Whitehorse to Dawson

 

The morning sun was perfect and the temperature had just a hint of humidity.  I had stayed at the Robert Service campground just inside city limits and was able to get a bunch of work done on blogs,  photo sorting and catching up on email.  I had figured out that the power adapter hooked up to my motorcycle battery would power both my computer and smartphone configured as a hotspot.  Perfect…until the battery in my bike ran out of juice!  Okay, so the morning was not quite perfect.  I was able to use the park office power to finish my work and then pack up to go.  At least I wasn’t waiting for a tire shipment from the US like a couple of other riders at the campground (2 days they had been waiting and the tires were held up in customs).  My battery was not totally dead, it did start my bike and I let it run for a few minutes to recharge it the shut the engine down while I packed.  As usual, it was ending up as a midmorning start due to the blogging and electronics…I never realized how much time that could take on a trip like this.

Bike is packed and ready to go, helmet on, camera on, glasses on, key on, start button…….rhurh…..nothing!  My neighbours offer a boost.  We had talked earlier this morning.  They are a wonderful British couple taking six months off work and life to travel from through North America and down to the southern tip of South America  on their 1150GS.  I wheel my bike over to theirs and we hooked up the wires to recharge my battery a bit while they leave their bike running.  While we wait, I chat with them about their trip and we ensnare another gentleman (who has since found jumper cables) into our conversation.  After 10 minutes, my bike almost fires but just doesn’t quite have enough and their bike is starting to overheat from just sitting and idling. 

As I move my bike to the gentleman’s car for a boost,  he starts telling me about his life.  Actually, before he talked about his life he told of his impending death.  The doctors have prepared him to be “gone by the fall.”  He tells me about growing up on a homestead in the Alberta Rockies and how his mother left the family when he was very young.  He had a hard life but has no regrets – wouldn’t change  a thing if he had to do it all over again.  His wife had brought him north to see the gold fields before he died and he had gone to a place where they let him pan all the gold he wanted.  They even let him take a shovel full of paydirt to clean out at home!  I am amazed by his optimism and cheerfulness in the face of his imminent demise.

To get to my battery I remove my tank bag and the cowling underneath (which is done in record time).  The bike fires immediately and  idles while I repack; and then, I’m on the road.

I meander a bit around town before stopping at a gas station, the bike needs decent time to charge the battery so I ensure about half an hour of riding before reaching the last gas station heading out of town.  As I step to the pump,  I feel the leg zipper fail on my riding pants and they fall open exposing my leg which will cause problems if I happen to fall while riding. Out comes the duct tape and I wrap my leg at 4 spots to keep the riding pants closed. 

Rolling out of Whitehorse (finally) on another mid morning start a Lake Laberge sign flashes past.  I brake hard and exit onto a gravel road for a three mile detour down to the lakeshore to see where Sam McGee met his final end in Robert Service’s poem, “The Cremation of Sam McGee”.  Laberge is a beautiful vast bit of water with a few cabins along the shore  within my view.  It is not highly populated like so many in the south and I see a government campground here that would have been a spectacular place to spend a night.

Starting the day with a dead battery, talking to a dying man and having my first roadside detour of the day to explore the site of a fictional cremation sets the stage for a day to think about death as I ride down the road.  It may not seem like an uplifting topic to focus on but when I think about old homesteader’s outlook and remember the line in the Service poem about Sam McGee’s “cheery face in the flames” I wonder how people do manage their thoughts and attitudes as they face their final days.  Like depression, this is another “verboten” topic.  People don’t talk about death.  They don’t talk about how they are feeling when they know they are dying and those of us around them don’t ask.  If we can understand their thoughts and feelings it may help us to make that transition as well.  My impression is that the padres, ministers and priests talk to dying people and offer encouragement, I wonder how much listening they do and how much probing they do to find out how the dying person is feeling.  Do they feel depressed?  I regret not having asked the homesteader a few more questions about his attitude and mood.  He was very open about discussing his outlook and did not seem to show the angst and anxiety I expected.   

