* * * * * * * *
After retiring in 2019, WoodsWoman and I rode from Washington, DC, to my home in Burlington, ME. I had no idea at the time that this was just the beginning to be followed by riding the Northern Tier in 2020; the TransAm in 2021; Deadhorse, AK, to Whitefish, MT, in 2022; and the U.S. Southwest in 2023. Knowing that I would turn 70 in 2024, I wondered if I had it in me to do it one more time. After riding the Dalton Highway in Alaska in 2022, I wondered how the Dempster Highway in the NW Territories is similar and how it might be different. Having ridden the northermost road in the U.S., I found myself wanting to ride its Canadian counterpart.
And so I did. This is the story of my second visit to the tundra, to the Arctic Ocean. My conclusion? The Dempster Highway is more difficult than the Dalton to ride on two wheels. It is, however, the more beautiful of the two. The hardships of riding the Dempster Highway are amply rewarded by the Alpine vistas of three mountain ranges. I now know this by personal experience.
* * * * * * * *
Slideshow
Slideshow
A
slideshow
of photos of my journey north to Tuktoyaktu can be found at
https://photos.app.goo.gl/EgLs9gyGCmay9LnR8
* * * * * * * *
Missive No. 1: The Road to Tuk
Missive No. 1: The Road to Tuk
This is my first missive for this, my 2024 return to the North, something I have wanted to do ever since finishing my NorthStar adventure in 2022. That year I rode from Deadhorse, Alaska, to Whitefish, Montana. This year I will be doing something similar but different.
I apologize in advance for keeping these missives short. I have only my telephone, and I am horrible at writing with a phone, a process I find painful and frustrating. I am, however, carrying my trusty spiral notebook and am writing there every day that I ride. As usual, I’ll transcribe that log over the long Maine winter. And so . . .
My bus and plane flights from Bangor to Boston to Toronto to Vancouver to Yellowknife took as long, perhaps longer, than my flight from New York to Istanbul last year. Although long, the flights were uneventful until I landed in Yellowknife but WoodsWoman (aka my Atlantis touring bicycle) did not. I was in full panic mode until Air Canada delivered her to me the next morning. The box was covered with TSA tape. It seems TSA in Boston decided to have a good look at WoodsWoman before letting her join me.
I spent two days in Yellowknife, where I stayed at Jenny’s Guest House with a private room, shared facilities, and good conversation with the caretaker Shirley, an immigrant from China who has called Yellowknife home for twenty years. A hundred years old with about 25,000 people, Yellowknife got its start as a gold rush town, and mining continues to be important with gold replaced by diamonds and other minerals. The capital of Canada’s NW Territories, Yellowknife is strikingly cosmopolitan with immigrants from around the globe including from China, Ethiopia, India, Ukraine, and even Russia. It is no longer a surprise to me that Yellowknife became a first home for Bakhtiyor and his family when they emigrated to Canada a decade ago. (Bakhtiyor was my scientific affairs specialist in Tashkent.) And of course, the Dene First Nations People make up a significant portion of the population. National First Nations Day was celebrated on my second day at a large open air festival in a lakeside park in front of city hall. The festival included singing, dancing, crafts, and free (!) food.
After two rest days in Yellowknife, I flew north of the Arctic Circle to Inuvik. It took me four hours, but I breathed a sigh of relief when I put WoodsWoman back together. She had arrived unscathed despite the multiple flights and attention from TSA. In the late afternoon I rode out of the airport and on to Inuvik itself some 12 km away. (When the sun is up 24 hours a day, «afternoon» feels nebulous as a time of day.)
I spent two hotel nights in Inuvik, having neglected the fact that almost everything is closed on Sundays. I spent that day walking around this small town with notable sights that include the most northern mosque in America and the Roman Catholic «Igloo Church.» Several times as I walked, people greeted me by saying, Welcome to our nation!. The First Nations presence is more palpable here than in Yellowknife and includes both the Inuvialuit and Gwich’in people. Inuvik’s population of somewhat more than 3000 is split roughly 50-50 between First Nations and non-indigenous.
