We were being evicted!

So, we were being evicted…

Our 10 days of doing very little (travel and physically) had come to an end and we had to move on. I was scared as my left leg was weak and had a tendency to not want to support me at the most inopportune moments - like walking up or down steps. It just couldn’t be trusted and what would it be like when we came to a stop?

For those that don’t know, Isi has previously had back surgery to have a disc removed (I couldn’t marry someone taller than me…. 😏 ) and I had taken on the role of having the bottom drawers and lifting ‘heavy shit’ but all that was to come to an end. I was under strict instructions not to lift or carry anything. Obviously, I behaved myself - to a point. I just couldn’t watch Isi suffer carrying all the bags from the apartment and lift them on the bikes - what would the neighbours think? 🤔 I tried to do my bit, carrying the lighter stuff and then remaining by the bikes to strap on the bags that appeared. A few cross words through pain and concern, but we got there.

It was time to saddle up and ride my pony but I was wary about getting on. With so much gear, I have to ‘throw’ my right foot up and over, hopping on my left to get in to the ‘cockpit’. The T7 is a tall bike and I’m in tip-toe when seated - it’s a long way to ‘throw’ a leg. I just couldn’t trust my left leg, so Isi would push from behind and be ready to slow my descent, should the worse happen. And so it was for the rest of the day. If I wanted to get off (hopping on left leg required), Isi would help me. To get back on, Isi would help me. It was the safety blanket I needed but it didn’t make me feel any happier for that.

Time to leave and test the leg. Off the drive (a kerb drop off) and up to the intersection to a Stop sign, normally treated as a Give Way (by us), slowing to a snails pace, look and look again, before a lean and off in the direction we wanted. Not this morning, as traffic dictated otherwise. Which foot do I put down? Right foot it was and whilst it worked, it felt seriously odd. My habit is to select an appropriate gear before coming to a stop and put my left foot down, right foot on the brake etc., As the sole car passed and we pulled away, I joked about just how awkward a right foot down had been and how I’d rather do the “Hendon Shuffle” than lead and leave with the right foot. So, that was the last time my right foot went first…

After slowly pulling in to the Gas station and filling the bikes, it was time for the open road - South. The Termination Dust (first snow), that I preferred to call Doomsday Dust as it has a much better tone to it, had left the surrounding mountains but the nip in the air was sign enough that the snow would be in for good some time soon, and we were right to get going.

Riding my bike is my happy place and I was happy. I rode a bit slower than before (not a bad thing) and received direction from behind. I’m not sure who was more nervous - Isi or me. After around 30 minutes, we shook off the knowledge of roads we had already travelled and struck out for Teslin - a mere 1.5 hours down the road, but a short day to test me and see if moving was the right thing. We had agreed we would stop every 30 minutes or so, so I could get off the bike, with assistance, stretch the legs, and make sure any medication was topped up. We very soon passed the Yukon Motorcycle Park, where I had had email exchange with Bruce and discussed a cabin, should the ride prove dangerous and a new ‘hole-up’ was required.

We approached a rest area and Isi suggested we stop. I said I was fine and we should just keep going, stopping eventually after an hour. By then, I was sore and tired but the leg held good, concentration was fine and all felt safe. We did, again, agree to stop every 30-40 minutes, just to have a stretch and relieve some of the muscles that remain static. Don’t get me wrong, my most comfortable place is on the bike, but I know that I need to keep the muscles moving too.

It was great to be back on the bike and an un-eventful trip brought us to the Nisutlin Trading Post in Teslin. The Nisutlin Trading Post was a gas station, a grocery store and a Motel - may well have been more things, but this is what we used. The Motel was a room in a block beside the Gas station next to the road. The room was dated and the bath enamel was chipped and worn, but the rest was clean and tidy. Two ample sized beds, clean sheets and an en-suite bath/shower. Great for the money and the rest we needed. The bags and supplies were carried to the room by Isi. I had suffered a ‘leg fail’ coming back down the few steps, but quickly righted myself with the handrail. I couldn’t be trusted to carry bags and not have my leg buckle beneath me - the pills were dealing with the pain but the nerves would still win when they had decided I’d applied too much pressure. As we unloaded, we met a New Zealand couple who had broken down further up the road. Their hired-Harley was still on the edge of the road and they were trying to arrange for the hire company to sort them out. We briefly told them of our journey and plans and they said they wanted to have a chat with us later. By the time the bags were sorted and the bike covers on, they were nowhere to be seen.

