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Slideshow
A slideshow of photos from my ride from Fairbanks, AK, to Dawson City, YT, can be found at https://photos.app.goo.gl/whrBsUucrYsjE2gZ6
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Missive No. 3: On Top of the World
I've been on the Top of the World. I even wild camped there for a night.
I mean, of course, Canada's Top of the World Highway that extends 100km more
or less from the northernmost US-Canada border crossing down to the Yukon and
Klondike Rivers. The views at the northern end of the highway fully justify
the name and rival those of Alaska's Brooks Range as I saw them from the
Dalton Highway two weeks ago. I think you will agree when you see the
photos.
"Highway" would seem a misnomer to anyone from the lower 48. Like the Dalton
in Alaska, Top of the World is a dirt and gravel road, albeit without, thank
goodness, calcium chloride treatments. My route from Fairbanks took me down
the blessedly paved and relatively flat AlCan to Tok. (I rode Fairbanks to
Delta Junction in one day, a distance of 96 miles that was my first
near-century for this trip.) Beyond Tok the fun begins at Tetlin Junction
where one turns off the AlCan and starts climbing up the Taylor Highway some
110 miles to the border. The ascents on Taylor are unrelenting the whole
distance and unforgiving on the unpaved portion after the town of Chicken.
To which I should add the rain. Chris, a young British cyclist, rode with me
as we climbed together that first day on Taylor. When the sky opened up, I
was too slow donning my rain gear for it to be of any use. It was a downpour,
and I was thoroughly soaked. Having company made a miserable situation almost
enjoyable as we climbed together and enjoyed a few screaming descents as well.
When we arrived at the West Fork BLM campground, I declared that was it for
me for the day. We found a gazebo where Chris broke out his stove and made
hot chocolate. Then he said he felt he could go further, packed up, and,
after hugs, went on his way.
Enter Klauss, the campground host at West Fork. He and his dog Luna escorted
me to another gazebo that is the campground's hiker/biker site. As you might
surmise from his name, Klauss comes from Germany, having emigrated to Alaska
over twenty years ago. We had the opportunity for long chats, in particular the
next morning when the sun appeared and I did my best to dry out my clothes and
gear.
At Klauss' recommendation, I spent the next night at the BLM campground at
Walker Fork. It's located on the Jack Wade Creek, a section of which is open
to the public to pan for gold. I had entered gold rush country! I did not
indulge, however, knowing the weight of gold and my bike-packing weight
limitations.
I got to the border crossing just as the gate was being closed for the night.
Jennifer, the INS officer on duty, told me I was only the second female
cyclist she has seen this summer. The first was from Norway.
At this point I will cry technology tears. I spent more than an hour
completing this missive with great detail about my ride down Top of the World
Highway. For whatever reason, all of those words, sentences, and paragraphs
were lost despite my frequent use of the Save button. I hate composing on a
telephone, to which I must add that my AT&T service is not working in Canada
even in roaming. Whenever I try to place a call, the Telephone app quickly
informs me that "Call has ended." Ironically, my Beeline Kazakhstan SIM card
works just fine. At least I have it for emergencies. I won't be able to do
anything about the AT&T SIM until I'm back in the US.
From all of those lost words and paragraphs, I'll just quickly resurrect the
portion about getting caught in another rain storm on my second day on Top of
the World. I got my rain gear on quickly this time and stayed relatively dry.
This second storm prompted me to push hard for Dawson City. I took the ferry
across the Yukon River late Wednesday evening and found a room at The
Bunkhouse, a European style hostel with shared bathrooms and showers. I'm
resting up here before starting southward. There will be more hills and
mountains, but with the Dalton and Top of the World Highways behind me, the
most challenging portions of this summer's travel are in the rear view
mirror.
Incidentally, Dawson City was home for several years to poet Robert Service.
Here's Johnny Cash reciting Service's The Cremation of Sam McGee.
And now for the bad news: I've got COVID. I was feeling a bit strange when I
arrived in Dawson City on Wednesday evening, but I assumed that was from
having been caught in the rain again. Nope. I felt stranger yesterday, and
today I felt something akin to flu symptoms. I called the local hospital and
was directed where to get a home COVID test kit. The result came back a
flaming positive red within minutes.
