The Things We Do for Love: "Kicking Horse Pass Kicked My Ass" and Other Adventures
The things we do for love? Oh, man… Driving at night in the rain on a two-lane ribbon of curvy road carved out of the Canadian Rockies and running across the Continental Divide at over a mile above sea level isn’t for the faint of heart. But, considering the upside of the deal, the world’s biggest chicken with the world’s worst vision and the world’s slowest reflexes was willing to chance it.
By John G. Stamos
In “The Things We Do for Love,” Eric Stewart and Graham Gouldman of the British rock band 10cc once told audiences worldwide about the kinds of things they’d consider subjecting themselves to for the sake of the infamous four letter word. “Like walking in the rain and the snow when there’s nowhere to go… “
Evidently, these two guys had their limits…
Those of you who regularly read my stuff here in The RGG may know that I recently got married to my wife Ann, and that this happy event has resulted in, among other things, the need for more than just a little cross-continental travel for both parties involved. In October of this year, Ann grabbed an Air Canada flight from her home in Bridge Lake, British Columbia, Canada, and flew the 2,200 miles to my place in Michiana Shores, Indiana in order to tie the knot with yours truly and take in a few weeks worth of Midwestern air. Both flights – the to and the from – required some layovers and plane-jumping, which, for Ann, were inconvenient and at times frustrating. (The good news for her was that she herself at least wasn’t at the controls.) But in terms of legitimately white-knuckle traveling, things didn’t get really hairy until it was my turn to meet Ann on her turf.
In both my last RGG piece, “Canadian Bakin’,” and The RGG November Newsletter, I laid out the logistical implications for Ann’s and my married life together. The upshot was that my pup Holly and I would be moving to Bridge Lake permanently once all of the immigration procedural fences were jumped, but in the meantime I’d be driving out to Ann’s place with Holly for a couple weeks of acclimation and familiarization. This initial car ride to western Canada’s nether regions was the setting of one of the most harrowing travel experiences of my life, and the inspiration for what you’re now reading.
I thought that navigating Midtown Manhattan and Chicago’s Loop during rush hour (I’ve ground my brake pads to dust in both cities countless numbers of times) would have prepared me for any behind-the-wheel travel contingency I could ever possibly experience. Shee-yutt. Let me tell you something, kiddos: Swerving and sliding my way through the twin mountain passes of Kicking Horse in Alberta’s Canadian Rockies and Rogers in British Columbia’s Selkirk Mountains made all my NYC and Chicago brake-pumping, horn-honking, and invective-hurling seem like a ride on the merry-go-round at Sauzer’s Kiddyland.
The things we do for love? Are you kidding me? Those 10cc guys got no effin’ idea…
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Kicking Horse Pass Kicked My Ass
Traveling a great distance to visit a spouse – whether he or she is living, staying, incarcerated, etc. – in a relatively remote location qualifies, I believe, as one of the things we do for love. The magnitude of this qualification is thunderously amplified when said traveling involves driving along a mountain pass that traverses the Canadian Rockies and a serious swath of the Continental Divide, at night and in a frosty mix of rain and sleet, at an altitude of over a mile and with more curves and swerves than Shakira’s hips. And that’s exactly what Holly and I did during the last quarter of our long drive to see my wife in Bridge Lake, British Columbia when we navigated the terrifying Kicking Horse Pass. It’s important to remember here that the 10cc guys thought that a leisurely stroll during a little bad weather to the local chemist’s so they could pick up a pack of goddamn Altoids (bad breath is a real turn-off, especially when your girlfriend is apparently already on the fence about things) is such a bitch that they had to list it as one of the things that gets done in the name of love, and then write a song about it. Trust me. 10cc has no idea.
Holly and I didn’t reach Kicking Horse Pass until dusk. By the time we got into the meat of it, it was dark. And raining. And starting to sleet. My surgically repaired eyes don’t deliver the best image resolution to my brain during the daytime, and at night, my visual acuity is even worse. The normally prosaic weather occurrence of rain and sleet becomes a nightmarish atmospheric phenomenon for a guy with shitty eyesight and the reflexes of a mummified pharaonic cat. Especially when it happens at a mile above sea level at night. Also, I forgot to mention that I’m scared shitless of heights. It took me a couple of terror-filled hours to get through this patch of driving. The knuckles of my left hand, which was the only hand that ever gripped the steering wheel during my entire drive to Bridge Lake (Holly, who, naturally, becomes frantic during car rides, needed to be restrained with my right hand) remain, to this day, a whiter shade of pale.
