Yukon Bound Part 3 - July 11-15

July 11 (Wed) up the Dempster!

Some sun to start at Dawson, although we bundled up for cool temps and expected rain.  I waited more than 30 min (again) watching Bill pack b4 we could leave.  The AFD cardlock was finicky but worked second time around.  We each had supplemental containers, as we needed a good 400km of range for the longest stretch; Bill had his red plastic jerry can and I brought a 6L ‘water’ bladder that I could just bungee on top of my packed gear.  We got there just b4 a queue started as well – we really had no idea how long today was going to take or when the rain would begin, so we needed to get a good start.
Great progress on road to begin; getting a feel for the gravel surface while riding on street tires. Not bad gravel, fairly hard packed and decent traction in the wet, especially the 73km up to Tombstone; rain and cold off and on, however.  Speeds approaching 50 (mph) along straight sections were possible, and 20-35 at other parts.  A group of more dirt-oriented riders left the reception center lot just before we did; it is in my nature to try and put my stamp of authority on a situation, so I set out to pass them all.  Which I did by the next five to eight km; Bill eventually caught up as well since I slowed occasionally to keep his bright headlight somewhere in my mirrors. 

North up the Dempster Highway

The first 200km of 370 was not bad riding, actually – then the more persistent rainy conditions and the (calcium chloride-mixed) mud appeared.  This concoction produced instant slide if you were moving too fast, and more often than not even if you weren’t.  It’s just a tad easier to anticipate and compensate when you’re riding more slowly.  It indeed became a learned skill to identify good mud (deeper and heavier and ‘normal’) from bad mud (thinner, slicker and unpredictable).  Thus, so it was, 3km from Eagle Plains my Multistrada and I went down off a high-side.  I was moving far more quickly than I needed to (cuz that’s how I roll), knowing that we were so close to a stop, and saw a slick patch coming up which I decided to ride out.  I corrected three slides (right, left, right) and at first thought I might have gotten away with my ‘brave pace’, but the back end (heavily weighted with gear) defied correction and kept wanting to come around again.  Fourth time, as it did, the rear slid further left while the bike leaned right for another 15-20 feet, and I thought for a second that I’d recover from that too.  Not to be; the rear tire gripped again on the far side of this mud patch.  High-side (the second of my street motorcycling career – the first ending in a ditch beside Maligne Lake Road 33 years earlier with a broken scapula)!  I was tossed into the air, forward of the bike, while the bike slammed down hard, grinding its left side into the coarse gravel surface.  I could hear it sliding and grinding to a stop while my body slammed down ahead of it and rolled a few times (the bike had traveled out of the mud patch by this time or would not have high-sided).  Breathing was labored for a few moments while I ran back 15 feet or so to the Multistrada laying on its side.  It was not significantly difficult to pick it up, and I did so as I looked back down the road hoping (or not?) to see Bill and his Desert Sled coming along (it would be another 4-5 min).  In these moments one tries to will the incident away and pretend for as long as possible that it hadn’t just happened.  Broken clutch lever and hand guard on left side belied my denial, and a stream of swear words ensued.  Left pannier plastic crushed in and mount bent too.  But all for the moment, thankfully, still serviceable.  My body appeared to be working fine, too, despite some left side pain.  Some shredded rainboot fabric and nasty gravel rash on my helmet.  Though incredulous that I had actually crashed, Bill was quite concerned with my well-being, and we knew it was pointless to stay there long, so we quickly covered the final few km into Eagle Plains.

Gassing up at Eagle Plains while simultaneously in disbelief and fuming over the crash, I asked to use the pressure washer.  We had read m/c riding blogs that noted how prickly the station owner Stan was, and he was indeed gruff and growly.  But he was ok with bikes hosing off and consented.  My radiator was so clogged with mud that my bike temp had risen to 236F (water boils at 212!).  I rolled the bike up onto the rusty steel grated platform and got to work.  It seemed to make a big difference, although the Dempster mud, mixed with calcium chloride, gets everywhere and clings like nothing I’d ever seen before.

Sitting in the Millen Lounge a few minutes later, pissed off and still layered in wet mud, I had a coffee to warm up and straighten out my head (it’s a process – I informed Bill that it would not last once it passed, but I had to get my head through this).  The margin between perfectly fine and a bashed up bike 3km from day’s end is a very very fine one, especially having successfully navigated the nearly 400km of gravel and mud in the rain throughout the earlier part of the day.  We had made very good time, taking roughly 5 hours from the Dempster Junction to Eagle Plains. If the weather (existing and forecasted) was good, we could have gone on to Fort McPhearson or even Inuvik.  Now, however, we had to re-assess and decide what’s next.  First – were any rooms available?  Cost was so far down on the list since there was literally one option within many hundreds of km. Did we want to stay?  Go ahead?  Go back?  Should we re-define our goals?  What were they before?  What were they now? 

