I found this description of the North Canol Road on a motorcycle forum I follow.  It was posted July 16, so about three weeks after I was there.  The fellow who wrote this travelled about 20 km further than I did and also had the opportunity cross the new bridge over Moose Creek (the schedule for replacement is what spurred me to turn around when I did - they tore out the old bridge the day after I was there).

No wonder I felt so isolated out there!  Here is that "interesting" description: 

The road is in great shape compared to some previous years. The water-to-your-axle, mud bogs stretches have had some gravel laid in, bridge approaches likewise. They did a great job on Moose Creek, and are using galvanized sheet for the abutments, so should be good for some time. Itsi was where I had to stop as there was no bridge deck, the quads had to ford around the side. Watch for the usual deep holes where culverts have collapsed, beavers are making some ponds/streams across the road, erosion cuts on hills, ruts, and the like.

I won't say much about what's there as you'll want to find spectacular by yourself. A few reminders for those who haven't done this type of road:

• It's remote. The Dempster and Haul Road are highways with lots of traffic in comparison.
• That means there is no support or help coming of any type. Think about it. Even in remote jungle areas, a local may pop his head out and be able to offer something. Not here.
• There is a highway maintenance camp at Twin Creeks. It's not manned unless they're doing something like the bridge repair, and even then the people may all be at the work site (where they have travel trailers).
• If you're solo (and I often am), be prepared, and be careful. No buddy to help pick up your bike when it jams against a boulder in mid-creek.
• Carry a satellite phone or SPOT. I like adventures, not dying alone!
• OK, that's all very dramatic, so some practical points follow
• The worst mosquitoes you can imagine. Only Rock Creek on the Dempster comes close
• Great changes in weather - warm and sunny, hard rain, snow. In one day...
• Until you get farther up, the middle portion has lots of wetland, so not great camping. Fords by bridges have grown in, so don't expect to camp by a creek easily on most of the middle road.
• Good camping spots include the ford at Tay Creek, Dragon Lake, Sheldon Lake (track down from the road), and lots of places once the road gets to the South MacMillan valley where you've gotten out of most wetland areas.
• Gravel pits are good camp sites, well drained, open enough to give you a chance with bugs, see the bear coming. Some pits are near creeks (from bridge building), so water is close, such as Caribou Creek.
• Some side trails are easy to explore on a bike, lead to old WW2 camps and gravel pits, good stopping places.
• There are a few cabins, respect them and use only in an emergency.
• Bring a bug shirt or head net, or regret it. And bug spray. I still have a stash of 95% DEET (restricted in Canada now to 30%, so it doesn't irritate skin - and melt plastic...). If by truck, I bring a screen house tent for cooking/eating in.
• Bring bear spray, available without permit at many stores in the Yukon for about $30.
• There are areas with not a lot of firewood, and it can all be wet. Don't count on a fire unless you're a real pro at it.
• Don't count on many services in Ross River. The store had the covers off the gas pumps, the Band card lock was working but making strange noises. Fact is, you'll need fuel here, but get food elsewhere. Bring enough fuel to get back...or call me and I'll deliver but you won't like the price!
• Allow time for delays due to washouts, weather, or?
• Allow time to enjoy it...it's not a race.
• Unless you're doing it on business. Watch out for big diesel pickups towing trailers using the entire road and travelling up to 80 KPH when they can. Sorry about that.
• The ferry is 8-12 and 1-5, not a minute earlier or later.

We don't advertise it, but the Yukon kills off probably a couple visitors a year. They're mostly people who don't evaluate or believe the risks. Then plan accordingly. Do an accurate assessment of yourself and equipment.

This is one of the best rides you can take. Compared to almost anywhere else in North America, it's really out there.

Homeward Bound

 

Saturday morning.  I’m up early, breakfast is at 7 and then I will be wasting no time leaving town.  It’s an interesting hotel. Three of us have rented rooms and the management decides when breakfast and supper will be, the restaurant is not open for lunch. 

I’m on the road at 7:45. The sun is shining, the roads have actually had about a day to dry out and that is helpful.  The Robert Campbell Highway between Ross River and Watson Lake is like the Dempster in some ways.  When it is dry, it is okay (but rough) but when it is wet….it is greasy and slippery like ice.  Today is a good day and I can cruise at about 80 km/h. 

I’m riding toward Watson Lake and have been on the road for about 45 minutes when I notice wobbly tire tracks on the road.  I see them intermittently but they have been made since the rain. The tires that made the tracks are narrow tires, looks like a bicycle – but really wobbly.  I ride for probably half an hour seeing these tracks until I round a corner, drop down a little incline and there in the valley bottom, I see a young man on a recumbent bicycle.  He peddles along, weaving indiscriminately and apparently without pattern across the road – like a wanderer, having the time of his life.  I slow as I draw abreast of him, shout a greeting to him about the beautiful day and the accent in his response suggests he is Australian.  As I accelerate away, I grin to myself at the perfection of the stereotype: young cheerful curly headed lad, not a care in the world, weaving all over the road on a bicycle, one hundred miles away from civilization….has to be an Aussy!

Getting closer to Watson Lake the road roughens.  There is a lot of traffic from heavy mining traffic in these areas and it takes a toll on the roads.  At one point I hit a deep sharp chuckhole so hard that I think it could flatten my tire or bend my rim but the bike continues to run true without any change in handling.  The road teases me with a stretch of pavement and then reverts to gravel….twice….before the pavement finally remains and I follow it into Watson Lake.

I fuel up at the gas station across the road from the sign forest (without taking the obligatory tourist photos) and head west toward Highway 37.  I had originally planned on heading south down the Alaska Highway to Fort St John and Dawson Creek but excessive rains in those areas have washed out roads so my route south will mimic my route north.

I ride until about 11 PM when I pull into Smithers and find a motel with a perfectly adequate room.  The next morning, I leave in the rain and carry on in my determined ride.  Rolling out of Houston, a car pulls along side honking, waving and pointing -  I smile and wave back…it is so nice when people have so much fun greeting travellers on the road.

I have planned stops in Burns Lake, Quesnel and Cache Creek.  These fuel breaks are all that stand between me and home and I ride.  Steady riding, three stops, I am home by 8 PM. 

8,300 km in 13 days…2,000 were on gravel.  I’ve written quite a bit here about the trip, what I saw, what I rode, what I thought, and what I’ve experienced.  I think this has been a life changing experience for me but I’m not sure a person can be completely confident in a statement like that until some time has passed.  I’m still processing a lot it all in my mind and will likely write more about that all in a bit of epilogue…..but I want to digest what I’ve written, what I’ve thought and what I’ve learned before I write more, so please continue to check back here for changes, updates and news.  I'd like to keep this site active to remind people how important it is to discuss mental health issues (clinical depression in particular) in a rational, nonjudgemental manner...it is a health issue

 If you have any questions, want clarification on anything you've read or are interested in a presentation about my trip.  Please contact me  through the contact page on the website or directly through my email: janzendoug@gmail.com

Thanks for reading, I hope you've enjoyed it.

The rain I expected last night did not arrive.  I awake with the sun fighting to break through the high overcast.  Quiet Lake is beautiful in the diffuse light but I am anxious to get on the road so I pack quickly and quietly.  I’m just leaving as my friendly neighbour sticks his head out of his camper and wishes me bon voyage; he seems pleased that I did not get eaten by bears last night.

On the road to Ross River I find improvement as I progress toward Ross River.  The road seems to be slightly wider, slightly more well maintained and I think I can make a little better time. I round a corner and am surprised to find an industrial loader working on the road, moving some gravel around.  I stop in at Lapie Lake to take a picture but my camera decides not to cooperate – a total refusal to focus.  When I see the campsites and the lake I know I was better off at Quiet Lake. 

The morning ride to Ross River takes about three and one half hours to cover the 80 km distance.

At Ross River I find out three important things.

Firstly, they do have gas.  If the store is closed they have a cardlock where I can just insert my credit card and fuel up. 

