Soldiering on into the night, we followed the twisting asphalt road through the forest, dodging woodland animals out playing in the rain. We had a couple close encounters including one with a wild feline who almost became the "weakest lynx" when we missed it by a whisker.

A series of bridges caught us by surprise, including one so narrow we couldn't figure out how an 18-wheeler squeezed through just moments before we arrived. The high-beams never seemed to aim quite high enough for our satisfaction as the road continually made gradual elevation changes, making us wish we had the optional roof-mounted auxiliary lamps.

Pushing on until we found a town with a proper motel eventually lead us to New Hazelton. We filled up again, fending off a staggering drunk who kept insisting, "They're ripping you off." At 6:31 am, we staggered into a hotel room, and recharged our own and the miscellaneous electronics' batteries.

Getting an early "12:30" pm start on Sunday, we blazed by taxidermy shops and a wildlife museum on the way out of town. We were tempted to stop at the "Internationally Renowned" Adams Igloo, but like most places in British Columbia, the signs that say open really mean closed. The day dragged as we drove and drove, not seeming to really get anywhere. The scenery remained the same, like someone had installed conveyor belts painted with fir trees flanking the Hummer.

Getting a little punchy, we stopped at an industrial tire store to see how the H2 would look shod with some tractor tires. Many hours and pretzels later, we closed in on the U.S. border with the goal of avoiding morning traffic backups. The highway signage was confusing, leading us to drive through a neighborhood before we found crossing station. A stark contrast to the border into Canada from Alaska, this crossing was lit up like Vegas. Stores with flashing lights were hawking duty-free items and needless souvenirs. Capitalism at its finest.

The border guards asked several security questions, disinterested in our adventure tales and unimpressed with our vehicle. Kiwi jumped out and took numerous photos to commemorate the crossing, leading one disenchanted guard to ask, "If he's a professional, why's he taking so many pictures?"

With Kiwi's ego bruised by the badge-wearing curmudgeon, we parked at the first hotel we could find and crashed for the night. The Alaskan and Canadian chapters in our adventure had closed, but all of America now awaited.