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Slideshow
Slideshow
A
slideshow
of photos from Eagle Plains to Dawson City on the Dempster Highwaycan be found at
https://photos.app.goo.gl/5Bk9kGLhHNwUMGaF8
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Missive No. 3: Dempster South - The Naked Truth
Missive No. 3: Dempster South - The Naked Truth
This is my third missive for this, my 2024 return to the North. As with my second missive, it's more a retrospective than a real-time update. That said, it is based on the daily handwritten notes in my trusty spiral binder. I am writing onboard the MV Kennicott ferry that is taking me from Juneau, AK, to Bellingham, WA.
I enjoyed a big breakfast at the Eagle Plains «oasis in the wilderness» on Friday, July 12. After all, I had earned it! I picked up the food box that Mike Lapointe had dutifully carried forward from Fort McPherson, and I used the service station pressure hose to wash WoodsWoman and remove the remaining calcium chloride mud.
The next task was laundry. I was surprised on checking in to the motel that there was no guest laundry. I was shocked. Anyone stopping at Eagle Plains needs to get clean, but yet there is no guest laundry? So, alas, it was. Accepting reality, I washed laundry as best I could in the bathtub and bathroom sink. Then, since the motel room was not well ventilated, I carried my clothes outside to drape them over anything I could find to let them dry in the sun.
Enter Jenny from the hotel staff. When she saw me hanging my laundry to dry, she said she would take and wash/dry everything by machine. Bless you, Jenny! Turns out that there usually is a guest laundry available but that a private concern, evidently a contractor doing road work, had rented it out for its exclusive use over the summer. Thanks to Jenny, everything I had was truly clean.
After another hearty breakfast, I rolled south out of Eagle Plains on Saturday. The sun was shining, WoodsWoman was clean, I was clean, and the road surface was good. I picked up speed, enjoying the day. I was in a good mood, almost blissful. What could go wrong?
To that question I have a one word answer: sand. In my bicycling life I had had only two major accidents, and both involved sand. The first was when I was ten years old. I was riding with friends around our development in the Rockland County suburbs north of New York City. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in bed at home. As my childhood friends told my mother, I had slid and fallen badly when I hit a patch of sand while going around a corner. In the 1960s in the days before helmets, I apparently hit my head hard against the pavement, badly enough to be unconscious. My friends had ridden quickly to my house to get my mom, who lifted me into her car and carried me home.
The second happened more recently in 2019 as I celebrated retirement by riding from Washington, DC, to my home in Maine. I was on the Great Allegheny Passage (GAP) that runs from Cumberland, MD, to Pittsburgh, PA. It begins as an excellent rail-trail, but it devolves into what effective, vehicular cyclists derisively call a MURP -- multi-use recreational path -- as it approaches Pittsburgh. This change from rail-trail to MURP happens without warning just beyond Ohiopyle, PA. That's where I was, happily going downhill at speed on dirt and gravel as the rail-trail narrowed to MURP. I saw there was a curve ahead, but what I didn't see was the sand trap that lay just out of sight around the bend. When I hit it, my front wheel went out from under me, and I went down, sliding on my right side. I still have a scar on the back of my right hand from that spill.
And now, on this sunny first day out of Eagle Plains, I rode headlong into a carbon copy of my GAP spill in 2019. By the time I saw the sand at the bottom of the hill I was descending at 32 km/hour (20 miles/hour), it was too late. The only difference from 2019 is that I went down on my left side and now have a scar on the back of my left hand to match the one on my right. To this I add a scar on my left knee and colorful bruises that took more than two weeks to fade.
After cleaning myself up and applying triple antibiotic cream and bandages, I took a closer look at the road surface ahead. I had entered the sahara section of the Dempster with sand stretching ahead as far as I could see. I also recalled belatedly that my RV friends Steve and Corinne had warned me of a long silty section south of Eagle Plains that would be difficult on two wheels.
