The reality of my age comes crashing in…

It rained a lot through the night but the ground soaked it up and we were none the worse for it. The bear-bag, however, was a different story. It’s not waterproof and pretty much everything inside was wet. Having said that, most things were also wrapped in individual food bags except the three (three?!) “personal hygiene” bags - contents and bag were soaked but no damage to toothbrush and paste. Lesson learned though, put contents in a dry-bag and then inside the bear-bag.

We were late rising and I ached a bit from yesterday’s ungainly dismount. I was grateful we had a short day planned, as our goal was the Airbnb in Whitehorse. The Austrian guys were in no rush either, as they were staying another night and didn’t need to be in Whitehorse until Friday. As I was cooking breakfast, the Austrian guys mentioned in passing conversation that they had survived on dried rations for the last 2 weeks, which explained their exclamation of “look at how many vegetables you are cooking” in last night’s meal. They laughed when I mentioned the pestle and mortar used for grinding spices - there is no excuse not to eat well when living on the road. The local dogs made their morning wander around the campsite looking for food. They were persistent but not aggressive, quickly moving on when I made it clear they were having nothing from my table!

The local community security car cruised by and stopped to make sure everything was OK. We had quite the chat about Pelly Crossing and the First Nations people that provided and maintained the free campsite. The security man had met a First Nations girl in Vancouver, fallen in love, married and moved to Pelly Crossing. He said the winters could be pretty brutal but the community helped each other out and he wouldn’t go back. He said there was always bear activity but, at this time of year, wolves also become a problem. As the “teenage” males leave the pack and seek out their own pack, they can become inquisitive and aggressive. However, he agreed the local dogs would generally be more of a nuisance than any bear or wolf. I was starting to think that, as beautiful as the nature was, everything was out to get me with sharp teeth!

As we packed up, Isi agreed that we could forego our lunchtime apple and offer them to the Austrians - they gratefully accepted and they were eaten before we left. We didn’t miss it and, I’m sure, the Austrians enjoyed them more than we would have done. I’m starting to learn that life on the road is about giving. Give and you shall receive, in many ways.

The ride down the Klondike Highway was reasonably uneventful with straight roads, a few bends and warning signs of what to expect on the road. Except when they put signs out to be careful of the gravel and it’s less than 25 meters, hard packed and smooth, we quickly started to ignore the warning signs and assume the Canadian Highways maintenance crews liked to exaggerate - this was until we ignored a sign for “bumpy road ahead” (we had ignored many before) and were virtually thrown from our saddles as the bike left our butts and rejoined with a bang. Yep, they were right that time!

Soon after, we passed a car park with an amazing view, so we turned around and found somewhere to park up. I had diffculty getting off the bike and complained about my leg and buttock. Almost before we were off the bike a man from Japan, or that region, approached me to ask where we were from and what we were doing, so I stopped complaining and put on the “stiff upper lip” for my “audience”. He was impressed with our adventures and called over other members of his party. “Can I take your photo?”, he asked, and a few poses followed - all the while my imposter syndrome was very present - we had been on the road less than 3 weeks, yet our story was already having an impact on others.

Once the photo-call had been satisfied and since I was already off the bike, I got my camera out to take pictures of the awesome Five Finger Rapids of the Yukon river below. Whilst we thought it looked awesome from above, we wondered how our Austrian friends would feel as they encountered it in close quarters the following day. The Five Finger rapids are thus called as there are four lumps of rock across the river, with only one finger being navigable. Again, one of the first routes in and out of the Canadian Gold Rush interior.

Later, we pulled in to a lay-by for a break and found some information boards relating to a wildfire that had been started in the area by careless campers who had not taken notice of the “no fires” request and had not extinguished their campfire appropriately. The fire took hold in the crown of the trees and spread rapidly. At one stage, three firefighters were cut-off by the fire and immersed themselves in a creek for many hours. The water of the creek damaged their communications and the fire control assumed they were lost. After many weeks, they had the fire under control but winter provided little respite, as the fire continued to smoulder underground and was finally extinguished when the fire teams dug the fire up. This one careless and stupid action by the ignorant campers cost the fire department $2.2millionCAD and took over 9 months to deal with. Thankfully, there were no casualties but only because of the quick and desperate actions of the three firefighters in the creek.

Isi went off to investigate but I really was not in the mood for walking and stayed with the bikes. On Isi’s eventual return (I was starting to get concerned), she convinced me I should at least start the walk and see what she had seen. With the story of the fire in my mind, I took my turn to walk amongst the re-growth of vegetation, with burnt tree trunks standing like proud and defiant sentinals, black and charred above the youth of growth springing with new life. The path opened on to the top of a steep hill, leading down in to the creek, now occupied by a busy beaver and his dams. Enjoying the views, I took the small path to my left and followed the contours around to seek out other views. As I walked, I realised there where only two footprints on this path, since the recent rain had erased all others - one was mine but the other was not human. It was a strange feeling of vulnerability and I checked the bear-spray I had in my pocket. Soon after, I retraced my steps with no drama. Interesting feeling, especially since I could hardly walk, let alone run!

As we rode in to Whitehorse, we looked for somewhere to buy food before seeking out the Airbnb - a very well equipped basement flat in a new-build, on a new out-of-town estate. Every house looked different, with some under construction and some plots empty. I haven’t looked in to it but it is as if you buy a plot and then build your own (or spec it to be built how you want it). The only downside was the advert promised private parking but there was none. The host stated that it was free and no problems to park on the road, or we could park the bikes on the path beside the house. Neither option appealed, so we ended up parking the bikes on the muddy verge, that would eventually become grass - using well placed stones to balance the side-stand. The one thing we noticed was just how quiet it was. There was plenty of evidence of children and dogs, but very little noise - the noisiest being the roar of the V8 trucks as they pulled away from the junctions - if anyone wants to complain about motorcycle exhaust noise, come to the US and Canada - you will leave with a different perspective.

What did the cheese say when he saw himself in the mirror?

That night, the pains in my leg became worse. It was mostly when I tried to sleep, with very few positions providing any relief. No matter, we had to get to Yamaha Yukon in the morning, as we needed new rear tyres as the Anakee Wilds were nearly spent after 2000 miles of rough roads - they had done what we wanted of them. The deal was, we ride to Yamaha Yukon and remove the wheels ourselves, Yamaha would fit the new tyres, balance them and we would then put the wheels back on to the bikes. And so it happened but with a lot of swearing and cursing my broken body.

Having consumed our stocks of UK paracetamol (or Acetaminophen as it is called in Canada), we went in search of new stock. I stayed with the bikes, feeling a little worse for wear, while Isi went shopping. The UK strength and quantity of paracetamol is much less than in Canada. You can buy bottles of 100 pills at a time, each pill is stronger and the recommended dose is higher. However, every bottle warns of liver problems, particularly if you consume alcohol as well. We still hadn’t had a drink since starting out on the bikes, so I really wasn’t too worried on that score.

Not knowing how long the tyres would take (not long as it turned out), we had booked in to the Airbnb for two nights. When we got back to the basement, Isi started negotiating an extended stay - only one more night, as the apartment was booked out beyond that. Whilst we never met our hosts, Isi developed quite a relationship and, so it seemed, they had extensive medical knowledge. Even though I was on medication for a hiatius hernia, I could take Naproxen short term to manage the pain. On the day that we had to leave, the pills had kicked in and I was feeling much better. Our destination was Skagway.

The reality of my age comes crashing in…

Call this a holiday?

No Gas!