Secondly, tomorrow is Canada Day and the all the businesses in town will be closed for celebrations (but I can buy gas at the cardlock). 

Thirdly, at Moose Creek, 147 km from Ross River, a contractor will be replacing the bridge and the road will be closed tomorrow morning. 

It is now about one o’clock on June 30 so I have about 19 hours to get out to MacMillan Pass (232 km) and back to this side of  Moose Creek (85 km) for a total of 317 km.  Based on my progress this morning, I’m looking at about a 14 hour ride so it may be doable.  I cross the Pelly River on a cable ferry and set off to the North West Territories on a road that follows the Ross River.

The North Canol is narrower and rougher than the South Canol.  There are steeper hills, sharper corners, narrower bridges and maintenance appears much less regular.  My bike, fully loaded with extra fuel is taking a real beating on some of these potholes.  The bright side is that there seems to be more gravel on this road so if the rain should come, it may not slow me down much (although the roughness already does that).

Just past Dragon Lake (105 km) the rain I have been expecting arrives.  I’ve watched the clouds thicken all afternoon and now they have started to spill their cargo.  My progress slows in the rain mostly due to visibility issues.  Ditches on the roadsides are full and begin to flow over the road.  Approaching one of these spots I suddenly realize the watercourse is much deeper with a more abrupt channel than I had anticipated; I haven’t slowed enough.  I stand up on the foot pegs increase my stability.  The front wheel sinks into the channel that the water has eroded and my hands tighten instinctively on the grips.  The front suspension compresses and bottoms out sending a jarring jolt up my forearms, into my elbows and biceps.  A wave displaced by the front wheel and engine cases hitting the water washes over the bike and leaves a blinding film of mud on my faceshield.  The front wheel hits the bank on the far side of the channel and I feel the rear wheel lighten then settle back as the front wheel pops up.  Almost instantly the rear wheel hits that same ledge and bounces up. The weight of the whole motorcycle is on the front wheel wobbling from side to side under the stress.  I fight to hold on to the bike.  The rear tire contacts the ground sending a jolt through the footpegs to be absorbed by my knees and thighs.  The suspension again compresses and I slam the toe of my boot onto the brake pedal trying desperately to scrub off speed.  I feel the bike skidding but slowly I am able to bring it under control. 

I progress toward the MacMillan pass and as the elevation increases it seems the rain intensity increases as well.  Rounding a corner I pull to the side of the road to make room for a south bound road grader followed by a pickup truck.  The road grader pulls to a stop beside by bike and the operator throttles the big machine back as he opens the door and pokes his head out.  He advises that the bridge over Moose Creek is being closed and he is moving his machine south of that – I should make sure I am well back of that point by morning as well. Thanking him for his advice, I carry on. 

My progress is quite slow now.  The rain is heavy and visibility very poor.  I reach the much photographed point along the road where surplus vehicles and equipment were left behind by the construction company who built the road over 60 years ago.  I carry on without pause knowing my finicky camera will be no help in this downpour.  I cross over another single lane wooden bridge. 

I consider, as I ride, that I am now the last person on this road.  Tomorrow morning, a bridge somewhere behind me will be removed and if I am not south of that bridge, I will be here for another ten days.  I realize that as I progress into MacMillan Pass, the spectacular views I was riding to see, are totally obscured by thick low cloud and heavy rain.  My progress is slower than I had anticipated and I’m thinking that I still have two to three hours to get to the NWT border.  That means four to six hours to get back to this point and another hour to get back to where I can camp at Dragon Lake.  Potentially another seven hours of riding for no views and more rain. I am wondering if the excessive rain I am experiencing will cause road washouts and what difficulty that might cause me.   It is about 5 PM when I decide that I have gone as far up this road as I will go.  Additional mileage will not produced anything different than what I am currently experiencing. 

The ride back to Dragon Lake is uneventful with exception that I am developing a suspicion that my rear shock absorber may be compromised.  The road is feeling a little rougher than it has in the past.  There is more bounce and more bottoming when I can’t avoid the bumps.  It may be time for new suspension when I return home.

The Dragon Lake pullout was recommended by the fellow I had camped beside last night.  I had not seen any bear scat on the road coming here and could not find any as I checked the site carefully.  The rain has slowed to showers and I decide to start supper (instant Backpacker “no cook” meal - just add boiling water and stir) before setting my tent.  I’ll start that and set up my tent while the water does its magic inside the foil bag.  We’ll see what curried lamb is like tonight. 

I pull out my trusty twenty five year old single burner multi-fuel Coleman stove.  For the first time I notice how the burner element is deteriorating with rust – poor old stove isn’t going to last much longer.  Add some gas, close the lid and pump up some pressure.  It worked perfectly the other night in Dawson, but today the pressure doesn’t build.  I fiddle with it for a few minutes and realize that the pump seal is probably dried out and I have no spare –supper will be cold tonight.  I add water to the bag and let it sit while I set up my tent.  The mosquitoes are the worst I have seen on this trip and for the first time I break out my mosquito screen hat.

Cold “boil in a bag” is not the most appetizing.  I wolf down about half of it, seal the rest, and put it in my tank bag with the rest of my snacks and food which I then hang from a tree to bear proof my camp.  It’s only a bit after 7 PM when I climb into my tent, more to escape the mosquitoes than anything else.

In my tent, I reflect on my journey.  I’ve done what I set out to accomplish physically.  I’ve done the Dempster; explored the gold fields; ridden the Top of the World highway; and done as much of the Canol Road as possible.  It’s time to head for home.  This early start to the evening is not a bad thing.  I can get a good rest and then my trip home (about 2,400 km) can maybe  be one really long day or maybe two shorter days depending on how long it takes to get out of Ross River and down to Watson Lake (the only two gravel components I have left to go).  I force myself to sleep.  If tomorrow is going to be a really long day, I will need all the sleep I can get tonight.

My tent and sleeping bag are very comfortable.  I doze for a while and fall into a deeper sleep.  Occasionally I wake up to the sound of rain thrumming on the tent but as far as I know, I stay dry (glad I got the tent set up between showers).  I sleep more and quite deeply but suddenly, I am awake.  I heard a sound or something unusual has awoken me.  I lie very still and listen….is that a scratching sound outside?  Something sniffing?  I think I can hear something but I’m not sure.  I lie very still…if it is a curious bear should I make a lot of noise now or wait until it paws and sniffs at my tent? If I make a lot of noise now will that scare the bear off or will it be more curious about what is making noises inside that green blob?   I can almost hear my heart beating.  I’m beginning to become quite sure there is a bear outside and I’m not sure what to do about it.  Something scratches closer to the tent….I’m sure I hear something sniffing…..and there is a strange odour in the air.  It must be a bear, that smell is horrible.  Despite my terror I find myself drifting off to sleep again…that smell is still there and still horrible…and as I’m drifting in and out of sleep, I relax….and I begin to wonder….if the noise that woke me up, and that horrible odour, might not just be an after affect of my cold lamb curried rice that I had for my supper.  That lamb curried rice…the taste is still there in the back of my throat, pretty sure it’s on my breath…and there is that rumbly feeling…..

Morning eventually arrives and I step out of my tent carefully surveying the ground around my camping site….not a single animal track anywhere.  This was another example of how the mind can “play tricks” on a person and make you believe in a “reality” that does not exist.  I was once again reminded how fear can create things in the mind much greater than what may or may not exist. 

My timing is about right to catch an early ferry ride across back across the Pelly so I pack the bike up and ride off down the road.  The rain has stopped but sky remains heavy with clouds. The road back is no better than it was on the way up but I arrive at the ferry crossing in reasonable time only to find it sitting across the river with a couple of vehicles waiting to board.  I see someone walking across the pedestrian suspension bridge that parallels the ferry route.  I pull my helmet off to wait.

“Happy Canada Day.”  I hear his voice before I get a good look at him. “Yes, and to you.” I respond.

“The ferry is not running.”

“Why not?” I ask.

He shrugs.  I find out that there was a party in town last night and they can’t find the ferry operator.  The ferry won’t run until they can find him. 

