From the scene of my run-in with the ATV, it has been six straight days of pedaling in the Yukon (41 miles; 94 miles; 73 miles; 80 miles). At first, I could barely walk, as my legs were battling gnawing aches and pains. But soon, this dissipated, and I feel strong even now. The weather never did play out like the grim forecasts mentioned in my last update. The previous four days have left me mostly dry, only skirting a bit of drizzle here and there.
As my S.A.G. partner and I left Whitehorse, the woods again engulfed on every side, and I remembered that I was in the Far North late in the summer. Soon thereafter, a family from South Carolina gave me and the bicycle a lift through a 5-mile stretch of nasty and dangerous road construction. They were driving a big bus fueled by recycled vegetable oil. This behemoth had been on the road all summer and was headed to Anchorage. The five-mile lift at least spared me some broken spokes, having to deal with ornery road workers, and raiment covered in mud. From there on out, I just kept going until I found an isolated rest area northwest of Haines Jct. Six miles shy of a century, I thought to press on, but it was cold and dark. Better to be disciplined and bed down.
The next morning, I found it difficult to crawl out of my cozy down sleeping bag in the back of the S.A.G. wagon. We had left the tailgate down, and the foot end of my bag thereby glistened with frost. A frosty dawn soon gave way to glorious autumn weather as I pedaled along the roots of the mighty St. Elias Mountains. Somewhere up there was Mt. Logan, Canada’s highest peak. Dreams of assaulting her lofty heights danced in my mind all day. Ricky, my S.A.G. driver, and I took a break around noon to saunter through a spruce forest to an open vista over a large burned-out valley. Wow! Later, I encountered a number of bicycle tourists heading south with various ultimate destinations. I would flag each one down and then encourage them to stop at my S.A.G. vehicle parked a little ahead of them. There, I explained, they could enjoy an ice-cold soda and get a sample pair of
TCK Slog Series. The gestures were greatly appreciated. I think of William from Anchorage who was pedaling to Haines. He chugged down that can of root-beer faster than anyone I have ever seen. Then, there was a young man who started at Prudhoe Bay and was going to try for the bottom of South America. Even at the point, he was expressing doubts about following through. There were also two German cyclists in the mix. One thing I know for sure: these will treasure TCK Slog Series as I have on my own epic venture.
Soon thereafter, I dropped down into the Kluane Lake Basin. This place, a bit of a moonscape, was amazing and reminded me of Mono Lake in California (one of my favorite places on earth). I pedaled along the shore of this huge lake for many miles in a nasty headwind. There were some long dirt sections, torn up by road construction, that I was forced to walk, but all was good. It was a glorious afternoon, the water was bright blue, and I was spared from a huge cougar that Ricky saw cross the road shortly after I pedaled by. At dusk, we grabbed dinner at a lone cafe in Destruction Bay and then continued on. The day ended on a high note as we found free camping outside a lodge/
cafe at Burwash Landing. From Destruction Bay, the last ten miles to Burwash were some of the best of the entire trip: quiet, hushed, soft alpenglow on the snowy peaks of the St. Elias Mountains, the calm waters of Kluane Lake. I was closing in on Alaska, and I could feel it. Before bedding down, I paid $4.00 for a hot shower at the lodge, and it was the best $4.00 I have ever spent on anything. ‘Twas good to be clean.
This morning, I left Burwash late, and there hasn’t been much leading up to this remote highway rest area with an expansive view looking into Alaska. Here, I will spend my last night in Canada, for the international border crossing is a mere 40 miles away. This day has been perfect for pedaling: high cloud cover, faded sunlight, a cool breeze, and the smell of autumn. I saw the rear-end of a female moose skirting off into a mess of black spruce, and two long-necked swans were observed flying south. Here, at the rest area, it was chili-mac for dinner in a horrid mess of mosquitoes and black flies. The bugs seem to have died down a bit as I just finished a hot bucket bath in the parking lot. For now, I simply lounge, soaking in the view and reliving the journey with my faithful S.A.G. partner. My feet are right now sporting a pair of
Slogfest Crews. Ricky is cozy in the
Stamina Crews. The
Terrace Rolls that I have been using to pedal for the entire journey are draped over the bike, airing out in the cool breeze. This is the kind of night that I never want to end.
-Jesse Boyd
