Chapter 16: The Yukon!

Chapter 16: The Yukon!

 

 

 July 3, Thursday: 70 miles (4706) 

Slow start this morning. I cooked potatoes and pancakes, and got going at 11:00. Very mixed road conditions; mostly not as good as yesterday. Had a few stretches of calcium chlorided road, and one stretch of freshly graded surface, but most of the day it was bumpy, dusty, and lots of loose rocks and gravel. No flat tires, but two broken spokes. There also seemed to be slightly more traffic today, a few more trucks. I had a tremendous 19-mile hill coming up from Stikine Canyon to the top of Gnat Pass.

Elevation profile of today's 70 mile ride. The dip is Stikine Canyon, the high point is Gnat Pass.

As I was climbing the steepest part, it was sweltering hot, the sun blazing down on my back. Then as I got to the more gradual grades, it started pouring down rain and hail - pea-sized pellets stinging me. It turned the road into a twin river, and I'm sure it was awful for the bike to be ridden through such stuff - I could feel the sand grinding in the chain. Then as suddenly as it had started it stopped, and the road ahead was as dry and dusty as ever.

  I came to a rest area about 8 miles from Dease Lake, and who should I find there but the Fadums! I was of course happy to see them, and it was as though I were part of the family - they didn't even ask if I wanted to join them for dinner, they just added more potatoes to the stew. And so again I shared the long slow sunset and evening with them around a small fire till midnight, when it finally got dark.

 July 4, Friday: 62 miles (4768)

 Again the Fadums shared a good breakfast with me and left a few minutes before I did. I may see them again, in Dawson or on the Dempster Highway. I rode into Dease Lake and was looking for the post office when I met another man named Gunther. This Gunther is a guide and sometimes a gold miner. After talking for a few minutes he invited me to his house for coffee and I figured drinking a cup of coffee wasn't too much to pay for a chance to spend some time with an interesting local. Besides, he gave me a full breakfast along with the coffee - eggs, toast, cheese, raspberries... I had just eaten with the Fadums not two hours earlier; I was full! He told me a little about guiding, mining, the road ahead, and some of the local goings-on. One wall in his house was almost completely covered by a huge grizzly bear hide and head, which he said was nearly a world record for size, and I could believe it. 

While I was there, he also filled my little oil bottle for my chain. He was just unbelievably kind, and there certainly wasn't much in it for him - he just had a big friendly heart to go with the rest of his big friendly self.  He showed an innocent, genuine (somehow I want to say almost childlike) interest in my trip - he took out an atlas and asked me to show him where I started from. He did everything he possibly could to help me, but obviously didn't feel that he was doing anything unusual, and seemed embarrassed when I thanked him. When I left I realized what an incredible treat it was to meet him and what a wonderful, quiet, unassuming hero he is.

I bought $7 of food - two loaves of bread, some PB (at 2.25 a pound I only got one jar) some margarine and some dates. I still have a lot of food left from Kitwanga: most of the 3 pounds of granola, the raisins, a pound of cheese, 3 apples, a spud, all the oatmeal, some peanut butter... That's good; I think I can easily pack enough to do the Dempster Highway. 

I hit the short stretch of pavement at the north end of Dease Lake at 4741: 360 miles of dirt from Kitwanga. The dirt from Dease Lake to the pavement was terrible: loose gravel, bumpy... after the pavement it seemed to have been lightly calcium chlorided.

  I stopped at "Mighty Moe's" campground because I had heard that he was an interesting old trapper, and I decided to camp there, but after I got my tent set up I wished I hadn't. Mighty Moe wasn't very interesting at all - there was no joy in his spirit, and he hardly said a word. It even seemed that what little friendliness he showed was artificial - an effort. So here I am paying a dollar to camp in someone's front yard with domestic disputes raging all around me between the people who live here when I could be camping for free in some beautiful place, probably with nice neighbors who would invite me for dinner. I almost did pack up and leave, but the mosquitoes are so bad here that I just couldn't get up the nerve. It was all I could do to make a mad dash for the outhouse before I went to bed. As I was going to sleep, I thought it had started raining, but then I realized it was the mosquitoes hitting the tent! I'd say they are as thick here as they were in the irrigated stretch of Montana.