Back on the highway it is a long run up to Dawson.  The pavement is good, the road meanders around mountains, over hills and through gentle valleys.  The path of the highway is along the eastern slope of the Dawson range of mountains  roughly following the path of the Yukon River. Gas stops are between 100 km and 160 km apart, separated by the spectacular scenery showcasing northern wilderness.  If your machine fails out here, it is a long walk to civilization unless another vehicle happens to pass by.

 Rounding a gentle curve in the road, I am surprised by a flag lady in the middle of nowhere commanding me to stop and wait for some road construction.  I shut my bike off and we have a pleasant conversation about this being her summer job and plans to return to University down south in the fall.  In the five minutes I wait for the all clear sign, two vehicles line up behind me.  This provides a good indication of traffic frequency along this route.

About ten minutes north of my first gas stop at Carmacks there is a pullout for the overlook of the Five Finger rapids section of the Yukon River.  This was another tricky section for the early gold rushers.  Floating down the Yukon on your homemade barge (assuming you made it through Miles Canyon) with the two thousand pounds of food and supplies you hauled up over the Chilkoot trail, you drift around a corner to find you are faced with the choice of floating through one of four channels separated by pillars of rock.  Those that had been through this before knew that the broadest channel which seemed like the easiest one to float through was actually the most dangerous.  An underwater ledge cause the water to drop two feet which capsized or broke apart many of these handmade barges.  Only one narrow channel was deep enough to be safe. 

Once again I am struck by another example in life where sharing your experiences openly with others can help them through a rough spot.  Had the knowledgeable locals and experienced Yukoners kept their experiences to themselves, many more “greenhorn flotillas” would have been destroyed on their journey down the Yukon.  How much better could we do with our mental health journeys if we would more openly share our experiences with others?  I am sure the first person to lose his “outfit” through the Five Finger Rapids was not ostracized when he shared his experience with the next person to try.  Why and how has society decided to allow this stigma to be attached to mental health?

Back on the road, I head north to Pelly Crossing where I top off the tank for the next leg of the journey and realize I can make it from here to the Dempster Corner without another fuel stop.   I roll past the next town (Stewart Crossing) about a half an hour later and cross the steel bridge over the Stewart River, I come to a definite fork in the road.  To the right, I will end up in the mining towns of Mayo, Keno and Elsa; the left takes me up to the Dempster Highway and Dawson City.  The road from this point is noticeably narrower and the surface quality seems degraded.  I believe there are more commercial vehicles and traffic associated with the Keno and Mayo mines than with the communities I am headed toward but it just could be that the road I am now on is older and has not been recently resurfaced.

Arriving at Dawson, I find most of the camping spots in town are booked in anticipation of the Dust to Dawson motorcycle rally starting the next day.  As I have planned to run the Dempster tomorrow, I have tires to change and the zipper on my riding pants to fix so I book a spot just outside of town to settle for the night.

Junction 37 to Whitehorse
Sorry for the delay in posting - access to the internet in the Yukon is very difficult for travellers.  3G  service does not exist for phones and many of the places providing internet service are very restricted in use.  Pictures will be posted as soon as possible but in the meanwhile....just my thougts
 

It had gotten cold over night.  Dew was heavy and the air crisp and, a light fog permeated the campground as I poked my head out of my tent.  There were a couple of bikers camped across the lane from me who were packing to go so I wandered over to meet them.  I discovered they lived a couple of towns west of  me and were heading in the same general direction, I thought we’d probably see each other in the days to come. 

The campground has a much more dilapidated appearance in broad daylight after a good sleep than it did through last night’s road weary eyes.  A quadrangle of  Britco Camp shacks includes one designated for washroom and laundry facilities and I wander over to clean up for the day.  A boardwalk runs inside the quadrangle and the Britcos have obviously been rented out for short term, economical accommodation in the distant past. The washroom is clean but rudimentary and begging for a lot of repair work.  After a nice hot shower I head back to my tent and on the way encounter the driver of the truck that gassed up at Dease Lake the same time as I was there last night. 