The only place for food was either the very over-priced gas-station store, or a restaurant across the road. Having purchased breakfast rations of a loaf of bread, cucumber spread (to use in place of butter) and cheese for well over £15, it was time to start the long walk across the road. All of about 500 metres and negotiating the numerous potholes and wheel ruts, we found the quaint restaurant that was more of a roadside cafe affair. Not to everyone’s cup of tea, as the walls were covered in photos of hunting trophies over the many years. Don’t get me wrong, I eat meat and I know where it comes from but the amount of hunting that seems to go on is, to me, rather disturbing. The waitress was rather amusing as she continuously topped up our chilled water every time we took a sip. Earlier in the week, we had called one nearby campsite to ask about camping and been told they were only offering cabins because of the nearby bears (they wanted to fill the very overpriced cabins 🤔), so it was amusing to overhear a conversation between the waitress and a customer. “Seen any bears?”, the waitress asked. “No and not for sometime”. The waitress confirmed this by saying she hadn’t heard of any bears for at least 3 months, in a slightly worried tone.

I managed the walk back to the room and the walk did help, but I was ready for sleep. Sweeties consumed and I was out like a light to have a better nights sleep than the previous.

The following morning as we were loading the bags (I was supervising), the New Zealand couple appeared, making phonecalls and trying to expedite action to retrieve something from their expensive and time-limited trip. The Harley was still up the road and they felt frustrated at the lack of communication or any ‘gusto’ to get things done. It really was great talking to them and we hope to accept their really kind offers when we make it to their shores.

And so it was time to go. Isi helped me on the bike and we turned South. No more than 500 metres down the road (next to the restaurant), we were faced with a bridge made of metal grid iron - 0.5cm width, iron lengths along the bridge, about 10cm apart with ‘fins’ between the lengths. Great for letting the snow and ice through, but an unnerving experience for us. The front wheel would track in one ‘groove’ and the rear wheel in another. Then the rear wheel would grab and weave across a couple of rows and so the front wheel would have to follow - and so we both weaved our way across this bridge, grateful to see the other side and hopeful there would not be others.

After 40 minutes or so, we found a quaint gas station and restaurant. We didn’t need gas but I did need a stretch and the board advertising muffins was tempting enough for us to enter. The place was empty and it seemed like visitors were not anticipated. Nonetheless, we were made welcome and the coffee was hot and available. We enquired about the muffins but none were available. However, we were offered cookies straight from the oven. They looked and tasted like sweet bread rolls and with jam, they were quickly consumed. Overpriced for what they were, it didn’t feel wrong to not correct the cashier when he undercharged us - it made it a fairer deal, in our opinion.

As we left, the weather gods obviously had a different viewpoint on our idea of acceptable payment, and the heavens opened. Heavy rain turned to hail, that turned back to rain and then sunshine. It was a short, sharp chastisement and nothing more for the rest of the day.

By this stage, we were getting used to the spectacular scenery and yet again it did not disappoint, as we weaved up and down between the Yukon and British Columbia territories for the next 260km to Watson Lake. As mentioned in the previous blog, we had met Caroline through a friend of a friend of a friend and one of those friends was Scott. He was on the road heading North to meet Natasha, who was heading South. Confused? I am…. We had been exchanging WhatsApp messages whenever signal allowed and we were likely to cross paths either today or tomorrow - but we didn’t know who looked like what…

When we reached Watson Lake our first priority was fuel, the second food. With one priority done and Isi in the store filling the other, I was messaging Scott. He said he was in Watson Lake, outside the Visitor Centre behind the signpost forest. Hang on, I can see the signpost forest (as the lorry pulled away) and behind that I could see the centre. I told Scott and he came over - again, what are the odds on messaging within 200 meters of each other?! Isi came out of the store and we all did the biker hugs and intros - Scott’s bike and gear was still at the centre, drying out from the night before, so we rode over. Long conversations on who knew who and how and it was time for me and Isi to take a walk to the signpost forest and leave our “tag”.

The signpost forest started during the early 1900’s when the highway was being constructed. One of the workmen was feeling homesick and placed a signpost pointing toward his place of home, with the name and distance on it. Other workmen followed suit and it started to become a ‘thing’. Over the years it has grown big, with people travelling from all over the World to hang up place signs, licence plates and any other sign that has a place attached to it. I guess our sticker didn’t really fit that bill but, since we don’t have a home it would be hard to provide a direction or a distance.

Placing a new sign on the Dozer used to construct the road.

From the act of one homesick road engineer a major tourist attraction has developed. As with all these things, I wonder just how many people appreciate the history as they pose for photos or hang signs.

After the signpost forest it was time to find our lodgings for the night. From the Google reviews and the previous night’s phone call, it was going to be an interesting experience. The Air Force Lodge was an extremely clean and cared for place that had previously been used to barrack service-men from the Air Force. Hotel corridor style, with rooms ample enough for a big bed (German style of two singles with individual duvets, placed together) and a small table and chair. Toilets and showers were shared facilities, centrally located. Under strict instructions to remove outdoor footwear at the reception area, the place was spotless and I mean spotless!

