We departed Whitehorse and are on the road again. While still in the RV Park, Betty swapped a couple of her books for two she thought she might like; many RV parks have a book exchange. After about 15 miles, I was at the northwest end of Marsh Lake. Many feel that Marsh Lake is the start of the Yukon River. In 2003, Bill and I started our Yukon River trip on this lake, two and a half months later we arrived at a little island in the Bering Sea. These good memories occupy my mind as the miles slide by with ease. Partly cloudy, low seventies, no wind; it is good biking even considering the growing number of hills. The Alcan Highway threads its way through valleys and around clusters of high mountains. Great views. By mid-afternoon, the sun is pushing temps upward. I realize that somehow I left one of my water bottles in the RV, I will go easy on the little water I have left. Only minutes later, two on coming motor cyclists flag me down. One of the guys asked if I was Chuck, when I said yes he handed me a cold bottle of water. Betty saw these guys at a gas station about 10 miles ahead and asked them to deliver the water bottle; pretty clever. The last few miles dragged as it got hotter. Betty is waiting in a lonely truck stop with no trucks. The lone attendant told Betty it was ok to wait for me in their parking lot. Upon arrival, I guzzled more water and crashed for an hour. This truck stop may be all there is to Jake’s Corner. In this same parking area is a large restaurant that is closed, a tow service that is out of service and a motel that doesn’t seem to have any customers. There is a steady flow of vehicles that stop for fuel and chat with the lone attendant, who actually pumps the fuel. I went over to ask if we could park for the night and got the latest local information. While eating supper, we saw that a large tractor trailer had parked in front of us and a woman in a long skirt and open sandals was walking her little dog. We joked about her not being the driver because she wasn’t dressed for the part; wrong. She reached up, opened the door, the dog immediately sat upright in the passenger’s seat and the lady crawled behind the wheel, revved the engine and pulled that big rig onto the highway headed toward Whitehorse.
The owner, who gave me permission to park overnight, had the last shift. He closed the little building at 8 pm. Now at 10:30, all is quiet, even the Alcan; it is still light but very quiet.