tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86785584283230781532024-03-13T20:54:11.534-06:00Alaska to MexicoAdventure Stories of Two Brothers Cycling Through Alaska, Canada, Washington, Oregon, California, and Mexico.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-9715266259640711102016-01-01T18:04:00.001-07:002016-05-10T15:21:57.871-06:00Stolen Bike<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Happy New Year! I'm looking forward to 2016, and I'm happy that 2015 is gone away. And don't let the door hit it in the butt on the way out.<script type="text/javascript">
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Here in Salt Lake City, Utah, there is a major bicycle theft problem. Various media outlets and vigilantes have tried to take it upon themselves to figure out how and why, and what to do about it, but for now, suffice it to say, for a bicycle friendly city, we have got a terrible, terrible theft rate.</div>
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Unfortunately, my wife, Amanda, fell victim this last year, having her relatively new Fuji Crosstown stolen right from our gated parking lot while we were out of town. My old Trek 820 is getting so old and undesirable looking that they didn't bother to take it. (How rude!) It was right after she had taken it in to the shop for a tune up, and added a cute basket and numerous accessories. Experiencing theft is always such a feeling of dis-empowerment. You just feel so violated, and angry.</div>
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But, on the plus side, it made my Christmas shopping really easy this year! The current Crosstown models for women have gone much more in the direction of beach cruisers, so I opted for the Fuji Traverse 1.5 from Performance Bicycle, which is kind of a hybrid style great for the kind of multi-use that we enjoy, be it commuting, touring, or just going on a lazy joy ride. So far, my wife is loving it!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-77761254098252086462015-08-15T11:33:00.001-06:002015-08-15T11:33:39.701-06:00Not Dead...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As life goes on, it definitely has become increasingly difficult to try and write out all of the stories of our great 2008 bike adventure... but I'm not done yet. Keep an eye out for new chapters coming soon!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-48162365027526322572013-05-13T15:23:00.001-06:002016-01-01T17:45:56.451-07:00Therm-a-Rest ProLite: the Best Sleep I've Ever Had<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, if you don't yet own a Therm-a-Rest and you go camping at least once per year, you are missing out. They make several different lengths and thicknesses for different scenarios, but my all around favorite is the ProLite series. I've had mine for about 10 years now and I've used it for hundreds of nights of camping, and sometimes when I'm home in my bed, I really wish I was in my sleeping bag on my Therm-a-Rest. (I don't think my wife would be super happy about that though.) One of my simple joys in life is that first moment when I can lay down on my Therm-a-Rest and relax after a long day of bike riding or hiking. Some of my very best nights of sleep I've ever had have been on my Therm-a-rest. Anyway, the bottom line is you should check it out, and consider getting one if your aren't fully enjoying your nights outdoors. It is super light, compact, durable, and comfy, and well worth the price.<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-20839968803532291202013-05-13T12:08:00.000-06:002013-05-13T12:08:14.627-06:00Flashbacks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When the weather is just cold enough, and there is just the right amount of clouds and small sprinklings of rain, I can instantly feel like I'm back in Alaska on a bike tour... I'm suddenly hit with all of the excitement (and anxiety) of being out on the open road knowing that we have literally thousands of miles left to ride. That happened to me just the other day while I was out working in Colorado. I miss that.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-32393689798492636562013-03-10T18:12:00.002-06:002013-03-10T18:12:42.825-06:00Spring Fever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here in Salt Lake City, we are having our typical springtime weather swings. Today for example, is lovely weather to be outside. It might be just cold enough still to want a jacket, but it was nice to get outside and be in the sunshine for a bit today. It is difficult to make any plans for the coming weeks, however, because it is pretty certain that we will get hit with cold weather and more snow. It will typically go like that until May.<br />
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The weather today, however, actually reminds me a lot of the weather that we encountered up in Alaska at the end of May when we started our 2008 tour. The air is brisk, snow still covers the mountains, but the sun is warm and inviting, though a storm could materialize at the drop of a hat. It definitely triggers a lot of memories.<br />
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After our 2008 tour, I've lost my taste for being out in the cold. It isn't that I <i>can't</i> do it, but I really find myself with very little motivation to go outdoors if there is a chance of ending up wet and cold. You could maybe call it a little touch of post-traumatic stress that is creating a barrier for me. Either way, I typically avoid going outdoors in the winter now, and my wife and I have been feeling very cooped up, and ready for the warm weather. While I wait for the snow to clear off of the mountains--or at least for the avalanche danger to drop to my liking--we'll probably get out and do some bike rides here around the valley, but I'm also really looking forward to getting out to do some hikes up the canyons, some rock climbing, and even bagging a few summits on our local peaks.<br />
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The warm weather can't come too soon!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Salt Lake City, UT, USA40.7607793 -111.8910473999999940.567348300000006 -112.21239739999999 40.9542103 -111.5696974tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-10569226646954734132012-12-31T14:43:00.001-07:002012-12-31T14:44:24.487-07:00Goodbye 2012<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
