* * * * * * * *
Slideshow
Slideshow
A
slideshow
of photos from Inuvik to Eagle Plains on the Dempster Highway can be found at
https://photos.app.goo.gl/EgLs9gyGCmay9LnR8
* * * * * * * *
Missive No. 2: Dempster North - Rain, Mud, and Beauty
Missive No. 2: Dempster North - Rain, Mud, and Beauty
This is my second missive for this, my 2024 return to the North, and I begin by apologizing for the delay. In previous years I was disciplined at writing and sending missives along the way, but this year I am writing more than two weeks after reaching the southern end of the Dempster. It's more a retrospective than a real-time update.
Why? It's not laziness or lack of discipline but, rather, that riding the Dempster Highway was hard, definitely harder than riding the Dalton Highway two years ago. The Dempster road surface has more bad stretches than the Dalton. That's partly why it's harder to ride, but the main culprit was the weather. In 2022 I had excellent weather for the full length of the Dalton from Deadhorse to Fairbanks. This year was payback as Mother Nature sent me rain and rain’s daughter, mud.
After enjoying Inuvik’s Canada Day celebration, I rolled south out of town late on June 2. That morning I got the bad news that the food box I had mailed from Maine had not arrived, and I had to spend several hours at the town's two grocery stores to cobble together enough food to get me through to Fort McPherson. Also, my front derailleur had chosen this moment to fail. Specifically, the «nub» that holds the derailleur spring in place to give it tension had worn away such that the derailleur «flopped around» and had become useless for shifting. Before leaving Maine, I had thought perhaps the time had come to replace that derailleur. After all, it was fourteen years old and had seen heavy use. But I never got to it, not for the first time demonstrating to myself that sixth sense intuition is something to be heeded. To my own surprise, I was able to devise a temporary fix in the form of a bungee cord from the BikeFlights box in which I had shipped WoodsWoman from Maine. By wrapping the bungee twice around the down tube and through the derailleur, I created enough spring-like action that I was actually able to shift. The derailleur was «soft» in its action, but it was usable. Mark that down as another victory in the Rube Goldberg department.
Despite the late start, I had had an auspicious beginning, riding some 54 km (34 miles) to the territorial campground at Campbell Creek. «Not bad,» I thought given the unexpected food and derailleur issues. Moreover, the weather was good, and the road surface was rideable, similar to the Dalton Highway and a far cry from the sea of gravel that was the road to Tuk.
In the morning I awoke to the sound of raindrops hitting the rainfly. I had checked the forecast before leaving Inuvik and was not surprised. After dressing, I packed my paniers one by one under the cover of the rainfly, un-staked the now empty tent, and carried everything to the covered but not enclosed cooking shelter. After breakfast I waited, wondering if I would have to take a zero day after only one day out. By mid-afternoon, however, the rain had let up enough that I was willing to don my rain gear and start riding. I made it another 47 km (29 miles) down the road, along the way meeting my first cyclist of the summer, Pauline, a 60-year-old solo bike-packer from Vancouver heading north.
That night I wild camped at the side of the road, but by morning the rain, which had almost stopped in the evening, returned together with a good wind that grabbed the tent as I was taking it down and blew it door side down into a mud puddle. (The door zipper has been giving me trouble ever since.). I ate breakfast in the rain and headed onward straight into a section of road that was being graded. WoodsWoman’s drive train quickly became fouled, and I had to walk until I reached a road crew truck that was spraying the churned-up road surface with water, thereby turning it into unrideable mud. One of the road crew men helped me clean WoodsWoman using water from the truck, and I asked him for what distance the road would be like this. He told me it would continue like this and become even muddier all the way to the Mackenzie River ferry some 32 km (20 miles) away.
I had no choice but to walk and push at the edge of the road despite the fact that the rain had stopped and the sun had come out. After I had been walking for over an hour, two men in a pickup truck offered to give me a lift to the ferry. I readily accepted.