For the rest of the day I rode where I could and walked/pushed where the silt/sand was too thick. In that end I managed 65 km (40.5 miles) before calling it a day and setting up to wild camp at a gravel pullout. In my journal I wrote, «This was not a fun day.»
The next day I continued to walk/push for several hours. I was shell shocked from Saturday's spill and had lost all trust in the road surface. I was able to ride here and there, but those islands of ride-able dirt and rock were fleeting in the seemingly endless river of silt. All in all, on Saturday and Sunday I walked 24 km (15 miles). As on the road to Tuk, this was turning into a long hike with bicycle assistance. Several motorcyclists I talked with said it wasn't easy going for them either.
I had had enough and started looking for motorized transport that could give me a lift beyond the silt. In the end it was Armin and Rosie, a German couple in an RV, who provided the service and got me to the Ogilvie Mountain overlook. From there the road surface was ride-able again, and I was able to finish the day a little further on at a hilltop with good views of the Ogilvie Mountains where I wild camped for the night. The Ogilvies were not quite as «take your breath away beautiful» as the Richardsons in the Northwest Territories, but they were close.
I awoke in the morning to the familiar sound of raindrops falling on the rain fly. I packed up and ate a cold breakfast in the rain that gave every sign of being an all-day rain. Staying on the exposed hilltop did not seem like a good idea. The Yukon territorial campground at Engineer Creek was 60+ km further down the road, but I knew it had an enclosed cooking/eating pavilion with a wood stove where I could be warm and dry. I descended from the ridge to the Ogilvie River valley and made good time despite the rain, making it to the campground by mid-afternoon.
But let me return to some ruminations on that silty, sandy section. Steve and Corinne had warned me based on their experience driving north. Later, as they returned south, they wrote that the surface seemed better. Tara, a cyclist who rode this section northbound with her father Brad several weeks later, had no issues. Tara had tires slightly but not overly wider than my 44 mm (1 3/4 inch) Schwalbe tires, but she writes that she does not remember any such long section of silt and sand. So what gives? Why did I have so much trouble and ride into the third major sand-related spill of my life?
I will hazard a conjecture: rain or lack thereof. I rode this section after there had been 3-5 days of dry, sunny weather. When Steve and Corinne drove southbound, it was when I was going through my miserable days of rain on the Mackenzie delta. I believe that Tara and Brad also rode here after several days of rain. Could it be that dry weather was allowing a loose road surface to turn to dust, silt, and sand and that wet weather was helping to tamp or pack the surface down? I have no way of knowing, but it's the only explanation I can come up with. To this I will add that this is one section of the Dempster where I would cheer on the calcium chloride trucks that turn mud and dirt to something close to cement.
So much for conjecture. Time to get back to Engineer Creek.
I arrived at the campground in mid-afternoon after first stopping and filling my water bottles at a Yukon road maintenance facility that I passed a kilometer or two before the campground. The water in Engineer Creek is heavy with mineral runoff and is not potable.
The campground was deserted, and I brought WoodsWoman with me into the enclosed shelter. I found a good supply of firewood in the adjacent woodshed, but there was no kindling. Any small wood on the ground was wet and unusable. I had no choice but to reach my hand into all the bear-resistant trash receptacles and collect anything that would burn. With the addition of a little gasoline from my camp stove fuel bottle, I got a fire started. I put some water on the stove to warm it, and I hovered over the stove to warm myself. After a half hour with abundant heat now radiating from the stove, I stripped off every piece of soaking wet clothing and stood totally bare in front of the stove. Dipping a washcloth into the warmed basin of water, I began to give myself a sponge bath.
It was right at this moment that I heard a noise and turned to see another wet bike-packer roll up. I called out to him to please wait a few minutes before coming in. What were the odds of a man on a bike appearing at this remote, deserted campground on such a rainy day?