2012 has been an exciting year for me here at the Alaska to Mexico blog. I was able to give the blog a lot of TLC to get it looking and working better, and I was able to gain a lot more readership. Last month, my wife and I went to India for three weeks, and that was a fantastic adventure. Unfortunately though, the Alaska to Mexico blog had to be put on the back burner for a while. I had a lot of planning to do for the trip, and things have been financially tight, so I've had to focus on things that actually pay the bills. With most of those projects wrapped up and with a fresh new year, I will be jumping back in to tell some more tales of our 2008 bicycle adventure, so stick around.<br />
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I would love to get some feedback on my posts, so any comments below would be appreciated. Are the posts too long? Would you like the option to read just a summary of the day? Are you interested in video summaries? The new year is a time for change, so I'm open to suggestions!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-47872719695170364562012-09-11T10:24:00.000-06:002012-09-11T10:24:03.506-06:0010,000 Pageviews!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yay! Sometime last night or this morning, the <a href="http://www.alaska-to-mexico.blogspot.com/">Alaska to Mexico Blog</a> had it's 10,000th pageview! YAHOOOOOOO!!! It is nice to have people reading our adventure stories, and it is you readers that inspire me to keep on writing. Thank you all! I have a new major post coming soon...</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-42186997847822933122012-09-10T13:39:00.002-06:002012-09-10T13:39:48.332-06:00Happy Birthday... To Me!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ouch. I'm 27 today. I was only 22 when we did our Alaska to Mexico Tour featured on this page. There is definitely a lot of life that has happened in the meantime.<br />
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A new post is coming soon, but I've been swamped with work over the past two months. Things will be slowing down though, and I'll be able to get back to writing. Thanks for your patience loyal readers!<br />
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~Jake</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-24074916064882875832012-07-29T12:39:00.000-06:002012-07-29T12:56:02.332-06:00Day 12 - Whitehorse to Squanga Lake<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was a particularly cold and blustery day for us getting started out of Whitehorse. After clumsily maneuvering our loaded bikes down the elevator and out of the hotel, we stuffed our hands into our mittens and set off in the search of food. While it was available, McDonald's was too good to pass up, and the novelty of "McDonald's Canada" hadn't worn off yet. </div>
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"Ah man, the girls are always going after <em>you,"</em> Mark observed after leaving McDonald's. It was only <em>kind of</em> true. One of the girls that took our order had her friend ask for my phone number--but they were probably closer to Mark's age--15. At his age, the girls probably would be too shy to actually make a move, but I was easier to approach as the older, unattainable one I suppose. I was definitely complimented, but not interested. I had my eye set on someone else back home--though she was kind of a long-shot.</div>
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But I like the exhilaration of facing uncertain odds. Our whole adventure was sort of a long-shot. How could we even hope to make it all the way to Mexico? I don't know, but we were damned confident that we could--or at least damned stubborn about giving it our best try, so off into the headwinds we two strapping lads went.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--qcNX-KcFtQ/UAIIMnSKVHI/AAAAAAAAA2I/NDrEQf2SmXc/s1600/AK2MEX+%25282008%253B06%253B04%2529+11%253B03%253B02+Mark+100_0526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--qcNX-KcFtQ/UAIIMnSKVHI/AAAAAAAAA2I/NDrEQf2SmXc/s200/AK2MEX+%25282008%253B06%253B04%2529+11%253B03%253B02+Mark+100_0526.jpg" width="200" /></a>Out of the downtown area we followed along the Yukon River as it flowed lazily into Schwatka Lake. Though we had our usual headwinds, it was pretty easy riding, and the river air was brisk and fresh. On the other side of the road, a thick man who was built like a 1920's tough-man in gray sweatpants trotted along in the opposite direction pulling a sort of handcart--more like a box on wheels. I didn't think too much of it, but when we stopped at a gas station for a short break several miles later, the clerk told us that he had talked to the guy, and it turns out that he had been pulling that cart all the way from Tierra del Fuego--the Southern-most tip of South America. Whoa! See, there are lots of people crazier than us.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-465vyMmwoYY/UAIIOnIqEsI/AAAAAAAAA2k/uUNUcMu17-w/s1600/AK2MEX+%25282008%253B06%253B04%2529+11%253B31%253B18+Mark+100_0527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-465vyMmwoYY/UAIIOnIqEsI/AAAAAAAAA2k/uUNUcMu17-w/s320/AK2MEX+%25282008%253B06%253B04%2529+11%253B31%253B18+Mark+100_0527.jpg" width="320" /></a>We rode over gentle rolling hills lined thick with evergreens--typical scenery for us. A little bit after noon the headwinds died down, which was a rare luxury for us. Without the wind holding us back, we were able to use that extra energy to make good time, and also just talk to each other. I didn't have a big brother, and I kind of made it through life figuring out a lot of things for myself, but I had decided to teach Mark a thing or two so that he didn't have to figure things out the hard way--starting with girls. I started by telling the tragic tales of my failed attempts to woo girls in Junior High and High School, and then told him what I had learned since then that turned that around. Mark eagerly soaked up my advice, as I imagine I would have if someone would have told me when I was his age.</div>