And so, I'm going to be miserable for a few days. I've spoken with the Dawson
public health nurse, who advised me to extend my stay until symptoms pass and
do what I can to isolate from others through the 19th. (The nurse agrees that
I likely was infected while in Tok.) Of course, that's a bit difficult when
one is traveling solo and staying at a hostel with shared bathrooms and
showers, but I'll do what I can. I've informed the hostel management for any
measures they may want to take.
How do I feel? About the same as I did after the second Moderna shot, just a
bit more so. In other words, this is going to slow me down for a number of
days, but that's as bad as it is. This too shall pass.
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Daily Log
Wednesday, July 6, 2022 -- 1272 km cum - 155 km/day
To my own surprise, I went the full 97 miles from Fairbanks to Delta Junction today. Tired? Yes. But what a difference a good road makes. There were hills, and I had to push up a few as I flagged near the end. But how different from the Dalton Highway! I'm rewarding myself with a cheap motel room.
The snow-capped mountains ahead of me to the east are spectacularly impressive, far more so than anything I saw at Denali.
Thursday, July 7, 2022 -- 1371 km cum - 99 km/day
A solid 61-62 mile day to a roadside primitive pull-off midway between Delta Junction and Tok. My legs were still tired from yesterday, and the first half of the ride was monotonous on a road as straight as an arrow. There were only slight ups and downs, but there was enough of a headwind to slow me down.
Things improved after a snack break at the ~30 mile point. The road was hillier, but the improvement came from Race (?), a young Australian bike-packer. We rode together for the next twenty miles, splitting only when I stopped to filter water. Having a companion **does** make the miles and hills go by faster.
Interesting that of the four bike-packers I have met so far this summer, only one has been from the US.
Friday, July 8, 2022 -- 1454 km cum - 83 km/day
A good, easy (more or less) 52-mile ride into Tok. I've taken a cabin at the RV park for two nights so as to prepare for the upcoming many days of low miles and primitive camping on "Top of the World" Highway. On coming into Tok, I picked up my next food box at the post office. I also got the replacement mp3 player I ordered from Amazon to replace the one I've had since last year. The charging plug in the old one seems to have broken.
Food. I have too much and now have still more. I overestimated my food needs by at least half. That didn't stop me from going out to Fast Freddy's for dinner. Other than for my dinner with Xi at Chena Hot Springs, it's my first sit-down restaurant dinner on this trip.
Along the road I met and rode for a bit with John, a retired conservation worker from Missouri. That brings to five the number of bike-packers I have met on this trip.
Sunday, July 10, 2022 -- 1552 km - 98 km/cum
I went further than I expected today, 60+ miles up the Taylor Highway. It was a day of climbing and rain, at times heavy. What could have been a miserable slog was transformed, however, by Chris, a 32-year-old British cyclist who rode with me most of the day. Hills and rain are so much easier to take when there is someone to share the misery.
I'm camped at the BLM campground at West Fork. (Chris, young guy that he is, continued on to Chicken.) The camp host Klaus, originally from Germany, showed me around. Fortunately the rain has stopped . . . for now.
Monday, July 11, 2022 -- 1608 km cum - 54 km/day
This was a short 35-mile day, a good counterbalance to yesterday's longer-than-expected ride. I'm camped tonight at the BLM campground on Jack Wade Creek about 25-26 miles from the Canadian border.
I stared **very** late today after 3pm. That's what happens following a day of riding in a downpour. It took that long today to get everything to a state of, if not dry, at least not sopping wet. I also spent considerable time talking with Klauss.
The town of Chicken turned out to be a big nothing, but I did get a sandwich there.
The road after Chicken is unpaved with some good climbs, but I'm beginning to understand why the Top of the World route has that name. The views of both mountains and of river valleys are simply stunning.
Tuesday, July 12, 2022 -- 1668 km cum - 62 km/day
Not quite a 40-mile day but hard earned on the Taylor Highway that, for fifteen miles of dirt, gravel, and rock, rivaled the Dalton. Thankfully, the final 15+ miles were paved even if the last five miles to the border were uphill, much of it at a 9% grade. Lots of pushing WoodsWoman uphill today. But it was worth it.
