Spell of the Wild

Chuck:

It was another quiet night.  Two other RVs joined us during the evening.  Today I took the road bike because we did not expect much gravel.  After 10 miles I had a flat on the rear tire (later found a very small pin hole, maybe a result of a chewed up tire with steel belting).  When I was replacing it, I realized that my “new” wheel does not accept Schrader valves, only Presta.  It was a slow leak, so  I put the old tube back in, pumped it up and got about 4 miles, pumped again and reached Betty who had stopped for lunch.  After a bite to eat, the old tube comes out yet again.  What!  I have four spare tubes and they all have Schrader valves.  My old road bike, which I sold in Anchorage, took Schrader and would accept either.  ‘Plan C’ patch the old tube and use it; I have not had good luck with patches, eventually they let me down.  However, this one got me 24 more miles down the road.  There may be a bike shop in Watson Lake, about two days ride.

Not enuf?  Betty parked for the evening at a Rest Stop.  As I was putting the road bike in the back of the CRV, I noticed that the front tire on the mountain bike was flat.  It was fine when I rode it yesterday.  This one is an easy fix, all my mountain bike tires have Schrader valves (another very small pin hole, more road debris??).  It was even easier when Betty brought me a Yukon Red Ale.

Today, we crossed back into the Yukon.  Also, we crossed the half-way point on the Alcan, 693.5 miles each direction.  I forgot to mention, nine days ago Betty noticed that we became “3 digit midgets” with less than a thousand miles of biking to go.  Today we also crossed the northern Continental Divide, water on the SW side flows into the Teslin River, then into the Yukon River and on to the Bering Sea.  Water on the NE side flows into the Rancheria River, into the Laird River, then into the MacKenzie River and the Arctic Ocean.

Chuck:

Pulling out of the RV Park we turn left onto the Alcan Highway, immediately there is a long bridge crossing the portion of Nisutlin Bay which is on the north side and it merges with Teslin Lake on the south side.  This is the longest bridge in the Yukon; Betty has already checked it out and is ready to give it a try.  I watch for oncoming traffic and wave her on; no problems.  The RV and Honda soon disappear up a steep hill.  My bike and I do not disappear so quickly.  Today, I decided to ride the mountain bike because we expected lots of gravel.  Throughout the day my front chain ring (the smallest in diameter and the lower tier of gears) got a workout.  The hills seem higher and longer each day.  Climb a hill, cruise a short bit on top, quickly fly down, cross a stream and climb another hill.  That was my day.  The climbing took way more time than all the other aspects combined; way more.

Betty found a great Rest Area for dry camping, it overlooks Swan Lake.  Across the lake are mountains that are remnants of huge volcanos that were mostly covered with water about 200 million years ago. The tops of the highest volcanos formed the Quesnillia Islands.  They seem to have left behind a lot of mosquitoes and gnats.  The swallows love it.  This afternoon we crossed into British Columbia, the Alcan goes in and out of BC a couple of times before it gets to Dawson Creek, the southern terminus.  British Columbia “Super Natural”.

This morning we thanked the owner of the fuel station and we’re on our way.  Good weather, light traffic, paved road, reasonable hills all this makes for good biking.  Our plan is to meet about 30 miles up the road at Johnson’s Crossing for lunch.  Just past Johnson’s Crossing is a long high bridge crossing the Teslin River, Betty wants to check it out before driving the RV across it.  The bridge passes her inspection and we will meet another 30 miles up the road at a campground in Teslin.  During those 30 miles we are paralleling Teslin Lake, it is a picturesque setting: a pristine lake, forested shore and mountains behind.  When I reach the campground, Betty is already parked in a beautiful site looking across the water and mountains stacked behind mountains.  “Yukon, Larger than Life”; the Yukon Territory’s motto.

  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.

Chuck:

Sunday: Hard surfaced road, perfect weather and friendly hills made this an easy day.    Betty had the RV parked and hooked to utilities when I arrived.  We had wine & cheese outside while chatting with our neighbors who are from New Brunswick.

It is good to be back in Whitehorse; we like this town. It is the capital of Yukon Territory and is a clean, growing and upbeat little city.  Whitehorse is very outdoor oriented; they have an extensive network of trails for both road and mountain bikes and for walking.  Lots of lakes and the Yukon River provide paddle and fishing opportunities.  Fall and winter activities include: downhill and cross-country skiing, dog sledding, snow shoeing, ice fishing, trapping, hunting, snowmobiling and more.  Some bikers use super-wide tires (4 or 5 inches) on special bike frames for recreation and competition on snow.

