14 to 15 July Kms
travelled – 30,708
I must be getting old,
or perhaps I had become accustomed to the limited alcohol input over recent
months travelling, but I awoke at my usual early hour in Whitehorse, Canada,
with a distinct headache. I only had a couple, honest! This, however, meant I
simply rolled over and went back to sleep!
It was gone 9 when I finally did emerge, pack the bike and hit the
road. I felt somewhat better minutes
later when I passed a group of around a dozen BMW GSs gathering in the car park
of another motel on the outskirts of town.
At least I had beaten them to it, I thought, as I turned off the Alaskan
Highway onto the Klondike Highway (2) north towards Dawson City. There´s gold in them there hills! We just had to see whether Canada would serve
up another pan of golden riding.
But it wasn´t long on
the road before the group of BMWs caught up and, with the appropriate waves, rolled
by one by one. I could see they were on
an organised ride, with much stickerage advertising Eidelwice Expeditions –
that well known name for global motorcycle adventure tours. It was also not long before the heavens
frowned and it became time to adopt the wet weather posture. I had been tallying up the amount of rainy days
I´d encountered to date, with only 4 in total out of my 115 (so far) being of
distinct dampness. So with that
perspective, I decided to make the most out of it and enjoy the run up into the
wilds of the northern Yukon.
While much of the
scenery was of a similar vein, it was on the whole quite pretty and had a stark
beauty about the place, only enhanced by the scale of the countryside. Similar thoughts to those I had had in parts
of South America, but here we were able to feast on more hillsides and
trees. And, in fact, it wasn´t long
before the sun was peeping through again, only to leave patches of heavy
showers for the remainder of the morning.
The road offered a
varying degree of rider enjoyment, from patches of tough slog, to wonderfully
curvy fun bits. From top notch tarmac to
rough patches of chip sealed road,
which is where the local authorities spray a sticky compound on the surface
then dust the road with a layer of chippings, which they then leave for the local traffic to
bed in. Fine if you have four wheels,
but it made life interesting for this two wheeled traveller. Each time I came to a patch of chip seal I
was unable to gauge whether the stones were already fixed, or whether I was
about to encounter something akin to a gravel road – with all the different
handling characteristics that entailed.
So I adopted the approach of slowing at all surface changes just in
case. As I said, some parts were a tough
slog but progress was being made.
I was also playing
leapfrog with my BMW friends, as their differing pace and fuel/food/loo needs
resulted in us passing each other on a number of occasions. And each time with the appropriate courtesy
shown to fellow like minded Adventure Bike Riders, as nods and waves were
exchanged to speed each other on our respective ways. At a rest break I happened across another ABR
(KLR650) who had just descended the much praised dirt covered Dempster Highway from inside the Arctic Circle at Inuvik. A relatively local rider from Alaska, he was
able to regale me with tales of mudded out road, tricky river crossings (they
had had a whole month of rain in June which had only subsided the week before),
and wondrous sights as we mutually admired each other’s chosen steeds. A 5 day run for this experienced off road
rider, he had found the route particularly challenging this year... but nevertheless leaving me with the
sensation that I was again passing and leaving undone much that should be
done.
He also warned of a 2
km patch of bad road ahead that had just been completely relayed after nature´s
destructive force had taken its toll.
The road was back in place, but a firm surface was not. A deep and extended trench of small loose
stones beckoned and threatened in equal measure. No turning back, I was already on the edge of
Klondike country and the call of Dawson City with all its colourful history
drove me on.
Forewarned is
forearmed as they say, and I soon recognised the area he highlighted as
evidence of recent road workings was clearly visible – so were the loose
stones, which had already been driven into ruts and ridges to some extent by
heavier vehicles. Memories of Ruta 40 in
Argentina exploded into my mind, not least due to the remoteness and lack of
traffic on the road (it seemed I had finally left my BMW colleagues behind). I lowered my tyre pressures and braced myself
for an uncertain ride. No Patagonian
winds to blow me off course this time, thankfully. But in no time at all the road dived into a steep
curving decline which made it difficult for this (still) relatively inexperienced
off road rider to maintain traction through driving the rear wheel, while
running at a speed which didn´t take me over the edge on a bend. I almost lost it once, but on the whole came
through the stretch with a smile of relief and renewed sense of achievement.