We decided that we had ridden for a week (almost 2 for Bill) and had to see the Arctic Circle at least, which was another 40km ahead on the Dempster.   In the meantime, Bill procured a room for the night ($178 – ouch; and Room #13 – again, thanks).  There was plenty of daylight (and would be until midnight), though it was still raining and still muddy.  Both of us slipped several more times, and I even turned around 180 degrees at one section, pointing back towards Bill and the way we came (but still on two tires and two feet).  It felt good to finally reach a milestone of some significance when we came up to the large lot on the eastern side of the road and saw the wood monument to the Arctic Circle at 66 degrees north.  Some photos at the monument (selfies and strangers) in the rain, and then back on bikes to return to Eagle Plains.  Before leaving we gathered more intel from folks coming down the Dempster.  NOT good news at all, especially for two-wheelers.  All the forecasts we accessed from several sources continued to call for rain, cold and overcast during the next 2-3 days, with some sunny breaks possible in Inuvik.  It very much appeared that our choices were to wait it out for 2 days before continuing north, ride in very questionable conditions and risk being stranded in the mud, or call it Mission Accomplished (relative to Arctic Circle) and head back down the Dempster.  The latter proved the best choice given the risks of either going or waiting, and having damaged my bike and ripped my rain boots and feeling tender in the ribs.

Back at Eagle Plains, I hosed off my bike again, and rinsed my muddy rain gear in the hotel bathtub – I pretty much had to climb in the tub to take it off as the mud and wet needed someplace to go besides the floor (felt guilty about the mess, but what can you do?).  Dinner a short time later that evening was a very welcome break as we were both very weary; we each had a few beers and I ate a decent (somewhat thick and gloppy) fettuccini alfredo with grilled chicken.  The property featured a dozen or so huge black ravens which squawked constantly and watched menacingly from an all-too-close distance.  But they quieted down a little into the evening.  Shortly after dinner, still light outside, I was so tired I fell asleep quickly and slept fairly deeply.

July 12 (Thurs):

Great morning to wake up to pouring rain...... a pain in my ribs, oh and a flat rear tire!  Completely to the rim.  It was definitely not flat the night b4. I could easily see it flat walking towards it from 20 feet away.  Ok, now what? Out of the rain over to the local (one and only) garage I got permission to set up in the corner and get to it myself (having prepared for such an event, I had the necessary tools and knowledge to fix it).  The kit was pulled out, but after 2 hrs (roughly 9-11am), 4 skinned and bleeding knuckles, and 5 plugs it was still not plugged.  I was totally exhausted, sweating and muddy.  The Old Shop Guy was pissed about some shit (a tire delivery that was 4 days late) and pretended not to acknowledge I was even there, having expected me to be gone by then. Yeah, he had a job, too, but I couldn’t go anywhere on a flat tire.  I finally asked for some help and he reluctantly took over and did a plug after mine failed. It also did not take. He threw down his tools and said he was not touching that bike again!  So just then the owner Stan wanders in casually and just says, well why don't you patch it? I'm, like, seriously after I spent 2 futile hours on plugs? So off came the wheel (I brought the required socket with me and was familiar with the process – the wheel nut would only come off using this special socket). Off with the tire. Old Shop Guy bugged out by this time, looking after gas customers, so Stan the owner with the Hispanic guy from the diner next door popped it off (manually – and rather roughly – with tire irons) and patched it from the inside.

Whew – back on the bike and filled with air it held!!! Finally good to go at 11:45 and went to see what Bill was up to.  He acknowledged that he couldn’t help and felt I was better served to leave me to it, so he kept to himself for the morning.  We prepped our bikes and gear in order to depart – my rain boots needed some restorative Bedazzeling with Duct Tape, and my left saddle bag an augmented mounting system rigged up.

Early in the initial plug attempts, I discovered what caused the flat – a 1” shard of rusted steel from the pressure washer grated platform!  A savior from the mud became the implement of my doom.  Though I had noticed that there were some rusted patches in the platform as I wheeled the Multi upon it, overall it appeared uniform and intact enough.  Extremely pissed, but at the same time it was bound to happen to someone and likely already had before (or since).  Hmmmm, an easy trade in new tires for the only shop in town….?

Cold but sunny off and on next 370km to end of hwy.  I quickly got used to gear changes despite having just a nub of clutch lever.  The best method called for stacking one finger on top of another to aid pulling strength since the broken nub was only one finger wide! A disappointing reminder for the next week or more.  Rain here and there all afternoon.  There were several pleasant, scenic stretches along the banks of the Peel and Blackstone Rivers.  We stopped before the Tombstone Mountain center for a break and to top off our bikes with gas from the extra containers we had brought. 

There were some gnarly bits along the way, but 5 hours again to finish off the gravel, and another 20 minutes or so into Dawson to complete a sunny Thurs late afternoon.