As is turns out, I’m talking to an employee of the Yukon Department of Highways.  He is here to supervise the replacement of the bridge at Moose Creek but can’t get there until the ferry runs.  We’re headed in opposite directions, trapped by the ferry across the river that doesn’t run.  As it turns out, I did not need to be concerned about getting back to this side of Moose Creek, that bridge won’t be coming out today after all.

It is noon before they can find someone to operate the ferry but when he goes to start it, the battery is dead and attempts to boost it are unsuccessful (reminiscent of my own experience at Whitehorse).  “Have to bring in a mechanic from Whitehorse,” the ferry operator advises gravely.  “It’s about five hours if we can find him.”

The Highways Supervisor tells me even the hotel in town is closed (and the cardlock at the gas pump doesn’t work so even a gas purchase is impossible).  He has a room but the hotel manager is having a day off so he’s not sure if there are any other rooms available.  I make my way up to the hotel and the Highways guy finds the manager who is happy to set me up with a room.  The hotel guy suggests I might want to book for three or four days and get a multiday discount.  “How is anyone going to find a government mechanic on a Canada Day Friday? – ferry probably won’t run until Monday.”  I book for one night.  It’s warm and dry here, I’ll figure out my next move tomorrow.

Mid afternoon, I wander down to get a few more things from my bike and as I approach the pedestrian bridge, I see the ferry is running.  I am overjoyed! My bike comes across the river at the first opportunity and as it now late in the day and I’ve paid for the night, I will stay in Ross River and leave in the morning.

To pass the time, I do a bit of maintenance on my bike and notice, to my horror, the rear brake pad linings are completely used up.  From what I can see, any application of the rear brake will result in metal to metal contact.  My ride home will be with a broken rear shock absorber and no rear brakes….should be an interesting ride!

South Canol Road

 

The sun is shining but the thickening broken cloud cover and sporadic showers warn that the weather front is pursuing me.  It is just after 4 PM as I roll back on the throttle and downshift signalling to no one behind me that I will be turning right off the highway and onto a gravel dirt road labelled as Highway 6 but commonly called the South Canol Road.  A short distance off the tarmac is a wide staging area with historic panels providing information and signs warning about travel on the road ahead.  

I snap a few shots with my increasingly finicky camera.  I’ve noticed over the course of this trip it has had an increasing tendency to produce pictures out of focus.  Between focus problems and rain, my camera is spending more time in my pocket and less time capturing images.  A few drops of rain on the lens force the camera back in my pocket and I start up the Canol Road with cautious anticipation.

The road has almost a sandy texture.  It has had water but doesn’t seem slippery and it definitely is not a gravelly surface at the start.  The rain has not collected in the chuckholes and washboard so obviously the drainage is good.  Chuckholes and washboard…this road is definitely rough.  My riding is mostly in second and third gear and I quickly realize that if the road does not improve, I will be camping somewhere along the road tonight, not in Ross River as initially anticipated.

As the road winds through the mountains and valleys away from the Alaska Highway, I notice more and more fresh bear scat beside and on the road.  I am quite happy to be motoring along here instead of pedalling a bicycle or pulling a rickshaw as I have seen other people doing on some of the more well travelled routes.

It takes about two hours for me to cover the nearly 80 km from the Alaska Highway to the first campground on Quiet Lake.  The narrow, rough, winding and hilly road is not a fast road but has beautiful scenery.  Quiet Lake is the largest of three lakes that form the headwaters to the Big Salmon River system in the Yukon. 

I recall reading somewhere that former Deputy Prime Minister of Canada, Erik Nielsen and his brother, comedian Leslie Nielsen found great refuge and retreat at a family cabin located somewhere on this lake.  I don’t have the inclination to try and figure out where the cabin is located but there do not appear to be many on this lake that are easily accessible. 

I ride around the south campground and find no other campers but a bit of bear scat.  I decide there must be a campground further up where there may be less evidence of bears.

The next campground is about 20 km up the road and as I ride through it  I decide that it is too early to stop riding (at least there are three or four campers here).  I carry on up the road to see if there are better spots and note that there seems to be an increasing amount of bear scat.  I travel another 15 or 20 km before deciding that the North Quiet Lake Campground might be my best bet for accommodation.  I had found a couple of turnouts that might work but decide that it might be good to have a few people around given the evidence of bear presence.

My tent is set up by 9:30 and a gent from the neighbouring camper wanders over for a chat.  He is here on a fishing trip and generously offers me fresh fish for supper.  As I’ve been snacking on the road, I’m not that hungry and regretfully decline.  He is quite curious about my bike and my trip and we have a great chat covering a variety of topics.  He is a fount of information on bear interactions, shares some great stories and my paranoia actually decreases a bit.  I’ve heard it said that the best way to deal with fear is to find someone who has done what you are afraid of doing.  Talk to them and find out how they managed it then go and try it yourself.  A great way to conquer fear.  Listening to this local resident (Faro) discuss his encounters with bears calms me substantially.  He also advises me of a good place to camp on the North Canol if I do decide to get up there.

He questions me on my gas  capacity and scoffs at my fear of “no gas in Ross River.”  They always have gas there, he advises.  Well I have it now and believe its always better not to take chances in this country.  The Boy Scout motto, “always be prepared ” comes to mind.

I settle in for the night feeling quite fortunate to be here in the secluded north. It is indeed a quiet lake.

Yesterday the low clouds warned of diminished views along the Top of the World Highway.  Today’s weather is even less inviting.  I can hear the rain pelting on the roof of the hotel before I even get out of bed.  Checking the weather forecast I see that I have a choice of battling the low pressure (rain) front down Highway 37 (which is the same highway that brought me up here) or chasing the sun down the Alaska Highway through Dawson Creek and then detouring through Alberta because road washouts have closed Highway 97 between Dawson Creek and Prince George.  I’m quite disappointed about the road closures because this was the route I had originally planned to take (and see a few old friends along the way).

Neil and Steve were planning a trip down to Skagway but change their plan in light of the weather.  The weather map suggests that my Canol Road journey might not be in the cards due to inclement weather as well.  Their plan is to head to Whitehorse for a tire change and maintenance and likely out through Alberta after that. 

I check my rear tire and am shocked at how quickly the pavement has taken a toll on the TKC  knobs.  I decide to pull the rear tire off and put the Anakee back on.  The front tire does not seem as susceptible to wear so I’ll leave it on for now.  Across the street from our hotel I find a closed Shell gas station where I start changing my tire.  Neil and Steve pop over to check their bikes under shelter (chain maintenance, make sure the gear is all okay) and then head for Whitehorse in the rain.  I doubt that I’ll be doing the Canol Road.

Finally on the road after my tire change and breakfast, the highway ride to Whitehorse seems to take a long time (although its only about an hour).  The weather seems to be improving as I ride which is heartening but I am very aware that I’m just outriding the clouds – I’m heading east and the weather comes from the west up here.  If I stop for a longer period of time, I am sure the weather will catch me and I will be getting wet again. 

It is pretty much a non-stop blast from Haines Junction to Johnson’s Crossing (about 320 km) and by the time I get there in the early afternoon, I’m ready for gas and a snack.  This is also a decision point for me.  Johnson’s Crossing, a campground with fuel and a restaurant/bakery, also marks the junction of the South Canol road with the Alaska Highway.  I had stopped here on the way up (just over a week ago – seems much longer) and the fuel pumps were flying Shell colours.  Today, no fuel is available because the colours are being changed and the new supplier will fill the tanks in a couple of days.  The restaurant offers fantastic fresh baked goods (including melt in your mouth giant cinnamon buns), great coffee and the latest news on the condition of the South Canol road (depending on who you talk to).

I had two reports.  The restaurant owner was quite non-committal in his response. I could tell he didn’t want to encourage a person who might get in over his head but didn’t want to discourage a competent rider from a great experience.  He talked about a lot of washboard and it being a rough slow road…but I’d have to see for myself.  Another gentleman (likely doesn’t get these questions nearly as often) advised the road was “the physical sh*ts” in a truck but a quite manageable on a bike.  Nobody would tell me what it was like if it rained but I didn’t have anyone warn me away from it if it did get wet (unlike the Dempster).

