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!

Arctic Circle! Inuvik!

Today we woke up at Tombstone Campsite about 70 km up the Dempster Highway.  The weather was good, and we wanted to make the most of it by trying to ride all the way to Inuvik, the end of the road, the furthest north you can drive in Canada.  That's 665 km (412 miles) of dirt and gravel - potentially very nasty dirt, gravel, mud and clay.

Really, my entire reason for this trip was this picture taken at Engineer Creek Campground.  I never told Dad that because I didn't think he'd agree to come.

Although the Dempster was closed last week due to washouts and one of the ferries being shutdown due to high water, the weather had been dry for the last several days.  That made for good riding condition most of the time, although it was very, very dusty.  We could have ridden faster, but we kept it around 90 km/h (55 mph) to protect the tires from the sharp gravel, to help protect us from wiping out, and to conserve gas for the 369 km (229 mile) stretch without any gas stations.

We were trying to make good time, so we didn't stop to take too many scenic pictures, which we could have done constantly.  One of the things that struck me most about the Dempster is how varied it is.  The road condition and type varies constantly, and the landscape even more so.  Sweeping river valleys, ancient mountains, arctic forests, arctic plains, marshes, forested river deltas, and all sorts of geological formations.  I found it amazing that I could see so much in one day's ride.

Looking about 180km across the Ogilvie River Valley

Dad looking across the Ogilvie River Valley

We arrived at Eagle Plains Lodge, dusty and hungry.  The lodge felt very much like "An Oasis in the Wilderness", as it claims to be.  We got good food with good service, cleaned up our faces and motorcycle lights, and filled up on gas.  We even managed to email our wives using their free wifi!  The break left us both feeling re-energized, which was good because we weren't even half way done the day.

Our friend that took us for the acrobatic plane ride earlier in this trip had recently flown to Tuktoyaktuk with two students.  He made a great 15 minute video of their trip, which included some video and shots of them landing on the Dempster highway.  We promised we'd take some shots of us at the same air strip, and as you can see it was pretty windy.

The Arctic Circle, if I may remind you, is defined by the southernmost latitude that experiences 24 hours of sunlight during the summer solstice, and 24 hours of darkness during the winter solstice.  As far as I could tell, it was defined by some picnic tables, a sign, a nice view, and an abandoned Astro minivan with a blown out rear tire.

Dempster Victim

Sixty km past the Arctic Cirlce we hit the Yukon/North West Territories border.  The road conditions changed at that point from mostly hard packed gravel/dirt to quite a bit of loose, freshly graded gravel.  That might not sound that bad to car drivers, but loose anything is bad news on a motorcycle.  A shallow amount can cause a bit of slipping, which I didn't find too hard to handle.  Any deeper, and the front end can start to wobble dramatically as it tries to plow through the gravel instead of rolling over it.  I'm not very experienced with this type of riding, and found it pretty hair raising at points.  There was a strong cross wind, and a few times it pushed me sideways across the gravel towards steep edges with no guard rails.  As I moved sideways, the gravel would get deeper near the edge, causing the front end to wobble as I moved closer to the edge.

I've been considering how I can explain how I felt, besides the obvious "terror" and "dread".  It was the very overwhelming, whole-body terror that can only come when your brain thinks it's about to cease existing.  Adrenaline surges, and the fear creates an extreme singular focus that can either be just what you need or exactly what you don't want.  If it's a situation you're familiar with, the adrenaline is helpful and the fear not-so overwhelming.  Being unfamiliar with this left me with on the edge of panic, and a very real feeling that if I didn't supress that panic I'd die.

Now, in all likely hood a fall would not have meant death at all. I'd probably just have slid down the road and maybe a ways down a steep embankment.  The bike and I may be damaged some, but likely not fatally in either case.  Still, the ancient instinctual part of my brain didn't know that, so it was very concerned and doing all it could to prepare my body to fight a saber tooth tiger or whatever else it thought I needed the adrenaline for.  Thanks, but I just need to stand up on the footpegs and give it some gas.

After a second's hesitation where I had the normal panicked reaction of letting off the gas (which usually makes the wobble worse), I forced myself to stand up on the pegs (if I wasn't already) and give it some gas again.  We had about 40km of this stuff, and it was exhausting.  I don't think Dad was nearly as freaked out as I was, but it took us a while after the conditions improved to get back to our previous cruising speeds.

The roads improved, and except for some tricks in construction zones (of which there were plenty) the ride was pretty straightforward and enjoyable.  We crossed a couple ferries, and pushed on after the last ferry for a late arrival in Inuvik as some clouds rolled in.  We'd done it - we'd ridden from the Atlantic Ocean to as far north as roads will take you in Canada!

We opted for the first hotel room of the trip, and got a greasy dinner at The Roost.  The Roost, owned and operated by a Lebanese guy and his relatives (serving American, Greek, and Chinese food), has a dining room decorated with a Polar Bear, a musk ox head, antlers, and other northern memorabilia.  We had a good conversation with one of the owner's cousins and employees, Fadi, who moved directly from Lebanon to Inuvik in the winter about two years ago.  Poor bastard.

Attacked by a polar bear at "The Roost" in Inuvik