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Missive No. 4: Wondering Where the Bears Are
This is my fourth missive for this, my 2024 return to the North. As with my second and third missives, it's more a retrospective than a real-time update. That said, it is based on the daily handwritten notes in my trusty spiral notebook. I am writing onboard the MV Kennicott ferry that is taking me from Juneau, AK, to Bellingham, WA.
I spent two luxury hotel days in Dawson City, enjoying the luxury of a hot shower and doing laundry. For over a week I had worn the same clothes every day. My one «shower» had been a dip in the Klondike River, and my one attempt at doing laundry had been to drape my bike clothes over tree branches at Engineer Creek to let them be rained on for the night and then drying them by the wood stove the next day. In Dawson City I «became human» again.
I had not expected to be in a hotel. Rather, I had wanted to stay at «The Bunkhouse,» a high end hostel where I had stayed in 2022, but «The Bunkhouse» was full. Unwittingly, I had arrived in Dawson on the weekend of an annual music festival, and the town was packed. I was lucky to find a room at «The Aurora,» a small hotel that had one room available, apparently due to a cancellation. I was lucky.
Although I had been in Dawson City in 2022, I am not exaggerating to say that this year felt like my first time. In 2022 I arrived in Dawson feeling not well. It turned out to be Covid, something I likely picked up when I had dinner at Fast Eddy’s diner in Tok, AK, a few days earlier. I spent two days avoiding people in Dawson and rode out of town two days later when I felt well enough to do so. This year I was able to be a tourist. I could enjoy a restaurant meal, go to the visitor center, and visit the Robert Service cabin and the Jack London museum. Most of all, I enjoyed walking along the embankment of the Yukon River, basking in the warm sun. Yes, now that I was off the bike, out of the tent, and staying in a hotel, I was experiencing some of the best weather of the summer.
Arriving in Dawson meant it was time to plan the next phase of this adventure. I had come to the North this summer with one aim only: to ride the Dempster Highway. Unlike previous summers when I had ridden for three months, I had only two months to ride this summer. I needed to be home in Maine by Labor Day to get ready for travel to Kazakhstan in October. That meant I had about six more weeks to go.
My philosophy of trip planning is to have an overall idea but trust that the details will fall into place as I go. My overall idea for this year was, after the Dempster, to get to Skagway or Haines, take the Alaska ferry to Prince Rupert, transfer to the BC ferry to Vancouver Island, ride the island north to south, and then take the ferry to Vancouver City before calling it a day and boarding Amtrak for the journey back east. In hatching this overall idea, I had relied on the 2024 edition of «The Milepost,» a must-have and usually very reliable bible for northern travelers.
I had no interest in riding the Klondike Highway to Whitehorse. I did this in 2022 and found it to be a comparatively dull part of the summer. I used my time in Dawson to go on local Facebook groups and find a ride. Sarah, an administrator of the Dawson Town Crier group, answered the call. On Tuesday, July 23, I rode a short distance out of town to a plot of land where Sarah parks the van that serves as both home and remote workplace when she is Dawson. I «indoor camped» that night in a vacant trailer on her land and had surprise visitors in Tara and her father Brad who had just flown into Dawson and were about to start riding north on the Dempster. Tara is an experienced bike-packer who has done much of her riding overseas, including in Kyrgyzstan where I traveled frequently for work during my five years in Central Asia.
Sarah, her dog Spud, and I headed south on Wednesday, sharing life stories along the way. Sarah is British by birth, is a naturalized Canadian citizen, and has a home on Prince Edward Island but calls her van home when she is in Yukon Territory. We camped that night at a Fox Lake Territorial Campground an hour or two north of Whitehorse and had breakfast the next morning at Braeburn Lodge, known for cinnamon buns that by their size must shatter Guinness book records. Sarah dropped me in the afternoon at the cheap motel I had reserved near the Whithorse city center. I had hoped to stay at the Beez Kneez Bakpakers hostel where I stayed in 2023, but it was completely full. A cheap motel was the best I could do.
