Monday we traveled at our usual leisurely pace through more of BC and into the Yukon. Ended up at the Continental Divide Motel and new RV park. $20 even. Electric and water. Mosquitoes included. No, we didn't use the picnic table or fire pit. And—can't tell a lie—that was not the exception.

We did some heavy climbing to get to that plateau of twisty evergreens and rocks, rocks, rocks. They've recently invested a lot in this campground: new electric outlets, all those tables painted green and yellow, hauling away rocks. Their generator was humming. There weren't many of us staying overnight, though. Last year, he said, the place was packed. We were plugging them in anywhere we could. The restaurant seems busy, and the pie was good in 2003 when we stopped in for a piece the last day of their season.

But gas is $1.07 a litre most places. And he doesn't think it'll be going down—and that makes this kind of travel way off budget for so many. Still, they have even more plans for the place. We did our part last night to help keep them in the red by buying a piece of both apple and cherry pie.

The Alcan is full of gustatory promises. Or seduction. Signs that advertise Baked Goods. Homemade. Cinnamon Rolls. Pie. I can't recall seeing steak. Foot long hot dogs once. Cinnamon rolls seem to be the main object of fantasy, the idea being that when we're traveling in the wilderness, almost nothing would bring more comfort than a big, warm, generously iced cinnamon roll. Okay, each sign sets me dreaming—though I'm only just now growing out of fantasizing about food all the time. But a trip always gets me going again, damn those Dairy Queen signs.

Along this road, most chances are that the pie is homemade, but it's almost guaranteed that the cinnamon rolls are made from the same frozen pre-mixed dough you'd find, served as homemade, anywhere in the U.S. and Canada. And please, if it is more widespread than I imagine, do not let me know.

In my heart of hearts, I'll admit it here, I want to stop at every place. And the only way to do that would be to get a huge advance based on my book proposal, The Seductive Promise of Homemade Baked Goods Along the Alaska Highway: A romantic cynic searches for home. The sad part is, the road sign invites, but so often the hopeful traveler finds that the cafe sign says, Closed. For Sale. So for now, I'm grateful for every stop we do make, to the person still rolling and filling and placing something ever so humble, between me and this vast and beautiful wilderness.