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Slideshow
A slideshow of photos from my ride from Dawson City to Watson Lake, YT, can be found at https://photos.app.goo.gl/x1MtQud413qWLjUW9 .
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Missive No. 4: Riding the Klondike
I've spent a week and a half in the Klondike, but alas, I did not strike it
rich with gold. If, however, we measure not by gold but by mud and rain, then
I am rich indeed for that is the story of my ride down the Klondike Highway
from Dawson City to Whitehorse.
It has rained every other day since I climbed the Taylor Highway in Alaska.
Twice I've been in tremendous downpours, and other times I've just been in
steady rain or drizzle. I have fully justified carrying my rain gear that
during my first three weeks seemed to be nothing more than dead weight. It
feels that I have now ridden in more rain on this trip than during the past
two summers combined.
The sky was sunny and the road flat as I rode out of Dawson City a week ago
Tuesday. I had no intent of a big day on this, my first post-COVID return
to the road. The ride turned hillier after the first thirty miles, but the
sky remained clear and sunny. I made camp at a pull-out by Gravelly Lake just
across the road from a group of 30+ riders on a fully supported tour. (I
introduced myself and would have camped with them but for my fear that I might
have infected one or more of them.). The lakeside sunset was gorgeous.
I sensed the rain overnight in my sleep and woke to a steady rain in the
morning. I had remained dry in the tent, but a few spots on the tent floor
were wet from puddles that had formed underneath. I hadn't been thinking of
rain when I pitched the tent in the evening and could have chosen a better
spot. I got up, prepared and ate breakfast in the rain, packed up my wet
tent, and set forth in the rain that lasted the whole day.
Then there was the mud. Three sections of the Klondike Highway are being
worked on by road crews during the short Yukon summer. I had gone through two
of them my first day, transported by pilot trucks with WoodsWoman loaded in
the back. The roadwork section on this second day was significantly longer,
and I had to ride through most of it in mud that got thicker and more slippery
as I went. Both WoodsWoman and I were caked in mud by the time I got to the
end of the construction. Right where the roadwork ended there was a
campground and also the rustic Moose Creek Lodge. My choice was clear. I
wiped my feet as best I could and stepped into the lodge and blurted out to
the first person I saw, "Please, I really don't want to camp tonight. Do you
have a room available?"
The woman to whom I pleaded was Marie Clare. She was my savior that evening.
Yes, there was one last cabin available. She checked me in, showed me to the
cabin and to the showers, and to an enclosed shelter where I could set up my
wet tent to dry out. Later, after I had showered and changed into dry
clothes, she cooked a simple dinner that at the end of that day felt like a
feast. Her breakfast the next morning after I had had a good night's sleep in
a warm bed was my fuel for the next day's ride.
I needed it! Sunny skies had returned but a headwind had picked up. I hoped
to make it 60 miles to the campground at Pelly Crossing, but the headwind and
some significant climbs soon convinced me I'd never make it that far. Surely
I would have to wild camp at the side of the road.
But then fate smiled on me. The highway reached a plateau, leveled out, and
sooI've been on the Top of the World. I even wild camped there for a night. n started to descend. I reached the Pelly Crossing campground at 7 p.m.
When I rolled into the campground, there sat Michael, the Australian-American
bike-packer I had met in Dawson City. He left Dawson after me but had caught
up and passed me as I enjoyed my indoor night at Moose Creek Lodge. We camped
together and compared notes into the evening.
As anyone who truly knows me will confirm, I am not a morning person. Michael
was on the road long before me in the morning as I lingered over breakfast and
coffee. It was 11:15 a.m. when I finally got going.
The rain started some fifteen minutes later. I pulled off the road and donned
my rain gear. At least it wasn't a heavy rain, just steady. The hills and
valleys I passed through were heavy with mist. Then out of the mist I saw a
cyclist going the other way who had stopped to admire one of the misty valley
views. I pulled over to chat. His name was Julian, and he already knew me by
name. Michael had pre-introduced me! An hour or so later another northbound
cyclist yelled out, "Hello, Robyn!" Michael's kindness in pre-introducing me
warmed my way through the chilly rain.
As the day wore on, fate smiled again. The rain stopped, and a few rays of
sun appeared. I pulled off the road, stripped off the rain gear, and changed
into dry clothes. I reached Carmacks at 8 p.m. I saw both the campground and
a motel. My choice was clear. Out came the credit card. "Give me three
nights," I asked. After four post-COVID days of riding, two of them in the
rain, I was already in need of a break. (Also, I needed to pick up my next
and last food box from the Carmacks post office that is only open on Mondays,
Wednesdays, and Fridays.)