I used my time in Whitehorse to give WoodsWoman some TLC. At Cadence Bicycles I gave her a good washing and installed the third chain of the summer. At Icycles I bought a new front derailleur, almost wistful at saying goodbye to the Rube Goldberg bungee cord fix that had worked surprisingly well for the entire length of the Dempster Highway.
And then my Universe changed.
I am one of those people who, incensed over the role Facebook had played in our 2016 election, deactivated her FB account for several years. I almost deleted my account altogether, but several friends prevailed on me not to. After the 2020 election I reactivated my account, but I have been a rare presence on FB. This year, however, both in finding Mike to transport my food box to Eagle Plains and finding Sarah to drive me to Whitehorse, Facebook has been the vehicle for making connections.
Along the way I also met, albeit virtually on FB, Sofia Nordlander, a Norwegian cyclist who was several weeks ahead of me in riding the Dempster and who was also planning on riding the length of Vancouver Island. Now in Whitehorse, I checked in on Sofia and was surprised to find out that she was in Washington State. I asked her about Vancouver Island, and she replied that she hadn't been able to get there. The Alaska ferry to Prince Rupert was not running. I went to the Alaska ferry website and found that not only is that ferry not running this year, it hasn't been running for over two years!!! The supposedly authoritative and not inexpensive 2024 edition of The Milepost that continues to highlight the Prnce Rupert connection between the Alaskan and BC ferries is hopelessly out of date.
I searched in vain for an alternate way to get to Prince Rupert. The only way to get there is by road on the AlCan to Watson Lake and the Stewart-Cassiar Highway to Kitwanga. Ironically, this had been my route in 2022, but from Kitwanga I had gone east to Prince George and, ultimately, Jasper. If I had gone west instead, it would not have been far at all to Prince Rupert. With my shorter timeframe this year, repeating that ride was not an option. Not being able to get there from here meant I would not be riding on Vancouver Island.
This rueful discovery led to a nearly all-night session in which I cobbled together a Plan B. I would ride the AlCan to Haines Junction and then the Haines Highway to Haines. From there I would take the Alaska ferry to Juneau, camp for a couple of nights, take another ferry to Gustavus and Glacier Bay National Park. Upon returning to Juneau, I would take the Alaska ferry to Bellingham, WA, just as Sofia had done and then take Amtrak’s Empire Builder back east just as I had in 2020, 2021, and 2022. My cumulative miles for the summer would be curtailed, but I would get to experience ferry travel and another national park. As Plan B’s go, this was not bad.
I rolled west on the AlCan out of Whitehorse on Sunday, July 28. The AlCan is not an interesting road as such. It's a utilitarian transit corridor, but it's paved and not too hilly. I made good time, riding 99 km (62 miles). No longer on dirt, mud, gravel, and sand, I was riding what I consider to be a normal daily distance. I used iOverlander to find a place to wild camp, and I was pleasantly surprised to find Hugo, a bike-packer from Spain, already set up for the night. We chatted into the evening as I prepared dinner.
In the morning I continued on to Haines Junction and, after a short snack break, turned onto the Haines Highway that has the best pavement and shoulder of any road I have seen so far in this part of North America. Despite a headwind and some significant climbing, I managed 89 km (55 miles) and finished the day at the Kathleen Lake campground in the Kluane National Park, a U.N. World Heritage Site. The campground was full, but as has happened with me not infrequently in my cross-country rides in the «lower 48,» an RV couple came to my rescue, inviting me to pitch my tent next to their RV.
I continued to climb into the mountains the next day with the views of the coastal Kluane Mountains becoming more imposing as I went . . . until, that is, the rains that had left me in peace for over a week returned. And they returned with a vengeance as I was caught in a real downpour. I got my rain gear on as quickly as I could, but I was already soaked. When I got to a view point, WoodsWoman and I took shelter in a pit toilet until the rain lessened to something less than a downpour. Nevertheless, I was soaked and chilled when I reached the campground at Million Dollar Falls. «Please,» I thought as I turned into the campground, «let there be a covered shelter with a wood stove, and may there be someone there who already has a fire going.»