I needed gas to do this road and that meant another 50 km down the road to Teslin.  If I was going to do the South Canol, it was a ride to Teslin to top off my tanks and a return to Johnson’s Crossing….about an hour round trip.  That gave me more time to decide.  The weather had improved (yes I know, I was just ahead of it, I knew what was coming) and so I left for Teslin, strongly leaning towards a trip up the South Canol.  My thought is that I could do the South Canol today, end up in Ross River tonight and decide tomorrow whether or not to do the North Canol.  Worst case scenario, I’d only have bad rain from Ross River down to Watson Lake and then I’d be on pavement again and that would be quite manageable.

In Teslin, I filled my tank and for the first time, filled the 10 litre jerry cans that I had strapped to my home-made peg packers on each side of my bike.  The full jerry cans added approximately forty pounds of additional weight on my little 650 – good thing I was on a diet early this year, it all nets out!  I figure the range out of my tank is about 375km and with the additional 20 litres I should be good for another 400 km at least.  The South Canol Road is about 220 km long, the North Canol extends about 232 Km to the NWT border and a bit beyond that.  The gas I am now carrying will take me up close to the end of the North Canol Road and back to Ross River before I need to buy more fuel.  I’ll likely fill in Ross River before trying the North Canol just in case there is no fuel available on my return. In a sense I’m carrying too much fuel but in another sense, I shouldn’t get stuck without it.  I think I’ve covered everything off.

The decision is made in the sunshine (with looming clouds).  I’ll do the South Canol and make a decision on the North Canol at Ross River.  I hop on my bike and head back up toward Johnson’s Crossing.

The day is gray with low hanging cloud as I check out of my motel.  The bike is loaded and the tank is full;  I am bound for Chicken, Alaska via the Top of the World Highway.  The spectacular scenery I’ve been expecting will likely be obscured by the clouds and I expect rain will make the road a challenge for my two-wheeler. 

 

The George Black is a free ferry leaving from the north side of town at regular intervals.  I make a final tour through town with my helmet camera capturing moving images as I ride then arrive, first in line, for the ferry.   Moments later a pristine GS1200 pulls up beside me piloted by a rider and his wife wearing matching riding suits and followed shortly by another big GS.  Apparently this is a family holiday for them and a nearby SUV has a ladies bike in the trailer.  The pristine GS is a garage queen and was trailered up from the Midwest US to be ridden with dad’s bike (the other big GS) from here into Anchorage.  The ferry ride is short, the other riders are busy with their own things and I fuss with a few minor housekeeping things on my own bike.  As the ferry docks, I launch off the ramp for a holeshot into the first corner of the Top of the World Highway (well not quite as aggressively as it sounds but I did want to get there first). 

Top of the World is a mix of gravel (construction zones) and older pavement as I wind my way to the clouds.  I’m sure that on a clear day there are some spectacular views but I was correct when I left Dawson – there is limited visibility up here today.  Despite the lack of a view, this is a far easier highway to ride than the Dempster and I enjoy a few stolen views when there is an opening in the clouds. 

As I approach the American border, the clouds that have been threatening through the morning begin to leak and pulling up to the kiosk with my paperwork in hand, the clouds hit “full deluge.”  I have only a few moments of refuge beneath the border canopy before my aerostich gear is fully exposed to the downpour. 

The American side of the road is significantly worse than the Canadian side. There is no pavement, limited gravel and the downhill grade only adds to the challenge of this mostly dirt road.  I am thankful that my TKC tires have only run up and down the Dempster, they are still reasonably fresh and handle this mud pretty well. 

About ten minutes down the road, I realize that the cold rain is not letting up and with time it will chill me. All I’m wearing under my Darien jacket is my Koerta Pressure Suit over an electric vest (that isn’t for some reason) with a light cotton shirt.  I plan on a few miles today and a chill this early in the day would not be a good thing so I start to look for a place where I can get off the road and add an insulating jacket.  I see some rundown log buildings and what appears to be abandoned gas pumps at a wide spot in the road and pull off just in case some traffic happens by (haven’t seen any for quite a while).

Down goes the side stand, off comes the helmet and I dig into my tank bag for my Darien fleece liner.  As I’m struggling to drag the fleece over the pressure suit, a voice startles me from behind asking if I’d like some coffee.  I turn to face two young men (likely late teens or early twenties) who are here “taking care of the place” and doing a little prospecting back in the hills.  These boys looked like they just stepped out a gold rush photo-documentary: dirt encrusted Carhartts, long sleeved cotton tees, suspenders, unshaven, unwashed rain-soaked hair.  This was their summer job; try to rustle up a little business for the dilapidated roadhouse and pull a little gold out of some claim back in the woods.  In the past couple of months they’ve pulled about ten ounces of gold out which, even at $1,500 per ounce, can’t be doing much to cover their costs much less build a nest-egg for the future.

I politely decline their offer of coffee.  I’m not cold yet and I’ve got my gear back on all the way it needs to be and I have a lot of miles to go today.  I have one of those funny “Deliverance” type feelings too and think about all the business that isn’t there….how fresh can that coffee be with no traffic and an empty parking lot?  I wave to them as I head off down the road.  I last see them trudging through the mud back toward one of the larger buildings.  This was one of the few encounters I had with people where I did not talk about my road2blue projection.

Chicken, Alaska  is a community of less than 30 for most of the year but in the early 1900’s apparently had a population of about 400.  It is located about 160 km west of Dawson and about 120 km north east of Tok, Alaska and is the perfect place to top off a gas tank and take a break on a rainy wet day.   Actually, as I pull into Chicken, the rain had stops, the clouds were lighter and the road seemed to be drying out a bit (but the temperature was holding firm at “cool”).  I fill the tank and wander into the general store to see what kind of merchandise is available. 

Chicken, Alaska.  How many tiny communities can gain such fame?  This town is a testament to perseverance and innovation.  Originally this town was supposed to be called Ptarmigan after the lifesaving abundance of the bird during a particularly lean year of other game and food but the local miners could not agree on the correct spelling so they called it “Chicken.”   From such a laughable beginning, this little town has created a presence – the second town in Alaska to have a US Post Office and a notable entry in “The Milepost” – Bible for northern tourists.  One aspect of the “Top of the World Highway” that appealed to me was the fact that it would take me through “Chicken.” 

I buy some teeshirts for my daughters head out of the store.

I think we can all learn from “Chicken.”  We may begin our lives under less than ideal circumstances; as Michael J. Fox has stated, “we all have our bag of hammers.”  It might be parkinsons,  diabetes, cancer, depression,  schizophrenia….or a host of other illnesses; with help, determination, hard work and a willingness to take chances, we can turn adversity into advantage.  If we are fortunate enough not to be seriously afflicted,  we can see those who are afflicted…and care for them.  Care for them by not judging them, by giving them the help they need, by helping them help themselves. 

Walking back to my bike, I see the pristine GS pull into the lot.  I wander over to the cookshack to see if there is any food that appeals to me but after perusing the menu, decide to pass.  I make my way back to the bike, get my gear on and just as I’m about to head out, the other GS that had accompanied the pristine one back in Dawson finally shows up. Still no sign of the SUV with the wives and trailer but at least the guy’s father has finally showed up.  Interesting way of “riding together” I think.  I sure wouldn’t like it very much if my riding “partner” was that far ahead of me.  Oh well, everyone rides their own ride.

The rain returned as I left Chicken and followed me until I approached the Canadian border at Beaver Creek approximately 320 km from Chicken.  The road between the Port of Entry into the US and the Canadian border crossing  ( a distance of almost 30 km) is under construction for most of the way but once I get back to the Canadian side I stop for supper before carrying on to Haines Junction. 

