I go behind the bad reputation of Prince George, northern BC’s capital,
and finds a thriving subculture of kick-ass women.

at the intersection of Highway 16 and 97 in Prince George
Nicole Mooring pulls up at the intersection of Highways 16 and 97 in her blue Ford F-150. There’s a dent on passenger door and some rust forming around the wheels, like pretty much every other truck waiting at the stoplight. She’s facing south. If she turns right, she’ll be on the Highway of Tears that made the front page of the Toronto Globe and Mail in 2006, and so-called because of the countless women that have mysteriously gone missing within the past ten years. Were she to turn left, it would take her downtown, to where the near-nightly scenes of gang violence, regularly featured in the Vancouver Globe and Mail, unravel. Past downtown, the street eventually winds down to the Nechako River that overflowed its banks last winter, destroying many homes and businesses, leaving evacuees stranded for months. On the north side of those banks used to be the site of Canfor’s sawmill until it burnt down and left over one thousand people unemployed. Back at the intersection and directly in front of Nicole, on the southeast corner of the intersection, stands Mr. PG, a tired symbol for the city of Prince George, located at the crossroads of northern British Columbia. The statue, like the city’s crumbling reputation in Canada’s national newspapers, is in desperate need of a makeover.
This time, Nicole turns right, and then another hard right into the parking lot of the Prince George Roll-a-Dome. She gets out her hefty first aid kit from the backseat, crosses the icy parking lot, and walks through the front doors, where she’s met with a barrage of leopard print, dreadlocks, tattoos, leather, piercings and pink hair. It’s Thursday night, and that means the Rated PG Roller Girls are getting ready for their league practice.
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