His name was Renee, a German cyclist of the type who, in essence, never stops riding. His bike has become his home as he rides around the globe, and he had many stories to tell about his travels. He had ample time to tell them because we both decided that given the forecast for rain continuing through the next day, we would take a «zero day» at Engineer Creek. Throwing bear caution to the wind as the rain continued to fall, we pitched our tents inside the enclosed pavilion. (We did, however, keep all our food and scented toiletries in the campground’s bear lockers.). On our second evening, three soaking wet northbound cyclists joined us in the pavilion and slept on top of the picnic tables. Now we were five, likely constituting the largest gathering of bike-packers in Yukon Territory this year.
By this time I had little hope for anything but rain, but on our second morning at Engineer Creek, the sun came out. Renee and I hugged each other and went our separate ways, he to the north and I to the south. We had connected during our story-telling day together. For the record, Renee insists that he «saw nothing.»
One truism of bike-packing and, for that matter, life in general, is that the most memorable stories come from times when things go wrong. For the next three days, everything went right. It was all uphill from Engineer Creek to Windy Pass, but the road surface was the best I had experienced yet on the Dempster. I made good time under sunny skies and wild camped some 65 km (41 miles) down the road at a spot Renee had told me about where, inexplicably, there was a table in the middle of nowhere. There were raindrops again during the night, but it had stopped by morning. I spent most of the day climbing to North Rake Pass, the highest point on the Dempster Highway, and then started down the other side, stopping for the night at the campground at Tombstone Territorial Park. Here it felt that civilization was not far away. The park is an easy day trip from Dawson City, and for many tourists, coming to Tombstone is a way of saying they have experienced the Dempster. Unlike the deserted campground at Engineer Creek -- deserted, that is, but for five soggy bike-packers -- Tombstone was teeming with people.
On Saturday, July 19, I reached the southern end of the Dempster. To be precise, I rode 64 km (40 miles) to a wild camping spot on the Klondike River just short of the road’s end. I wanted one final night to take it in, to internalize the fact that I had ridden the Dempster Highway. On Sunday morning I posed at the Dempster Highway sign at the southern terminus and turned north on the Klondike Highway where the asphalt pavement felt like silk after thirteen days of navigating the Dempster. I reached Dawson City by early afternoon.
I had DONE IT. I had ridden the Dempster Highway, something that had been on my mind ever since I rode Alaska’s Dalton Highway in 2022. After the heat and desert riding in the U.S. Southwest in 2023, the North had been calling me back, and I had answered the call.
After riding the Dalton Highway, I had wondered by how much, if at all, the Dempster Highway differs. Now, with some authority after riding both roads, I can comment. This is what I wrote in my daily log on the day I rode into Dawson City:
I can say authoritatively that the Dempster is both more difficult and more beautiful. The Dalton is beautiful north of Coldfoot, but south of Coldfoot it's just a hard slog without much reward other than the Yukon River crossing. The Dempster, by contrast, is «take your breath away» beautiful for almost its entire length. The only comparatively dull section is on the delta between Inuvik and Fort McPherson. As I make this judgment, bear in mind that I had excellent weather on the Dalton two years ago but had to contend with rain for much of my time on the Dempster. If anything, that raises the Dempster in my estimation.
Given all the rain, mud, and sand I had to contend with this year, it is with some surprise that I realize I rode the Dempster Highway in thirteen actual riding days. Make that twelve if you allow for two of those days being only half days. I smile to think that this compares favorably with the eleven days it took me to ride a similar distance on the Dalton and Elliot Highways from Deadhorse to Fairbanks. Add to this the fact that the Dalton Highway includes at least a hundred kilometers that are paved. I may be two years older, just shy of 70 years old, but I haven't lost it yet.
Снова приношу извинения, что только коротко пишу на русском. На руках у меня только телефон, на котором я пишу с трудом на английском, не говоря уже о русском. Обещаю друзьям в Казахстане, что всё расскажу в подробностях когда приеду осенью.
Пока скажу только, что я уже в пути домой и пишу эти послания с опозданием. В данный момент я пишу на борту парома, который доставит меня в Джуно, в столицу штата Аляска. В этом послании я рассказываю о том, как я проехала южную половину дороги Демпстер из Eagle Plains в Dawson City.