Beaver Creek to Haines Junction is almost 300km.  On a sunny clear day, apparently the waters of Kluane Lake are breath taking.  Today, the snowcapped peaks are obscured behind lowhanging clouds and the diffused light leaves the lake appearing cold and grey.  A cool north wind has me nearly shivering and the buffeting tosses the bike across the width of the lane at times. 

Approaching Haines Junction, I catch a couple of fellow travellers.  As I pass them, I am pleasantly surprised to see my friends Steve and Neil whom I seem to be running into on a regular basis.  Obviously I’m travelling a little quicker than they are so I pass with a friendly beep of the horn and a wave as I pull back into the right lane ahead of them.

In Haines Junction I ride past three motels before I find one with vacancy.  Neil and Steve pull in behind me and between the three of us, we get the last two rooms in town.  After a long day on the road, there is much to reflect on and I know that the next day I will have to make some decisions regarding how much of an impact the weather will have on the last few days of my journey.

The Klondike Gold rush story has been a fascination of mine for many years. I remember listening to a recording of Robert Service’s “Shooting of Dan McGrew” when I was still in elementary school.  In my early teens I read a book on the Klondike written by Ella Lung Martinusen, the daughter of a Klondiker.  Later I read Pierre Berton’s books on the same subject and there may have been a few others along the way. 

My first night in Dawson (before riding up the Dempster), I had camped beside some people who were working a claim located about ninety minutes drive out of town (and nearly inaccessible at that).  They are in the process of trying to reach bedrock so they can discover if there is enough gold at current prices to actually establish a mine.  When I expressed interest in coming out to see what they were working on they referred me to a more established operation that was sure to be more appropriate for my level of interest.  I questioned a few other people in town and was referred to the same operation.

Goldbottom Creek, I am told, is about an hour’s drive out of town along Hunker Creek Road.  I check the time and find there is more than enough time to get there but not enough to see both the Goldbottom operation and the Number 4 Dredge out on Bonanza Creek.  I recall reading in one of my books about a disillusioned miner from the 1898 gold rush hiking out of Dawson and up the Midnight Dome, looking sadly down on the city of dreams that “left so many unfulfilled.”  The Midnight Dome….I think I saw a road for that close to my campground…..and off I go.

The road up the Midnight Dome leaves from the main road just east of Dawson, winds through a large lot subdivision and ends up atop a hill overlooking the city and Yukon River Valley.  The road up is flawless asphalt with beautiful twists and peg scraping turns.  This is unquestionably a road that can not be missed if you are in the area on a motorcycle.  It is short but sweet – I ride up and down a few times just because it is so much fun.  The vista from the top is very helpful for putting the geography of the goldfields into perspective.  Facing south I look over Dawson to my right and can look up the Yukon River at the bend miners would float around on their final approach into the Klondike.  To the southeast I can see straight down Bonanza Creek and off to the east I can trace the Klondike River almost out to where Hunker Creek joins it.  For those who don’t know the story, the biggest finds were on Bonanza Creek and the discovery was made by a couple of people who had just been visiting a long-time prospector over on Hunker Creek days before they struck it rich.  There was some tension in the visit and although the two creeks are not far apart, the long-time prospector was never told what he was missing until it was too late to stake anything. 

I ponder that start to the gold rush as I drop off the Midnight Dome and ride up the valley to the east.  Hunker Creek Road is a winding dirt, gravel and sand road that takes me up to the Goldbottom mine located at the confluence of Hunker and Goldbottom creeks.

I’m still about 20 minutes early for the tour but a young lady comes out of one of the ramshackle buildings and gives me a short overview on the gold panning process so that I can play in the dirt and water while I wait for the official tour to begin.  I find out that she is a local girl who has just graduated from high school and will be off to college in the fall.  She is the daughter of the mine owner and has been teaching tourists to pan for gold since she was six years old (“they listen now better than they used to” she tells me).  Her dad took over the mine operation from her grandfather who had been working it since the early 1950s and her grandmother is still actively leading tours through the operation.  The bigger surprise comes when I discover that her grandmother spends winters in my hometown and is good friends with a few of my friends.

It is a small group of three that tour the mine and learn about the mining process.  Our tour guide is also a young local girl who does a great job of explaining the mining process including the bureaucratic parts pertaining to registering a claim, proving it and working it.  She tells us this operation has to recover at least one ounce per hour to break even and much of the land in this area is now being mined for at least the third time.  As I listen to her explanations, watch the equipment working and think about the prospectors I was camped beside that first night in Dawson I am struck by the amount of work and capital it takes to establish and maintain a mine in this area.  I didn’t see a lot of new shiny equipment around so I suspect the margins are pretty thin in this business. 

The innate optimism and inner strength a person must have to be successful as a fledgling operator in this business is absolutely astonishing.  I think about all the pitfalls and disappointments that are bound to occur but I don’t see despair in the faces of those who are working away their dreams (despite the small returns). 

Holding the “miners plight” in context, my mind turns to a common misunderstanding of mental health.  It is not unusual when a person is depressed, that they are encouraged to “buck up” and “let’s go do something fun to cheer you up”. These approaches are seen as being all that is needed for a cure.  To be consistent with that understanding, all these miners would be in a constant state of clinical depression.  The optimism these miners have, despite the hard work and low returns is a testament to the fact that clinical depression is not caused by bad or sad things happening and it can not be cured by funny jokes and circus clowns.  I don’t think we (society) know all of the things that contribute to clinical depression, nor do we know what things contribute to a cure.  What I do know is that whenever new discoveries are being made (just like a gold rush), the greatest advancements occur when people talk about what is going on.  So it is with mental health and depression, if we talk about it more, we will learn more and the people who need help will be more likely to get help.

The tour is over, I have a great visit with Rona Millar, the lady who spends her winters in my home town and I head south on my motorcycle to ride the “Goldfields Loop”.  On my motorcycle or any dual sport bike, this is a great ride.  During the gold rush these creeks were populated by thousands of people.  The Bonanza Creek was the richest but there was gold on Hunker Creek, Quartz Creek, Sulphur Creek and Dominion Creek.  All of these creeks have their headwaters in an area that came to be known as “King Solomon’s Dome.”  For many years, miners thought the mother lode of the gold in all the creeks lay in hidden in “King Solomon’s Dome – the mountain in the centre of the five rich gold bearing  creeks.  Today there are roads through out this area and the mountainsides are scarred with exploration trails and channels of years gone by.  The ride down Hunker Creek to King Solomon’s Dome and back up Bonanza Creek is about a 90 km loop. I ride up to the top of the Dome (where a microwave tower now stands – sign at the bottom says the road is not maintained, use at your own risk).  The road is rough and steep but my 650 manages very well.  At the top I dismount and walk around the summit viewing each creek radiating out like spokes from a central hub.  It is easy to see how this hill would be suspected of holding a mother lode. 

I ride down the steep little hill and turn the bike out toward Bonanza Creek. The road descends rather steeply and I travel quite a distance further than I thought I should. I seem to be a little further south….the map and my GPS are in a bit of disagreement.  I end up in the middle of a fairly active mine site and think I may be lost.  Well, I know how to get back to where I was, but not how to get to where I want to be which is on Bonanza Creek.  I find someone to talk to and they confirm that I missed a directional sign.  I ride back toward King Solomon’s Dome and out to Bonanza Creek, Gold Dredge # 4 and Discovery Claim.

As I approach the Dredge, I can see it is closed for the day.  This was not high on my priority list although it would be interesting to go through.  I ride further down the road to Discover Claim and see Parks Canada has created a very informative walking path through the area with informational panels.  I park my bike and walk over to the creek where the first discovery was made.  I wonder how much this area has changed and what it really looked like 104 years ago when George Carmacks dipped his pan into the water washing out those first nuggets.  The area looks pristine and natural now but I know the land has been mined at least three times since that day. 

As I turn and think about walking further down the path, the sky opens releasing a torrent of rain.  I head back to my bike and ride into town for supper.

Tonight I’ll eat out.  I’ve seen the gold fields and I head over to the Eldorado Hotel.  Rona had told me the Eldorado was the local hangout and I had to go there just to experience it.