So, Kicking Horse Pass kicked my ass, and I willingly let it. Because I wanted to see my wife. Because I love her. Submitting to this deflating, exhausting, high-altitude frightfest was, therefore, on my list of one of the things we do for love. Eat your heart out, 10cc.
Rogers Pass: Next Time, I’ll Pass
Not long after I cleared Kicking Horse Pass (intact but in acute need of a change of underwear), I was informed, via a brief phone convo with my wife, that I’d soon be encountering Rogers Pass, which was “nowhere near as scary as Kicking Horse Pass because it’s not as high.” When I heard this, I settled comfortably, albeit briefly, into the not insubstantial layer of shit that now insulated my ass from the inside surface of my Fruit of the Looms. Not as high as Kicking Horse Pass. Cool.
In two shakes of a lamb’s tail, Rogers Pass was upon Holly and me. Not as high as Kicking Horse? Roger that. It is, according to the literature (which I read later as a validating missive of retro-tribute to my heroism), merely 4,364 feet above sea level, and only the third highest point along the Trans-Canada Highway. Nowhere near as scary as Kicking Horse Pass? Wrong. It was scarier. For one thing, when you’re 4,364 feet up in the air, it looks just as high and is every bit as freaky as if you were 5,338 feet up in the air (Kicking Horse’s altitude). For another thing, the rain/sleet thing was getting worse, and I was having more trouble seeing the hairpin-curved “road” in the pitch blackness. Fortunately, Rogers Pass boasted freakishly long and terrifyingly illuminated snow sheds I was able (forced) to drive through. Constructed for motorists’ safety. And protection. From avalanches. Frequent avalanches. Fucking frequent avalanches? Jesus. So, nope. Driving through the Selkirk Mountains via Rogers Pass wasn’t as terrifying as my immediately previous Kicking Horse Pass experience. It was more terrifying. Substantially more terrifying. By the time Rogers Pass was behind me, its alternating stretches of claustrophobic concrete tunnels and pitch-dark, rain-slick, 4,300-foot high, twisting blacktop ribbons, set against the backdrop of downward-hurtling boulders and VW-sized mountaintop snowballs, not only ensured a generous thickening of the existing Kicking Horse Pass-generated fecal-matter-ass-insulation layer at my drawers’ stern-side, it added, as a finishing touch, a massive Rorschach peeblot to my underwear’s prow.
Ahhh… the things we do for love…
The Upside: Definitely Worth the Risk
Needless to say, I survived the twin terrors of the Rockies and the Selkirks and the hair-raising twists and turns and rises and falls of the roads that wind through them. Once these were behind me, the rest of the trip was a piece of cake (if I discount the resultant effects of the fact that the posted speed limit – in kilometres per hour – only applies to U.S. citizens). Evidently, like Germany’s Autobahn, Canada’s Highways 1, 5, and 24 allow non-U.S.-plated vehicles, including 40-ton (or 39.644 cubic metre) semis, to travel at Porsche-like speeds with absolutely no fear of reprisal for their operators.
But I’m splitting hairs.
The upshot is that Holly and I arrived at my wife’s Canadian domicile safe and sound, and we got what we came for: namely, the opportunity to spend amazing quality time with my lovely wife and her wonderful parents. As of the date of this writing, I continue to enjoy the time I’m spending here with my loved ones, and I try not to think that, in a few days, Holly and I will be heading back to the Midwest and our house in Michiana Shores (via a different, less arduous route than the first one).
And, speaking of routes, I can say with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever that I would repeat the first route and its inherent terrors a million-and-one times over if it was shown to be the only means of reaching my wife. Yep. I love her that much.
Cheers, and Happy Gardening!
“The Things We Do for Love: ‘Kicking Horse Pass Kicked My Ass’ and Other Adventures” ©2025. John G. Stamos and The Renaissance Garden Guy
John Stamos is a writer and is co-publisher of The Renaissance Garden Guy. His work has appeared in a number of publications including, most recently, A Man for Some Seasons, Splice Today, and, of course, The Renaissance Garden Guy. He is married to his multitalented wife and sweetheart, Ann Simpson-Stamos.