He and his friend are from Ontario and touring up to Alaska in the camper. He is curious about road 2blue and upon learning what I am doing, he tells me his story. 

Years ago, he was a successful salesman who insidiously and unexpectedly slipped into depression.  Every day he would “paste his energy” on to go to work and get the job done but when he came home, he would be completely exhausted and spent. His wife would want to do things but he had no energy and no will. She knew he was “in a funk” and just needed to get out and do things – he would be alright. He remembers sitting at the kitchen table and just staring.  His wife asked if he wanted some tea but he could not respond.  He didn’t care, he wanted the tea to be there but didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to move.  He realized he was in trouble but had no idea what to do or where to go.  Eventually he check himself in as an outpatient at the local hospital.  After a few false starts, found a therapist that he clicked with and began therapy that went on for years.  He learned slowly how to manage his thoughts and feelings and eventually got to the point where he was strong enough work through his challenges without the help of a therapist and has remained healthy ever since.  Great to hear success stories.

After visiting with other travellers and packing up, I finally got on the road and headed toward Whitehorse.  A nearby restaurant/gasbar provided a wifi connection while I was waiting for breakfast.  I was trying to update a few things online and a fellow traveller from Britain dropped in so we chatted over breakfast – I didn’t give full attention to my conversation with him and felt bad about it later – technology interfering with human relations!  He had shipped his  bike over to LA and was riding up to Prudhoe Bay.  I think he was looking for a riding partner but I was too busy futzing about with this technology. 

Finally on the road about 11 AM and bound for Whitehorse.  It was a bit of “slab ride” but I did stop at a roadside turnout noting the crossing of the Continental Divide.  While I considered this a notable moment I also had a close look at the information panels placed at this rest stop and noted I would be crossing the Continental Divide about four times between here and Inuvik.  Hopefully I would stop at each point along the way and take a picture – it would make an interesting comparison. 

The highway seemed almost endless into Teslin until I was about 25 km out.  Cresting a hill I saw a vehicle pulled off to the side of the road and a lady flagging me to slow down.  I had just passed a couple of vehicles and had to scrub off the speed fairly quickly but managed to pull up just in front of her Ford Explorer.   She was pulling an overloaded trailer and had two kids with her.  She was trying to talk to me but I had my helmet on and earplugs in. I tried to get her to flag down the vehicles I just passed because they could likely do more to help her than I could but I think she was so focussed on the fact that someone stopped, she had help.  She was moving lock stock and barrel from Oregon to Skagway where her fiancé found a job.  Her transmission had broken down inVancouver and cost $2,000 to fix, she had spent $500 on gas and had now run out of gas (25 km outside of Teslin) and had no money…could I help?  Fortunately I had about 3 or 4 litres of gas in a container that might get her to Teslin, but that was it.  She was pretty relieved to at least be able to get close to civilization!.

The hill into Teslin provides a scenic view of Teslin Lake and the bridge crossing the narrows.  The seven section steel deck bridge is a beautiful sight from the pullout at the top of the hill.  When I was young, my dad referred to these steel grate bridges as “singing bridges” due to the wonderful sound the tires make at highway speed as you cross over the grates.  On a motorcycle, these are more like “screaming bridges” because the grating causes the bike to weave back and forth quite unnervingly. 

I crossed the bridge safely and arrived bought gas at the first station across the bridge.  The British guy I had had breakfast with was here with a bunch of new found friends.  They had been in the restaurant for a while and were now about to resume travels.  While I was paying for my fuel, the “moving lady” was making arrangements on the phone for someone to provide a credit card number to the gas station so that she could take on some fuel.