This day started well but ended rather miserably. The first 35 or 40 km south from Eagle Plains went quickly enough. There were ups and downs, but the road surface was the best I've experienced on this road. I started riding faster and allowing myself to pick up speed on the descents. I felt good!
And then it happened, almost a carbon copy of what happened to me on the GAP in 2019. I was coming down a hill fast and didn't see it in time: sand. My front wheel went out from under me, and I went over on my left side, tearing my tights and badly abrading my left knee and left hand. Overconfidence, hubris, did me in.
I patched myself up as best I could, but that was the end of my quick day. The road was sand the rest of the way. I rode where I could, but I walked most of the way. If the road surface continues like this, I will flag down a vehicle and ask for a lift beyond this segment. I don't want another "hike with bicycle assistance" like what I had on the road to Tuk. Speaking of which, I now remember how Steve and Corrine, my RV friends who drove me from Tuk to Inuvik, had warned me about a silted section south of Eagle Plains. As I pulled myself up out of the sands this afternoon, I belatedly remembered their warning.
On days like this, I'm about ready to give up. This was not a fun day.
After about 12 km of walking, a total of about 24 km, 15 miles, including yesterday, I flagged down a ride with Armin and Rosie, a German couple with an RV. The sand/silk road surface was simply unrideable. They carried me forward to the Ogilvie Mountain Overlook, after which I rode a few km further to my wild camping spot on a hilltop. I met km 254, about where I had hoped to be if I had not had to walk so much of yesterday and today.
From this point forward, to borrow a term from the AT backpackers, I will blue-blaze when necessary. After yesterday's spill, I've dropped my rose-colored glasses about this road. It is more difficult than the Dalton and thereby more dangerous. When necessary, I'll flag down and accept rides if that's what it takes to move forward safely.
I heard the rain as I lay in the tent this morning and thought, "Oh no, here we go again." It let up long enough for me to pack up without getting the inside of the tent wet, but other than for coffee, it was a cold breakfast.
It was a long way down from the Ogilvie Mountains to the Ogilvie River Valley, and I walked most of the way. I just don't trust the road surface after what happened the other day, and that's even more true in the rain.
Once in the valley, I made good time, arriving at Engineering Creek Campground at about 6 p.m. EDT. There is a covered pavilion with a wood stove here, and that was the draw, a place to be out of the rain. Throwing bear caution to the wind, I am camping indoors for the night. I have company in Renee, a 38-year-old German cyclist going north. He showed up just as I had stripped to nothing and was giving myself a sponge bath in front of the wood stove. What were the odds that I would give a strip show to another cyclist?
The forecast is for rain all tomorrow, and thus I expect to stay put right here. One day is okay, but what if the rain continues on Wednesday? I have enough food to get me through Saturday morning, and I had hoped to arrive in Dawson on Saturday with five days of leisurely cycling. I think I can make it in four days, but I know I can't make it in three.
Renee and I spent the day quietly at Engineering Creek talking, drying clothes, and getting some of the mud off our bikes. It's good that we did stay for the day. The rain started again heavily in the late afternoon. Just as we were about to turn in for the evening, in came three soaked Canadian cyclists riding north. Thus, there were five of us staying in the pavilion for the night.
Today was a good riding day. I got an earlier than usual start. The rain had ended overnight. The sun came out, and the road surface was the best I have seen on this road. I made good time climbing up to Windy Pass, meeting Cheyenne and Tracy, two young cyclists from Juneau, on the way. I later met a French-Canadian cyclist on the way down who had cycled in Central Asia. In the morning, my RV-motorcycle friends Jay and Anne, caught up with me on their way back from Tuk.
Tonight I am wild-camped at the spot Renee had told me about yesterday when we were together at Engineering Creek. This site is special in that it has a picnic table. Small things like that count for a lot when bikepacking.
Alas, however, the rain has started again as I sit and write in my tent. What will tomorrow bring?