Whether trail magic or the answer to a prayer, I saw smoke coming from the chimney over the cooking shelter. A Swiss-Canadian family was inside, and I was their dinner guest after I changed into dry clothes. I set up my tent inside the shelter and, when the rain subsided to a drizzle, carried the tent to a camping site and staked it down.
As memorable as that downpour was, it was not the only event of note on the day’s ride to Million Dollar Falls. I also had my first and, I hope, last significant bear encounter. As I climbed slowly under threatening skies on a deserted section of the roadway, a black bear ran out from the right side of the road about 100 meters (300 feet) in front of me, sat down on the center line, and stared at me like a gatekeeper, daring me to pass. That was a dare I wasn't prepared to take. I reversed direction and went back downhill for a distance. When I looked back up the road, the bear was gone. Or was he?
Luckily, I soon heard two vehicles approaching, one from in front and one from behind. I saw my chance and took it. I started back uphill as fast as I could, timing my climb so that the vehicle coming from behind would pass me near where the bear had been. As soon as the vehicle passed, I moved close to the center line and pedaled hard as the vehicle from in front passed me coming down. I glanced at the bushes to my right. Sure enough, the bear was there, eyeing this sudden burst of traffic on this otherwise deserted section of road. But I had gotten past. For once this bicyclist was more than happy to be sharing the road with motorized traffic.
The next morning dawned with an uncertain sky. I packed up the contents of my tent and then carried the tent back to the cooking pavilion to dry it out after getting the wood stove fire restarted.
I said goodbye to my Swiss-Canadian friends after breakfast and started into my biggest climbing day of the summer. Soon after crossing from Yukon Territory into British Columbia, I was above the treeline and effectively back in tundra for the first time since riding from Inuvik to Tuktoyaktuk. The sun came out even as my day was punctuated by short squalls that could best be described as sun sleet showers. The air was chilly, but the climb warmed me even in my thin jersey and tights. I scarcely noticed a slight ache in my right knee that went away as my body warmed from the climb.
I spent the night at what everyone calls «the green shack,» an avalanche shelter at km 108 just before the Haines Summit. It truly is little more than a shack, but it has a wood stove and bunk sleeping platforms. At this exposed, windswept summit, there is nowhere else to spend the night.
It rained again during the night. SE Alaska is a coastal rain forest, and I was riding straight into it. But after a misty dawn on Thursday, August 1, the sun appeared. I rode to the summit at 1070 meters (about 3300 feet) through some of the most awe-inspiring mountains I have ever experienced. I went slowly, stopping again and again to take it all in. It was with some delay and regret that I started a fast descent. Before long I passed the Canadian border post, but before I reached the U.S. side, I saw a solo woman bike-packer climbing. She called out to ask if I was Robyn. She had been with a WarmShowers host to whom I had written for route advice, and that host had told her she likely would meet up with me during her climb. The cyclist was Barbara, a 60-year-old solo bike-packer from Vancouver. We stopped and chatted in this «no man’s land» between the border posts, sharing road and camping intelligence as bike-packers do. From her stories I would say that she is as experienced and into solo bike-packing as much as I am.
After wishing each other good riding, I continued to the U.S. border post. I posed at the Alaska welcome sign and continued onward.
That’s when I felt it, not an ache but a sharp pain on the inside of my right knee. I stopped, rubbed my knee, and continued. So did the pain. I stopped again, took a good dose of Ibuprofen, and massaged the knee for several minutes. I had to keep moving, and so I did. Never in my life have I had knee pain while riding. Where had this come from? My ride would be almost entirely downhill, a descent from 1070 meters at the summit to sea level at Haines. The pain subsided, and I carefully made sure I was spinning the cranks, not pushing big gears for speed. I arrived in Haines by early evening, a distance of 103 km (64 miles), my biggest mileage day for the summer. I rewarded myself with a motel room for three nights.