I had enough gas from there to take me to Whitehorse.  As I approached the town and was thinking about accommodation, I noticed a small sign directed toward “Miles Canyon” on the right.  I braked hard remembering Miles Canyon as being a particularly difficult stretch of water for the miners from the ’98 gold rush.  Today, Miles Canyon has been tamed by a dam downstream which has backed up the water and created a lake with a narrows through the Canyon.  Before the dam was built, the rush of water through the narrow canyon (perhaps 100 feet wide) was so great that the water level was approximately 2 meters or 6 feet higher in the middle than on the sides.  As the miners rafted through the canyon, if they weren’t exactly in the middle, their raft would slide down to the outside edge and smash into the wall of the canyon.   Today I saw a pleasure boat cruise through effortlessly and a couple of teenagers were preparing to jump off the cliffs into the water for a swim.

My night was to be spent in a campground on the bank of the Yukon River just within city limits of Whitehorse.

Highway of Tears is truly a sad and worrisome story.  The road from Prince George to Prince Rupert has been the final resting place for over 40 women since 1969.  These are women who, usually hitchhiking, have been murdered or disappeared.   Riding along this road and seeing the many isolated side roads leading into the dense brush and around numerous peat bogs, one quickly understands the opportunities for evil and challenges faces by investigators. 

 

Just over 100 km west of Smithers is the junction with Highway 37, the Stewart Cassiar Highway.  I stopped at Moricetown Canyon for a brief photo.  This was once the largest population centre in the Bulkley Valley due to its spectacular fishing opportunity.  Reaching Kitwanga I topped of my tank, crossed over the Skeena River and headed to my first gas stop about 265 kilometers north. This was my first foray into desolation.  Traffic was noticeably lighter almost immediately. Pavement was superb and the scenery spectacular. 

An hour’s ride (seeing maybe twenty other vehicles) brought me to a stop sign at a junction in the middle of nowhere.  Turn left and ride 40 km takes me to Stewart BC and a short hop into Hyder Alaska to get “hyderized.” If I turn right, I’m about 60 km to fuel and the closer to my goal of being at the top of Highway 37 for night.  I turn right.  At kilometre 245, my low fuel light comes on.  I have never run out of fuel with this bike so I don’t actually know how far I can ride after the light comes on – I’m usually close enough to a gas station not to worry much.  The other day, riding into Cache Creek, I rode approximately 25 km with the light on.  When you see fewer than 20 cars in an hour and the last place you were close to fuel was over 100 km past, a low fuel light can play on your mind.  Theoretically, you have done the math and know you have the capacity to make the goal but your light has come on earlier than expected.  My first tank of the journey got me to 285 – those warning lights play on the mind! I guess the little bike is a bit more thirsty when it is pushed a little harder.  There was nothing to do but keep riding and hope the fuel outlasted the road. 

 

Bell II showed up right where it was supposed to be.  Bell II is a funny name for a stop in the road, it is really a beautiful log structured heli-ski lodge set beside the highway that offers fuel, a restaurant and lodging to travellers when they aren’t booked with skiers.  This time of year there were rooms available but with lots of light left in the day, I was soon off to my next fuel stop at Dease Lake.

Leaving Bell II the road winds along the Bowser River and numerous lakes eventually climbing to the top of Gnat pass nearly reaching the treeline (which is not as high as I am used to due to the northern latitude here). 

From the summit of the pass, the road winds down a bit tighter than on the way up the last being a 7% gravel grade down to the Stikine River crossing.  Although the Stikine is viewed as being one of BC’s last truly wild rivers, the steel bridge takes us over waters that appear peaceful and placid.

From the Stikine crossing to Dease Lake there are numerous construction stretches but at this hour, the workers have left the jobsite for the day.  I arrive at the Dease Lake gas station at eight pm, just as it is closing.  I manage to sweet talk one last fill from them which will carry me to the top of 37 tonight.  As I am leaving, truck and camper arrive and manage to squeak in under the wire as well.

For the next hour, the road is a little rougher than it has been further south.  Here it is primarly seal coated rock chip rather than proper pavement.  In the dimming light, sometimes there is the appearance of loose gravel on the road but traction remains consistent and strong.