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Then, as he would be turning 16 that year (the legal driving age in the United States) I talked about finance and the fine balance between owning a car, and a car owning you. A car can provide freedom of transportation, but can be a money sucking black hole that enslaves one as well. I was trying to convince him that he would be better off saving his money as long as possible and using the old family mini-van as long as possible until he could pay cash for a decent car of his own. He wasn't being persuaded so easily on that topic though as he had his sights set on an old 1987 Jeep Wrangler that he and our grandpa had been doing some work on.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Orb9Al-zqgo/UAIIPI4sIII/AAAAAAAAA2s/7JmdKfThgz4/s1600/AK2MEX+%25282008%253B06%253B04%2529+13%253B30%253B11+Mark+100_0530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Orb9Al-zqgo/UAIIPI4sIII/AAAAAAAAA2s/7JmdKfThgz4/s320/AK2MEX+%25282008%253B06%253B04%2529+13%253B30%253B11+Mark+100_0530.jpg" width="320" /></a>We talked and talked as the civilization around Whitehorse had faded and we were back in the wild, though the car traffic was a bit more frequent, reminding us that perhaps we were making progress towards the more heavily populated areas of the Pacific Northwest. That also meant that it was more likely that we would become some trucker's hood ornament. As we coasted down a strait stretch, we had to slow as a long line of RVs, semi trucks, and cars all waited their turn to pass over a bridge laden with construction. We weaved around the large orange traffic drums making our way to the front of the line where a traffic directing worker told us to wait. After the last vehicle, we were sent after them down the single open lane. I felt a little uneasy trying to quickly pedal over the bridge with everyone watching us and waiting for us to get off of the bridge so that regular traffic could continue.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PoCqg87Qow8/UAIIOw-rpLI/AAAAAAAAA24/KfE34cb6WzM/s1600/AK2MEX+%25282008%253B06%253B04%2529+13%253B32%253B33+Mark+100_0533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PoCqg87Qow8/UAIIOw-rpLI/AAAAAAAAA24/KfE34cb6WzM/s200/AK2MEX+%25282008%253B06%253B04%2529+13%253B32%253B33+Mark+100_0533.jpg" width="200" /></a>The bridge had taken us back over the Yukon River flowing out of Whitehorse where a few miles later it emptied into Marsh lake--stretching for several more miles to our right along the highway as I taught Mark some of my favorite hiking songs from my days as a Boy Scout Leadership Trainer--which worked equally well for biking. Trail songs have an interesting effect. Usually it is more yelling than singing so that everyone in the group can hear, kind of like singing rock, and something about that has a big effect on one's energy and morale. We were singing at the top of our lungs and cranking along to the beat, and having a blast.</div>
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"This is a repeat after me song!"</div>
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<em>"This is a repeat after me song!"</em></div>
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"In Fourteen Hundred and Ninety Two!"</div>
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<em>"In Fourteen Hundred and Ninety Two!"</em></div>
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"A sailor from New Delhi!"</div>
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<em>"A sailor from New Delhi!"</em></div>
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"Was walking 'round the streets of Spain!"</div>
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<em>"Was walking 'round the streets of Spain!"</em></div>
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"Selling hot tamales!"</div>
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<em>"Selling hot tamales!"</em></div>
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"He said the World was round, Oh!"</div>
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<em>"He said the World was round, Oh!"</em></div>
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"He said it could be found, Oh!"</div>
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<em>"He said it could be found, Oh!"</em></div>
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"That hypothetical, calculating, son-of-a-gun Columbo!"</div>
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<em>"That hypothetical, calculating, son-of-a-gun Columbo!"</em></div>
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Eventually though, we had burned out our extra energy reserves. Gray, bald mountains loomed ahead of us marking a large bend that would send us Northeast for the rest of our day. Our voices hoarse from singing, and our legs tired from vigorous riding, we decided it was time to take a little nap right there on the side of the road, which we hadn't done in a several days.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark's "Moose Antlers"</td></tr>
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We were kind of on a whole "moose" theme for the day, with Mark even putting his gloves on his handlebars when he didn't need to wear them, saying "Oh yah, I'll just put deese here, and I'll blend right in with da mooses."</div>
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As the road bent Northeast, it also bent uphill, slowing our pace. The rest of the day just blended into a blur of uphill riding through lush green forest with the occasional snack or bathroom break.</div>
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We had aimed to make it into Teslin, but after the last few hours of uphill riding, when we came upon a Canadian Provincial Park campground at Squanga Lake, we were ready to call it a day.</div>
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The campground was nearly completely vacant, but well-kept. It appeared that there wasn't any kind of an on site camp host, but there was a large pile of cut firewood that was offered to campers free of charge. Nice! But the sign on the water spigot warned that it was pretty much right from the lake and should be filtered before being considered "potable." Not so nice. But at least we had a source of water <em>to</em> filter, so we didn't really have anything to complain about. Besides, the free firewood pretty much cancelled out everything else, and we picked the camp site closest to the firewood.</div>