On Monday I went to the hardware store and picked up the bear spray that I had pre-ordered. From there I rode to the north edge of town and the start of the road to Tuktoyaktuk. To my chagrin, where the pavement ended and the dirt road started, I saw them: a road crew that was spraying the road with calcium chloride. I knew from painful experience on the Dalton Highway two years ago that calcium chloride mud dries like cement that has to be chiseled off anything it comes in contact with. When Stephone offered to give me a lift in his puckup truck past this section that was being treated, I agreed enthusiastically with profuse thanks.
The start of the ride was not difficult, but I had started in mid-afternoon and knew I wouldn't get far. Also, the further I went, the harder it got. Packed dirt was replaced by thick gravel that caused my rear wheel to fishtail. I had no choice but to go slowly and, more and more often, get off and push WoodsWoman through the gravel. The shoulders were usually better with less gravel but were unreliable with ruts and a surface that frequently turned to mud or sand.
After some 46 km at the bottom of a hill, there was a bridge with a stream running under it. I parked WoodsWoman and went down to the stream to filter water for the night. I decided to continue on for another 5 km or so and then camp for the night. I went that distance . . . and then saw a sign I had already seen. I was riding back toward Inuvik! While filtering water, I forgot that I had turned WoodsWoman around because it was easier to lean her against the railing on the other side of the bridge that was in a valley with few notable features. This is tundra with no trees, and unless there are lakes on one side of the road or the other, it's perhaps understandable that it's easy to get «turned around.» In chagrined frustration, I stopped where I was and camped by the side of the road. I’d have to re-do those km the next day.
Altogether, it took me three and a half days to ride the 140 km to Tuktoyaktuk. On pavement that would have taken me two days. With flat terrain and a tailwind, I could have ridden it comfortably in a day. Never on any of my previous bike-packing adventures have I gone so slowly. Between the thick gravel and soft or sandy shoulders, I found myself walking and pushing as much as I rode. I thought frequently that this was more a bicycle-assisted hike than it was bike-packing ride. Only on my fourth day did the surface improve enough for me to spend more of my time in the saddle than out of it. Overall, this was the most difficult road I have ever ridden a bicycle on. The Dalton Highway in Alaska was easy by comparison.
I frequently wondered why. I had read the account of one cyclist who rode this road when it first opened in 2017, and he too wrote that it was the most challenging ride of his life. Since then, others had written that the gravel had settled into the dirt, thereby making the ride not so treacherous. Why was I experiencing the same thing that the 2017 cyclist had written about? I found out why on my final day. Two motorcyclists who were struggling nearly as much as I was told me that in the spring, highway maintenance had put down a new thick layer of gravel, thereby re-creating the conditions of 2017. Mystery solved. Sigh.
But the tundra landscape with more and more sparkling lakes the further north I got was everything I had hoped and had wanted to see again ever since riding in northern Alaska two years ago. At the top of a hill on my last day, I looked down at a lake with hundreds of seagulls. By sight and smell, I knew I was nearing the ocean. (NB: The lakes are almost all unaccessible from the road, and I accepted with gratitude both water, fruit, and snacks from passing motorists.)
At last I was there at the Welcome to Tuktoyaktuk sign and my first views of the pingos, ice-uplifted hills for which the area is famous. I rode into this smalk Inuvialut settlement, which is also home to a Dew Line early warning station dating back to the 1950s. Soon I was there: the end of the road that terminates on a point jutting out into the Arctic Ocean and the Beaufort Sea. That was another reason I had wanted to come here. Stan Rogers’ haunting song Northwest Passage opens with:
Ah, for just one timeThe explorer Franklin perished with his entire crew in that quest, but here I was nearly two centuries later standing on the shore of the Beaufort Sea. I had reached it by bicycle.
I would take the NW Passage
To find the hand of Franklin
Reaching for the Beaufort Sea.