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That was a very stressful driving experience! I am glad that everything went well. Welcome to Canada, and wishing both of you a lifetime filled with happiness.🙏🌹❤️
Oh, wow, Roxxy, how incredibly kind of you! Ann and I truly appreciate your wonderful thoughtfulness and kindness. You are such a dear and fine human being. And yes, it was the most terrifying driving experience of my life. I’m definitely not looking forward to the drive back to the Midwest. Thank you for reading the piece, Roxxy, and thank you again for your wonderful kindness – it’s so very dearly appreciated.
I am happy that you have found love with Ann. Exciting adventures ahead. Please be careful when driving. You have many years of friendship to share with others.
How incredibly kind of you, Rick. Both Ann and I truly appreciate your wonderful, heartfelt thoughts and words. Thank you so very, very much.
Thank you so much, Rick, for that very kind and thoughtful comment. We are definitely united in our concerns for John and our desire for him to be safe always. We have a great deal to be grateful for in our continuing friendship with, and our love for John.
I used to drive from the Western Slope of Colorado to Denver and back, by myself. Alas, I am no longer able to do the drive. The last time I was on my way back I had such a fright coming out of the Eisenhower Tunnel, the western direction of the Eisehnower-Johnson Memorial Tunnel. The tunnel takes you under the Continental Divide on Interstate 70 at 11,158′ above sea level. The tunnel is not the actual scary part. Trust me. There are many areas along the side of the road that have always scared the crap out of me. On that last trip, I was heading downhill towards the town of Frisco. It was a clear, dry afternoon in Fall. I was going pretty fast when I realized that braking was not slowing me down. While freaking out I was able to drive like a maniac and finally come to a stop in a McDonald’s parking lot in Frisco. I burst into tears and swore in that moment I would never drive that road again. And I haven’t.
Your excellent description of your harrowing drive reminded of my story. Glad you and Holly made it to Ann. The things we do for love.
Stay safe, soon to be a Canadian. 🇨🇦
Geez, Lane, what a horror story. You are seriously lucky. I hate driving on any 2-lane winding road, but doing it at such elevations while winding through mountains makes it a million times worse. Your story is terrifying. That was some very serious elevation. Again, Lane, you were extremely lucky. Thanks for telling the story, and thank you so much for the kind wishes. It’s all truly appreciated, Lane.
Thank you so much, Lane! It’s quite fascinating how we all have at least one of those harrowing driving experiences that still haunt us. And, of course, I’m so happy and thankful that John made it through his drive relatively unscathed!
You are braver than I am. I would have to add the challenge of keeping my eyes closed the whole time. I hope the return trip is less hair-raising! Good luck and safe travels.
Thanks, Kevin. The trip was definitely a ball-buster. Ann has suggested an ostensibly safer route home, but sadly, I’m probably going to take the exact same original route for my return trip (since Ann’s assurances of “easier” routes are apparently, at best, questionable). Thanks for reading the piece, Kevin, and for the kind wishes. It’s all much appreciated.
Thanks, Kevin, and I too hope John has a less thrilling return drive home, although I’m proud that he has now completed at least one of the rites of passage required of anyone who seriously aspires to become a British Columbian.
The joys of traveling. There’s always something new around the bend. Just imagine it in a horse and buggy. No A/C or heat. Only guitar music. Catch a car ferry down to Seattle if there is one.
Thanks for reading the piece, Scott. You’re right. The North American topography has got a million tricks up its sleeve. And thanks for the advice on the boat ride. I’ll definitely be looking into that possibility. Thanks again for reading the piece, Scott, and thanks for commenting here. It’s truly appreciated.
Thank you, Scott! That’s a great analogy, and in some ways, horse and buggy may have been preferable if it meant John didn’t have to drive!
Whoo! That was a harrowing drive! Worth it not only for love but for making an engaging read!
Thank you, Lisa – I’m so glad you liked reading it! No exaggeration whatsoever. That was one seriously stressful car ride. Horrible. But, as you said, the endgame made it all more than worthwhile. Thanks again, Lisa!
Thanks Lisa! And I feel so bad that I seriously underplayed the rigors of the journey to John. Risk vs. reward, I suppose 😉