Setting our iced caramel macchiato and strawberry frappuccino in the drinks holder, we pulled onto I-25 north of Denver to start our journey. The two of us, both named Melissa, were in a white Sprinter van, recently purchased and tricked out to be lived in by my companion and her husband in Alaska. But first, we needed to get the van there.

Which meant driving the length of Canada.

It was Monday evening, 7:30pm, and the sun was starting to set. We'd gotten a late start. My flight from Anchorage back to Denver (because unlike my companion, I had to return to actual work) left on the following Tuesday afternoon, so that was our goal. Denver to Anchorage in 8 days. Do-able? Google seemed to think so.

As long as nothing went wrong.

Nursing our caffeinated beverages, we strove to reach Montana that first night to make up time, though would settle for Wyoming. The weather was good, interstate clear, and the van sped along smoothly as we sung to 90s music.

As we approached Cheyenne, I thought we should stop for gas. Well, the next exit'll be fine, I thought. Only there was no next exit in Cheyenne, just the one. Oh, well. We weren't too close to empty, maybe we could make it to Casper, the next dot on the map. But the series of decreasingly small rectangles that made up our gas gauge started to vanish. One by one. The little hill disappearing before our eyes.

We exited at the next place that advertised fuel: Chugwater.

Full disclosure: neither of us had ever driven this van any distance until tonight. And, not only had neither of us ever filled up a Sprinter before, we'd also never gotten gas for any vehicle requiring diesel fuel. But it can't be that hard, right? We just use the other pump.

(Pause for laughter.)

In any case, we first needed to locate the gas cap. Easy.

There we were, dusk fading over a quiet gas station in Chugwater, Wyoming with a weak-to-nonexistent cell signal, walking around and around and around the van looking for what MUST be obvious. But neither of us could find it. It wasn't hiding under the license plate. Despite some tentative pulls, no panel opened. The gas cap simply was not there. No manual in the glove compartment. No local around to mansplain. In my frenzied, over-caffeinated state, I wondered if during the renovation process, the gas cap got lost.

But that would be ridiculous. Obviously, it was right in front of us. Somewhere. And we were just over-tired and not seeing it.

Seriously, the fuel had to go somewhere.

Then, our weak signal got through just enough for an image to load (we were vindicated that images & videos exist to answer this question!) explaining that in order to get to the gas cap, you have to open the driver's side door, then pull open the panel that is revealed.

One hidden door later, success!

We filled up for $3.49/gallon and I took over driving.

After midnight, I was jittery. We reached the city limits of Casper, looking for some indication of the distance to Billings (the next dot) so we knew whether we needed to re-fuel, and whether we had enough stamina. Just in case Casper was like Cheyenne and its one exit, we rapidly scanned both sides of the highway for an open gas station.

That's when Melissa said, "You're being pulled over."

What? Sure enough, when I looked in the side view mirror (no rear view here), there were flashing lights. I know I wasn't speeding. If anything, I was driving too slow. Maybe I was straddling lanes? Whoo boy. Melissa gave my addled brain instructions. I followed them, pulling off to the side.

The officer approached the passenger door. Melissa rolled down the window and explained in her best helpless-white-girl tone (not that far from the truth, really) that if we were driving goofy, it's because we were from out of town and looking for a gas station and trying to figure out how far we were from Montana.

The officer said, "That's all well and good, but your running lights don't work."

Wha...? SERIOUSLY? "What about the brake lights?" I asked since I'm obsessed with brake lights.

"Brake lights are fine, but on the interstate, you could be hit from behind by a semi who wouldn't see you until it's too late."

Well, crap. Now what?

I followed the friendly officer's suggestion that I put on my hazards (which worked, thank God) and follow him to the nearby Exxon. At the gas station, the officer kindly spent much of the next half hour looking at Sprinter fuses and consulting the internet. Nothing worked. Finally, he walked to the back of the van and gave the left rear taillight a tap.

It turned on!

Unfortunately, it did not remain on and the tapping trick did not work on the right light.

Finally, he suggested getting it fixed first thing the next morning (because we have lots of extra time), gave me a non-citation, and headed off. We refueled with diesel, used the facilities, and decided to stay in Casper. (The officer told us it was still a good four hours to Billings.) Where? Where else, of course.

Luckily, we knew beforehand that the great majority of Walmarts in the country allow you to park overnight. Judging by the 17 other trailers and RVs in the back of the lot, this is common knowledge.