By 9:30, I’ve been on the road for about twelve hours and I’m looking at my GPS more frequently to figure out how long it will be before I get to pitch my tent.  As I round a corner in the road, my jaw drops inside my helmet.  The road straightens out and as far as the eye can see, both sides of the road are lined with blackened toothpick trees and charred grass.  The transition from lush green to burnt remnants is instantaneous and the  desolation is haunting, particularly in the dusky light of the evening.  I ride for miles through this depressing devastation awed by the impact of a raging and uncontrolled forest fire.  The odor of death and decay is heavy in the air.

Just after 11 PM, the junction of Highway 37 and the Alaska Highway appears ahead of me.  A rustic and nearly empty campground at the corner has tremendous appeal and I set up my tent by the light of the twilight sky.

I had an appointment this morning.  Meet a reporter in Smithers for a photo –op.  It was a great start to the day but does set a particular tone in the morning that is different than if you are just travelling.  While I was talking to the reporter, a lady overhearing our conversation shared her own mental health story and reminisced about friends who had not received proper treatment when they needed it and now were no longer here.  It is a bittersweet story, very sad that lives have been lost but so hopeful for the future – that we know so much more about mental health today than even a few years ago.  So many people learn to manage their illness and as this topic is discussed more, the knowledge will be shared and fewer lives will be destroyed.

 

The reporter recommended a local pizzeria/bistro (Chatters) which had just started serving breakfast so I went there for some awesome food.  Met a wonderful couple at the next table and talked about what a great place Smithers was to live, so many recreational opportunities, beautiful mountains, friendly people – all true.  We talked about the trip and mental health (funny how that topic keeps popping up) and then it was time for the road.

The TransCanada follows the Fraser River upstream through the Canyon to Lytton where the Fraser is joined by the Thompson River. At this point the highway follows the Thompson River through the Thompson Canyon.  The ride through both canyons is about two and half hours of  great scenery, good pavement a some great curves.  The climate changes from the humid west coast air of the Fraser Valley to the arid interior.  The change shows in the vegetation beside the road as the lush forests give way to scrubby sage.

 

Twenty minutes out of Cache Creek, the end of the canyon run, my low fuel light winked on.  This was really my first tank of fuel through this bike for the year and I had forgotten what kind of range I could expect.  I was regretting not topping off that tank in Hope.

There was fuel to spare as I rolled into town and I passed two stations before I pulled into a Shell station (maybe I’ll be able to squeeze in enough gas for a patronage point /airmile).

Cache Creek marks the beginning of the Cariboo region for me.  As a child I remember travelling this route (Highway 97) regularly with my family as we farmed both in the Fraser Valley as well as in northern BC.  The highway roughly follows the trail blazed by gold seekers in the mid 1800’s.  Little towns situated along the way were stopping places for stage coaches and measured in distances from Lillooet (70 Mile House, 100 Mile House) along the road to the gold fields.  Some of these towns have retained that pioneer focus while others have broadened their tourist base and have also developed as regional centres.

Further north, the impact of  is evident in the roadside vegetation.  The south Cariboo is very arid, the north has longer, colder winters but more precipitation.  The scrub of the desert is gone and is replaced by rolling fields of hay bordered by birch, poplar and pine trees.

Not a lot of tight curves on the highways here, they are relatively straight with gentle hills.  The Cariboo region is a plateau.  In Williams Lake I buy gas and a gentleman walks over to talk about my bike and my trip while his buddy gases up.  He’s interested in the GoPro so we talk about that a bit.  His friend is getting ready to go as I tell him about road2blue and he quite enthusiastically takes my card and tells me it’s a small world!

Passing through Quesnel, I am assaulted by the aroma of the pulp and paper industry, a unique odor I had not smelled in twenty years.  I pondered the difference between driving in a vehicle and riding a motorcycle.  In a car (or cage as a biker might call it) the scenery passes by but the your environment stays the same(its like watching a TV screen). 

