Another Klondike rush

I think it was a dog. I was on my way from Valdez to the Canadian border, via a road called the Tok cut-off, and I hadn't seen a soul for many miles. I was engrossed in singing the hits of ABBA (as one does) and watching the trees go by when a large black shape ran across the road in front of me, causing me to brake sharply. It trotted across and then looked at me from the far side of the road as I went past, a bit surprised to say the least.

My immediate thoughts were that it must be a wolf, it was too large for a dog and in the middle of nowhere. However it was completely black and looked for all the world like a very large Alsatian. Added to that about half a mile up the road I passed a house which seemed to be inhabited.

I reached Tok in the pouring rain. Again. Tok was the first Alaskan town I arrived in and I'd completed a loop to get back to it. Perhaps I was just unlucky with the weather, or maybe Tok is the Alaskan Manchester.

The next day I'd planned to leave early in order to get a fair bit of ground covered, however an 8 o'clock start became 10 o'clock, and I had misjudged the road slightly too - instead of leaving Alaska on the road I came in on, I was taking the Top of the World Highway up to Dawson City in the Yukon, before heading down to Whitehorse. I knew Whitehorse was a 500 mile day.

The road was paved all the way to a small town called Chicken, a former gold mining town that is now all about mining gold from tourists. Just prior to Chicken the road turns to a gravel/dirt road and stays that way for many miles into Canada. The last place in Alaska that I passed through was an appropriately named "town" called Boundary (population 6), four miles from the border with Canada.

Now Boundary really was cool, I stepped into the only shop (offering the "best coffee in Boundary") and it was like walking into a Hollywood Wild West saloon, including everyone turning round to look at me. All it needed was for someone to have been playing the piano :) I ordered a hotdog and coffee and chatted to the staff for a few minutes. I asked what makes folks live in Boundary - the answer was "Gold". Apparently it is still readily found in the area.

Leaving Boundary I said farewell to Alaska and crossed into the Yukon, Canada. The scenery changed - the Top of the World Highway may be so named for it's geographic location way up north, but it could also be due to it's altitude. The road follows a mountainous route, the view to the north is just peaks as far as the eye can see, and the view south is hillsides covered in a red brush, dappled with green, with dark spruce standing like fingers. Autumn seems to be early here, and the Aspen trees are turning red and gold, contrasting with their silver bark. The effect is truly beautiful, but was mostly lost on me as I was struggling to keep the bike on the gravelly bit between the mountains.

The struggle to pilot the bike straight and keep on track coupled with my own warped sense of reality led me to christen the bike Red 5. In my sad little world I was manouvering straight down a trench on the Death Star, pursued by Darth Vader himself, and muttering "Stay on target".

I made Dawson City and realised it was already much later than anticipated as I'd crossed a time zone and come forward an hour. Added to that I'd been held at a stop sign for roadworks for twenty minutes (!!) and no one had mentioned that you have to actually get a ferry into Dawson as there is no bridge. Dawson was another wild west type town founded during the Klondike gold rush, and even had the false fronts on the buildings just like in a western. I had a cup of coffee that would have given even the most wired caffeine addict (yes, I mean you Phil) extra chest hairs and promptly left town knowing that it was 5pm and I had at least four hours riding to the next place to stay.

Unfortunately in my haste to leave I'd done some calculations which had me refuelling in Stuart Crossing. I went howling out of town in a cloud of caffeine and adrenaline and got to a signpost telling me I was still 129km from Stuart Crossing before I realised I was going to run out of fuel. I had no idea how I'd messed up but there it was, I had fuel for maybe 100 more km based on my fuel gauge. I settled at a steady 56mph and determined to get as close as I could before the bike cut out and I had to walk to the gas station, all the while hoping that there would be services in the middle of nowhere.

The last chunk of the fuel gauge - approximately a gallon of fuel - came up as I passed a sign saying 79km to go. I thought I could get maybe 50 miles per gallon if I was careful so the most frugal race in history was on. The "running on fumes" light had been blinking at me for 20 miles as I coasted down the hill into Stuart Crossing, breathing again. At the pump the bike's 22 litre tank took 21 litres, so I probably still had another 12 miles or so left. I'm still completely amazed at the fuel consumption I'm getting despite the heavy load on the bike.

I still had "four hours" to go to Whitehorse. Everyone measures distances in time around here, it makes me wonder what average speed they work at... "how far is Carmacks?"
"two hours"
"Ok but what if I go twice as fast??"

Heading out of Stuart Crossing rapidly, I noticed the truck behind me behaving a little strangely and on a hunch I slowed to the speed limit (90kph). Sure enough, after tailing me for a few more miles the truck pulled past and they were Canadian Sweeney. Disappointingly they were not dressed like Mounties.

The sun painted my shadow on the road and we were riding in tandem until sunset. The only dark cloud in an otherwise blue sky spilled a rainbow into the spruce forests, beautiful but looking like it was straight out of a cartoon. The forests themselves bore the scars of countless fires, long dead Spruce surrounded by new growth.

By the time I got to Carmacks I'd had enough and stopped for the night. Total just under four hundred miles but a very long day.

Whatever happens I have to get Red 5 some decent off road tyres before we hit any more gravel roads. The current road tyres are about as effective on gravel as a one legged man in an arse kicking competition. Of course it could be a poor workman blaming his tools :)

Frase.