Monday:  We planned a day off to catch up on life’s little chores: laundry, resupply, cleaning bikes and equipment, etc.  In the early afternoon we visited Miles Canyon, a deep channel cut by the Yukon River over thousands of years, very impressive.  There is a suspension walking/biking bridge that crosses the canyon and connects trail on both sides.  Ten years ago, my canoe partner, Bill Quayle, and I paddled through that canyon as we started our long trip down the Yukon to the Bering Sea.  Water in the river at this location is very clear and fast.  A few hundred miles downstream it gets very chalky from tributaries carrying silk from glacial melt runoff.

About mid-afternoon, we toured the Klonkike an old paddle-wheeled steam boat that was once used to haul supplies to miners down river. The Canadian Park Service has restored the “Old Lady” and they proudly explain her service.   Later, Betty and I had dinner at the Klondike Beef & Salmon Bar-B-Q.  A decade ago, Bill and I ate here two or three times because he liked their wide variety of wild game dishes; I think he had buffalo, caribou and elk while I liked both the salmon and halibut which is what Betty & I had tonight.  After dinner we went across the street to the Frantic Follies, a turn-of-the-century Vaudeville like show focusing on North Country humor and events.  Whitehorse was in the middle of the “Stampeders” journey to the Klondike during the gold-rush of 1898 – 1904.  The most common route was by ocean steamer to Skagway, pack over Chilkoot or White Pass, make or buy a small boat or raft and float past Whitehorse to Dawson City about 300 miles farther inland.  Today was a good day!

Tuesday: We had such a good time yesterday we decided to take today off as well.  Actually, today we did a lot of the chores we copped out on yesterday.  I rearranged the CRV so I can carry both the road bike and the mountain bike in the back.  The plan is to use the road bike as the primary and only use the mountain bike on long stretches of gravel or construction work.  This afternoon, we found Wal-Mart and also found the Yukon Brewery.  Since we left Alaska, I have adopted Yukon Red as a local taste test winner.  Afterward, we all went for a bike ride through Whitehorse.  Mitzie (small Yorkie) has a carrier that fits on the front of Betty’s bike.  It was a good time.

Chuck:

We awoke this morning to a beautiful panoramic view out the windshield and driver’s side windows.  Snowcapped peaks holding glaciers in their valleys stood brightly in the morning sun.  The St Elias Mountain Range has most of Canada’s highest peaks.  Mt Logan at 5,959 meters is the highest in Canada.  These peaks are especially difficult to climb because they are so remote.  Mt Kennedy is not one of the highest but it is of interest to those of us from the USA.  In 1965, Robert Kennedy climbed (with assistance) what was then the highest, unnamed, peak in North America.  He had it named for his brother, JFK, who had been assassinated just 2 years earlier.  RFK planted the Kennedy Flag on the top and left a capsule with JFK’s inaugural address and other mementos.  When the press asked RFK, a self-proclaimed non-climber, what helped get him to the top and back safely, he said “A team of experienced mountaineers and the advice of my Mother, “Don’t slip Bobby”.

Before leaving the Kluane Cultural Center’s parking lot, I go over to thank the staff and watch their excellent orientation video one more time, Betty watched it again yesterday.  Dry roads, no headwinds and user friendly hills make for a great day.  The miles sailed by, almost, with ease.  With only about five miles to go, an old van came along side me.  A scruffy, long haired guy about 40, yelled at me, “Hey man, you want a little drag, it’ll help you along”.  He leaned from the driver’s seat and held the short stub of a lit cigarette(?) out the passenger’s window.  I smiled and said, “No thanks, do you have some cold beer in there?”  He laughed and waved as he pulled away.

Dark skies and rain ahead, only one kilometer to go; cold raindrops, the RV is in sight.  More rain as I roll in, remove the front wheel and stick the bike & wheel in the back of the CRV and run to get in the RV.  Now, a hot shower, then a cold beer as Betty sips a wine & seltzer water.  Hot soup, left over Chinese fried rice and it is bed time.

The following are bits from   “The Spell of the Yukon”     by Robert Service

“There’s the land. Have you seen it?

It’s the cussedest land I know,

From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it

To the deep, deathlike valleys below.

Some say God was tired when He made it:

Some say it’s a fine land to shun;

Maybe; but there’s some as would trade it

For no land on earth – and I’m one.

I’ve stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow

That’s plumb-full of hush to the brim;

I’ve watched the big, husky sun wallow

In crimson and gold, and grow dim.

Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming.

And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;

And I’ve thought that I surely was dreaming,

With the peace of the world piled on top.

It’s the great big broad land ‘way up yonder,

It’s the forests where silence has lease;

It’s the beauty that thrills me with wonder,

It’s the stillness that fills me with peace.