On a motorcycle you are a part of the environment.  You can ride the same stretch of highway ten times in a day and it will always be different due because of the impact of the environment on the rider.  You feel wind currents, subtle temperature changes, you smell fresh rain or hot brakes on semi trucks.  Remembering all the road trips I have taken with family in a vehicle, I remember the scenery flashing by but not the sensation of the climate change.  The only environmental change we experienced was the gradual build up of clutter from candy, gum wrappers and junk food containers in the vehicle as we progressed along our journey.

Approaching Prince George, I am reminded again of farming up in the Peace Region of BC when I was young.  The gently rolling land produces good forage but has the scrubby look of hard growing conditions and less than optimal soil.  The Pine Beetle devastation is clear here.  Thousands of acres of dead trees have been harvested and in some cases piled to burn.  Again I am reminded of how we cleared land in the sixties and seventies.  Bulldozing the trees, piling them, burning them, repiling the roots reburning them until we could finally drag a heavy disk through the soil to “ break” the land.

From Prince George, I headed west toward Smithers.  It was a long day but I had miles to make.  I had not been on this section of the Yellowhead highway before and I was happy to finally be covering new ground.  Forty minutes out of town I realized I was travelling on the infamous Highway of Tears and tomorrow I would step up the adventure a notch when I turned onto Highway 37 – the Stewart Cassiar highway.

Gray clouds threatened as I rolled down the driveway at 9 AM Monday morning – a day late on my holiday.  I tentatively leaned through the familiar curves of the road into town and was pleased to note that the extra weight on the bike did not affect its stability there was just more substance and heft to the movements.  I cleared the tenth traffic light, passed the last gas station and eased into the right lane preparing to enter the freeway.  I knew I wouldn’t really feel like the adventure had begun until at least the beginning of day two but I was impatient to get some real wind moving past my helmet.  Second gear onto the freeway on ramp and the Rotax engine wound up almost as if it sensed my own urgency.  Highway speed “plus” I merged onto the TransCanada, my 2002  F650 Dakar was finally going to carry me into an part of the world where its true capabilities would be tested.

 

 I skipped the first fuel stop in Hope, about 40 minutes east, where I had planned to top off the tank but did stop to make sure my luggage was secure. Further east in “Historic Yale” I reached up and flicked on my new GoPro helmet camera to capture the ride through the Fraser Canyon.  I have been through this canyon many times over the years and knew I should get at least a few good clips for enjoyment later.  In addition to the GoPro, I have a point and shoot digital camera easily accessed from a front pocket on Aerostich and secured to me by a lanyard around my neck. 

Yale currently has a population of about 200 but is the historic head of navigation on the south Fraser River.  This was the drop off point for the thousands of gold miners trekking into central BC during the gold rush of the mid 1800’s and is now a popular drop in point for river rafters. Just as it was for miners 150 years ago, despite my familiarity with this route, I had more of the “I’m finally on the road” feeling.  Passing through tunnels in “the Canyon”  I pondered the early immigrants force to work (sometimes to their death)  carving the early road through this wilderness.

I had intended on leaving Sunday morning, bright and early.  Unfortunately, Saturday had several surprises but now, tonight, I'm finally packed and ready to go.  So, I'm off to bet, lots of thoughts to ponder tomorrow when I finally head north.  I look forward to more writing tomorrow!

   A long, lonely road   Depression motivates Doug Janzen to ride  
By Paul J. Henderson, The Times June 16, 2011

 Doug Janzen is riding his 2002 BMW 650 Dakar 3,600 kilometres from Chilliwack to Inuvik to raise awareness about depression. Photograph by: Paul J. Henderson, TIMES When Doug Janzen tells people he is going to ride a motorcycle from Chilliwack to Inuvik, he knows they might think he's out of his mind.

And that's part of the point.

Janzen is hopping on his 2002 BMW 650 Dakar and leaving on a 3,600-kilometre journey on Father's Day to raise awareness about depression.

"When I talk to people or listen to people tell me about their depression experience, they feel very alone, very remote and that's the kind of thing I'm going to experience," he told the Times. "I'm going to be alone and isolated."