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With the free firewood, Mark was determined to get a fire going, so he worked on that while I set up the tent. Right about the time that he got a small flame going, one of our only neighbors wandered up to get some firewood and we started to chit chat. He commented that he had actually seen us riding that day as he passed us in his RV, and he invited us over to his camp site to have dinner with his wife and their friends.</div>
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Free food always trumps free firewood, so Mark let the fire fizzle out, and we gathered our things for dinner--but I don't just mean our dishes and eating utensils. Strapped to our bikes from the very beginning of our adventure were ukuleles. I carried a little soprano uke, what most people would consider to be the standard ukulele, and Mark carried a baritone uke, which is much closer in size to a standard guitar, and we each put a handful of rice in them so we could shake them and get a sound like maracas. We are a very musical family. On our previous bike tours, we had spent a great deal of time performing goofy musical numbers for the many characters we met along the way, but this time, we almost didn't have any time for that as we were constantly trying to keep up our mileage quota. We had pulled out our ukes a few times here and there in the evenings after we had already set up camp, but really didn't have the energy to do more than practice a few chords.</div>
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In 2006 when Mark and my dad did a tour without me from Vancouver to Mexico, they came up with a new little ditty that they would sing to people they met loosely called "Riding Our Bikes To Mexico." The chorus goes something like:</div>
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<em>[C Maj.]</em></div>
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<em>Riding our bikes,</em></div>
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<em>Riding our bikes,</em></div>
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<em>Riding our bikes to [G Maj.] </em><em>Mexico!</em></div>
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<em>Sun to our right,</em></div>
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<em>Wind to our backs,</em></div>
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<em>Riding our bikes to Mexi [C Maj.] co!</em></div>
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We certainly had NOT had the wind to our backs most of the time up in the sub-arctic, but we were indeed headed to Mexico. When it was too windy to talk, Mark and I had spent a lot of time coming up with our own verses to the song, and Mark came up with some of his own. Along with the ukuleles, it was a pretty catchy tune, and it was a fun and entertaining way to summarize our adventure up to that point. We had practiced enough to be ready just in case someone asked where we had started...</div>
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For dinner, we were fed heaping plates of spaghetti with meatballs and garlic butter french bread, and our hosts kept piling it on until we were so full that we had to refuse. Our hosts were getting rosy cheeked from their red wine, and finally one of them asked, "Where did you start?"</div>
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Mark and I grinned and whipped out our ukuleles.</div>
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<em>Well, since you asked,</em></div>
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<em>we flew to Anchorage Alaska,</em></div>
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<em>which is many many miles from our home.</em></div>
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<em>Then we started riding South,</em></div>
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<em>and you heard it from the horse's mouth,</em></div>
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<em>we are riding our bikes to Mexico!</em></div>
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<em>And now we're</em></div>
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<em>[Chorus]</em></div>
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<em>Riding our bikes,</em></div>
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<em>Riding our big bad bikes,</em></div>
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<em>Riding our bikes to Mexico!</em></div>
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<em>Sun to our right,</em></div>
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<em>Wind to our backs,</em></div>
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<em>Riding our bikes to Mexico!</em></div>
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<em>There's mosquitoes in my face,</em></div>
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<em>they're all over the place,</em></div>
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<em>Riding my bike to Mexico!</em></div>
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<em>They came from the grass,</em></div>
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<em>I think one bit me on my ...arm,</em></div>
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<em>riding my bike to Mexico!</em></div>
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<em></em></div>
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<em>I've got the wind in my hair,</em></div>
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<em>I'm getting chased by a bear!</em></div>
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<em>Just keep on pedaling pedaling down to Mexico!</em></div>
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<em>There's a lake over there!</em></div>
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<em> There's a lake over there!</em></div>
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<em>There's a lake by a stream!</em></div>
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<em> There's two lakes over there!</em></div>
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<em>There's a lake by a tree,</em></div>
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<em> There's a lake by a lake!?</em></div>
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<em> There's a lake in a tree,</em></div>
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<em>Theres a lake by some glaciers,</em></div>