July 5, Saturday: 74 miles (4842)

Mosquitoes completely covered the tent this morning: front, back, sides, and roof... beyond a doubt the worst of any place I've camped. It was definitely a granola morning - no way I was going to go outside and cook. I packed everything up, drenched myself with repellent, and stepped out into the raging swarm. The repellent actually sort of worked, and I was able to roll up the tent and pack the bike. I hated to pay for such an un-fun campsite, but being honest, I tacked a dollar to Moe's door and left reasonably early for once - a little before 9:00.

 I ran into construction a little before Cassiar Junction, and it continued for quite a way. Part of it was being oiled just as I went through, and that was a stinky mess. (Oiling is another method of dust control - nowadays they use a soy-based product, but back then, appallingly, it was probably crude oil, or more likely just used crankcase oil.) Another part was extremely rough with sharp rocks and other hazards.

Near the end of that stretch I met a flag woman and fell in love on the spot. Strikingly pretty, in a friendly, unpretentious way that her utilitarian, high-viz uniform did nothing to diminish, she had care-free brown hair and beautiful bright blue eyes that met mine with no hesitation. She was having lunch, so I stopped to talk. 

We chatted for what must have been close to an hour, about my trip, her job, and life in general, until she absolutely had to go back to work. It seemed like there was more going on than what we were talking about - I don't know how she could have found me attractive, as covered with dust as I was, but it sure seemed like she did. She was clearly stretching her lunch break as long as she dared, and as I was leaving, she said she wished she could just get on her bike and come with me. I sure wished she could too, which I told her. Then as an afterthought I turned to ask where she lived, hoping she would say Watson Lake, so I would have a chance of seeing her again. She was already walking away, though, and didn't hear me over the roar of the nearby equipment. I realized how hopeless it was, and just rode off into the dust. 

Good Hope Lake

July 6, Sunday: 37 miles (4879) Blue River > Watson Lake

Well, I'm in the Yukon! I took my time this morning, making pancakes and dunking my head in the stream, and still got on the road by 10:30 or so. The last stretch of road in B.C. was, as someone warned me yesterday, "pure sh*t" - raw, unrefined, unpasteurized, sh*t! Chunks of old broken pavement, lots of loose rocks, sand, bumps... rough, slow going... an hour to cover 4 miles, so barely faster than walking. 

From the Yukon border on, Hwy 37 was great. As for the AlCan, it was wide and hard-packed, but with a good sprinkling of loose crushed rock that the numerous cars and trucks could shoot at me as they whizzed by at 60 mph. Fortunately, it was only about 17 miles to the town of Watson Lake, where the Robert Campbell Highway starts.

 When I got to town, since it was Sunday when rates would be lower, I called home (collect), and friends at the Wilderness School using Laura's phone credit card that she gave me for the purpose. 

I went to the Watson Lake government campground, where a grandfather/grandson pair from Minnesota came over to talk with "A biker who's on one of these long trips." They were really nice, and invited me to share their simple lunch, which I happily did.

Then as I was walking back to my bike, I met a jovial chap - Brian, from St. John, B.C. He was impressed with my trip, and showed me off to his family and the other people they're camping with. I had a beer with them, as I've learned the importance of that as a social tradition. By the time the beer was finished, it was dinnertime, so they invited me to eat with them. This may come as a surprise, but I took them up on it! They were fun folks - lots of joking around - and I hung out with them until midnight.

 

Done with the Stewart-Cassiar, and about 450 miles of dirt road under my wheels. The next leg will be the Robert Campbell and Klondike Highways, about 600 miles to Dawson City, all unpaved.