The Sprinter is large enough to hold a queen-size bed and since the early June temperatures were cool, the sleeping arrangements were quite comfortable... or would have been if my nose wasn't stuffed up and if we had not parked on a very slight angle that left our heads lower than our feet by an amount almost indiscernible until we were already set up to sleep. But we slept soundly for a few hours. We woke before 7am and partook of the convenient shopping and facilities the next morning, including breakfast, smart Walmart relieving us of some cash.

We continued driving with one caveat: we would no longer drive at night. This normally would have been a difficult prospect except we were heading north approaching summer solstice. The days would just get longer and longer. Virtually no need for lights.

The interstate was quiet and the van easily managed the 80-mile-per-hour speed limit. The weather was perfect and we were making excellent time.

...and that's when we noticed the Engine Light was on.

We were not even out of Wyoming yet.

The engine sounded fine, felt fine, and literally NOTHING surrounded us in every direction, so I slowed to 70 but kept right on driving. Besides, the light wasn't blinking. Which would be worse. I think. In the meantime, Melissa got on the internet (surprisingly good service) to see what could be wrong. Her conclusion: we need to stop in the next town.

Good thing that are no less than four auto places in Buffalo, WY.

The staff member plugged in his engine-light-code-tester into the van and announced that we had a bad fuel mix. This was Diesel Lesson 1: Not all diesel is created equal. But there existed additive for such a purpose. So we bought a whole bunch of additive and poured it in the fuel tank. Afterward, he reset the engine light.

We turned on the van. And before we even pulled out, the engine light came on AGAIN. This time with a message: "dEF check."

So, we walked back inside and learned Diesel Lesson 2: Engines require DEF. What's DEF? According to the staff member, it's the "most expensive water you'll ever buy" since it's mostly H2O but with 2% acid or such. Two gallons were $15 and, sure enough, there's a spot under the hood near the engine specifically to pour in DEF that us gasoline-drivers had never seen before.

Even with three gallons of DEF, the engine light did not turn off. We figured it didn't know about the DEF yet. So we kept driving.

Somewhere between Buffalo and Billings, our van emitted a little beep! "Restart 10 RE", the dashboard said. Luckily, by this point, Melissa had discovered a Sprinter forum online and translated the message to mean we had 10 restarts left to put in DEF. Since we put plenty of the watery substance in, the message should disappear a restart or two later. So we just had to wait. And hope.

The scenery was plain, but pretty, and we enjoyed the passing fields as we watched out for animals crazy enough to cross an interstate. Along I-90, we came upon an "oversized" truck carrying a gigantic strange curved white object like a piece of spaceship. Or a whale tail. We realized it was a windmill piece. Needless to say, we passed that truck very carefully in the high wind.

"Wyoming" might be Shoshone for "Wind, All the Time."

Every time we got gas now, we had two objectives: try to find "high-quality ultra-low-sulfur highway-grade" diesel and, failing that, go wherever the truckers were going.

That did lead us kinda wrong, once, today. The highway stop "Love's" which I've held a special place in my heart for ever since Burning Man caused more confusion than it solved. I had told Melissa to go to Love's, feeling good about it, but left feeling bad about it.

This might have been because, in our search for good diesel, we followed the truckers, not the family vehicles.

My main disappointments were not only the mass confusion of getting this special card to pay for gas (while making trucks wait) but also that on our way out, I noticed that the lanes for regular family vehicles also had Diesel #2. Assuming Diesel #2 is even what we wanted (or are there multiple grades of #2? And is there a #1? Editor's note: there is, but it's more for cold weather.) Rarely did we see a sign matching what the Sprinter wanted:

We reached Billings. The engine light still hadn't turned off, so we went to the O'Reillys in Billings. The lady checked the light and announced it was the same problem as before: a bad fuel mix. This time, Melissa purchased an engine light checker for herself so she'd know, for the future, if an engine light was complaining about diesel quality... or had an actual problem.

Finally, for the first time since that morning... all the lights on the dashboard went off!

The fastest way to get to Great Falls from Billings is to get off I-90 and take state highways. Google took us on a Shiloh Rd (better known as All-The-Traffic-Circles-You-Can-Handle) and on some small two-lane roads that didn't inspire confidence until we spotted a sign. We saw goats, sheep, cows, baby cows, and windmill farms which may have been the final destination for the giant slice of windmill.