I spent two nights camped on that point in Tuk, where I was immediately befriended by Nancy and Steve from Washington State. They invited me into their RV for a salad dinner and an evening of conversation and life stories. I spent the next day touring the hamlet, walking the shore, and searching for a ride back to Inuvik. I had made it to Tuktoyaktuk on two wheels without mishap, but I had no intention of pushing my luck on a return trip. In the end it was Corinne and Steve, RV’ers from Minnesota traveling with their dog Brinkley, who came to my aid. On Saturday morning we loaded WoodsWoman into their RV. Overnight the wind had come up, and the Beaufort Sea that had seemed a calm lake had become a true ocean, the Arctic Ocean, with angry waves crashing on the shore.
So here I am back in Inuvik for -- count them -- three hotel nights. My main task today and tomorrow is to clean everything that I have, myself in the first place. After five camping nights, I am dirtier than I have ever been in my life. The dust and dirt along the highway to Tuktoyaktuk makes Alaska's Dalton Highway seem cleanliness itself by comparison. EVERYTHING needs to be cleaned before I push on southward on the hopefully easier (in terms of surface) Dempster Highway. I will also get to experience Canada Day here in Inuvik tomorrow, July 1.
That’s the story up to the moment. I defied my opening words about writing at length on a telephone. To make up for that, I apologize to my Russian readers that I’ll limit my Russian note to a few words. To my friends in Central Asia, I promise to relate the full story when I come to Kazakhstan in the fall.
* * * * * * * *
Всем привет из посёлка Инувика за полярным кругом в Канаде где солнце святится круглосуточно. Приношу извиненя, 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 всё нормально во хорошем значении этого слова. Настроение отличное. Я доехала на велике вплоть до Северного Ледовитого океана и там провела два дня. Оттуда вернулась в Инувик, где я мою велосипед, умываюсь, и стираю одежду. После того, как я провела пять дней на диком кемпингах, так и надо провести эти два дня.
* * * * * * * *
Daily Log
Daily Log
Starting odometer reading: 13,044 km
This, my Northwest Passage and likely my final major bicycle journey in wild places, has begun. I flew from Boston on Tuesday and overnighted in Toronto. On Wednesday, I continued to Vancouver and from there to Yellowknife. For all of this time I spent in airplanes, I could have flown to Istanbul.
All went well until I landed in Yellowknife. Woods Woman, Lesnitshitsa, had not arrived with me. I freaked out and walked back and forth for an hour before anyone from Air Canada appeared, with whom I could log a lost baggage report. I slept badly that night, but thank goodness Woods Woman arrived the next morning From all the TSA tape on the box, I gathered TSA gave her an extra close look.
I spent two days in Yellowknife, where I stayed at the Jenny Guest House, a quasi-hostel where I had a private room with a shared bath and kitchen. I enjoyed talking at length with Sheila, the caretaker, an immigrant from China who has lived in Yellowknife for twenty years.
I did a walking tour of Old Town and a boat tour around Back Bay and into the Great Slave Lake. The city, which has existed for all of 90 years, struck me as ethnically diverse, not only because of the First Nations Dene people, but also because of immigrants from all over. The Irish pub where I had dinner served Indian curry. I even saw an Ethiopian restaurant, and at the airport yesterday, I met two young women from Armenia and a young man from Ukraine. At all times, remembered that this is where my science affairs specialist, Bakhtiyor, and his family first lived when they emigrated from Uzbekistan.
Moreover, June 21st was National Indigenous Peoples Day, and Yellowknife celebrated with a big festival in the park at Frame Lake. There was music, dancing, and free food. The music and dancing alternated between First Nations and European. Visiting the festival on this beautiful sunny solstice was a wonderful way of spending my second day in Yellowknife.
Yesterday, I flew from Yellowknife to Inuvik. At the Yellowknife airport, Canadian security also insisted on having a good look at Woodswoman. Once landed in Inuvik, I spent five hours putting Woodswoman back together, and then rode 12 kilometers into town, where I'm spending two nights at the Nova Hotel. Today is my "rest before the ride day," a day to get organized before riding out on Monday. My only miscalculation was that this is Sunday. Almost everything is closed.
Well, 35 miles wouldn't be bad for a first day on the road to Tuck. I got a late afternoon start, and this road is **difficult** because of thick, loose gravel and a subsurface that sometimes is more sand than dirt. It's slow going and hard.