The next few hours offered no rest, spent at the pressure washer out the back of the garishly painted Bunkhouse motel where we had a room.  Each of us in turn cleaned our bikes to the furthest extent possible – they could just not get free of enough mud – and laid out our gear to be cleaned and dried too.  There was an odd sense of resignation and sadness mixed with accomplishment and contentment.  I felt a bit down and somber but could not yet identify that fact or rationalize my overall mood.

Bill at the pressure wash station

After getting cleaned up, we headed out walking for something to eat for dinner.  We stopped to chat with the owners, two couples from Calgary, of several Triumph Tiger motorcycles parked on the road outside a hotel.  They were gearing up for the Dempster the next day, and we exchanged weather and condition reports.  Two seemed very experienced and two less so; with spoked rims and knobby tires their bikes were set up much more toward the dirt side of the equation, which was a plus.  I was quietly skeptical for the group, however.  We got their info and weeks later found that they made it to Inuvik after a horrible experience in mud and taking days longer than they had anticipated.  Other internet ride reports from that time also proved how difficult the conditions were that July – and confirmed that a section of the Dempster north of EP was impassable and closed for 2 days around the time we would have been at exactly that point.  Days earlier than us, another group was stranded and one rider had to be rescued by truck, leaving his motorcycle by the side of the road.  It was quite clear that we made the right call. 

Good dinner at Jack London's (again). Beer in Westminster tavern (again).  Gerd, our travelling German friend, was the best part of the evening - with his yellow-white hair let down he looks exactly like Robert Plant (and had plenty of stories getting his photo taken with ‘fans’ who never knew the difference). He had been on the road for 4 years by this time, riding a BMW 650 model not sold in North America.  Lots of stories to tell, and also a willing audience for ours.  64yo.  It was getting towards 11pm despite the twilight appearance still outside the bar windows, and we decided to call it a night.

July 13 ( Friday ) :
Lots of scrambling for southerly situated hotel rooms for each of the days to come. The farewell breakfast with Bill at Jack London's was bittersweet.  I discovered the day before that I left EP with our room key. Second day in a row we had room 13. Second day with rough travels….. hmmmm. Bill suggested returning it to reverse the curse!  We went to post office and found that this happened all the time, and that they deliver room keys to any hotel in Canada for free - huh!  And only then realized that today is Friday the 13th. We laughed.

German "Robert Plant"

It was really hard to say goodbye to Bill; we had both enjoyed catching up on life, spending time together, and accomplishing (half?) a huge ride.  Our return objectives and timing were different and Bill desperately needed a day off, as much for the mental downtime as physical rest, before heading southeast, while I wanted to immediately get south as soon as possible.  My homing instincts - driven by the distance yet to ride and a little bit of fear over the patch in my tire - were kicking into overdrive but I had not yet actually processed it or deduced its source.  I HAD to get south as quickly as possible.  And, as I found out soon, it was still a bit too early for my luck to turn.  The patched tire was eating away at my brain, and shortly after leaving Dawson on the way down the Alaska Highway I noticed a clear shiny spray on my boots and lower fairing.  A direct indicator of both fork seals gushing – not just leaking, but gushing (thanks, AGAIN, Dempster mud).  I ended up stopping 4 times along the way to Whitehorse (one time again in Carmacks) to try to clear any trapped dirt from under the seals with my ‘Seal Mate’ tool. Either it worked or all my fork oil was gone by the fourth stop. Called Yukon Honda dealer while on the way south to source a tire and a chain. Yes, only one suitable tire was in stock but sized 180/55-17 (rather than the 190 I would prefer mounted). I also had to be there b4 4:30 that afternoon or miss the chance.  Yup, missed it with my leaky forks (and a quick chain clean with lube and a paper towel along the way). Otherwise it was actually a good ride; great conditions in mostly sun – and I could ride my own pace for a change without an eye constantly on the rear view mirrors.
Another decent beer and meal on my own at a busy Dirty Northern (salmon tacos). Called Cindy afterwards with an update; unfortunately my plans for the next few days weren’t yet fully cooked.  Paul called me following a few text messages back and forth.  He has known me for 45 years and could read between the lines that something wasn’t right, though I wasn’t able to process it myself at the time.  These calls and the events of the last few days left me with much sleepless worry about everything.  I had spent the last three days stuck in my head, only focused on the dread and uncertainty of bike maintenance and the long, remote roads still ahead – at 2400km a significant distance yet, and all to be tackled in actual and virtual isolation.  I was still in the Yukon Territories, and had to travel the entire province of BC to the southwestern tip.