A good 38-mile day to Tombstone Territorial Park over the last high "North Rake Pass," in fact, the highest point on the Dempster. And yes, I did push up the final 4-5 km. Along the way, I met another northbound cyclist, this one from Montreal.
I am now about 74 km (~ 46 miles) from the end of the Dempster. Getting closer but not there yet.
This is my last night on the Dempster, where I am wild camped by the Klondike River, just nine kilometers from the junction with the Klondike Highway. I have company in Victor, a van traveler whom I met in the warming hut at Tombstone yesterday, and I was his guest for a dinner of meat and pickled cabbage and good conversation. He is an architectural engineer with a passion for environmentally friendly construction using rammed earth.
The ride today was an easy one, despite a pothole and washboard surface. After two days of climbing, I am at last descending.
I'm done. I've done the Dempster. I'M DONE!!!
Today's was an easy ride, the final five or so miles on the Dempster followed by about 25 miles on the Klondike Highway to Dawson. After the Dempster, the asphalt of the Klondike felt like silk.
Having now ridden both the Dalton and the Dempster, I can say with authority that the Dempster is both more difficult and more beautiful. The Dalton is beautiful north of Coldfoot through the Brooks Range, but south of Coldfoot, it's just a hard slog without much reward other than the Yukon River crossing. The Dempster, by contrast, is "take your breath away" beautiful for almost its entire length. The only comparatively dull section is on the delta from Inuvik to Fort McPherson. As I make this juddgement, bear in mind that I had excellent weather on the Dalton two years ago but had to contend with rain for much of my time on the Dempster. If anything, that raises the Dempster higher in my estimation.
I've checked in at the Aurora Inn in Dawson. Unlike the Bunkhouse of two years ago, this is a "real hotel." Not counting my dip in the North Klondike River yesterda evening, I have not had a shower since Eagle Plains over a week ago.
My task today it to "become human." Tomorrow I'll do laundry. I had Covid when I was here two years ago, but this time I will be able to feel that I am really in Dawson, which -- after the Dempster -- feels like a metropolis. Moreover, there is a music festival this weekend. Most importantly, I need to find transportation to Whitehorse. I have no interest in biking the Klondike Highway again.
Finally, this is my "Last Time on the Road." No, I am not about to stop riding. Far from it. Rather, as I turn 70 in a few short weeks, this ride on the Dempster marks the last of my bikepacking expeditions "way out there." Future rides will be shorter and in more civilized areas such as Canada's maritime provinces. I hope John will be part of those future more "civilized" adventures.
Bur what a ride the asst five years have boon: across the U.S. in 2020 and 2021, Deadhorse-Whitehorse-Whitefish in 2022, the U.S. Southwest in 2023, and now the Dempster in 2024. I am happy. I am content.
After two luxury days in Dawson, I made a short 3-mile hop south of town and indoor-camped in a trailer belonging to Sarah Lenart, a British woman living in Yukon who will give me a lift to Whitehorse in her van with a night of camping along the way. After nearly a month of rain, mud, dust, and many nights of wild camping, I am lazy and relaxed.
I had surprise visitors on Tuesday evening in the daughter-father pair of Tara and Brad Weir, who rode their bicycles from the airport into Dawson as they get ready to start their own northbound journey on the Dempster. Brad is retired, a life-long cyclist who is new to bike-packing. Tara is his teaher. She has bike-packed extensively abroad, including in Kyrgyzstan and Pakistan. We had a lovely evening sharing our experiences.
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Снова приношу извинения, что только коротко пишу на русском. На руках у меня только телефон, на котором я пишу с трудом на английском, не говоря уже о русском. Обещаю друзьям в Казахстане, что всё расскажу в подробностях когда приеду осенью.
Пока скажу только, что я уже в пути домой и пишу эти послания с опозданием. В данный момент я пишу на борту парома, который доставит меня в Джуно, в столицу штата Аляска. В этом послании я рассказываю о том, как я проехала южную половину дороги Демпстер из Eagle Plains в Dawson City.