At the ferry crossing I found that my troubles were not yet over. The ferry had suffered a major mechanical failure just an hour or less before my arrival. The crew told me it would be several days at least until the ferry was back in service. RV and truck traffic was starting to back up on both sides of the river. Local small boat owners saw an opportunity and started to cross the river from the town on the other side. I asked the first boat owner how much he wanted to take me and WoodsWoman to the south bank. I expected he would ask for $20 or $50, but he wanted $300. I offerred $200. He readily agreed, from which I conclude that he would have accepted $100. Still, he got me over to the south shore while larger vehicles remained stuck until the next week. I later learned from several motorcyclists that they were charged anywhere from $100 to $300 for a crossing. In the end I can't fault the boat owners. The ferry breakdown had given them a rare opportunity to make some real money, and they made the most of it.
With all of this happening, is it any surprise that I traveled less than 50 km (31 miles) that day? I wild camped for the night, happy that at least the rain had stopped.
But it was back in the morning. Once again I ate breakfast and broke camp in the rain. A cold headwind came up, and the rain became heavier as the hours went by. A cold fog surrounded me. By the time I reached Fort McPherson, I was chilled, and WoodsWoman’s drive train was fouled with mud. I knew I couldn't camp that night. I needed to be indoors, somewhere warm.
I flagged down the first car I saw on the town's main street and asked where I could find the hotel referenced in «The Milepost,» the bible of travelers in Alaska and northern Canada. The young man and woman in the car told me it was closed for renovation. In despair I asked if there was any other lodging in town. The young woman, Deborah, said there was a B&B but, after a good look at me, told me to go into the Northern grocery store just up ahead and get warm. She said she would find out if the B&B had any vacancies and would come back. I was in the Northern store for no more than five minutes when instead of Deborah, another woman came through the door and declared, «I’m here to rescue you!»
So began one of the most remarkable and wonderful episodes of my Dempster journey. The B&B, it turns out, was full, and Deborah had gone on the Fort McPherson Facebook page to ask if anyone could rescue a cold, wet woman on a bicycle who needed a place to stay. The woman who had just come through the door at the Northern store was Shirley, and she had answered the call.
For the next three days I was Shirley's house guest. She lodged me and fed me and opened a window for me on indigenous life. Shirley has lived her whole life in Fort McPherson. works in the town housing authority, is a grandmother, and is a fan of the Edmonton Oilers hockey team. She is also Gwich'in, as are most who call Fort McPherson home. Her mother disappeared at an early age and was not seen again for years. More precisely, she was abducted by the Canadian government and placed in a residential school to Europeanize her. When she finally returned, she could scarcely speak the Gwich'in language. Although the government is now trying to make amends, Shirley said it's too late to save Gwich’in as a living language. Young people who are trying to learn the language are learning it as a second language after English, much in the way that some descendants of Irish immigrants in the U.S. and Canada try to learn Gaelic.
Canadian post offices are closed on weekends, and I had arrived in Fort McPherson late on Friday after the post office had closed. I wouldn't know until Monday whether the food box I mailed here had arrived, but given that the box I had mailed to the much larger Inuvik had not made it, I had little hope for the Fort McPherson box. In addition to cleaning and servicing WoodsWoman, I repeated my Inuvik food resupply at Fort McPherson’s two grocery stores.
Imagine my surprise on Monday morning when I went to the post office and found that my food box had indeed arrived. Now instead of not enough food, I had too much, more than I could carry. Instead of riding out of Fort McPherson on Monday, I spent the day on Facebook in the «Driving the Dempster Highway» group trying to find someone who could pick up my box from Shirley and take it forward to Eagle Plains, my next stopping point along the Dempster. The Mackenzie River ferry was still closed, and the only traffic on the highway was local. In the end it was Mike Lapointe, a truck driver marooned on the north side of the Mackenzie, who answered the call. He said he would stop in Fort McPherson and pick up the box once the ferry reopened, which at that moment was thought to be no more than a day or two away.
After warm hugs with Shirley, I finally rolled south out of Fort McPherson on Tuesday morning. The rain had stopped, the sun had come out, but the road was still muddy. «Muddy» turned into an understatement as I approached the ferry crossing at the Peel River. A better description is that there was a sea of mud for a kilometer on either side of the river. I knew better than to try to ride through it, but even walking and pushing wasn't easy as the mud nearly sucked the shoes off my feet. And this was not just any mud. It was calcium chloride mud that dries like cement. (Both the Dempster and Dalton highways are treated with calcium chloride to make the road surface firm and to limit dust.)