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<em> Theres a lake IN a lake?</em></div>
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<em> There's a lake by a bear,</em></div>
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A BEAR!?</div>
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[Acapella Harmony] <em>There's a lake in my pants.</em></div>
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<em>...</em></div>
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<em>Riding our bikes to Mexico!</em></div>
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And so on.</div>
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After lots of singing, stories, and laughing, we thanked our hosts for the hospitality, and they thanked us for the entertainment, and we went off to our own little camp where Mark got the fire started again and we played our ukuleles until our fingers hurt and our eyelids were heavy.</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001UPLT2W/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=alastomexi-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001UPLT2W"><span style="color: #b38f00;">GET YOUR OWN Biking, The Bikers Journal - MINI Kraft Hard Cover on Amazon.com</span></a></div>
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Elevation Profile Coming Soon...</div>
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<strong>Route: 67 Miles, 10 Hours</strong></div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3Alaska Hwy, Yukon, Unorganized, YT, Canada60.446043178647237 -133.6026763916015660.414724178647234 -133.68164039160158 60.47736217864724 -133.52371239160155tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-712608588900791042012-07-26T08:04:00.000-06:002012-07-26T08:04:24.895-06:00Work and Blogging<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ugh. I'm about halfway done with the post for Day 12, but I've been scheduled at work pretty much non-stop, so I haven't been able to finish that up. Ah, if only I could pay the bills by blogging. Even with the few thousand hits I've had over the past month, my Google AdSense ads have only made about ten cents. :P<br />
<br />
Anyway, look for the new major post next week.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-55659709582860978072012-07-15T00:06:00.000-06:002012-07-15T00:14:49.359-06:00Is Mexico Safe?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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One comment that we got from people ALL THE TIME--especially in Southern California as we were approaching the US/Mexico border--was to <i>avoid going into Mexico. </i>Actually, I still get the comment all the time. It poses a tricky question: Is it safe to enter Tijuana from San Diego on bikes?</div>
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The short answer is no.</div>
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Here is the long answer:</div>
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The entire US/Mexican border is a volatile place where much crime and violence has taken place in recent years for various reasons. Stories of kidnappings and shootings along the border are fairly common in the news and by word of mouth. So is going across the border dangerous?</div>
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Yes. </div>
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But so is riding your bike down a mountain going 50 miles per hour with nothing between you and the pavement but a thin layer of Spandex.</div>
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Or spending the night in a tent in the middle of bear territory.</div>
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Or drinking water from a potentially virus contaminated stream off the side of the road.</div>
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Or sharing the single lane highway with geriatrics driving 50 foot long motor homes requiring no special training.</div>
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Need I go on? By the time we got to Tijuana, drug cartels with automatic weapons and explosives weren't any more frightening to us than what we had already endured. Any of those things I listed are potentially life threatening. You can't be "deader" than dead. It is like rock climbing; You get to a point that if you fall, you are going to die. Climbing higher doesn't increase the severity of death you will experience if you fall.</div>
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The fear of death can drastically limit the flavors of life that you can sample. Everyone dies. Don't fear death. Fear passing up the opportunity to live. Given the choice between dying while just living an ordinary life (AKA, in a car accident, by terminal illness, or natural disaster) or while living an extraordinary life (AKA being mauled by a grizzly bear, eaten by wolves, or shot by a Mexican drug cartel) I'd have to pick the latter.</div>
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One can influence the <i>chances</i> of death or injury under given circumstances though. How do you do that? Well, to increase your odds of surviving a bike wreck, you wear a helmet, and learn how to ride safely. To increase the odds of surviving a bear attack, first learn how to avoid them with proper backwoods techniques, and learn what others have done to survive actual attacks. You can decrease your odds of danger when visiting Mexico too. I'll talk about more of that in another post.</div>
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As a final thought for this post, we've visited the marketplace just over the US/Mexico border at Tijuana numerous times in recent years without issue. One time, we actually asked one of the shop owners who we'd become chummy with if we were in any danger. Here is how he put it:</div>
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"Our entire economy [in that area of Tijuana] relies on you Americans coming over the border and buying from us. If you don't do that, we are history. You see the guys there, there, and there?"</div>
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He pointed to some dangerous looking Mexicans standing like statues in the shadows with their arms crossed tightly over their chests and eyes hidden by sunglasses.</div>