The German man that owned and ran the place was a very proud and patriotic Canadian. We heard all about his previous marriages and how he ended up in Watson Lake, how much he loved his life and was generally a really nice man. In the reception area there was a table and chairs, where we sat to eat our cold buffet and met another guest, who was riding through on his Triumph. He was local-ish and was spending a week out and about just enjoying life before the weather changed. We ended up spending the whole evening chatting about politics, religion, economics, and all the other subjects you should really avoid. Like we said, you don’t have to agree but you have to be open to listen and accept another viewpoint. It was a really good night!

I had another good nights sleep, learning to sleep in a different way to how I have for the last 30 odd years. We were slow to leave as we were still chatting with our host and bidding him farewell like an old friend, or the new friend he had become. The air outside was different. It looked different, it smelled different. - there was smoke in the air and conversations from passers by were based on which direction we were heading and how far etc., The conversation about the weather and the fires was interrupted by a 87yr old man telling me how his 30yr old beaten up truck was so much better than the new stuff around today - not sure I agreed as he tanked it up the road in a cloud of black diesel smoke, to try and prove a point. There are no annual MOT vehicle checks required, resulting in many vehicles on the roads that would have been condemned many years ago, back in the UK. This 87yr old man was a tough as nails, as his truck had more ventilation than a colander; great for the summer but when the snows hit…

Today’s destination was a mere 200km through British Columbia to the Liard River Hot Springs. We were booked in for 2 nights and it would be my first night in the tent since Skagway and all the pain I was in then. The question over and over in my mind was how I would manage camping on the floor and not having the same ‘space’ to move around or get up. No matter how good a sleep mat is (and we do have good mats), they are not as comfy as a well made bed where you can swing your legs out, stand from a seated position and stretch out before taking a step.

But before I talk about the hot springs or the camping, I have to talk about the journey to it. Once again, awesome scenery on (mainly) well maintained and wide tarmac. However, the jewel in today’s crown was the wildlife! We saw 5 bears, happily munching on the side of the road. We could’ve given each and every one of them a cuddle as they looked so cute. One came out to greet us (keeping a distance) while we were queued at the construction stop sign for 15 minutes. We just sat and watched him/her happily carry on eating and generally ignoring us, while we silently planned an exit route, should he become interested in us as a food supplement…

We even saw a porcupine - not a flat one, as most people see but a live one running along the side of the road. Iridescent spines that glossed purples and blues.

Then there was the Bison! Three different herds and, in total, upward of 100 fine beasts. Up close, they are big! When you have to ‘creep’ past Bison when they are on both sides of the road there is another sense of vulnerability - it isn’t like coming across a herd of Friesians on their way to the milking parlour. They were placid but very much aware of us and the amount of space they would allow us and if we encroached this space, we could imagine the speed and force they could apply to remove us.

At one place, we pulled over to eat lunch - a boiled egg and an apple. Whilst enjoying the break, we saw a lone male Bison grazing on the roadside, slowly moving toward us. We could see the path he was likely to take and I had plenty of time to get the camera out. You could almost say he posed for me, before carrying on his amble.

Chilled and laid-back, but I still used the long lens…

Further along, we saw a sign for Whirlpool Canyon and took to the gravel to see what was there. We parked the bikes up and were greeted with a fantastic view of the river coursing around a big island. The water was at its lowest level, so we didn’t see the whirlpool but, we could clearly see the evidence as the massive trees were piled up around the edges, where the higher water had forced them up the banks - a bleached out graveyard of timber, waiting for the next flood to gain escape or be further beaten. As we walked down to the edge, I misjudged a step and my left leg gave way underneath me - not enough to hit the floor but enough to scare me.

While Isi scrambled over the rocks, I remained on the high bank feeling very sorry for myself. I felt old, tired, depressed and beaten. Was my time of clambering over the rocks to get the best photo angle behind me? Would I be forever destined to stumble and watch? Whilst I know Isi was with me, my family and the life we had left behind, felt a long way off and I had reservations on what we had done and what was ahead. I was feeling lost and more than just a little bit scared about the future. I know it’s not all about the ‘likes’ but I just wished my family would engage more with the content we were putting out on social media and privately. I know how stupid it seemed but just a like or a comment would make me feel connected, somehow. My failing health was just another feeling of having left a whole life behind me and I wasn’t completely enjoying it. I don’t believe I was feeling homesick but it was a similar feeling and maybe I was - with so much to look forward to, I was missing the connection from my past-life. I had to give my head a wobble and tell myself it was the pills (not for the last time).

Isi waves as I remain stranded at the top of the rocks.

Soon after, we reached Liard River Hot Springs campground. A busy and full site with mainly smaller RV’s and vans but with the occasional tent. Each pitch was of fine gravel that had been swept before the next guest arrived. As we were used to, we positioned a bike either end of the tent to tie the main guy ropes to. When the tent was pitched and all belongings stowed away, we decided it was time to explore the hot springs…

It ain’t half hot Mum!

Call this a holiday?