The meal in the bar is great.  Sitting beside a geologist who is there to get away from the tourists as well we listen to a group of young workers in the corner talking about the “rush” that is going on and we talk about the challenges of a career that keeps you away from home.  His wife’s daughter is going through a really tough time and he is very concerned about the potential outcomes and the impact that could have on his wife.  We talk about my travel plans and found out that when I intend to be at the end of the Canol Road, he wouldn’t be far away and maybe he’d pop over and say hello from the helicopter.

It is a great evening and over too soon but I have to pack to leave the next day and he needs to get in touch with his family to see how things are going.  As I ride out to the campground I think about how the mining business has changed over the years and how Dawson has changed from a mining town to a tourist town – the miners don’t really belong here anymore but there is still a booming business going on for them.  Tomorrow I head up over the Top of the World Highway….I hope the weather will clear.

Down the Dempster

 

I noticed yesterday that my bike seemed not to start quite as quickly sometimes so I changed the sparkplug before going to bed.  I am hoping this will make a difference this morning as I want to make an early start and have a fast ride down the Dempster.  There is another biker from Pennsylvania in the campground and I hear his bike fire up at about 7-ish (darn I’m late).  By the time I get packed…and this morning I stop at a restaurant for my ham and eggs…it’s about 9 before I leave town. 

Interesting experience in the restaurant, my waitress looks vaguely familiar.  When I pay my bill and am chatting with the hostess, I find out that my waitress just graduated from our local high school.  As it turns out, she was in a jazz group that performed for my Rotary Club at our annual “Breakfast Meeting at the High School.”  This young lady had moved from Inuvik to Chilliwack for high school and was now back at home contemplating her future.  What a great adventure and opportunity for a young person. I am sure that with a start to life like that, she has a fantastic future in store.

I gassed up last night but on my way out of town I do stop for an obligatory picture of where the ice road officially begins when freeze up occurs (yes they actually do have a highway sign with the arrows for Aklavik and Tuktoyaktuk pointing to the water channel!).  Then we are out of town, past the airport off the pavement and back onto 750 km of gravel.  The bike is running strong and changing the plug was a good idea.

Remember, the first part of the trip was the most challenging when I came up because of the “marbles” they add to the surface here in NWT.   I get back into the “groove” (no pun intended) and the kilometres roll by.  It seems a little easier when I’m fresh for the day (but I wonder what the south end will be like – will it be as easy when I’m tired as it was when I was fresh the other day?). 

I’ve heard that Highways was applying calcium chloride to the road as a dust suppressant today and I do come across a few places where that it evident on my way to the first crossing at Tsiigehtchic  (Arctic Red River).  Fortunately most spots it is avoidable (once it gets on your vehicle, it is very difficult to get off and can be very damaging to painted surfaces).  Arriving at the ferry, I’m waved to the front of the line where two other bikes are waiting.  I chat with the riders a bit but something seems off about the conversation (maybe my brain is a little off this morning…I ask questions and get responses that indicate I should know this stuff….I’m feeling a bit confused).

Rolling off the ferry on the west side of the Mackenzie I bolt off leading the pack toward Ft McPherson (I know I travel faster than they do).  While I ride, I ponder the strangeness of that early morning conversation.  I realize that I had been talking with  Steve (the guy from Langley I had met in Watson Lake and had breakfast with yesterday and sat with at the BBQ) and Neil, I’m not sure where my head was…how embarrassing.....a short circuit in my head….very strange!!

I stop at Fort McPherson to “top off the tank”.  To find the fuel station I actually have to come into town and explore a bit.  I wander through the adjacent grocery store and pick up a litre of water to refill my hydration pack.  Outside,  I contemplate looking further for the memorial site of “The Lost Patrol” but decide I need to make miles if I plan to get off the Dempster today.   As I leave, Steve and Neil are just pulling in and talking about a lunch break.

There is a little more traffic waiting at the next ferry but we are still waved to the front.  One of the semi truck drivers opines that not everyone is going to get on this next ferry to which there is general acknowledgement.  He then looks at me and the two other bikers and asks if anyone wants a picture of one of the real “Ice Road Truckers?”  When no one pulled out a camera, he went on to tell us about his job on the show as a grader operator in Season One and then told stories about working on the real ice road and the people he has known who have gone through the ice.  “Some have lived, some have flown away,” he said.  I thought back to a time when I worked in the oilpatch and remembered people getting badly hurt on the job.  I heard about people dying but don’t recall every personally knowing someone killed on the job.  Back then there was no such thing as grief counselling or employee assistance programs – I wonder if that has changed?  How much support is there for guarding and protecting the mental health of people who work in blue collar and industrial jobs?  It is an interesting “wonder about” that I ponder in the back of my mind while I battle the gravel heading south.

Arriving at Eagle Plains, I am chilled and in need of a break.  I have caught my “co-camper” from Pennsylvania who has just fuelled up and will be staying in Eagle Plains for night.  There is also a rider heading north who fuels up and we end up sitting at adjacent tables in the restaurant. 

Jay is a businessman from Seattle on a big BMW GS.  We talk about the road and conversation shifts to our own “real world” outside of this trip.  He talks about the competition in his business and we share how technology allows us to do so many things we couldn’t even think about a few years ago. How technology increases productivity and yet allows us to be more isolated and independent than ever before.  Although we don’t discuss it, I wonder how much this increased isolation contributes to the rising rates of depression?  

When we settle our bills with the waitress we discover, as she puts it, “we’re all from the same ‘hood.”  She is up from Vancouver for a summer job.  Came to the Yukon for a travelling adventure, needed some money and landed the job at Eagle Plains (it is a little smaller and more remote than she expected but the money is good).

As we suit up outside to leave, I notice Jay programming his GPS before heading north and I wave good luck to him as my motorcycle heads for the south.  Although he had advised the road and weather was good coming out of Dawson, I see dark clouds on the horizon and wonder if I’m going to get into some of the famous  Dempster “greasy when wet” clay.

Similar to the prairies  where you can see rain coming for miles before it hits,  as I progress south, I can see that I will likely arrive in Dawson a little wet.  I pass through a few showers along the way but I’m far enough south by the time they hit that I’m off the Dempster clay and there is enough gravel on the road to reduce treachery.  I’ve dodged another bullet. 

I pull into the fuel stop at the Dempster corner having noted my low fuel light for most of the past hour, I now know I’m very close to the end of my tank.  As I pull off my helmet I hear another  customer being told that the power has been out for over three hours and as a result there is no fuel available.  Apparently a lightening strike over in Mayo (about 160 km to the south east) has taken out the power in the whole region.  Dawson City has its own backup generators so there is fuel there.  I head down the road to Dawson and after fifteen kilometres, I have to pull to the side of the road and add gas from my spare fuel can, my engine had quit.

I pulled into the Bonanza RV Park where I had previously stayed and asked if I could have a room for the night.  As I moved my bags from the bike into the room, a torrential downpour started that continued well into the night.  A room had been a very good idea.

I’m awake.  Like last night, the sun is bright, but warmer.  I look through the window in the door of my tent and try to figure out why I had such difficulty last night orienting which way I should face the door.  I eventually got it just right.  I’m looking out over the Mackenzie Delta.  Much better than looking at your neighbour or downtown Inuvik or a bush….why was this so difficult last night.  How many people can say they’ve woken up in the morning with view of the Mackenzie Delta.  I am so fortunate!  Start the day with a shower and then I’ll find some ham and eggs with strong coffee for breakfast.  The perfect way to start an Arctic Day! 

Downtown I run into Steve, one of the guys I first met in Watson Lake…what seems like eons ago.  His riding partner Neil is doing the airflight tour into Tuktoyaktuk that I want to try to get on but that one left at 8 AM.  I’ll have breakfast with Steve and phone for the air tour later.  We small talk about our trips so far, his notes on the Dempster are much like mine.  I let him know that the restaurant we’re in is a gathering place for the local bikers on Saturday afternoons for coffee so I am going to try to be here for that.  He tells me of a barbeque in the park that is free at 1PM, there is some celebration in town.  I figure after I organize my Tuk tour, I’ll check the other stuff.  I need to take a picture in front of the circular church (yup –tourist thing) and I’d like to check out Canada’s most northerly commercial greenhouse (can’t get away from agriculture).