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"They make sure you are safe. They make sure that we can stay in business."</div>
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I got the impression that those guys weren't exactly hired by the city officials--but were maybe placed there by whoever <i>really</i> runs that town. I'm not saying it was the Mexican Mafia... but I'm not saying it wasn't.</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-25064623869824042612012-07-14T01:14:00.000-06:002012-07-14T01:17:00.090-06:00Day 12 Preview<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In the next major post, Mark and I leave the last signs of the civilized world behind us again as we near the border of the Yukon and British Columbia, where we will begin the most rugged, desolate stretch of our adventure--the Cassiar Highway. </div>
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But we had to make it there first. </div>
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Follow along with us next week as we face off against heavy trucker traffic and road construction as we discover that potable water was becoming a rare luxury on Day 12 of our adventure riding our bikes from Alaska to Mexico.</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-51912353679510381652012-07-08T10:15:00.000-06:002012-07-08T10:23:50.220-06:00AK2MEX for Kindle!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-38508204644784281622012-07-06T10:10:00.001-06:002012-07-08T15:32:04.412-06:00Day 11 - Champagne to Whitehorse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong style="background-color: white; text-align: justify;">Tuesday, June 3, 2008</strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">We</span> were on the road earlier than ever--9:30 am.</strong> I was excited because the day was supposed to be only about 56 miles of riding with our sights set on the city of Whitehorse, the capital of the Yukon Territory. We had poked our heads out of our tent happily surprised to see the sun shining brightly as the air carried a warm tail wind. All days prior had been too cold for shorts, but we were feeling optimistic and dressed for warm weather. On days like the one prior where there was hardly a cloud in the sky, even the SPF 80 sunblock we were using couldn't completely keep my ears from being cooked like bacon in the intense sunlight. I decided to try something new to protect my ears, and wrapped a bandanna around my head with my ears tucked beneath. The day was looking like it was going to be great--except for one looming problem.</div>
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We were running low on water and didn't have any known sources nearby to rely on. We had topped off in Haines Junction, but we only carried enough water for a day or two. It made me a little nervous to head onward without knowing when we would be able to refill.<br />
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The miles flew by easily with the wind to our backs and mild terrain, though the air was a little more chilly than we had initially guessed as the sun had become hidden by patchy tufts of cotton clouds. We were still surrounded by vast forests, but the trees seemed more hearty--bushier around the middle, though still not very tall. Gone was the spongey ground covering we called "moose carpet," and in its place was gritty, sandy dirt. In some places, the sand collected into little banks on the sides of the roads--sandunes that were lost and cold in the Great North, huddling in the corners trying not be noticed.<br />
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I kept looking for places to fill up our water. The maps had some names of places we'd be going through, but I learned over the past week or so that just because there is a name on a map, it doesn't mean there is actually anything there. I was hopeful, but the miles kept rolling by without any sign of water, aside from stagnant marshy pools that had collected from snow melt trapped in shallow glens. On the bright side though, were making excellent time. We were cruising right along as we coasted our way down a gradual slope, interrupted only here and there by small climbs. The pines thinned slightly and voluminous green aspens filled the gaps. It was easy to get lulled into a sense of serenity...<br />
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Oh God--<br />
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Something big and brown is lumbering up ahead just on the side of the road at the top of a hill.<br />
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We both come to a complete stop and stare at the moving shape that just kicked our adrenaline glands in the teeth.<br />
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This time, it definitely isn't just a <a href="http://www.alaska-to-mexico.blogspot.com/2009/10/chapter-8.html" target="_blank">cycling hermit</a>.<br />
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We knew that it was inevitable that we would encounter bears on this adventure, and we were always on the alert--especially for the notorious grizzly bear. We still hadn't seen one during our entire trip thus far, and now, ahead of us, blocking our way, is a... a something. Something brown and lumbering. And BIG. It isn't the right color to just be another moose. We decide to just watch it, hoping it will leave on its own...<br />
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It doesn't.<br />
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We yell and make some noises to try and shoo it away.<br />
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Nothing.<br />