I wrote "wouldn't" because I'm only about 25 miles north of Inuvik because I made one of the silliest mistakes I've made in five years of bikepacking. After filtering water in anticipation of stopping for the night, I went the **wrong way** back towards Inuvik. It took me some time before I realized my mistake, at which point I simply stopped at the side of the road and set up camp. Wow, do I ever feel stupid! I'll have to do those miles all over again tomorrow.
On a plus note, Steven from Montreal gave me a one kilometer lift at the very start to get me beyond a section that was being treated with calcium chloride. Thank you, Steven!
An even shorter day, all of 20 miles. It was all I could do. This road is simply unbikable in its current condition. And that's not just for me. Richard and Al, two motorcyclists I met today, said this was the most difficult road they had ever ridden. Why? Thick, loose gravel. According to Rick and Al, the highway authority had just recently put down this thick new layer of gravel. For anyone on two wheels, it's hell. Sometimes there's a "channel" I can ride in for a bit. Sometimes I can ride on the narrow shoulder if it's not mud or sand. But usually I have to walk.
And so, this is not a bikepacking ride. Rather, it's a bike-assisted hike with only hike-like daily distances possible.
On a plus note, several people gave me water, and one man gave me a breakfast muffin. I'm camped roadside next to a pond so that I have plenty of water. A short while ago, two climate change researchers from the Canadian Geological Service stopped and chatted.
I made it! I am in Tuk, camped at the Arctic Ocean, looking out at the Beaufort Sea. Stan Rogers sang about the "hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea," and I have long wanted to see what Franklin reached for but perished in the effort. I have achieved my goal. I am content.
That's not to say it was easy. Hard would be an understatement. Brutal is a more appropriate adjective. The highway from Inuvik to Tuk is the most difficult road I have ever ridden on. On Thursday, I searched long and hard for a campsite, but couldn't find even a patch of flat ground next to the road. The northern section of the road is built up over the tundra with sharp drop-offs on either side. Some locals in a pick-up who gave me water told me of a flat spot where snowmobiles were parked a number of kilometers further along, but further along turned out to be further than I bargained for on a section with deep gravel where I had to push rather than ride. In the end, I accepted a ride from a Washington family in an RV who gave me a lift for about five kilometers, a type of "trail magic" that made up in part for my mistaken sense of direction on Monday.
Thursday's ride was the easiest. More of the road was rideable, and I reached Tuk earlier than I had expected based on my record of the previous days. I am camped next to Nancy and Steve, a lovely couple of about my age from Washington. They invited me into their RV for dinner last night, and we spent several hours sharing life stories.
I hope to be a tourist today, but my most important task is to procure a ride back to Inuvik tomorrow. I got here on two wheels with no mishaps, but I don't want to press my luck by returning the same way.
Saturday, June 22, 2024 -- 13,056 km cum - 12 km/day
This, my Northwest Passage and likely my final major bicycle journey in wild places, has begun. I flew from Boston on Tuesday and overnighted in Toronto. On Wednesday, I continued to Vancouver and from there to Yellowknife. For all of this time I spent in airplanes, I could have flown to Istanbul.
All went well until I landed in Yellowknife. Woods Woman, Lesnitshitsa, had not arrived with me. I freaked out and walked back and forth for an hour before anyone from Air Canada appeared, with whom I could log a lost baggage report. I slept badly that night, but thank goodness Woods Woman arrived the next morning From all the TSA tape on the box, I gathered TSA gave her an extra close look.
I spent two days in Yellowknife, where I stayed at the Jenny Guest House, a quasi-hostel where I had a private room with a shared bath and kitchen. I enjoyed talking at length with Sheila, the caretaker, an immigrant from China who has lived in Yellowknife for twenty years.
I did a walking tour of Old Town and a boat tour around Back Bay and into the Great Slave Lake. The city, which has existed for all of 90 years, struck me as ethnically diverse, not only because of the First Nations Dene people, but also because of immigrants from all over. The Irish pub where I had dinner served Indian curry. I even saw an Ethiopian restaurant, and at the airport yesterday, I met two young women from Armenia and a young man from Ukraine. At all times, remembered that this is where my science affairs specialist, Bakhtiyor, and his family first lived when they emigrated from Uzbekistan.
