky and dusty speed are renewed, and as the farms die away, and the road's centre becomes grassier and it narrows and begins to wind along an ancient creek bank's contour; he settles into the pause this isolation gives. The road descends the last long sand-slope and drifts toward its terminus -- a camp nestled in a lakeside pine grove. Beyond lies the North. It must be flown into, or paddled and portaged. It holds a greater pause. |