Another part of the analogy for Janzen is that depression can also be a "dangerous" place. The last 500 gravel kilometres of the Dempster Highway can be a treacherous and dangerous one indeed.

"If the road is in good shape and the weather is sunny, it's a good road," Janzen said. "But if there is rain or sinkholes it can be awful."

His departure on Father's Day is also a dedication to all the fathers of children fighting depression.

"Everyone knows someone with depression but nobody wants to talk about it," he said. "If people started to talk openly about depression, those who battle it would be more likely to get proper treatment; the stigma would be reduced."

Janzen said he has known half a dozen people who have committed suicide, which often can be the outcome of untreated depression.

His journey is more about raising awareness than funds, but if people want to donate, he hopes they will do so to the FORCE (Families Organized for Recognition and Care Equality Society) Society for Kids' Mental Health, which provides support and connections with other families dealing with depression.

"They are fantastic," Janzen said. "Because when teenagers are stricken with something like depression, it's very difficult to tell what's normal teenage behaviour and what's the disease."

Of course, for all the talk about raising awareness about depression, many off-road motorcycle enthusiasts will be jealous of his trip.

"It's not like something nobody has ever done before, and people have even done it solo," Janzen said. "I just thought I could make something useful out of a selfish trip."

- For more on FORCE visit www.force-society.com, and Janzen's journey can be followed at www.road2blue.com.

phenderson@chilliwacktimes.com

- - -

" When teenagers are stricken with . . . depression, it's very difficult to tell what's normal teenage

behaviour and what's

the disease." Doug Janzen

© Copyright (c) Chilliwack Times                 
        

Read more: http://www.chilliwacktimes.com/life/long+lonely+road/4959245/story.html#ixzz1PXcu39QZ

Well this should be interesting.  I spent a few hours today issuing a press release to 20 individual reporters in communities along the route I will be travelling (had to find out who the reporters were, dig out their contact info, and then an individual email was sent out).  Just like everything other project I've taken on lately, this component seemed so easy and straightforward when I started.  It is done and I'm looking forward t 

PRESS RELEASE                                                                 

 

Isolated, Alone and in Danger

June 19, Douglas Janzen will leave his home in Chilliwack BC to ride a motorcycle alone and unsupported to Inuvik in Canada’s high arctic.  His purpose is to bring attention to approximately one in eight youth in Canada who struggle with Clinical Depression feeling isolated and alone every day.  Clinical Depression, often undiagnosed and untreated, is a leading cause of suicide.  

Janzen is leaving on Fathers Day to ride for “all the Fathers who have children fighting depression”  and expects to be home in early July.   He will be travelling through one of  Canada’s more remote areas where it is more common to see wild animals such as wolves and bears than to see another human.  He will be isolated and alone in an area where even a minor mishap could have very serious consequences.

Douglas states that his journey is the physical representation of a mind troubled by Clinical Depression.  “Everyone knows someone with Depression but nobody wants to talk about it,” says Douglas.  “If people started to talk openly about Depression, those who battle it would be more likely to get proper treatment; the stigma would be reduced.”  Many high achieving people such as Clara Hughes, Harrison Ford, Janet Jackson and Winston Churchill have successfully battled Clinical Depression.

Depression can be difficult to detect in teens but experts advise that “early diagnosis and aggressive treatment can be the difference between a full, normal, productive life or no life at all.”  A family doctor can diagnose Clinical Depression very quickly but often parents don’t realize their children are struggling.

Parents of youth with Clinical Depression are challenged to find support and information that would help them deal with what their children are facing.   FORCE Society (Families Organized for Recognition and Care Equality) provides families with an opportunity to speak with other families who understand and may be able to offer support or advice on what has worked for them.  FORCE Society also works with professionals and serves as an advocate in this area of mental health 

Douglas hopes his journey will encourage more open conversation about Depression and that people will contribute to FORCE Society.  More information is available at www.forcesociety.com or on Janzen’s website www.road2blue.com where you can also follow his progress by satellite tracking.