For that was it, the biking portion of this summer’s adventure effectively ended on when I reached Haines on the evening of August 1, one month after setting out southbound from Inuvik. The holiday portion had begun. I walked all over Haines with its harbor view that looks like a page out of a calendar featuring the Swiss Alps with rugged snow capped mountains towering above the Lynn Canal. I took the day ferry to/from Skagway, and I stopped by Sockeye Cycles to thank the staff for route advice both this year and in 2022.
As I went up and down stairs, I could feel something amiss in my right knee, but the pain subsided. On Sunday I rode the short distance out of town to the ferry terminal and took the four and a half hour ferry ride to Auke Bay, some 22 km (14 miles) outside Juneau. I camped for two sleepless nights at the Auk Village campground that is, apparently, a favored gathering spot for local youth who party with loud music and fireworks until midnight and beyond. On Tuesday I took a smaller ferry to Gustavus and rode 12 km (7.5 miles) to a much quieter campground in Bartlett Cove inside Glacier Bay National Park. For the next several days I walked, relaxed, and took a day boat tour up the bay to the glaciers themselves. I had never seen a glacier up close until I rode the Icefields Parkway in Jasper National Park in 2022, but the day boat brought us even closer as we, the passengers, marveled at the blue ice and watched as the Johns Hopkins Glacier calved ice into the bay again and again.
On Sunday, August 11, I took the ferry back to Auke Bay, arriving at midnight with a light rain falling. Not wanting another wet, sleepless camping night, I rode 22 km to a cheap motel just outside downtown Juneau. This night ride in rain gear was surprisingly pleasant, and my right knee took it well. The same was true for the return ride to Auke Bay on Tuesday.
That brings me up to the present. We dock in Bellingham in the morning, and I’ll board the Empire Builder and Capitol Limited for the trip to DC on Sunday, two days from now. After a week or so with family and friends, I’ll head back north by train to Maine.
From this you may rightfully conclude that this is not the final missive for the summer. My journey in Canada and Alaska may have been foreshortened, but my «after ride» to home in Maine is still to come. I’ll write the missive about that ride in due time when I'm home in the GDBMA.
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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 штат Вашингтон.. В этом послании я рассказываю о том, как я переехала горы в юго-восточной части Аляски. Продолжение следует в (надеюсь!) ближайшие дни.
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Daily Log
Sunday, July 28, 2024 -- 14,066 km cum - 99 km/day
Back on two wheels and on the move again, over 60 miles from Whitehorse west along the AlCan over half the way to Haines Junction. The Alcan is not an interesting road, but it is paved.Today's ride finally reflects a normal daily distance. I may have gone even further if not for a headwind.
I am wild camped besides the Alcan at a spot I found on i-Overlander. Hugo, a Spanish cyclist going east, is here as well. Not surprisingly, he, too, is using i-Overlander. No one else would have found this camping spot without it.
Monday, July 29, 2024 -- 14,155 km cum - 89 km/day
An excellent 55-mile day that got me to Haines Junction, off the Alcan, onto the Haines Highway and up into the mountains of the Kluane National Park, a UN World Heritage Site.
Yes, I'm climbing. The first about eight kilometers on the Haines Highway were a steep climb, and I walked much of it. The winds are strong, and it's chilly up here. The road itself is the best I've seen in this region, with smooth, quality asphalt that extends to the wide shoulder. The quality of the road will, I think, ameliorate the climbing of the coming days. Most importantly, even the first views of the Kluane Mountains are spectacular.
I am at the Kathleen Lake Campground, where Paul and Monique invited me to share their site. The campground is full. What a difference from the nearly deserted campgrounds on the Dempster.
