Inuvik to Dawson City

Today we woke up early intent on riding the entire Dempster Highway (plus a tad more to Dawson City) in one day.  The weather was forecast to be good until late in the day, so the sooner we got to the bottom the better.

The first ferry south arrived just as we did.  The young guy running the deck invited us to go up top to take some pictures and have a look around.  We talked with the older guy piloting (?) the ship for a while, and discovered the ship's engineer was from the same small city my Mom grew up in, about 10 minutes from the tiny village my Dad grew up in.  Dad disappeared to go talk to the engineer for the rest of the short ride, come back out only after we'd landed (?).  I'm using flying terms for boating, but somehow it seems correct.

View from down low

View from up high

The riding was pretty easy, although there was a bit more truck traffic today than two days ago.  I'd been trying not to think too much about having to ride back through the section north of the Yukon-NWT border that I'd had trouble with on the way up.  When the time came, I didn't find it nearly as bad as before.  I was much more aggressive this time, with throttle, body position, and attitude.  I was saying things to that road about it and it's mother that an abusive sailor wouldn't say to the cabin boy.  I figured it was my new madd ridin' skillz that made the difference, but Dad figures it was the fact that two days worth of truck traffic can make a big difference on a road of loose gravel.  He, uh, may have a point there.

Having survived the fresh gravel north of the Yukon border, again.

We stopped at Eagle Plains for lunch again, and the waitress remembered us, welcomed us back, and congratulated us on surviving thus far.  I made an Anniversary Post for my wonderful wife, and Dad video Skyped Mom while other restaurant patrons looked on in amazement.

With about an hour left on the Dempster we met up with rain.  It wasn't extremely heaving, but it was enough to make the road messy and a little tricky.

Oncoming rain

Rain falling just north of Tombstone Park

A little south of Tombstone campground we rounded a corner to find a minivan with a camper pulled off to the side.  There was gear piled up on the side of the road, some legs sticking out from under the minivan, and a concerned wife looking on.  We pulled over to see how we could help.  The travelers were a retired couple from Quebec who were touring all over Canada with their minivan and camper.  They had a flat tire and were simply unable to get the spare out from under the back of the minivan.  Seemed simple enough, but the poor guy had already been fighting with it for an hour before we came along.  The spare is held up under the vehicle by one of those cables you have to loosen from inside the van, which should allow the spare to simply drop to the ground.  Unfortunately, they had never needed the spare in the 10 years they'd owned the van and it was completely rusted in place.

They asked if we'd continue south and try and call help for them once we found a phone or cell coverage, and we were more than happy to oblige.  I asked if I could crawl under and have a look before taking off though, noting that it'd be several hours before they'd even know if we'd managed to call anyone.  The rain was really picking up, and the road was slick with a fine, greasy mud.  They put down a rain poncho for me to lay on, but my squirming around quickly had me off of it and onto the mud.  I fought with the spare for a while, but had no luck.  We tried several things including WD-40 and a few methods of pry bars, but it was on there pretty solid.  The most luck I had was with a small hack saw the driver had with him, but I found it very had to get a sawing motion with the room available.  The driver offered his chainsaw, and I laughed thinking it was a joke.  I came out for a breather, and while trying to clean the mud out of my hair I noticed he really did have a big chainsaw packed away in the back of the van.  This guy had one of everything packed away in the back of that van.

Rejuvenated by our efforts, the driver got back under with the hack saw and went at it like a desperate man on the side of a remote road with a flat tire in the rain.  He sawed that damn support column clean off.  The spare fell right on him, but thankfully it didn't have far to go so it didn't hurt him.  We pulled him and the tire out, and celebrated with applause and pats on the back.  The spare wheel rim was full of several pounds of gravel, likely a collection from all around Canada.  We dumped the collection onto the Dempster, and had the tire changed in a few minutes.

Helping some fellow travelers with a flat tire on the Dempster Highway

The couple was extremely thankful for our "help", and tried to give me a $50.  I explained I didn't want their money, and that we actually hadn't accomplished anything that helped them - he'd done all the work. They were insistent, but we were slightly more so and eventually they seemed OK with us just being happy to have helped.  Then the wife's face brightened, and she whispered something to her husband in french.  He got a big smile, and started nodding in agreement.  He told us he had something we just couldn't refuse, and came back from their minivan with a bottle of wine!  They explained it was a very, very good wine from southern BC and that we needn't worry because they'd bought plenty more for themselves.  He was right, we couldn't refuse the wine, even though neither Dad or I drink.  What can you say when they're so happy with their very generous offer?  We took the wine, exchanged email addresses, put some paper towel over my head so I could put my muddy head back in my helmet, and headed south while they headed north.

We arrived in Dawson City about an hour later.  It was late, and the visitor's centre was closed.  The only campground we saw signs for was Dawson City River Hostel, across the Yukon River by ferry.  All I wanted was a place to put a tent, and a hot shower to get all that Dempster mud out of my hair and off my face.  The sign for the campground said "Hot Bath", which I figured was close enough.  We checked in, and headed back across the river into town for some hot lasagna at Diamond Tooth Gerties while catching the end of their evening show.

Once fed, all I wanted was that hot bath and into my dry sleeping bag.  It turns out the "hot bath" isn't really a bath at all.  There are two sauna/bath houses where you build a fire under a barrel of water, wait for it to heat up, then poor it over yourself while standing on a platform with a drain.  OK, so it takes a little work, but the sauna aspect sounded nice.

Picture taken in the light of the next day of Dawson City River Hostel's bath house.  This is the smaller of the two bath houses, and at least this one has a sawing block for the wood.

Inside the smaller bath house at Dawson City River Hostel

There was no cut wood for a fire.  OK, I'd chop some.  There was a wood shelter, but it was full of wet wood, and mostly-whole shipping palettes.  I found a small hatchet, but it might as well have been a mallet it was so dull.  OK, I have my own hatchet and saw packed on the bike.  I couldn't find a chopping block.  People must chop wood right on the ground.  No wonder the mallet, er, hatchet was so dull.  I stood in the rain and considered my options.  It was well after dark, and all I had for light was my head lamp.  The bath house doesn't have any lights, but I thought I could prop my headlamp up somewhere enough to see in the bath house.  I realized it was near midnight, and I didn't want to wake the entire camp up by chopping or sawing wood, even if I went and got my own hatchet and saw.  I went to bed wet, cold, muddy, and pissed off.  "Hot bath" indeed.  Dawson City River Hostel, you should be ashamed of yourself!