Once through the sea of mud on the south side of the river, I walked, pushed, and pedaled as well as I could uphill until the mud on me and on WoodsWoman had dried. I was leaving the Mackenzie River delta behind and was climbing into the foothills of the Richardson Mountains. After some 9 km (5.5 miles) I reached an overlook and took in the awe-inspiring vista of the delta I was leaving behind. I then removed WoodsWoman’s wheels and spent two hours and most of my water to get off as much of the dried mud-cement as I could. With most of the cement removed, I was able to pedal and climb without feeling I was propelling a heavy armored vehicle. That night I camped at Midway Lake, the site of an annual music festival in August that in July had a deserted, «Twilight Zone» feeling to it. Anyone who might have happened along that evening would have seen me as the main act because I set up my tent right on the covered main stage just in case the rain should return.
I also rolled WoodsWoman into the shallow lake and was able to dislodge most of the remaining mud-cement. Wednesday, July 10, will go down as one of my biggest climbing days but also as one of the best riding days of the whole Dempster journey. The alpine scenery of the Richardson Mountains was straight out of «Sound of Music.» I could easily imagine Julie Andrews running through these mountain meadows, not the Alps, and when I had the breath to do so, I found myself starting to sing, «The hills are alive with the sound of music. . . .» After 45 km (28 miles) of climbing, I reached White Pass and the border between the Northwest and Yukon territories. The rest of the day was downhill, «south of the border,» to the Yukon territorial campground at Rock River. Shortly before the campground, a van pulled ahead of me and stopped. In it were Richard and Gabe, a delightful father-son pair I had met on the other side of the pass as they were doing a day ride on their bikes. They congratulated me on a good climbing day and cheered me on.
The next day turned into my biggest mileage day of this summer’s adventure so far, 78 km (49 miles) to Eagle Plains. This would be a short distance day on most any asphalt road, but on roads like the Dempster or the Dalton, this is a big day. It wasn't that the day’s ride was an easy one. With several climbs reminiscent of Beaver Slide on the Dalton, it decidedly was not an easy day. With an insane descent followed by an equally insane 8 km (5 mile) climb at the end of the day, this ride was hard. And there were no Richardson Mountains to inspire and spur me onward.
So what motivated me that day? The magnet that pulled me forward was the promise of a bed and a day’s rest at the Eagle Plains Hotel that styles itself as «an oasis in the wilderness.» Just as the motel and diner at Coldfoot are the halfway point on the Dalton Highway, Eagle Plains is the halfway point on the Dempster. I had used Shirley’s WiFi connection in Fort McPherson to make a reservation, and there was no way I was not going to keep my date with a warm bed, a shower, and a restaurant meal. I rolled up to the front door late at, I think, sometime between 9:00 and 10:00 p.m.
Time? I believe this is the first time I have mentioned clock time. Why? Because it had no meaning. Until this day of riding, I had been above the Arctic Circle with the sun up all 24 hours of the day. Clock time was meaningless. But halfway between Rock River and Eagle Plains, I had crossed the Arctic Circle. From this time forward, the sun would be setting. There would be a night, albeit a short, «white» one. It had taken me six days of riding to reach the halfway point on the Dempster. Given all the rain and calcium chloride mud I had to contend with, I was content as I rested up at Eagle Plains. The days to come -- and the next «missive» -- will tell the story of surprises that lay in store for me on the southern half of the Dempster Highway.
* * * * * * * *
Снова 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 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 северную половину дороги Демпстер из Инувика до Eagle Plains («Степь орлов»?) Продолжение следует в (надеюсь!) ближайшие дни.
* * * * * * * *
Daily Log
Daily Log
Tuesday, July 2, 2024 -- 13,279 km cum - 54 km/day
This was the first more or less normal riding day after I left Inuvik in mid-afternoon. I'm camped tonight at a territorial campground by Campbell Creek. I'm the only person here.