Tuesday, July 30, 2024 -- 14,219 km cum - 64 km/day
Well, the rains have returned. I was caught in a downpour at about the 58 km point. I was passing a rest area at that time and rolled myself and WoodsWoman into a toilet long enough to get the electronics off the bike and into the bags. Despite Showers Pass rain gear, I was a soggy mess when I rolled into Million Dollar Falls campground.
That's when the trail magic happened. A Swiss-Canadian family was in the, alas, not fully enclosed eating pavilion and had a fire going. I changed into dry clothes and then joined them for the dinner had already prepared. I set up the tent inside the pavilion and then, when the rain let up, ran out and staked it down. Meanwhile, my clothes are draped all around the stove as I attempt to get them dry. I was so much involved in getting myself dry and fed that I didn't catch all their names.
I had my first bear encounter today, shortly before the rain started. As I was climbing, a small black bear ran into the middle of the road about 100 meters ahead and looked at me. I reversed direction for a short distance and looked back. The bear was gone. Still, I wasn't going to take any chances. I waited until two vehicles appeared, one going my way and the other going in the opposite direction. I pedaled WW uphill as fast as I could, almost in the center of the road. As I passed, I saw the bear eyeing me from the bushes.
Wednesday, July 31, 2024 -- 14,272 km cum - 53 km/day
This was a low mileage day but a big climbing day. I'm at altitude in spectacular alpine scenery, rivaling or surpassing anything I've seen before. Amazingly -- the answer to my literal prayer last night -- there was no rain despite the forecast. (There were a few brief minutes of what felt like sleet.)
Tonight, I am at "The Shack" at km 108. It really is a shack, but it has a stove and two bunk beds. What more do I need? I'm indoors out of the rain that just started, dry and warm. What more do I need? What a contrast to yesterday.
Thursday, August 1, 2024 -- 14,375 km cum - 103 km/day [Writing on Saturday]
I made it to Haines after a spectacular ride over the Haines Summit and the spectacular tundra of the coastal mountains. This and the Richardson Mountains of the Northwest Territories are the highlight of this year's bikepacking adventure that, now that I have reached Haines, is at its end other than for some "after rides."
Thursday's ride was also the biggest distance day of the summer, not surprisingly given that I descended from 1,070 meters to sea level, albeit with a persistent headwind the whole way. I might not have pushed for the distance, but the sun was out without the slightest threat of rain, a rather amazing circumstance given my rainy track record this summer and the fact that the coastal area around Haines is a rainforest.
Coming down, I met Barbara, a 62-year-old solo cyclist on her way up. From her story, it seems she rides just as much as I do. Of all places, we met in the "no man's land" between the Canadian and U.S. border posts.
In Haines, I am splurging for a motel for three nights, my reward for the rigors of the past week since I left Whitehorse. Haines may not be the resort tourist town that Skagway is reputed to be, but it's close enough. There is no such thing as a "cheap motel" here. I'm at the Captain's Choice.
In one sense, it's good that I'm done with riding for a time. For the first time ever, my right knee has started to ache, at times painfully if I pedal too hard with my right leg. Ibuprofen saw me through, but it's clear I need some R&R. After a luxurious shower at the motel, I took a look at my left knee that took its share of the impact during my spill on the Dempster south of Eagle Plains, and I saw that there was a strange swelling on its left side. Perhaps it's no surprise that my knees are showing the strains of loaded touring with significant climbing on difficult roads. Clearly, they're telling me to lay off for a bit. Yes, it's time for R&R.
Friday, August 2, through Tuesday, August 13, 2024 -- 14,486 km cum -- 111 km/(Fri-Tues)
The biking part of this summer in effect ended with my arrival in Haines. Since then it has been riding of a local, more or less flat nature.
On Sunday, August 2, I rode the short distance out of Haines to the ferry terminal and had a delightful 4+ hour ferry ride to Auke Bay outside of Juneau. Arriving after dark, I rode with lights to the Auke Village USFS campground not far away where I had reserved a spot for two nights, a spot that I immediately shared with three Canadian cyclists who rode into the full campground without a reservation. There is not much to say about my one day stay at Auke Village other than that I slept little. The campground appears to be a gathering spot for young people from Juneau. Both nights there were parties with loud music and fireworks that continued well past midnight.
