I left Eagle on Wednesday, a little after noon. I was headed to Dawson City, the western most city in the Yukon Territory of Canada. Dawson City was the terminus for the Klondike Gold Rush of 1898. Back in the day, when someone said 'Yukon Ho!' and told you they were going to carry 2000 lbs of supplies over the Chilkoot pass (Canadian requirement for entry); Dawson City is was the terminus of their journey. Dawson is now a thriving tourist trap. It still has a substantial amount of gold placer mining, but it thrives on the reenactments of the days of yore with the can-can dancers and the gambling…there are no longer any brothels…or so I’m told.I was headed to Dawson for a three day music festival. I had shifted my work schedule around and was looking at six glorious days of freedom in which to ride my bike to Dawson, party down, and take the Yukon Queen, a big river boat, back to Eagle.
I had planned all along to ride my bike to Dawson. It was only 140 miles, two long days in the saddle, and what better way to roll into town than under your own power? Turns out, after a week of non stop rain, the Taylor Highway was collapsing under its own mass of boreal forest, and was closed to traffic. This was just the first of two major rain events that would have the road closed for the rest of the summer. Luckily, I was able to negotiate my bike through the rough patches and wash outs.
The first night I camped out about 4 miles from the Canadian border on the Top of the World Highway at a placed called Boundary. It consisted of several buildings, a bar, and some gas tanks. Its population was two; a father and son. George, the father, had bought the place last year and reopened the motel and bar to the public. Boundary was a rustic town in the fact that it had no water, used a generator for electricity, and was full of Alaskan charm. George was a miner, and I could tell from the stare in those cold, blue eyes that he’d earned every wrinkle and scar…this guy was a sourdougher for sure.
After an uneventful boarder crossing, I was happy to discover that the Top of the World Highway on the Canadian side was maintained; in the respect that occasionally portions of it were chip sealed. It was, however, still bumpy enough to rattle loose or break many of the more important connections on my bike and luggage rack. By the time I limped into Dawson my bike and panniers had became an awkward combination of zip ties, bungee cords, and duct tape.
I had been following some bike tracks all day, and 14 miles outside of Dawson I finally caught up to the other riders. Three of them, all from different countries, had aggregated into a rag tag peleton. We were all excited to see each other, and cruised into the local hostel together eager for a shower and some beer.
Over the course of the next 5 hours, I had a string of serendipitous events that might not ever be rivaled, and it all started with ice cream. Since the hostel was on the other side of the river, I had taken the ferry across the Yukon to get to into Dawson proper. After 8 hours in the saddle I was desperately looking from a pint of Ben and Jerry's and found one for seven dollars at the local market. While waiting in the checkout line, I heard a voice behind me say, "I hope that's not all you're having for dinner." I turned around to see a gorgeous, Canadian woman looking concerned over my gastric intentions. Exhausted and famished from the two day's worth of riding, I shamefully mumbled I had just ridden from Eagle and was hungry. It was not until I was outside, back at my bike that I realized I had blown off the first, and likely the last woman to talk to me this summer. I waited by my bike until she came out, and asked her if she new of a good place to get some dinner. "Nothing that comes to mind, but my friends and I are having a pot luck if you'd care to join us," she responded enthusiastically. I eagerly agreed and set about to shower, set up camp, and get some beer in the hour before dinner.
Riding back to the hostel I bumped into two Austrians I had met in Eagle over the 4th of July. They had built a raft at the headwaters of the Yukon River and floated down to Eagle. Their timing was impeccable as they crashed the raft on the island in front of Eagle, floating right into the middle of the 4th of July Rifle Shoot. I was so glad to see their friendly faces again that I almost ran into a car. We exchanged greetings and talked about the music festival. I jumped back on my bike and pedaled two blocks down the street to the market where I then ran into Leeland.
Leeland and his son Jegger, from Vancouver, BC had floated from Dawson to Eagle over a week ago. They had planned to take a shuttle back up to Dawson, but since the Taylor Highway was closed, they were stuck in Eagle, staying at the Falcon Inn. Visitors to Eagle tend to be the best prospect for enjoyable and normal conversation, and I soon found myself joining them for dinners during the week long hiatus from their vacation. Leeland, tired of waiting for the road to reopen, eventually chartered a boat from Dawson to bring them back up the river. I had arrived in Dawson one hour before they had; another victory for human power! Ecstatic to see them, there were hugs and high fives all around. I told them about my dinner invite, and they said to stop by their tent afterwords for drinks.
Finally arriving back at the hostel I was now on my fourth or fifth wind and was going full bore. Realizing this hostel had no hot or running water, I took my first ice water, sponge bath; the equivalent of three cups of coffee. Arriving at the pot luck, 45 minutes late and fully amped, I found a group of chilled out college age hippies eating mashed potatoes and garbanzo bean salad. I did my best to tone it down, but I was so excited to be around young, attractive people that I couldn't sit still. I wolfed down two plates of vegan food, and rinsed it down with some of the Yukon's finest ale.
Soon, I was sitting at a pick nick table in a different backyard eating an ice cream cone and listening to people talk about the prom party they just had. I really felt like I was back in college, the randomness of it all was so surreal. After we finished our ice cream cones, I realized the beautiful Canadian girl who had invited me to dinner was no where to be seen, damn. I cruised across town and paid a visit to my Canadian friends Leeland and Jegger. The were eager to hear about my bike ride from Eagle, and thought it best I rehydrate with whiskey. Soon we were bar hoping down the main drag, listening to a 80's cover band, and watching the locals brawl in the street. At one point I did a front handspring for a hot dog, and then watch someone jump off a huge river boat into the icy Yukon; which seemed like a good idea at the time.
Because the Taylor Highway was closed and there was no way to get tourists in and out of Eagle by bus, the Yukon Queen river boat had shut down. My easy ride back to Eagle was looking less and less so. Luckily, I found a guy that rented canoes and didn't mind I was on a one way trip to Eagle. 36 hours before I was scheduled to start work, I jumped in my canoe, bike and all, and shoved off for Eagle 100 miles down stream. Luckily the Yukon runs at about 5 miles an hour, and after 21 hours of lazy floating I was in Eagle.
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