I was then rewarded
further after some distance with the sight of giant mounds of pebbles lining
the side of the road and the now widening river valley. At each turn the road improved and signs of
human presence started to crop up. I
later realised that I was, in fact, seeing signs of man´s impact on the local
landscape throughout this final stretch to Dawson. The pebbles had not been thrown up over the
years by some sort of flooding river, as I had thought, but by the gold machines
which floated in the shallow waters digging up the river bed and discarding this
goldless waste in impressive style. The
scale of the operations in its heyday must have been incredible.
And then I was
rolling through a small industrial estate, over a bridge, through a narrow
gorge, and into a town that appeared to have been frozen in time for a hundred
years (or at least built by some sort of Hollywood operation then left to the
weather to age). The streets in Dawson
City are not paved with gold... in fact they are not paved at all! Aside from the main road which runs along the
side of the Yukon river, bypassing the town centre and linking with the river
ferry on the far side of this relatively small patch of flat land, the streets
are paved with mud. I immediately
pictured the mud fighting scene towards the end of that tongue in cheek western
movie, Paint Your Wagon, and rode into town with a smile.
It was, however, a
smelly and tired smile. In my bid to get
north while my time on the road remained, I had found myself without a single
piece of clean clothing remaining. My
bike suit, frankly, stank to the point that even I winced each morning when
getting dressed... so imagine what my
helmet liner was like! I felt the need
to reinvigorate myself and enjoy the delights that this almost fantasy place
offered – and when I was presented with a 2 night deal at the El Dorado hotel,
the decision was made. A rest / laundry
day was scheduled, with some strolls along the raised wooden boardwalks... howdy pardner!
If you ever get to
Dawson, and I hope you do, you should stay a few nights. This is a real life town, not a tourist
resort, with an active year round community despite its far remote
location. It retains both the look and
feel of the frontier as old builds are maintained, and new builds are required
to fit with the gold rush decor. Stacks
of history too, as you wander round visiting the museums, bars and shops, most
of which actively seek to hang onto the past.
You can even visit a brothel, which was tolerated by the town´s
authorities until surprisingly recently (no, don´t worry, it is closed now!).
 |
| She really did have a diamond tooth! |
But a write-up on
Dawson would not be complete without a mention of Diamond Tooth Girtie´s
gambling saloon. There, for a $10 season
pass to gain entry, you can sup the local brew, grab a tasty bite, try your
hand at poker (or other such gambling temptations) while taking in the live
period show, three times nightly. Think
back on those old western movies again, and picture the saloon shows with
can-can dancers, variety singers and dashes of cheeky humour - yep, just like that, and done remarkably well. Then as you finally leave at 2 in the
morning, you can wonder at the land of the midnight sun with brightness akin to
a cloudy day back home.
Lots of bikes came
and went during my all too short stay, the vast majority of which would now be
classed as Adventure Bikes, coupled with lots of conversations with their
respective riders. I was, however, heartily
impressed with a Harley Ultra rider who had followed me into town having ridden
that great lump of metal through the tricky stony patch a way back. His heart visibly sank when he learned that
the road leading away from town on the other side of the river was no longer
maintained – and comprised largely of dirt and stone. But he resolved to press on. The Top of the World Highway was the route to
Alaska... and that challenge loomed as
my head hit the pillow for the 116th time.
Thought for the day
Nerves and perhaps
even a dose of fear were running through my mind these days to the extent that
they might have caused me to take pause in Dawson. I was becoming fearful of the road ahead and nervous
about the bike´s performance, particularly the front tyre which was no longer gripping
as it should (it had been on there since Peru).
I was worried about how I was holding up, as aches and pains were
surfacing with each passing day (including the return of my South American back
pain), along with a general profound tiredness.
I was worried about my remaining time...
would it be enough? I was getting
anxious about the logistics of my return, with my preferred option of finishing
in Anchorage no longer being economically viable, I would now have to get back
to Seattle (more time... more
miles). I realised 116 days away was too
long as I tried to manage a deep underlying homesickness unlike anything I had
previously encountered.
The trip was nearing
its conclusion, but it was now also getting really hard. I was determined to press on, but I could not
stop these constant negative thoughts from invading my mind. I had come a long way in mind... and in body,
but could I finish this (what now seemed to me for the first time) massive solo
challenge? Was the Top of the World
Highway leading to the most northerly border crossing in the Americas... a road too far?
Hand on heart; I was really afraid that it
was...
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