On Tuesday, August 4, I packed up by flashlight before sunrise for the 4-hour ferry to Gustavus and then a 12 km ride to Bartlett Cove campground at Glacier Bay National Park where my first priority was to catch up on sleep. For my first day I wandered slowly and went on a forest trail ranger guided walk together with a woman of my age and her amazing husband Chris, an ex-policeman and ex-marine who managed the walk despite Parkinson's and a walker. The next day I went on the 8-hour NPS boat tour up Glacier Bay and for the first time in my life got a close up view of glaciers. We stayed at Johns Hopkins Glacier for an extended time and watched as it "calved" again and again, casting ice into the bay.
On Friday, seeing that the rains were returning after the remarkable sunny weather that has ever since Haines, I moved to a small room with a shared bath at the Annie Mae Lodge in Gustavus. Why camp in the rain when I had already seen what there is to see at Glacier Bay NP?
On Sunday I boarded the ferry for the trip back to Juneau. Given 1) my experience at the Auke Bay campground, 2) the fact that the ferry arrives in Juneau at midnight, and 3) the very believable forecast of rain; I booked the cheapest room I could find in Juneau, at the Driftwood Lodge. In fact, I had a delightful 24 km ride into downtown Juneau even if it was under a light rain.
Of course, that meant that I got to bed only at ~3 a.m.. Given that I have continued to live by Atlantic Standard Time throughout this trip, make that 7 a.m. according to my body clock. Not surprisingly, I only slept fitfully for a few hours.
Still, I had a nice afternoon -- after laundry, that is -- walking around Juneau, seeing the historic downtown, and visiting the town's wooden Russian Orthodox church dating from the 1890s. I slept early and well. This morning (8/13), I rode back to Auke Bay under sunny skies and boarded the MV Kennicott for the two-and-a-half-day voyage to Bellingham, WA. This could almost be considered a low-budget cruise. I even have a roomette similar to those on Amtrak. Other than resting, my main task these 2 1/2 days is to catch up as well as I can on my missive writing.
Sunday, August 18, 2024 -- 14,510 km cum - 24 km/day
Mission accomplished on the ferry. I wrote three missives and am now up to date. Only downside is that this meant keeping my head down to write and socializing less than I might have otherwise.
The ferry arrived in Bellingham on Friday, and it was a short Amtrak hop down to Seattle. I got cold feet on staying in the hostel dorm bed I had reserved and instead went for the lowest cost hotel I could find in downtown, the Executive Palace. It's no surprise that my AMEX statement for August is through the roof over $4,000. Given how. After too much rainy wild camping, I've gone for luxury over economy. It's been an expensive summer.
On Saturday, I took the bus out to Issaquah and spent the day with MK just as I did in 2020 and 2021. We've been friends now for 57 years. Incredible. Coincidentally, or not, CNN last night showed a three-hour documentary about 1968. All the events and personalities of that year are just as fresh and real to me as they were then. I dare say the same is true for Mike.
I had time to kill today before train time and used it to take a 13-14 mile ride to and from Luther Burbank Park on Mercer Island. The good news is that my right knee did not bother me despite a good amount of climbing. I have my fingers crossed that whatever I strained while on the Haines Highway has resolved itself. That's good news.
There is more good news. With my writing up to date, I can relax and enjoy my trip east on the Empire Builder. This is my fourth west-to-east trip on this train, having been on it in 2020, 2021, and 2022. Only last year was I on a different train, the California Zephyr, when I returned east from San Francisco.
I turned 70 when I was on the ferry. How did that happen? 70! With the exception of that pain in my right knee, I don't feel 70. And I just rode the Dempster Highway. It's **not** terribly strange to be 70.