The Tuk tour doesn’t work out.  We play telephone tag all day but I guess these things book up quickly.  I’m out of luck but don’t spend about $400.  I head over to the visitors centre and discover a few important things.  First of all, I have a great discussion about road2blue with the visitor centre coordinator.  While we share stories of tribulation and success, she prints off a certificate of merit for my journey to Inuvik.   I’m now an “honourable member of the exclusive Arctic Circle Chapter, Order of Arctic Adventurers.” (yup, another tourist thing). 

The next thing she tells me is absolutely stuns me.  The free barbeque in town is a celebration of something that I learn is incredibly significant.  Steve had told me about the barbeque but the young lady who took my campground registration this morning hinted at other happenings as well.  Sheila was the one to fill me on these other details and as the day progresses, the significance and relationship with my road2blue project  becomes more significant.

Over the past year or two I have been hearing about the Canadian Government working with the First Nations People to reconcile the events and impacts associated with the Residential Schools initiatives.  I believe it was about a year ago that the government announced five regional meetings in addition to a number of smaller local meetings were to be held and these meetings were designated as “Truth and Reconciliation Meetings.”  I confess that I did not pay much attention to this news item as I did not see how it related to me. What I learn from Sheila is that the community celebration is the preparation for  the “Truth and Reconciliation” meeting that is being held in Inuvik in the coming week.  This is the second of the five regional meetings and about 4,000 people are expected to converge in Inuvik in the next day or two for participation in these meetings.  The community (both Inuvik and the broader northern community) is very excited about the coming meetings.

At the barbeque (arctic char and caribou ribs – who would miss an opportunity like that?),  I have discussions with a number of people to learn more about these meetings.  Essentially, we have heard the governments reporting of the residential schools program, we have heard the reports from the Churches involved….this is a time for us to hear from the First Nations.  They finally have a chance for the public to hear their voice, until now they have been silenced. They are celebrating because they can now speak and out of this, they hope, will begin the process of reconciliation.  I felt so fortunate to be here at the beginning of the process to see how people were feeling and wished I could have stayed to listen to the proceedings.

I talked to one lady at the barbeque who shared her struggles with depression and mental illness.  She is a very accomplished person about my own age and told how she learned to understand what her mind was doing.  She has done a lot of reading and research to learn how to manage her illnesses.  With the help of low dose drug therapy, psychological therapy, counselling, naturopathy and spirituality, she lives a full, active and very productive life – a model in the community. One of the theories she learned about that was thought to contribute to depression is where “attachment” between parents and offspring is diminished, there is an increase in illness.  Obviously, in the case of residential schooling, this would have huge implications.

I missed coffee with the motorcyclist community of Inuvik but manage to get to the greenhouse before they close.  One of the board members is working on a plot and takes time to talk to me.  Essentially, this is a volunteer run community garden under a roof.  In the last few years they have propagated plants and preseeded on a small commercial basis to supply northern communities with garden ready plants.  The sale of plants helps to cover operating costs for the community garden component.

I also talked about road2blue at the community garden and my search to physically replicate isolation.  The board member I was talking to shared the challenges of her brother and told me of a time when she felt that isolation in a physical way.  She was on the tundra involved with a scientific exploration and she hiked away from the tents a short distance.  The tents were just out of site and while she was gazing at the landscape, the wind dropped….and she heard absolutely nothing.  Insects were not making a sound…there was no indication of humanity in any direction she looked….and there was total silence.  She felt the hair on the back of her neck prickling and thought there might be a wild animal near…but there was absolutely nothing.  It is something she has never talked about before but it was such an eerie experience that she has not forgotten it. Perhaps there is insight through experiences like that to help us understand how people with depression feel.  All alone.

I will cherish my Inuvik experience.  It is a very vibrant, caring and open community.  The are fantastically hospitable and seem to be very cohesive.

 Tomorrow, unfortunately, my travels will take be back to the south.  There is a degree of dread, thinking about the road ahead but this is a turning point in the journey.  I have ridden to the end of the road (which is just a little way beyond Inuvik) and have experienced isolation and mental exhaustion but I don’t believe my experience is even close to those who struggle with any mental illness. 

Those people. Those whose minds tell them something that others know is not true or right.  Those who struggle, strive and succeed. They are the true heros, the true adventurers and I admire their strength and their spirit.  Their experiences are a beacon we should hold up to the world to share, not a secret we should hide under a bush. 

There are a couple of issues to deal with before I tackle the only public road in North America that crosses the Arctic Circle (the Haul Road in Alaska is private).  I have to finish swapping tires and I have to fix the leg zipper on my Darien Pants.  Tires first. Before I left home, I installed fresh Anakees for the trip to Dawson.  I also carried a fresh set of TKC’s.  Last night when I got to Dawson and found a place to camp, I changed the rear tire and got a good start on the front one.  I decided to stop just shy of adding air because all the neighbouring campers were asleep and I didn’t want to start up my noisy little air compressor and wake everyone up.  It was still bright enough to work but it was close to midnight.

I should add here that I was camping beside a mother and son couple who were living in tents here in Dawson while working a gold mining claim about 90 minutes out of town.  They got in about 9 PM last night and we had a good talk about mining and what they are doing and when they turned in, I made sure I was as quiet as possible (not an easy thing to do when you are peeling thick rubber off an aluminium rim with steel tire irons).

First thing in the morning – fix the zipper.  That’s quiet work at 6 AM, then as camp starts to stir, I pump up the tire (which does hold air) and start loading up my bike.  I actually don’t roll out of the campground until about 10 AM because I got talking with some of the other campers about my trip, their trip, life, etc.

Riding back to the Dempster corner (about 40 km out of town) I contemplate the madness of riding on this road.  750 km of gravel…on a motorcycle.  The weather looks good but there is a huge distance between the forecast points of the Dawson, Eagle Plains and Inuvik (closer to my home it is like comparing the weather between Vancouver and Kelowna and assuming it will be the same all the way in between).

I top off the tank at the corner and pull up in front of the Dempster monument guarding the beginning of  the highway. I commemorate the display with a few snapshots snapshots ensuring the bike is in the picture for good luck and then I’m headed north.   I cross over the Klondike River on a wood plank bridge and the road surface changes from pavement to clay/gravel.

A fortress of poplar and black spruce trees line the road guiding you due north for the first few miles but soon opens up exposing a former burned area. As the elevation changes, the road begins to meander and distant mountains grow closer.

I stop at a pullout just north of the Tombstone Interpretive Centre to capture some images of the impressive vista and meet two couples from Germany travelling in rented campers as well as a young lady from Quebec who is going just this far up the highway with friends. Apparently many vistors to the Dawson area come this far for a glimpse of the highway and then turn around.  While I wonder if that may not be a wise decision, so far the road is fantastic and the scenery spectacular; I am encouraged to continue.

Contrary to my initial thoughts, the Dempster is not a straight path through a boring prairie tundra.  The road winds through gentle sweeping turns, climbing, descending and banking through gentle mountain passes.  The road surface changes from gravel to clay and back again and I have to concentrate completely on the path I am taking.  Riding on many other desolate Yukon highways, concentration may slip to 30% or 40% as the mind chases other fleeting thoughts but on this road,  anything less than 100% concentration is quickly rewarded with very exciting consequences.  Ruts, bumps and soft mounds of gravel all conspire to throw my narrow tires off course. The miles and hours pass in an almost zen-like existence.  The concentration is tiring and by mid morning I find the warmth of the sun is adding weight to my eyelids.  I find a pullout, stop the bike and listen for a moment to buzz of mosquitoes, chirp of birds, the nearby babbling creek and the whisper of wind through the leaves.  Propping my bike on the sidestand, I slump over my stuffed tank bag and drift off into dreamworld.  Twenty minutes later, I awake with a start and return completely refreshed to the road. 

