Chapter 20: Some Challenges

 Chapter 20: Some Challenges

The gully where the built-up road served as a wind-break while I tried to wait out the storm. This photo was taken after I had packed up to leave. When I arrived, the raging torrent you see hurtling out of the culvert was a little stream I could hop across, barely big enough to wash the mud off my legs.

July 26 1980, Saturday: zero miles

 I felt a sore throat coming on this morning, and all it took was one little peek at the ominous, dark clouds for me to decide I wasn't going anywhere. I figure I can't afford to get sick out here, so I took a multi-vitamin and went back to bed. I sure didn't regret that decision. It poured off and on all day and at one point pelted down hail, up to marble size! I was glad to be in my tent then! I spent the day sleeping, writing, and eating. 

I'm frustrated with my writing. It takes me so long to write a simple letter or journal entry that I only got four letters written in 12 hours of struggling thought. I guess they're good letters - well-thought-out and well-written, but dang! I have a lot of people to write to, and I'll never do it at that pace.

 The folks who gave me water three days ago were on their way back down today and stopped to see how I was doing. Such friendly folks.

 I'm getting itchy to get to Inuvik - partly from being cooped up in the tent all day I suppose, partly from hearing about the reindeer steaks, and partly because I'm somehow eager to be coming back down, feeling that I'm making progress toward Alaska. I know that doesn't make sense - progress is progress - but for some reason I anticipate stronger emotions on the return trip - I attach different values to it. It's as though the trip north is work - paying my dues, and the return trip will be easier, or faster, and more sentimental... nostalgic... a reunion with an old lover - too brief, but knowing that it cannot last long, giving myself over to it completely. Not clinging desperately to it or trying to prolong it, but taking it in fully, and parting with fond feelings.

 Speaking of feelings, mine toward Laura are a little unclear right now. I feel a distance, and somehow an unpleasant feeling. In part, it may be because the mail is so slow here that I've written 5 times since I last received a response. I did get a letter in Dawson, but it was forwarded from Watson Lake, and it responded to the letter I sent a month and a half ago from West Glacier!

I was happy to get it, and it made me feel better initially: she thinks of me all the time... she loves me... but there's a harsh, almost mocking voice in me that says "Give it up, you fool, you clinging child. Sure, she loves you, but not the way you wish she would. Give it up.- it's over - you're through. Give it up. By the time you see her again, she'll be with another man. She may even be married. Give it up. Look at yourself - you write sweet love letters and send pressed flowers, as if that could win her back - forget it! Nothing can win her back - she's not to be won - she's out of your life forever, and you'd better start admitting it and find something else to think about, or you'll dig yourself into such a hole you'll never get out. Give her up!"

A few hours of that scolding every day can lead to some pretty negative feelings, and it certainly doesn't make me eager to write to her, especially since I might write a love letter, which would get me scolded all over again.

 July 27 1980, Sunday: zero miles again!

 I woke up at 6:30 this morning and the sun was shining on the side of the tent. I let out a whoop and lunged for the door to greet the day. I zipped it open and >poof<, my balloon was burst - it was nothing more than a tiny hole in the clouds. Before I could even finish my breakfast, it was completely dismal again, and it started raining. It rained continuously from that time until midnight, and I swear on my word of honor it didn't let up for one second during that time - I know because I was waiting for even the tiniest break, to run out and go to the bathroom, and that break never came. What's worse, the wind shifted and blew hard as ever, at the side of the tent now, loosening the pegs and making the tent leak. I finally went out and put boulders on the critical rear stakes, and happily that solved the problem. I hunkered in the tent, wrote letters, and ate pretty much the rest of my food.

July 28 1980, Monday: 50? miles  (5830)

 ***SNOW!!!***

 Let it be hereby duly noted and recorded that in the month of July I rode my bicycle in a snowstorm. I woke up cold this morning, and thought the rain on the tent sounded a lot like sleet, but didn't believe it until I went outside and saw the piles of ice around the tent, and felt how cold the air really was. I assessed the situation, decided I was too low on food to risk another day of hoping the weather would break, and went about preparing for the desperate ride to Fort McPherson. I checked the temperature - it was 36 degrees. I put on my cold weather gear - wool leggings, wool shirt, mittens, and ear flaps - and all my rain gear, and packed up. As I was rolling up the tent it started snowing. I was impressed. 