Were there moments when I had "Why am I doing this" thoughts? Of course there
were. In my working years I bicycle commuted through rain, snow, and even ice
storms. In retirement I swore I would be a fair weather cyclist only. I also
decided to take up long distance bike-packing. When traveling this way, do I
have any control over the weather? I do not. I am going to be rained on some
days and complain of my muddy, rainy misery.
But then I am going to enjoy the comforts of a luxury night in a warm bed and
the kindness of people like Marie Clare and my bike-packing compatriot
Michael. And I am always mindful that one reason I travel this way is to get
a glimpse of how different travel was for the pioneers of the American West or
the gold rush sourdoughs of Alaska and the Yukon Territory. To them
WoodsWoman would seem like a welcome technological gift from the future. As I
grumble through the rain, I am humbled to think how much harder travel was for
them.
I also remember that I have dedicated this summer's travel to TV Dozhd'.
Translated, that's TV Rain. Of course I should have expected rain! More than
that, TV Rain styles itself as "the optimistic channel." Even as I grumble, I
remember that the channel's founder Natalya Sindeeva chose the station's name
because rain makes her smile, makes her feel optimistic. (If you would like
to join me in supporting TV Dozhd'this support, you can find the donation link
at https://tvrain.tv/donate-en/.)
The remainder of my ride down to Whitehorse was under sunny skies even if a
persistent headwind continued to slow me. On Monday night I had a beautiful
camping spot at a territorial campground on Fox Lake. On Tuesday the amount
of automotive traffic increased as I got closer to Whitehorse. At 4 p.m. I
rolled into a real city for the first time since Fairbanks.
City? With a population in the vicinity of 28,000, Whitehorse is the capital
of the Yukon is only slightly smaller than Bangor, ME. The Yukon Territory as
a whole has only about 40,000 people. Think of the population of Bangor and
vicinity spread over a territory five times larger than Maine, and you will
have a sense of just how unpopulated the Yukon is, especially given that 3/4
of the population lives in or near Whitehorse.
My first stop after rolling into Whitehorse was a pub on Main Street for pizza
and a beer. From there I rolled over to the Beez Kneez Bakpakers Hostel.
This would be my home for the next three nights, the first two in an upper
dormitory bunk and the third in a mini-cabin. Sarah, the owner, is a
certified Yukon outback guide, and my cohabitants included outdoor adventurers
from the US, Germany, and Paraguay in addition to Canada.
Unlike my rest break in Carmacks, Whitehorse has been busy-time for me. On my
first day I replaced my bicycle chain and cleaned/degreased WoodsWoman as best
I could. At the local outdoors store I purchased an Ursack Bear Bag to
replace the heavy Bear Vault that I've been carrying, after which I had the
good fortune of selling the Bear Vault to a young man at the local bike shop
where I also bought a new pair of shoes. So far my shoes constitute the only
equipment failure of this trip. The sole of the right shoe had been
separating from the top, and the stop-gap repair I attempted using epoxy when
I was in Dawson City clearly was just that, a stop-gap.
My other big task was to get my hair cut. My head had felt like a tangled
dust mop all along the Dalton and Top of the World Highways. The
impossibility of washing my hair for a week or more at a time told me clearly
that, shorter is better.
Whitehorse and, for that matter, all of Yukon Territory have more of an
international feeling to them than my part of Maine. This ties in with my
haircut story because Farah, the hairdresser I happily stumbled upon, is from
Tajikistan! We switched to conversing in Russian as I luxuriated in having my
hair washed and cut. Спасибо Вам, Фара!
That concludes my Klondike story. Tomorrow I roll east along the AlCan. This
will, in its way, be an interlude that takes me to Watson Lake, after which I
will turn my eyes southward again.
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Missive No. 5: AlCan Entracte
First comes the AlCan itself. Not much more than a muddy track when the U.S.
military cut it through the wilderness in the early days of World War II,
today it is a two-lane paved road in this southern Yukon stretch of rolling
hills. (Interestingly, the Canadian government opposed construction of the
AlCan prior to the war out of concern that it would lead to U.S. dominance in
the Canadian North.). As an analog for my Maine friends, it's not too
different from U.S. 2 north of Old Town. In short, it's an easy road for a
bicyclist to ride on.
Second was my choice of accommodation.. Although I camped on my first night
out of Whitehorse, I got a simple room in Teslin and a modular motel room
halfway between there and Watson Lake. Unlike almost every other road I've
been this summer, the AlCan has facilities for tourists every 50 miles or so.
After all my wild camping further north, I indulged my urge for a diner meal,
shower, and bed at the end of the day. That choice alone increases my
potential distance for the day by at least 30 miles. Without the overhead of
camping, I can go that much further.