Chuck:

  We wake up to more rain.  By the time we finished breakfast and I put on my biking and rain duds, it was only a cold drizzle.  We arranged to meet about 9 miles down the road to add or subtract apparel.  The gravel road was uphill and so muddy due to the rain that the RV, the car, my bike and I were a mess.  A mud rooster tail from the bike put a speckled stripe up my back.  I stand in the entry and Betty brings me a snack.  Back on the gravel road, the rain has stopped and I keep warm pedaling.  A caribou walks across the road in front of me.  Betty told me to expect to go over the summit soon.  It was great.  On a downhill run, I had to brake to maintain control on the gravel.  Then, asphalt pavement, and downhill for almost 8 miles.  What a great feeling.  It seemed like only a few minutes and I was entering Haines Junction.  I will meet Betty at the Kluane Cultural Center on the edge of town.  This is the same place we dry camped on our way driving north with Brendan and had a few beers with a Spanish couple, Artes & Jorge.  Haines Junction is so named because the road to Haines splits from the Alaska Highway at this point.  We do not know if our German friends, Marty and Doerte’, are in front of us or behind but this is where our path split; they go to Haines and we stay on the Alaska Hiway.  The next large community on our way is Whitehorse, about 100 miles ahead.  We checked the Cultural Center’s guest book but none of our traveling friends have logged in. We most likely will not see them again.  Bye guys: for our German couple “Auf Wiedersehen”, for Andre’ “Adeus” (Portuguese), and for Kevin “Slan” (Irish).

  We had dinner at what may be the only restaurant in town that is still open.  They specialize in Chinese food; we had sweet & sour prawn with fried rice & mushrooms, it was good.  The recession has hit businesses along the Alaska Highway hard.  Many nice places are boarded and out of business.  Some are quite large so that they could accommodate large tour busses.  They really depend on USA travel dollars.   Back at the RV, we get to sleep with the sound of rain on the roof, again.

Chuck:

  At 5:30 am, we awake to the sound of rain on the roof; maybe it will go away if we ignore it.  At 6:45 we again awake to the same sound.  OK, guess it will be a rain-gear day.  We attempt to dump the RV tanks before I depart.  There is a very tight turn at the dump site, so tight that we could not make it, even with my expert guidance (Betty made it yesterday when she approached from a different direction??).  The front of the rig was pushing brush and saplings aside, the rear was up against the concrete drain.  We cannot back up because the Honda CRV is being towed behind and is now jackknifed at nearly a 90 degree angle.  When not aligned directly behind the RV, the hitch pins bind tightly and are a pain to remove.  Thirty minutes later, with the help of a hammer, pry-bar, large wrench, some profanity and lots of rain, the two are separated. 

  Finally, on the road.  Moving slow in cold rain and hills.  At five miles, the rear tire seems unnatural.  Flat tire!  Now, sitting on the road embankment, in the rain, bike upside down, rear wheel in my lap; out with the old, in with the new.  The culprit was a tiny little piece of wire, probably from a blowout someone else had suffered.  Just as I am getting back on the bike, along comes Betty driving the CRV; not a good thing.  She tells me, the right, outside rear view mirror has been pushed back against the RV and is unusable.  (I know this is almost like driving blind, it happened to me once when  I got too close to a bridge superstructure on the Ohio River leaving Madison, Indiana.)  She and another lady could not push the mirror arm back into place; she made a good decision not to drive, especially so, since visibility is already bad due to the rain.  We load the bike in the Honda, drive back to the rig, align the mirror, re-hitch the car and return to my flat tire site.  Oh good, now I can get back to biking in the cold rain; it was only 52 degrees but with a headwind it seemed like it should be sleeting.  It is already 12:30 pm.

  Miles drag by slowly. Thinking I should be at the place we had originally planned for lunch, about 25 miles down the road, I mentally re-calculate the distance, miles vs kilometers, etc.  Geez, I am going at a snails pace.  As I come to Lake Kluane, the largest lake in the Yukon, the wind is channeled by steep cliffs and intensifies. The road around the Lake is much like going around a fiord.  It is just above the shoreline and is maybe 7 or 8 miles around a long peninsula of water.  Finally, as I make the 180 degree turn the headwind becomes a tailwind; it seems only minutes until I see our rig parked at a Rest Area.  It is nearly 5 pm, I have only biked 27 miles, this was planned as a lunch stop; I am wet, cold, tired and done for the day.

  When Betty saw me approaching, she cranked up the heat in the RV.  A hot shower, an hour’s rest under a fleece blanket and I am ready for a glass of red wine.  The wine goes well with the tacos Betty prepares.  I set up our new folding table, put on an album of “Big Band” oldies (inherited from Betty’s parents) and we dine overlooking the beautiful Lake Kluane.  Life is good (again)!