I rode for a while and then noticed that my odometer wasn't working. While I was stopped trying to fix it, an old-ish couple from Oklahoma stopped to see if I was OK. They asked what I was doing, riding in such slop, and I explained about being low on food. Sure enough, they gave me some food - a little bit of everything: ham and cheese, raisins, peanuts, cheetos, potato chips, crackers, and cookies. I wolfed some of it down, as I was pretty hungry. I gave up on my odometer - it's a fair weather toy, and that's all there is to it. I had thought I was over the Richardson Mountains, but I was actually in the middle of them - I had another pass to do. Fortunately the surface was gravely enough that it didn't stick to my tires.  Another older couple, from the Northwest Territories, stopped, and they gave me a banana and an apple. They said it was 36 miles to Fort McPherson, and warned me that the road was worse ahead. 

 They were right; after I got out of the mountains, the road got really muddy, and the mud stuck to the tires and jammed in the brakes and front fork, building up incredible resistance. I focused every ounce of mind and body on keeping the tires within the little 6-inch trough of the last cars tracks, because to leave it even for a second was to be mired in the deep mud, or worse yet, risk a wipeout.

 At least it stopped snowing when I left the mountains. I made the ferry with an hour to spare, and rolled into town. I found the people there especially friendly. Most of the residents are Inuit. (I learned that they don't care for the term "Eskimo," which is a European mis-pronunciation of their word for "person who makes snowshoes.") I was struck by how outgoing and amiable the townfolk were - welcoming looks with ready smiles. All ages approached me to ask about my trip. While I was in town trying to call Laura, an old fellow invited me to his house for some tea. I had no luck calling Laura - first the line was busy, and then she wasn't there anyway - so I went to the man's house. He gave me tea, bannock, and caribou stew! After that dinner, I just rode a little way out of town and camped on the muskeg beside the road. 

 July 29 1980, Tuesday: 60 miles (5890) 

 The mosquitoes were bad enough this morning that I used repellent for the first time since Mighty Moe's. I went back into town, but still couldn't reach Laura on the phone. While I was waiting for the phone, Hugh, one of the boys who lived in the house where I had dinner last night, came over with a Northwest Territories license plate. I'm certain he was going to give it to me, but just then a tourist asked him how long it would be 'til the store opened. He ran back to his house to check what time it was, and when he got back, the tourist for some reason figured he should give Hugh a dollar for his trouble. Hugh clearly didn't like it that the man wanted to give him money, and was very uncomfortable taking it, and so gave the man the license plate in return. The tourist didn't seem to want or appreciate the plate, which seemed to add insult to injury for Hugh, so I mentioned that I had been looking for one of them, (they're in the shape of a polar bear) and the man gave it to me. 

It didn't have the desired result, because I realized that by taking it from the tourist, I robbed Hugh of the chance to give me something, and I think that's what was important to him. I felt really bad for him; he sat there puzzled, embarrassed, and disappointed, with the dollar crumpled in his hand. I'm sure the tourist meant well, but he obviously failed to consider how humiliating it would be to have someone think you're so poor that they ought to give you a dollar for telling them the time.

 The same old fellow invited me in for tea again, and again gave me bannock, caribou stew, and fried eggs as well. I thanked him most kindly and guessed that I would see him in a few days, on my return trip. Then I went over to the power company to get my rear rack repaired. (the back section broke off two days ago.) The guy who worked there reinforced it with pieces of threaded rod and grinned when I said "It'll never break again!" He invited me in for coffee. I took half a cup because, like beer, it's an important social lubricant.

 I left for Arctic Red River at 3:00. It was fairly cold riding. I was able to take off my wool leggings and shirt, but wore my wind breaker and mittens most of the day. When I got to the ferry at Arctic Red River, the ramp handler invited me into the galley for coffee. Again I accepted and was glad that I did because it earned me a pork chop, fresh out of the oven, while I chatted with the engine man. He told me of a camp spot 20 miles up the road, but when I got there, somehow I didn't get a warm feeling from the neighbors and so camped in a gravel pit across the road - about the worst place I ever camped - rock hard ground, mosquitoes, no access to water - I can't for the life of me figure out why I camped here. Oh well... 