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Daily Log
Daily Log
Saturday, July 13, 2024 -- 13,642 km cum - 65 km/day
This day started well but ended rather miserably. The first 35 or 40 km south from Eagle Plains went quickly enough. There were ups and downs, but the road surface was the best I've experienced on this road. I started riding faster and allowing myself to pick up speed on the descents. I felt good!
And then it happened, almost a carbon copy of what happened to me on the GAP in 2019. I was coming down a hill fast and didn't see it in time: sand. My front wheel went out from under me, and I went over on my left side, tearing my tights and badly abrading my left knee and left hand. Overconfidence, hubris, did me in.
I patched myself up as best I could, but that was the end of my quick day. The road was sand the rest of the way. I rode where I could, but I walked most of the way. If the road surface continues like this, I will flag down a vehicle and ask for a lift beyond this segment. I don't want another "hike with bicycle assistance" like what I had on the road to Tuk. Speaking of which, I now remember how Steve and Corrine, my RV friends who drove me from Tuk to Inuvik, had warned me about a silted section south of Eagle Plains. As I pulled myself up out of the sands this afternoon, I belatedly remembered their warning.
On days like this, I'm about ready to give up. This was not a fun day.
Sunday, July 14, 2024 -- 13,659 km cum - 17 km/day
After about 12 km of walking, a total of about 24 km, 15 miles, including yesterday, I flagged down a ride with Armin and Rosie, a German couple with an RV. The sand/silk road surface was simply unrideable. They carried me forward to the Ogilvie Mountain Overlook, after which I rode a few km further to my wild camping spot on a hilltop. I met km 254, about where I had hoped to be if I had not had to walk so much of yesterday and today.
From this point forward, to borrow a term from the AT backpackers, I will blue-blaze when necessary. After yesterday's spill, I've dropped my rose-colored glasses about this road. It is more difficult than the Dalton and thereby more dangerous. When necessary, I'll flag down and accept rides if that's what it takes to move forward safely.
Monday, July 15, 2024 -- 13,720 km cum - 61 km/day
I heard the rain as I lay in the tent this morning and thought, "Oh no, here we go again." It let up long enough for me to pack up without getting the inside of the tent wet, but other than for coffee, it was a cold breakfast.
It was a long way down from the Ogilvie Mountains to the Ogilvie River Valley, and I walked most of the way. I just don't trust the road surface after what happened the other day, and that's even more true in the rain.
Once in the valley, I made good time, arriving at Engineering Creek Campground at about 6 p.m. EDT. There is a covered pavilion with a wood stove here, and that was the draw, a place to be out of the rain. Throwing bear caution to the wind, I am camping indoors for the night. I have company in Renee, a 38-year-old German cyclist going north. He showed up just as I had stripped to nothing and was giving myself a sponge bath in front of the wood stove. What were the odds that I would give a strip show to another cyclist?
The forecast is for rain all tomorrow, and thus I expect to stay put right here. One day is okay, but what if the rain continues on Wednesday? I have enough food to get me through Saturday morning, and I had hoped to arrive in Dawson on Saturday with five days of leisurely cycling. I think I can make it in four days, but I know I can't make it in three.
Wednesday, July 17, 2024 -- 12,785 km cum - 65 km/day
Renee and I spent the day quietly at Engineering Creek talking, drying clothes, and getting some of the mud off our bikes. It's good that we did stay for the day. The rain started again heavily in the late afternoon. Just as we were about to turn in for the evening, in came three soaked Canadian cyclists riding north. Thus, there were five of us staying in the pavilion for the night.
Today was a good riding day. I got an earlier than usual start. The rain had ended overnight. The sun came out, and the road surface was the best I have seen on this road. I made good time climbing up to Windy Pass, meeting Cheyenne and Tracy, two young cyclists from Juneau, on the way. I later met a French-Canadian cyclist on the way down who had cycled in Central Asia. In the morning, my RV-motorcycle friends Jay and Anne, caught up with me on their way back from Tuk.
Tonight I am wild-camped at the spot Renee had told me about yesterday when we were together at Engineering Creek. This site is special in that it has a picnic table. Small things like that count for a lot when bikepacking.