Moreover, June 21st was National Indigenous Peoples Day, and Yellowknife celebrated with a big festival in the park at Frame Lake. There was music, dancing, and free food. The music and dancing alternated between First Nations and European. Visiting the festival on this beautiful sunny solstice was a wonderful way of spending my second day in Yellowknife.
Yesterday, I flew from Yellowknife to Inuvik. At the Yellowknife airport, Canadian security also insisted on having a good look at Woodswoman. Once landed in Inuvik, I spent five hours putting Woodswoman back together, and then rode 12 kilometers into town, where I'm spending two nights at the Nova Hotel. Today is my "rest before the ride day," a day to get organized before riding out on Monday. My only miscalculation was that this is Sunday. Almost everything is closed.
Monday, June 24, 2024 -- 13,112 km cum - 56 km/day
Well, 35 miles wouldn't be bad for a first day on the road to Tuck. I got a late afternoon start, and this road is **difficult** because of thick, loose gravel and a subsurface that sometimes is more sand than dirt. It's slow going and hard.
I wrote "wouldn't" because I'm only about 25 miles north of Inuvik because I made one of the silliest mistakes I've made in five years of bikepacking. After filtering water in anticipation of stopping for the night, I went the **wrong way** back towards Inuvik. It took me some time before I realized my mistake, at which point I simply stopped at the side of the road and set up camp. Wow, do I ever feel stupid! I'll have to do those miles all over again tomorrow.
On a plus note, Steven from Montreal gave me a one kilometer lift at the very start to get me beyond a section that was being treated with calcium chloride. Thank you, Steven!
Tuesday, June 25, 2024 -- 13,145 km cum - 33 km/day
An even shorter day, all of 20 miles. It was all I could do. This road is simply unbikable in its current condition. And that's not just for me. Richard and Al, two motorcyclists I met today, said this was the most difficult road they had ever ridden. Why? Thick, loose gravel. According to Rick and Al, the highway authority had just recently put down this thick new layer of gravel. For anyone on two wheels, it's hell. Sometimes there's a "channel" I can ride in for a bit. Sometimes I can ride on the narrow shoulder if it's not mud or sand. But usually I have to walk.
And so, this is not a bikepacking ride. Rather, it's a bike-assisted hike with only hike-like daily distances possible.
On a plus note, several people gave me water, and one man gave me a breakfast muffin. I'm camped roadside next to a pond so that I have plenty of water. A short while ago, two climate change researchers from the Canadian Geological Service stopped and chatted.
Wednesday, June 26, 2024 -- 13,182 km cum - 37 km/day
Thursday, June 27, 2024 -- 13,216 km cum - 34 km/day [Writing on Friday]
I made it! I am in Tuk, camped at the Arctic Ocean, looking out at the Beaufort Sea. Stan Rogers sang about the "hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea," and I have long wanted to see what Franklin reached for but perished in the effort. I have achieved my goal. I am content.
That's not to say it was easy. Hard would be an understatement. Brutal is a more appropriate adjective. The highway from Inuvik to Tuk is the most difficult road I have ever ridden on. On Thursday, I searched long and hard for a campsite, but couldn't find even a patch of flat ground next to the road. The northern section of the road is built up over the tundra with sharp drop-offs on either side. Some locals in a pick-up who gave me water told me of a flat spot where snowmobiles were parked a number of kilometers further along, but further along turned out to be further than I bargained for on a section with deep gravel where I had to push rather than ride. In the end, I accepted a ride from a Washington family in an RV who gave me a lift for about five kilometers, a type of "trail magic" that made up in part for my mistaken sense of direction on Monday.
Thursday's ride was the easiest. More of the road was rideable, and I reached Tuk earlier than I had expected based on my record of the previous days. I am camped next to Nancy and Steve, a lovely couple of about my age from Washington. They invited me into their RV for dinner last night, and we spent several hours sharing life stories.
I hope to be a tourist today, but my most important task is to procure a ride back to Inuvik tomorrow. I got here on two wheels with no mishaps, but I don't want to press my luck by returning the same way.