Exhausted from our minimal sleep, we pulled over in a small town called Broadville to nap. I was concerned about parking our windowless van anywhere near a playground or school so I eventually pulled up in front of a post office that didn't seem to be open and we slept an hour or two in the van. Eventually, nature called, but nothing in town looked viable, so we had to keep driving. Then we saw a gas station.

At a "T" in the highway was a place so stereotypical American West, we could almost be on a movie set. Next to the dusty gas pumps was a ramshackle wooden building labeled "Cozy Corner." We followed the signs promising Liquor, Beer, and Food (and, hopefully, Facilities.)

A U.S. Flag. A dance floor. Brightly lit casino machines. A long, wooden bar. A grizzled bartender in a well-worn leather vest. A western playing on the TV in the corner. Gizzards on the menu. And somewhat sketch bathrooms, though with soap at least. The place had a ton of personality, but few patrons at this hour, which was somewhat a relief. We bought sodas, mostly to be polite. The sign on the right amused me. Gotta love small town America.

Montana birds are kind of insane, diving stupidly close to vehicles. We had so many near misses that we figured the birds must know what they are doing... until one of the near misses... wasn't.

Ugh.

Did we mention that serious windshield scrubbing is a necessary part of our gas stops?

A new light lit up on our dashboard as day waned into evening: the "caution" light. We're living on the Sprinter forum at this point. We figured the light came on during our few-mile detour onto a bouncy gravel road. Our tires would have lost traction there. The light disappeared on our next restart.

The long, red sunset as we approached Great Falls stunned us. We arrived at The Pita Pit ten minutes before closing then stopped at Walgreens for Flo-nase (how did I never know this amazing substance existed! Breathing at night is so awesome!) and munchies. Before it became completely dark, we pulled into Walmart and parked alongside a dozen or more RVs and a horse trailer - but not too close. There seems to be an unspoken respectable-distance rule in the back of Walmart parking lots.

As we put up our windshield and window covers and prepared for the night, carefully brushing our teeth in the sink that had one 5-gallon plastic water jug as input and another jug that the output drained into, we heard a muffled thumping sound coming from the tiny fridge. It didn't sound bad, so we shrugged and climbed into bed.

Part of our morning routine (beside buying breakfast and other helpful items for Melissa's new mobile household, like ziplocks and magnets) is moving items from the bench to the floor. While on the road, items left on the bench would slide and fall, but at night, we need the floor space to reach the bed. Not to mention to reach the fridge in the morning. Once the bench was clear, we sat and ate the last of our muffins, yogurt, and coffee, but not the hard-boiled eggs we brought. Because, well, they froze.

That's some impressive battery power - keeping items frozen overnight. It feels like we're doing a test run for Life in a Sprinter. We solved the problem of the mystery smoke-alarm-battery beeping before leaving Colorado and now had to learn the best setting for the mini-fridge.

It's all fun, though.

One of the best gas stations of the trip was adjacent to the Walmart, a Cenex in the industrial riverfront area of Great Falls. Not only did they have low-sulfer diesel (finally!) but they had a long-handled windshield cleaner - brilliant! No more standing on the stool to reach.

On the road again, we immediately were directed to a detour. Rumbling along the frontage road, we wondered how long before we could get on I-15. Luckily, less than 30 minutes, and once on it, we made great time.

The border to Canada came fast. We'd entered the little town of Sweet Grass and then, there we were! I'd only ever crossed the border at Canadian airports, so this was a first for me and a first of many for Melissa.

One lane seemed to be moving faster than the other. I'd already changed lanes once and didn't want to look suspicious by changing lanes back and forth. The lines were not long, though, only a few cars before we reached the window.

We handed over our passports.

"Remove your shades," the uniformed man at the window ordered.

Melissa took off her sunglasses.

"How long will you be in the country?"

"Seven or eight days. As long as it takes to get to Anchorage."

With a somewhat intimidating scowl, he asked a series of questions about what we packed in the giant van. Alcohol or tobacco products? Weapons or firearms? Then, pepper spray? Melissa admitted she had bear spray.

"Is it bigger than this?" he queried, flipping a little canister up on his utility belt.

"Yes."

"..."

"Is that a problem?"

"Nope," he said. His attitude eased up somewhat. "Why are you going to Anchorage?"

"My husband's there."

"But you have this opportunity to get rid of him."

"I kind of like him."

"Oh you KIND OF like him."

We laughed. The we got our passports back.

"Enjoy, ladies."

...and we were in Canada!