 July 30 1980, Wednesday: 60? miles   (5950)

 Today sure had its high and low points! This morning, at kilometer 659, I somehow suddenly felt that I had a plan for my life. It's actually very nearly the same thing I thought of last winter, and mentioned to Laura - I had (have) a vision of designing and building houses that would be affordable, both to build and to live in, by being small and space efficient, and using alternative energy sources. It would not involve high technology space-age gimmicks but just efficient design and construction. I was feeling good about the steps involved in getting to the point of being able to design houses... it seems like I would have a lot of flexibility in how I go about it, and I could see doing a lot of other things along the way - even totally unrelated things. I say was feeling; I'm a little less enthusiastic and certain about it this evening, but then again I had a pretty hard day.

 

The last 120 miles of the Dempster was extremely flat, with scenery that was... consistent!

 As always I had a head wind, and then 20 miles from Inuvik I had a dozen huge gravel trucks blowing back and forth past me on a stretch that was extra dusty to begin with. Then after they quit for the day, I noticed that my much-patched rear tire was bubbling out badly - I was afraid it would blow before Inuvik. First I tried patching it with a piece of truck tire innertube I had picked up. That didn't seem like it would work, so I wrapped the tube with some stiffer cloth I had also found on the road. That held, but just after I pumped it up, the valve stem cracked and began leaking. 

By this time the mosquitoes and black flies were just swarming on me, even with repellant on. I took out one of my spare tubes from the bottom of the tent stuff sack. (Handy place to keep them!) I repatched it where an old patch had come off, wrapped the tube under the ailing section of the tire, and installed it. I pumped it up, and I'll be damned if there wasn't another puncture in the tube that I had missed. So I had to take the tire off for the 4th time. At that point it started raining, just enough to complicate everything, but not enough to drive away the bugs. When I finally got it fixed, I didn't bother eating or anything - I just rode for Inuvik, 12 miles away. 

*I don't know why I didn't just use one of the spare tires that I had... I guess I was saving them as an absolute last resort.  

The last eight miles were the worst road conditions I've ever had to contend with. I still can't believe they actually do this, but they oil the road - not like asphalt oil, that hardens when it cools - oil oil, like crankcase oil or crude oil. I'm sure they do it to keep down the dust around town; I ran into it on the Stewart Cassiar too, but it was sunny that day, so it was just smelly and environmentally appalling. When it rains, though, it becomes as slippery as glare ice, far worse than the slickest mud. At one point the road curved to the right, and just the slight bank of the turn was enough slope that I couldn't keep from sliding off onto the shoulder. I had to get off the bike and walk (struggle!) across to the left side where it levelled off, and ride there until the road straightened out again. My arms were exhausted and my nerves were shot from trying to keep the bike upright. The few vehicles that went by displayed a terrifying lack of control as well. Of course it continued to rain the whole time, until I got into Inuvik.

Some kindness of strangers when I did get to town, though. I approached a couple to ask directions to the campground, but before I could even ask, they invited me to come home with them. (I must have looked both horrendous and pathetic, covered in oily mud!) While I was talking with them, I noticed that the tear along the bead of the back tire had stretched to a gaping two and a half or three inches, kept from blowing out only by the cloth around the inner tube. I walked the rest of the way to their apartment. The first thing I did was take a shower - my first hot shower since Jasper! Then they fed me an omelet and other good things, by which time it was nearly midnight, so they turned in, and I turned to my journal. At that point I realized I had completely forgotten about calling Laura, and by then it was too late. I was really disappointed and sad. 

 July 31 1980, Thursday: A rest day!

 Today was a lazy day. I didn't feel like writing or fixing my tire or much of anything. I went shopping with Chris and Dale and relaxed in their apartment. We looked at slides this evening, of a bike trip they took a few years ago from Jasper to Calgary - I recognized some of the scenes. 

A high point of the day was that I finally managed to get through to Laura on the phone. We only talked for about 10 minutes but it was nice - I feel better about her and myself and us somehow. She will be heading back to Connecticut in three weeks, after her course; probably about the same time I arrive in Anchorage. This will be the last phone call we have until then.