Third, there is nothing in particular between Whitehorse and Watson Lake that
would cause one to linger. Although scenic, it's a destination-directed
stretch of road.
To all of this I'll add that it rained on two of the four days as attack
mosquitoes moved in for blood whenever my speed dropped below 10 km/hour.
There was every reason to keep moving.
And this was a good week! Seriously. I arrived in Watson Lake in an upbeat
mood ready for a rest day. As usual, my prime task is laundry. On an equal
footing comes food inventory and restocking for yes, tomorrow I leave the
AlCan for the remote Cassiar Highway that will lead me south through the
mountains of British Columbia. I will be back to camping and my own cooking
for at least a week and a half until I reach the town of Smithers at the
southern end.
I did have a serious "only myself to blame" OOPS moment when I arrived in
Walton Lake. Having spent my last Canadian dollar the previous day, I headed
to an ATM only to discover that my ATM card from Penobscot Federal Credit
Union had expired on July 31. Although I am good about checking my credit
cards before travel, it had never occurred to me that ATM cards have
expiration dates. The expiration date of 7/22 was there, however, stamped on
the front. I had never seen it.
A phone call to credit union was particularly unhelpful. I'll find my new ATM waiting
for me in my held mail when I get home to Maine. That's all the credid union representative could offer. Western Union and MoneyGram turned out to be
useless as alternatives in this part of Yukon.
To the rescue came American Express. "Don't leave home without it." Of the
four ATMs in Watson Lake, there was one that accepts AMEX. I have a means of
accessing cash for the remainder of my travels, albeit with a hefty service
fee and interest rate. I won't complain. Once I'm on the Cassiar Highway,
I'm certain that any facilities I find will be cash only.
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Daily Log
Tuesday, July 19, 2022 -- 1851 km cum - 88 km/day
I'm finally back riding after my COVID interlude in Dawson City. I feel well, in fact quite normal despite still being COVID positive, but I took it easy today to be on the safe side. I didn't leave Dawson until 12:30 p.m. Tonight I'm camped on Gravelly Lake. There is a large group with TDA Cycling on the other side of the road, but I'm on this side due to my COVID. They are just off the Dempster Highway and are headed south.
I should mention my neighbors at The Bunkhouse in Dawson City. I was in #6. Jane, a solo traveler, was in #7. Michael, a solo bike-packer doing a route similar to mine, was in #8. He also had COVID and sat out a week in Delta Junction. He likely will catch and pass me tomorrow. He's a dual U.S.-Australian citizen and has done extensive bike-packing worldwide.
And so, I'm on the road and moving again, albeit tentatively, after my unexpected COVID delay in Dawson City.
Wednesday, July 20, 2022 -- 1906 km cum - 55 km/day
Rain, rain, rain. And mud. I've taken a bare-bones cabin for the night at Moose Lodge. It rained most of last night. I had to pack up the tent wet. It rained through the entirety of my ride. It feels as though I have experienced more rain since Tok than I did in my 2020 and 2021 bike-packing trips combined.
Mud. I've had to go through three construction zones, riding some of the distances and loaded into pilot trucks for the rest. I'm actually further from Dawson -- about 100 miles -- than my ride distance indicates.
Moose Creek Lodge seems to be owned by a French Canadian family. Marie Claire has been very sweet in getting me settled and in preparing a warm meal. Showered and with a full stomach, I now look at the day more positively than I did two hours ago.
Thursday, July 21, 2022 -- 2002 km cum - 96 km/day
This day had a good start, a not-so-good middle, but a good ending. Starting with the latter, I'm at the Pelly Crossing campground next to Michael, my Dawson neighbor, at the end of a 60-mile day that I did not think could happen.
The good start was with Marie Claire and the other good folks at Moose Creek Lodge. I slept beautifully, got everything dry, ate a wonderful breakfast, and set forth under sunny skies . . . into hills and a stiff headwind. The hills were particularly bad after Stewart Crossing. At most, I thought, I'll go forty miles. But then the long climbs came to an end, and I kept going. When I rolled into Pelly Crossing campground, there sat Michael who had gotten here two hours before me. After a good black beans and rice dinner, I can say that what seemed a tentative day at best has ended very well.
Friday, July 22, 2022 -- 2110 km cum - 108 km/day (writing on Saturday the 22nd)
This was my second best mileage day of the summer so far, a good 68 miles in the rain from Pelly Crossing to Carmacks where I am enjoying luxury in the Carmacks Hotel. In fact, it will be two rest days insofar as the post office won't be open until Monday. My final food box should be waiting for me there. I could just abandon it, but truth be told, I need the rest. Between COVID and rain, these have not be an easy couple of weeks.