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I let out a deep sigh. Whatever it is, it is not interested in moving along into the woods. "<span style="background-color: white;">We can't just sit here all day. </span><span style="background-color: white;">I guess we're going to just have to ride past it."</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000BSZDP8/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=alastomexi-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000BSZDP8" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPpq_Zf0CbXS55T9C7TGHQ6qwc8FYoc19B5B0IHRHjkDlDSFZD3dxskzE79lgcGflH4b2JGbPR6gKmMnpI05SF6CZZV9qdfRqkxvhLEjTcH6ZcGjo_1ISA-iHsqCkNrxgsCzAqz6Ryapc/s200/100_0695.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B002LI9FKK/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&tag=alastomexi-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B002LI9FKK" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://ws.assoc-amazon.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&Format=_SL110_&ASIN=B002LI9FKK&MarketPlace=US&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&tag=alastomexi-20&ServiceVersion=20070822" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=alastomexi-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B002LI9FKK" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" /> Mark agrees. I put my bear spray right where I can grab it in my handlebar bag, and Mark puts his whistle between his lips, and has the Ka-Bar combat knife ready to unsheath at the drop of a pine cone. I think to myself, <i>...so...you and your fifteen year old brother are going to take on a grizzly bear with some aerosol and knives? Good luck with that.</i> We cross over to the other side of the road to put as much distance between us and the--thing--as possible, and then we cautiously make our way up to the top of the slope, continuing to shout, whistle, and generally make ourselves known, but whatever it is, <i>it</i> is not afraid of <i>us</i>. <span style="background-color: white;">I imagined being in a situation where playing dead wasn't working, and I was fighting for my life. I tried to hypothesize the best place possible to stab my 6 inch blade. </span><i style="background-color: white;">I'll bet it is really hard to stab through that thick layer of fur, flesh, and fat around the neck and head.</i><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><i style="background-color: white;">Best go for the eyes--blind it and try to stab through to the brain.</i><br />
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As we near the top, my adrenaline really starts pumping and I go into fight or flight mode.<br />
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Oh crap.<br />
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<i>There's several of them.</i><br />
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Mark and I had a good laugh when we suddenly realized it was just a bunch of horses grazing. Great Northern Grizzly Horses, we called them. (Pretty much everything was a "Great Northern Grizzley/Wooly-Something-or-Other" to us up there--don't get me started on the Great Northern Wooly Barking Spider.) While we did eventually end up having some bear encounters on our adventure, this just wasn't one of them--however, it <i>was </i>the last false alarm.<br />
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As we rode on, I wondered if the horses were wild or not, but it faded from my mind after little thought as thirst crept up on me. We had just kept on riding through the day without any opportunity to fill up on fresh water. Most of the time, things just seemed to time out about perfectly, whether it was finding a store for food, or a vault-toilet on the side of the road--but we were striking out today. No stores. No public water supply. Not even a friendly house with a garden hose. And then our relatively easy ride became a lot tougher as we hit the bottom of the slope we had been coasting on the whole day, and started working our way over some sentinel hills guarding the way to Whitehorse. Out of water and four hundred feet climbed--I'd say it took the wind from our sails, however we had plenty of wind at that point. It was just blowing the wrong way.<br />
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Even though we were within 15 miles of Whitehorse, we couldn't put it off any longer. We'd have to filter some water, but we needed a decent source, and the<span style="background-color: white;"> only good candidate had been a very small creek that ran under the highway a few hours back.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">We had crossed a large river a few hours earlier, but it was deep, swift, silty, and had steep banks covered in thick brush, which would have made things very difficult. Great for rafting; awful for trying to filter. We also had seen many shallow pools along the route, but they were typically surrounded by grassy, muddy, wetland; Difficult to get to, and likely to taste like swamp. As soon as I saw the snow covered creek just off of the road, it may as well have been Perrier. It was crystal clear, brisk, quick-moving water--perfect for filtering. We filled all of our water bottles, drank as much as possible, and then topped the bottles off again. Finally with our thirsts quenched, we set out on the last stretch to Whitehorse.</span><br />
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In the late afternoon, the winds persisted in slowing us down as we climbed through the outlying hills. Wilderness gave way to rural lands. Parallel to the highway ran a dirt trail for ATVs--apparently a popular mode of travel. After 46 miles of riding, we reached the sign welcoming us to Whitehorse, but it was another several miles of windy hills marked with small Yukon billboards before we reached an outlying gas station. With some cheap coffee in hand, we took the opportunity to browse through the leaflets and tourist directory to find a place to stay for the evening, but it didn't look like we had any great options for camping, and after two nights on the road camped in the middle of no-where, a hotel sounded mighty nice.<br />
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From the gas station, we steadily dropped into the city of Whitehorse, neatly placed parallel to the glassy, meandering Yukon river. Greeting us just at the bottom of the hill was a glorious sight: Super Walmart. After eleven days on the road with little more than roadhouses and general stores to meet our shopping needs, it was like we had just found Bali Ha'i, and it was calling to us, "come to me, come to me..."<br />