Chuck:

  We are off to an early start and the miles fly by, the plan is to knock out about 20 miles and meet Betty for lunch.  Shortly after lunch I see a biker way ahead of me.  Since I am on a road bike with no camping gear, I am slowly closing on this guy.  Hey, its Andre’!  We bike together for about 15 miles and I ask “Is that another biker on the road in front of us.  Moments later Andre’ says “I think it is an animal”.  As we bike much closer we can see it is a mama grizzly and her 3 cubs.  We stop about 200 feet away, Andre’ grabs his big camera, lays his bike on the pavement and walks ahead for a better photo.  I get my bear spray (I did not bring a camera today) and caution Andre’ not to get any closer.  In the meantime, a small RV pulls up behind me and the driver gets out with his camera.  The four bears are now in and out of low willows.  Mama bear raises up on her hind legs and surveys the situation, collects her young’ins and disappears in the brush.  Later, we find out they have been spotted in this area many times over the last several months.  The cubs are over 3 years old and will soon be sent out on their own.  The one male cub actually charged a car a few weeks ago.

  We link up with Betty at an RV campground in Destruction Bay.  She has already parked the RV and hooked up the utilities.  Andre’ comes inside for a cold Pepsi and shows us the video he has taken of the four bears.  Wow!  After visiting for about an hour, Andre’ decides to put in a couple more hours of biking.  Later, Betty and I talk with Leonie, the campground owner, quite a character.  He describes himself perfectly “When someone asked for the time, I explain in detail how to make a watch”.  He has a deal with some guy who makes nice looking wood tables, somehow we left with one.  All is quiet as we look out over Lake Kluane nestled between mountains all around.

Chuck:

  As we were preparing to depart this morning, I saw a biker in our Rest Area eating breakfast.  I introduced myself and found that Kevin Downey is a young Irishman attempting to bike from Prudhoe to Terra del Fluego.  He has been on the road biking for nearly 2 years now; after biking all over Europe he biked in Asia and flew from Bejing to Anchorage.  He works along the way to get cash to keep biking.  We chatted for some time, then another biker arrived, Andre’, a Brazilian, is biking from Anchorage to his home in San Paolo.  They spoke of another biker who Betty met yesterday, a Taiwanese guy who has shortened his name to “Wish” which is easier for westerners to deal with.  Kevin and Andre’ think Wish is an hour or so ahead of us.  Betty talked with Wish yesterday and said he is biking from Anchorage to San Francisco.  I started biking as Kevin and Andre’ chatted.

  About 25 miles later I met Betty for lunch at a busy Rest Area.  Before we left Kevin arrives, we chat and I refill his water bottles then he is on his way.  We are now biking through the wide Kulane valley with lots of lakes, the Kulane River and high snowcapped mountains to our southwest.  At about mile 35, I am wondering why I told Betty 55 miles was a good idea.  And “viola” there is Andre’, he asks if he can bike with me for a while.  We have a great rolling conversation as the miles slide behind us.  His native language is Portuguese but his English is pretty good (better than my Portuguese J ).   We compare our mutual interest in poetry concerning the outdoors.  I told him about Robert Service and at our next water break he had me write the info on a slip of paper so he could Google it later.  About 4 miles from my rendezvous point with Betty, we see smoke coming from behind a large bridge abutment.  Andre’ thinks it is Wish building his daily campfire.  We investigate, not!  It is a young couple and their kids camping for the night.  Francois invites us to share their little hide-away.  Andre’ accepts and I bike on down the road to link up with Betty.

   Life is starting to feel good again after a shower, clean clothes and a glass of wine (our German friends and I drank all my Alaskan Ale our last night in Alaska, it seemed appropriate at the time).  While Betty and I are walking with Mitzie, we see something in the underbrush just 15 feet in front of us.  At the same time a car with three young gals arrives, we caution them.  It is a lynx, what a rare treat for us, these elusive catlike critters are very secretive.  It is the first for both Betty and I.  Earlier today Betty saw  a bear, probably a black bear, it was really dark.

  The day is winding down, burgers grilled outside, no TV, no Internet, no cell coverage, not even a radio station, so we are ready for bed.  Oops, as I type this, I see a biker with red and black panniers  trudging down the highway; I quickly honk my horn, he looks back and pedals on.  Must not be someone we know.  It is almost 11 pm (the time changed from the Alaskan Time Zone to the Pacific when we entered Canada}, not a good time for a party, maybe we will cross paths tomorrow.

Betty:  The three young gals were Canadian and had met in college.  They get together for an adventure every now and then and this year they all met in Whitehorse (one of them lives in Haiti, one in Ottawa and one inVancouver) to make a trip to Alaska and back.  When they drove up and realized it was a Lynx in the bushes and it had probably been stalking Mitzie (our Yorkshire) one of them said “Could you let her off the leash?”  Of course she was kidding – well, I hope J