I’m only on the road for about ten minutes when I round a bend and a view of the Ogilvie River greets my eyes.  I stop for a few minutes at this seemingly innocuous crossing to take a number of pictures.  This bridge is one of two on the Dempster that was constructed by Canadian Army units based in Chilliwack during the initial construction of the highway.  A friend of mine who was part of that operation told me they set the forms for the concrete supports in the middle of winter at forty below and colder when the river was frozen. In this land of permafrost and constantly shifting soils, the bridge has remained solid all these years, a tribute to the fine engineering capabilities of our Canadian soldiers.

The road winds along the Ogilvie River for a short time before climbing up and following the ridgeline of mountains as it heads north.   The tripmeter on my motorcycle reads 285 as the low fuel light flickers on.  I’m not as worried this time as I was back on Highway 37, I’m now packing an additional 5 litres of gas which should give me the range to bring me safely to Eagle Plains.

My calculations are accurate as I roll into the service area with my engine still running strong.  My tank requires 16.27 litres to top it off so I think I had about 3 litres left before I had to start walking.  Looking up and down the highway as far as I could see (the Eagle Plains complex is built on a hilltop so I could see quite a distance) there was not another fuel station in sight so I did not argue with their $1.69 per litre.

It strikes me, as I buy my gas, that I’m about at the half way point on my journey to Inuvik.  Before I left, I was telling people that when I was half way between Inuvik and Dawson on the Dempster Highway, I would be in a very isolated location and could be in great danger.  I should have researched that location a little better I suppose.  There have been times on this journey so far when I have been much more isolated than I am now.

This was a “gas and go” stop for me.  I had topped off my tank at the Dempster Corner five hours ago.  I was half way to Inuvik and the ferries stop running close to midnight (I wasn’t sure exactly when but I knew I had no time to dawdle). 

Back on the road to the bottom of the hill, I stop for pictures of the Eagle River crossing.  This was the other bridge constructed by the guys from CFB Chilliwack but differs from the first in that it is a freespan rather than supported cantilever bridge. 

As the road climbs out of the Eagle River Valley, winds become noticeably more forceful.  About 17 km from the bridge  I  pull to the side of the road for another photo opportunity.  I have reached the Arctic Circle.  As I roll into this turnout I am surprised to see a gentleman sitting at a picnic table with a bicycle hooked up to a trailer parked in front of the commemorative/information panel.  Despite a time constraint imposed by the ferry schedule, I am interested to hear about his experiences.

Against the backdrop of incredible scenery, he tells me that he is only a few years from retirement but he had always wanted to bicycle across Canada.  A number of years ago he set up a schedule where he would  take about three weeks every year to cycle a leg that will take him closer to his goal, this year it was time for the north.  Cycling alone gives him a time to reflect on the past year and consider the future direction he wants to take personally as well as with his career. He meets many interesting people along the way and sees amazing things.  He considers himself extremely fortunate to be healthy enough for this activity and to have a career  that he not only enjoys immensely but allows him the freedom to pursue this interest.  The wisdom he shares with me reminds me how important it is to have big goals.  In order to realistically achieve big goals we often have to be flexible enough to set smaller achievable goals that together will realize our overall target.

He takes a couple of pictures for me in front of the marker and I am off toward the next point of interest.  Only about 60 km up the road I  stop again at the border of the Yukon and North West Territories.  This is also a point of Continental Divide along the Dempster (only the second of four I have crossed that I actually remember to note).  From this point, the road rises a bit more to the summit of the Wright Pass before dropping down to the Peel River Crossing near Fort McPherson, my first ferry crossing on the Dempster. 

In addition to high cross winds (which had been getting stronger ever since Eagle Plains), the other challenge I face in the North West Territories is the road surface.  While the roads are well maintained, the surfacing material causes great challenge for motorcyclists. Over a solid stable base is a dressing of gravel that moves like marbles under my tires.  Ride too slow and the front wheel pushes the gravel into soft mounds that throw me off one way or another, ride too fast and traction decreases on both wheels creating great instability.  Just the right speed seems to range between 60 kmh and 80 kmh as long as I keep the established wheel tracks.  If I happen to venture out of the wheel tracks, instability can strike with a vengeance and the bike is susceptible to violent sliding and speed wobbles.  On the straight section, the track is easy to follow but on corners, gravel is spread more evenly with a less distinct track – much less stability.  The “riding on marbles” feeling is heightened by the strong crosswinds.  To prevent the wind from blowing the bike off the road, I have to lean.  As I lean, the traction decreases causing a tendency for the wheels to slip out from under.  Where concentration earlier in the trip was 100%, I now need even more.

I catch the last ferry across the MacKenzie River near its confluence with the Arctic Red River.  I have been on the road for 13 hours and have about 125 km or about another 90 minutes of riding. 

The sun is strong and behind me as I travel north, balancing between too slow, too fast, correcting for the wind, staying “in the track”.  I’m not sure if it is the Arctic light or the weariness but I am having great difficulty determining the track my wheels should be in.  The definition between where the tire traffic has been and where the gravel is being thrown to is difficult to discern. 

As I leave the ferries about six pickups pass me heading south at high speed and leave me in a blanket of thick heavy dust.  Although I’ve slowed down in anticipation and moved as far right as I can while staying “in the track” I am blind for what seems like an eternity after they pass.  My wheels bite the soft mounds of gravel outside of the track and the bike wobbles dangerously.  Standing on the pegs lowers my center of gravity and I manage to manhandle the bike back into the track, but not without a few sphincter clenching “tank slappers”(when your bike wobbles from side to side so severely the handlebars seem to slap the gas tank).  I have survived.

I carry on, less than one hour to go.  I am highly cognizant of the fact that those trucks are probably the last vehicular traffic this road will see for the next six hours.  Until the ferries start running tomorrow, there is no reason for anyone to drive down this road.  I was the last person off the ferry.  If I had fallen and been badly hurt, no one would know for the next 5 or 6 hours….emergency room doctors talk about the golden hour.  The first sixty minutes after a serious injury. 

I ride on, exhausted.  My tires bite another soft mound of gravel.  At least this time there is not dust cloud to blind me but the flat arctic light is not helping.  Again the bike hops from side to side until I manage to muscle it to a stop.  I need a break.  I put down the kickstand and walk away from the bike.  Probably only 30 minutes to go.  The road is straight as far as I can see.  The sun is bright, broad daylight.  But it is late at night.  There is no one here.  I am all alone.  The light and the weariness, it is all very disorienting.

I have no choice, I have to get back on my bike.  My low fuel light has been on for quite some time.  I don’t know how much fuel I have in my tank but I do have some spare in a gas can strapped to my passenger foot peg.  One last push to Inuvik.  I’ve read that when you get close to town, there is pavement.  I can’t remember how far out, I thought maybe 15 or 17 km.  My odometer and my GPS tell me I’m getting close but I’m so tired the math is hard.  I balance around another marbly corner, hanging on once again…..and then…pavement!!  What a wonderful feeling, I pass the airport turnoff and accelerate into top gear…it is so smooth, I can’t believe it.  Town should be very close, there are a few more buildings, more signs.  I’m looking for the campsite downtown.  The buildings and infrastructure seem to diminish.  Did I miss it?  The road climbs a bit and as  I can see more buildings and more signs of a town and my bike sputters to a stop.  I’ve run out of gas.  Coasting to the side of the road, the bike stand goes down and I fumble to access my spare gas.  Almost there.  Back on the bike, through the down town I manage to find the campground I have heard about.  I stop in at the registration booth and the attendant advises me to find a site and register in the morning.

The tenting sites here are platformed so the tent is elevated off the ground by about 16 inches.  I find a platform and struggle to unload my bike and set up my tent.  I don’t recall ever being so physically, mentally, emotionally and psychologically drained in my life.  I am totally spent.  I collapse in my tent and sleep deeply despite the bright arctic sun streaming through the fabric in the middle of the night.