July 14th (Sat):

I woke up with a new realization and perspective courtesy of Paul’s call.  I didn’t at first feel it before I had literally ‘slept on it’.  I should not be reckless with my bike or my body (which I was – and was planning to be), I should not make decisions based on money (which I was), and I do not need to ride kamikaze-style to Vancouver Island and sit there for a week (which made no sense and would spoil the beauty of the next 1500 or more miles).  I had already missed something of the experience and the places I had seen, with a goal-oriented focus on just putting miles under my wheels.  After 10 days in the saddle I am taking responsibility to slow down, sort what can be sorted by getting a new tire put on, and I will take 5 days to ride south instead of trying to cram it into 3.  Now the new plan triggered a short-term scramble to cancel 2 hotel reservations and reserve two others.  I was taking a rest day, but not before a few more minor aggravations were addressed.

Frustrating experience at Yukon Honda with the rear tire - not fun! Guy on phone said they opened 10am Sat, so I rode over to set up to remove the rear wheel.  But once there I found that he neglected to point out that there was no m/c tech on Sat. They could sell the tire but not put it on until Monday – I was prepared for a break, but not 3 days!  A quick search revealed a car tire place up the road, Intergra, and so I ran up there.  The tire tech, John, said he would get it on if I brought him the tire and got the wheel off (ok, that would be easy enough). Back at Yukon Honda, there was now a new story.  It seems there IS a tech available today, surprise. And they had a cancellation. He could install my new tire at 1pm. Geez, I’d practically vomited on the counter earlier in desperation, begging for a solution, and he knew the whole time.  Just didn’t want to commit his guy.  Following a little more than 2 hours time-killing at Walmart and Starbucks, Donovan called to say the tire was on.  I saw my old tire at the back of the shop on my way in and when I went to look at it more closely a guy on a forklift sharply asked what I was doing.  Geez, chill dude.  The cost was quite high but not outrageous and I understood that it could have been a lot worse (even for a tire I was not keen on – I found out much later that Yukon Yamaha likely had lots of very mildly worn take-offs….).  On my way out I rode past the Integra and slipped John a tenner for his quick decision to help and his positive attitude.

The downtime was quite welcome; I did not reset my brain right away, but was getting towards a space where I could sort out the priorities in my head.  Extremely slow time checking into Days Inn, as a tour group was leaving for the airport – after 30 min finally got to a room.  Kept in touch with Bill, who arrived in Whitehorse early evening, about 2.5 hours later, and he was happy to find that I’d gotten a room with two queens (he canceled his reservation with one king).  He had ridden part way down from Dawson with a rider we met in Eagle Plains – one of a group of five.  So we made dinner plans at the Boston Pizza and spent a nice evening with Randy Hyatt from Yakima WA. His party of five on Dempster also chose to photo-op-stop at the Arctic Circle instead of risking the rest of the road to Inuvik and beyond. Having just sold his share in a nursing home business, he’s retired at 55.  Also a bass player in a band with a few songs of their own, but mostly classic rock (one guy flies in once a week from Bend for practice!).

July 15 (Sun):
Typical up, pack and prep for departure (waiting to dress until Bill done).  4000mi and 67hrs in the saddle as of just short of Watson Lake from WH. Easy day but cool and lots of rain again.  Good to be riding with Bill again, although he encouraged me to ride ahead at my own pace, which I did.  I thus arrived about 30-45 min ahead of him and spent some time looking at the Signpost Forest.  Less pressure in a small, remote spot when you have your room reservation already.

Decent meal of Chinese at Nugget restaurant; too much to eat. Good sleep again at Airforce, despite the B26 nut (president of some B26 group) who insisted on spreading his knowledge whether you cared or not.  Asking Mike questions and simply going on about miscellaneous facts to the room in general, hoping someone would reflect his enthusiasm.  Though the rooms were decent, one preferred the wide table and open space of the common area before actually going to sleep, leaving one vulnerable to such things.  I buried headphones into my skull and watched that day’s MotoGP race from Germany on my tablet.  Still, it was nice to return to the lodge and chat with owner Mike again. In case we didn’t see him we all eventually said a "fond" farewell.  Both still road-weary, I slept in to 8:30 the next day where I faced a fairly short day south to Tatogga. Bill and I split up here for the second and final time.  Weirder though as it almost felt as if we might hook up again in a day or two.

I’d spent very little time at all with Bill during the previous 30 years.  For roughly three years in University and several years after we were part of a large core group who frequently participated in a wide variety of sports, parties and other weekend pursuits.  Work schedules, job changes and moves eventually sent us in virtual and literal different directions.  I got to experience a more sober and subdued side of Bill than the usual happy-jokey Bill that he has a hard time turning off.  It can’t (and shouldn’t?) perpetually be that way as we go about building the life that is ours.  Marriage, children, jobs, expectations, outcomes, shape immensely who we become, and this trip afforded time for some walls to drop a bit and to discuss these things.  I left impressed with Bill, thrilled to call him a friend, and gained insights that would not have come over a shorter period of time.