Alas, however, the rain has started again as I sit and write in my tent. What will tomorrow bring?
Thursday, July 18, 2024 -- 13,846 km cum - 61 km/day
A good 38-mile day to Tombstone Territorial Park over the last high "North Rake Pass," in fact, the highest point on the Dempster. And yes, I did push up the final 4-5 km. Along the way, I met another northbound cyclist, this one from Montreal.
I am now about 74 km (~ 46 miles) from the end of the Dempster. Getting closer but not there yet.
Friday, July 19, 2024 -- 13,910 km cum - 64 km/day
This is my last night on the Dempster, where I am wild camped by the Klondike River, just nine kilometers from the junction with the Klondike Highway. I have company in Victor, a van traveler whom I met in the warming hut at Tombstone yesterday, and I was his guest for a dinner of meat and pickled cabbage and good conversation. He is an architectural engineer with a passion for environmentally friendly construction using rammed earth.
The ride today was an easy one, despite a pothole and washboard surface. After two days of climbing, I am at last descending.
Saturday, July 20, 2024 -- 13,962 km cum - 52 km/day
I'm done. I've done the Dempster. I'M DONE!!!
Today's was an easy ride, the final five or so miles on the Dempster followed by about 25 miles on the Klondike Highway to Dawson. After the Dempster, the asphalt of the Klondike felt like silk.
Having now ridden both the Dalton and the Dempster, I can say with authority that the Dempster is both more difficult and more beautiful. The Dalton is beautiful north of Coldfoot through the Brooks Range, but south of Coldfoot, it's just a hard slog without much reward other than the Yukon River crossing. The Dempster, by contrast, is "take your breath away" beautiful for almost its entire length. The only comparatively dull section is on the delta from Inuvik to Fort McPherson. As I make this juddgement, bear in mind that I had excellent weather on the Dalton two years ago but had to contend with rain for much of my time on the Dempster. If anything, that raises the Dempster higher in my estimation.
I've checked in at the Aurora Inn in Dawson. Unlike the Bunkhouse of two years ago, this is a "real hotel." Not counting my dip in the North Klondike River yesterda evening, I have not had a shower since Eagle Plains over a week ago.
My task today it to "become human." Tomorrow I'll do laundry. I had Covid when I was here two years ago, but this time I will be able to feel that I am really in Dawson, which -- after the Dempster -- feels like a metropolis. Moreover, there is a music festival this weekend. Most importantly, I need to find transportation to Whitehorse. I have no interest in biking the Klondike Highway again.
Finally, this is my "Last Time on the Road." No, I am not about to stop riding. Far from it. Rather, as I turn 70 in a few short weeks, this ride on the Dempster marks the last of my bikepacking expeditions "way out there." Future rides will be shorter and in more civilized areas such as Canada's maritime provinces. I hope John will be part of those future more "civilized" adventures.
Bur what a ride the asst five years have boon: across the U.S. in 2020 and 2021, Deadhorse-Whitehorse-Whitefish in 2022, the U.S. Southwest in 2023, and now the Dempster in 2024. I am happy. I am content.
Tuesday, July 23, 2024 -- 13, 967 km cum - 5 km/day [Writing on Wednesday morning]
After two luxury days in Dawson, I made a short 3-mile hop south of town and indoor-camped in a trailer belonging to Sarah Lenart, a British woman living in Yukon who will give me a lift to Whitehorse in her van with a night of camping along the way. After nearly a month of rain, mud, dust, and many nights of wild camping, I am lazy and relaxed.
I had surprise visitors on Tuesday evening in the daughter-father pair of Tara and Brad Weir, who rode their bicycles from the airport into Dawson as they get ready to start their own northbound journey on the Dempster. Brad is retired, a life-long cyclist who is new to bike-packing. Tara is his teaher. She has bike-packed extensively abroad, including in Kyrgyzstan and Pakistan. We had a lovely evening sharing our experiences.