I'm in Canada and on Top of the World! I got to the border just as it was closing, like within 1-2 minutes of having to camp on the U.S. side. I had a great conversation with Jennifer, the INS officer on duty. She topped off my water bottle and told me the only other woman she has seen this year was from Norway.
I continued about ten miles into Canada. It was immediately obvious why this is called "Top of the World Highway." The views rival those in the Brooks Rage. They may be even better. Also, the road surface so far has been wonderful even if it is dirt and gravel. There is still snow on the ground in places. It is chilly at my wayside camping site, and I have my jacket on.
In Canada I met Michel and Rita from Quebec who stopped their RV and got out to chat. They directed me to the pull-off where I am camped for the night.
In total it has been a tough day, but in the end it has also been a good one.
Wednesday, July 13, 2022 -- 1763 km cum - 95 km/day (writing on Thursday the 14th)
I'm in Dawson City for several days of well-deserved rest and, alas, to get over a cold I picked up somewhere, most likely in Tok. I write as I sit in the Red Mammoth Bistro enjoying a breakfast sandwich and coffee.
I had not expected to get here yesterday. There was an outside chance, but I did not really expect to. Circumstance pushed me on.
The day started well enough at my primitive campsite. A Canadian couple in their RV pulled in and gave me a breakfast roll. But the road deteriorated as I worked my way south. It was always better than the Dalton or the non-paved portions of Taylor, but it wasn't as good as the first several miles after I crossed the border. Too much gravel. I did push WoodsWoman up several of the climbs.
Rain. That's what did it. I heard the thunder behind me. When I turned to look, I saw the storm clouds coming. Thank goodness I was not surprised this time. I pulled into a wayside, leaned WoodsWoman against the embankment, and donned **all** my rain gear. I hunkered close to the ground for perhaps an hour until the storm passed . . . more or less. "That's it for Dawson City," I thought.
With the rain stopped but the air now chilly and the sky still threatening, I pushed onward. I thought I would camp once I had done forty miles, but when I reached that point it hit me that the misery of camping in such conditions was worse than pushing the final twenty miles to Dawson City.
And so I did. Thankfully, a veritable gift from heaven, the final ten miles to Dawson are pure descent. I went screaming downhill to the banks of the Yukon River at 40-48 km/hour with frequent application of the brakes. I took the ferry across the river and went in search of a place to stay. It was late, after 10 p.m. PDT. (Yukon is an hour ahead of Alaska.) The best -- in fact only -- option was a small room at The Bunkhouse, which is little more than a European-style hostel with bathrooms and showers down the outside hall. Bliss.
I'll stay here for three full days to do the usual -- i.e., laundry, writing, and mail -- but the main task is rest and recovering from this head cold. I only barely have a voice. This time I **need** a full three days of rest.
Dawson City. An indoor bed. Rest. Bliss.
Saturday, July 16, 2022 -- 1763 km -- 0 km/day
Bliss? Not so fast. I've got COVID. After dodging that bullet for 2+ years, my number was up. Something didn't feel quite right on Thursday, but it was yesterday at breakfast that I knew something was truly wrong. This was different. I had a scratchy throat, laryngitis, and a headache. I called the local hospital using my Beeline KZ number -- my AT&T doesn't seem to work here -- and was told where to go to get a Rapid Antigen Test. Fortunately, it was only a block away. The instructions indicated it would take 10-15 min to get the result, but in my case I had a flaming red positive within a minute or two. At that moment I felt pretty miserable.
And so, I'm stuck in Dawson City for longer than I expected. I'm feeling significantly better now, but a new test today shows I'm still positive. I've extended my stay at The Bunkhouse. A real challenge is how to minimize contact with others in the town and, especially, at the hostel with its shared bathrooms and showers.
Where and when was I infected? My suspicion is a chance contact in Tok at the RV park, Fast Freddy's, or the grocery story. Maria, the Dawson public health nurse, shares this suspicion. I feel bad for the people with whom I was in contact before I realized I was infected, in particular Klauss and Chris.
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