This first part of the Dempster is much better than the road to Tuk. It's actually rideable, much like the Dalton in Alaska. I would have gone further if it hadn't been that my food box to Inuvik had not arrived. I spent several hours in two grocery stores to cobble together something that will get me to Fort McPherson.
My rest days in Inuvik were just that, rest . . . and laundry seemingly without end. I had never been so dirty in my life. I also got to experience Canada Day on Monday, July 1st. If not for the holiday, I would have learned yesterday that my food box had not arrived.
Also, I've had my first serious technical issue. The retaining nub for the spring in my front derailleur has sheared or worn away. In short, the derailleur is toast. Matthew is trying to send me a replacement to Fort McPherson, but if my food box didn't arrive, I have little hope for the derailleur. I found a kludge in a bungee from the bike flights box that I am using as a replacement for the spring. It's not perfect, but it works. I hope it can last all the way to Whitehorse, where I think there may be a bicycle store.
Wednesday, July 3, 2024 -- 13,322 km cum - 47 km/day
I woke to rain and decided this would be a zero day at the campground. I made breakfast in the covered cooking shelter and then carried the tent to the shelter to dry it out. By mid-afternoon, however, the had rain let up enough that I thought it was worth the risk. I packed up and was on my way at around 4 p.m. Of course, I didn't get far, but 30 miles is infinitely greater than zero. I'm wild-camped by a lake that I found via iOverlander where the mosquitoes, thanks to a strong breeze, are not too bad.
The highlight of the day came near the end when I met my first cyclist going the other way. Pauline, age 60, is from Vancouver and is near the end of her journey to Inuvik and Tuk. Of course, we shared intelligence. Amazing that the first cyclist I met on this trip is a woman traveling solo.
Thursday, July 4, 2024 -- 13,353 km cum - 32 km/day
Friday, July 5, 2024 -- 13,393 km cum - 40 km/day [Writing on Saturday]
Rain, mud, and -- frankly -- misery. That was the riding story of these two days. Not only did I pack up in the rain and mud on Thursday: I immediately hit a section of road that was being watered and graded. I tried to ride but couldn't. The mud quickly fouled my drive train. The road crew helped me clean the train using water from their watering truck, but then they told me the road would be like that all the way to the Mackenzie River ferry -- nearly 32 km. I walked for many km along the shoulder before flagging down a pickup truck and asking for a ride to the ferry. When we got there, the ferry was closed because of a major mechanical problem. The crew told me it would be days before it reopened. I ended up paying $200 CAD to a local to take me to the other side in his boat.
The going was better on the other side, but it was late. I went as far as Frog Creek and camped there. I met two northbound cyclists on the way. (Pauline had told me I would meet them.)
By then ther sky had cleared, and I was able to dry out the tent as I set it up. It was a pleasant evening.
**But** the rain started up again in the morning, beginning lightly but getting heavier as I started riding. It was a cold rain, and I was rode the whole 40 km to For McPherson in a cold fog. The road into Fort McPherson was mud, and once again my drive train became fouled. I had to get off and push. I was cold and miserable and knew I must spend the night indoors.
On the main street I flagged down a car, asked about the hotel, and was told it was closed. Deborah (?) told me there was a B&B and that she would go to find out if they had any rooms. Meanwhile she told me to go into the Northern grocery store and get warm.
I was in that store for no more than five minutes when a woman walked in and said she was there to rescue me. The B&B had no vacancies, but Deborah had put out an SOS on the town (population less than 1000) FB page. Shirley had responded, and now I am her guest for the weekend. I should add that I am her well-fed, now clean guest enjoying her second bedroom. Almost all of today went into cleaning WoodsWoman.
Shirley is Gwich'in, and I am learning from her about her life and about Gwich'in life in general. For example, her mother was abducted at age 6 and placed in a government boarding school to turn her into a European. She did not return to Fort McPherson for many years, by which time she had forgotten how to speak Gwich'in.
And thus it is that two miserable days were followed by the miracle of Shirley and this weekend, a weekend I will long remember.