Friday's rain was not as bad as Wednesday's,and fortunately it ended before I reached Carmacks. Michael left well before I did -- no surprise that -- and did me the service of introducing me in advance to Julian and Alisher, two northbound cyclists. The latter even called out out "Robyn!" when he saw me coming.
When the rain stopped, I pulled off the road and stripped to change into drier clothes. I am glad now that I carried rain gear this summer. Back on the Dalton Highway, I was beginning to wonder why I was lugging it.
Monday, July 25, 2022 -- 2220 km cum - 110 km/day
This was a good day after a restful weekend. The sun shone, the scenery was nice, and the road was rolling with no big climbs. I can't say it was easy, however, because there was a strong headwind that only abated slightly near the end.
At the 75 km mark, I had a good break for soup at Brae Burn Lodge. Tonight I'm camped at a beautiful spot in an **official** territorial campground by Fox Lake. It's nice to feel that I am returning slowly to civilization.
Tuesday, July 26, 2022 -- 2292 km cum - 72 km/day
I arrived in Whitehorse at 4:45 p.m. after an easy 45-mile ride despite the continuing strange wind that doesn't seem to know what direction it wants to come from. Once I turned from the Klondike Highway to the AlCan, I felt myself to be in a populated area for the first time since Fairbanks. There was even traffic!
As I write, I sit in "The Dirty Northern Bastard," a pub that apparently got its name from a D. H. Lawrence story. I'm enjoying a beer and waiting for a pizza. From here I will head to the nearby "Beez Kneez Hostel," my home for the next three nights.
Wow, I'm in a city! Well, let's make that a good size town even if it is the capital of Yukon Territory. The population of Whitehorse about 75% that of Bangor, which to my mind is more a big town than a city.
Friday, July 29, 2022 -- 2447 km cum - 125 km/day
Actually, from the top of Two Mile Hill in Whitehorse to the campground on Squanga Lake was only 110 km. The other 15 km were over the past two days in and about town in Whitehorse. Still, today was a solid and not difficult day on the AlCan. I didn't start off from the top of Two Mile Hill until sometime after noon and was at the campground before 7 p.m..
Wednesday was a big "to do list" day. I washed WoodsWoman and replaced her chain. I bought an "Ursack" bear-resistant bag at the outdoor store and then had the good fortune of selling the Bear Vault for $50 Canadian to Rob at the bike store.
I also got my hair cut by Farah. Of all things, she is Tajik from Dushanbe! Мы разговаривали исключительно на русском.
At the Beez Kneez I got to like Sarah, the owner. I slept on a top bunk in the dorm room the first two nights and in one of the small cabins the third. At the hostel I also met:
-- Andrea, who was heading out on a 14-day river trip
-- Elyse, a Mainer (!) who is relocating to Alaska
-- Bob, a retired army captain who is doing a multi-month road trip
In short, the hostel was a wonderful experience!
Saturday, July 30, 2022 -- 1489 km cum - 72 km/day
A shorter day by design to Teslin and Nisultan Bay Bridge, where I was able to get a cheap room for the night with shared batch. I had dinner with my neighbors Rob and Connor, young men working for a geologic survey company.
The coming days are likely to be long with nights of primitive camping. That's an extra reason to enjoy this night with a roof over my head.
Sunday, July 31, 2022 -- 2626 km cum - 127 km/day
This was an excellent 78-mile day from Teslin to the Continental Divide Lodge that's located just shy of mid-way from Teslin to Watson Lake. I called from Teslin to secure a motel room here for the night in light of a forecast of a 97% chance of rain. As the day worked out, however, the rain only started when I was about twenty miles from the lodge. The rain was light, and it ended before I arrived. After all my wild camping and rainy days, I make no apologies. It's nice to sleep indoors when there is an opportunity. Plus I can ride further. I was underway from Teslin at 9:15 a.m., nearly a record early start for me this summer.
Almost exactly at the halfway point today, I met Jill and Damian (?) from Vancouver. Once again, Michael had pre-introduced me. Seems he is only a day or so ahead of me.
There is a group of Austin-to-Anchorage cyclists camped here tonight. Their ride is collecting funds for the fight against cancer.
Monday, August 1, 2022 -- 2755 km cum - 139 km/day
This was another excellent day, 87 miles to Watson Lake under a light rain for much of the afternoon. I had expected the Whitehorse to Watson Lake ride to take five days, but I did it in four. Выполнила пятидневку за четыре дня! Ура, ура, ура! I'm celebrating by checking into a cheap motel for three nights. It has satellite TV! I haven't seen television since Fairbanks.
One piece of unexpected bad news: the expiration date on my ATM card was 7/31. I found out when I tried to get cash from an ATM. There goes a significant chunk of tomorrow as I try to find a workaround.
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