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.

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.