Tuesday, July 9, 2024 -- 13,435 km cum - 42 km/day
A hard day, no two ways about it. Leaving Ft. McPherson was easy enough. I rode the 11 km to the Peel River ferry without trouble . . . until about the last km when the road turned to a sea of mud. I had to push WW hard through that mud.
The ferry crossing was quick, and I was the only passenger. That's perhaps not a surprise given that the Mackenzie River ferry was **still** closed. (It opened late today.)
The road on the south side of the Peel was, if anything, worse. After a km or so, I tried to remove some of the mud from the wheels and brakes, but it didn't help much. At least the drive train had not been fouled. I have learned the lesson that to preserve the train, I should **never** attempt to ride through Demptster mud.
Then the climb into the Richardson Mountains began. With the front wheel still caked in mud, there was almost no chance to ride. I walked and pushed as much as I pedaled. I walked and pushed and rode and climbed for ~9 km to an overlook . . . and then saw how much I had climbed. The view back north of the Peel River to Fort McPherson and the south end of the Mackenzie Delta was awe inspiring.
For that's the achievement of the day: I left the delta behind and began to climb into the Richarson Mountains. I think I climbed at least 350m.
After enjoying the view, I spent more than an hour chiseling off the cement, for that is what it was: calcium chloride mud that had hardened as cement. I got much of it off, but it's no surprise that I had had such a hard time. After this, the going was still hard as I climbed, but at least it was not impossible. I am camped at Midway Lake, where I have set up the tent on the outdoor stage at the site of of a music festival that takes place in August.
Once I climbed up out of the delta, the work and slow day were worth it. The views of snow-capped mountains to the west and the delta to the north are spectacular. The closest in my experience are the Colorado Rockies, but here the landscape is pristine without automobile traffic and ski resorts.
I spent mot three but four nights with Shirley. The good news is that my food box arrived at the post office on Monday afternoon. I spent the rest of that afternoon on FB to find someone who could carry it forward to Eagle Plains. Given that it rained through Monday and also my experience with mud today, I'm glad I spent the extra day.
Wednesday, July 10, 2024 -- 13,499 km cum - 64 km/day
This was the first truly good biking day of the entire trip, a full 40 miles, 28 of them a long climb up to White Pass and the Yukon border. I have left NWT behind and am now "south of the border" at the Rock River territorial campground.
All along the way, the alpine scenery of the Richardson Mountains was straight out of Sound of Music. The beauty helped take my mind off the long, hard climb.
In the morning I met Richard and son Gabe from Alaska and Hawaii, respectively. They were riding north on a day ride. In the afternoon, shortly before I reached the campground, they caought up with me in their van as they returned south on four wheels. We stopped and chatted for a good number of minutes and exchanged coordinates. What a lovely father and son!
To repeat, this has been the best riding day of the trip so far.
Thursday, July 11, 2024 -- 13,577 km cum - 78 km/day [Writing on Friday]
I made it to Eagle Plains under my own power on my own two wheels! Yippee and hurray! I must admit I thought I would have to beg a ride, but I made it on my own. Three days from Ft. McPherson to Eagle Plains is an achievement I can be proud of.
Moreover, it was nearly a 50-mile day and a tough one at that. Having reached E.P., the halfway point on the Dempster, I can say the jury is in: the Dempster is tougher than the Dalton. Thursday's ride reminded me of the Dalton south of Coldfoot. I had to climb several hills like the Dalton's "Beaver Slide," and I had to push up the final ~8 km from a river crossing to Eagle Plains. That push upward rivalled in difficulty the insanity of the descent on the other side. Add to this the poor road surface. But I made it.
Good news: my food box made it to E.P.. Trey -- the van driver who brought it -- stopped to say hello as he passed early in the day.
The order of business for today is laundry and rest. There is no guest laundry, and thus I shampooed what I was wearing when I arrived, and I spent much of Friday morning washing the rest as best I could in the bathroom sink. I hope it all tries before ti's time to pack up tomorrow.
LATER: Many thanks to Jenny, who saw me hanging my laundry outside and who then rewashed and dried everything in the hotel's washer and dryer.
No comments:
Post a Comment