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Normally we would take turns shopping and watching the bikes and gear outside, but that wasn't going to cut it today, and we loaded all of our stuff into shopping carts, locked up our bikes, and entered through the golden gates... er... automatic doors. Aside from a few confused or disapproving looks from employees or shoppers, we were in heaven--and then we saw the McDonalds housed within. In the lower 48 states it is common for McDonalds to have a pretty decent dollar menu, but we discovered that was a luxury we would not have here. For a single cheeseburger, it was roughly $3 Canadian. A Big Mac meal was roughly $10. We were unaware that our U.S. dollars were busy taking a nosedive too during that summer of 2008, so it was costing us even more, but we were so taken by the comfort of familiarity that we didn't care much. The menu had some special items that we would never see at the McDonalds back home, including a Double Big Mac with Bacon. In no time flat, I was munching one down with a big idiot's grin, about $20 U.S. lighter in the wallet. <br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">With a huge new stockpile of groceries and full bellies, we set out to find a place to stay for the night around 7 p.m. We were aiming for cheap, but the cheapest we could find was an unsavory looking hostel located immediately above an even more unsavory looking saloon. If it were just me, I probably would have just taken it, but I felt pretty uneasy about putting Mark in that situation. I got a bad vibe from the place, and I think Mark did too. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhIUc1C2HarTwLcqi2AlkQ3sTnUezPHSq8hAnt5F-4VTRFGHaXqbCCB7BTayEOpwy3AY5fFRqffPSppg6kRfw4WOuBckyscuAcBKxw42nBuQ3nSFEfDbPaOLryLMR2az4nddNfICokSBk/s1600/100_0521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhIUc1C2HarTwLcqi2AlkQ3sTnUezPHSq8hAnt5F-4VTRFGHaXqbCCB7BTayEOpwy3AY5fFRqffPSppg6kRfw4WOuBckyscuAcBKxw42nBuQ3nSFEfDbPaOLryLMR2az4nddNfICokSBk/s320/100_0521.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: white;">After zig-zagging around downtown to several different hotels, we finally found a place priced under $200 Canadian, called Family Hotel. We still spent about $100 there, but after doing laundry for the first time eleven days, taking nice hot showers, and melting into some sub-par twin size beds that felt as fluffy as clouds to us after riding just over 700 miles, it was well worth it. We kicked back getting a taste of Canadian broadcast TV, and then finally went to bed a little after midnight.</span><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-69296497205770563122012-07-02T13:20:00.002-06:002012-07-02T13:20:41.004-06:00Pacific Coast Cycling Guides<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have decided to launch a <a href="http://www.pacificcoastcycling.com/" target="_blank">new sister blog</a> to <a href="http://www.alaska-to-mexico.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Alaska to Mexico</a>. While the Alaska to Mexico blog will continue to tell the story of our 2008 adventure, the new blog will focus specifically on Pacific Coast travel guides, travel conditions, gear reccomendations, and bicycle touring tips, so for you readers who want the most in depth guides ever published for cycling between Anchorage, Alaska and Tijuana Mexico subscribe now to <a href="http://www.pacificcoastcycling.com/">http://www.pacificcoastcycling.com/</a> and keep an eye out. Right now it is just a baby, but it is growing all the time.<br />
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Oh, and did I mention, its FREE!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-32268209406489685622012-07-01T16:33:00.001-06:002012-07-03T15:35:33.691-06:00Two Wheels North: Bicycling the West Coast in 1909<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0870714856/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&tag=alastomexi-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0870714856" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ws.assoc-amazon.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&Format=_SL160_&ASIN=0870714856&MarketPlace=US&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&tag=alastomexi-20&ServiceVersion=20070822" width="135" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=alastomexi-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0870714856" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />If you enjoy reading my blog, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0870714856/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=alastomexi-20&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creative=390957&amp;creativeASIN=0870714856" target="_blank">this book</a> might be worth a look. Kinda sounds like us...except in 1909! It is called <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0870714856/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=alastomexi-20&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creative=390957&amp;creativeASIN=0870714856http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0870714856/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=alastomexi-20&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creative=390957&amp;creativeASIN=0870714856" target="_blank">Two Wheels North: Bicycling the West Coast in 1909</a>.</em></div>
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<em>Two boys on a bike trip are sure to find adventure. Send them off into the wilds of the American West, and it's a safe bet adventure will find them. </em>(Its true! That is what this whole blog is about!)<br />
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<em>In 1909, Vic McDaniel and Ray Franciso, just out of high school, set out from Santa Rosa, CA., on second-hand bikes, bound for the great Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition in Seattle. Vic and Ray reported their adventures to their home-town newspaper, and what adventures they had. They met their share of memorable characters, from a young girl who stole Ray's heart to pin-striped hustler who tried to pick Vic's pocket. They traveled beside railroad tracks, fought their way around boulders and up brushy hillsides, and crossed rivers layered with salmon. They survived a grizzly's nocturnal visit and the sudden terror of a snake bite. They held their breaths crossing railroad trestles over treacherous canyons, and discovered that a railroad tunnel doesn't offer safe passage when you're halfway through and a train comes along. </em></div>
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<em>Evelyn Gibb, Vic's daughter, has drawn on his recollections to tell this incredible adventure in his voice. A captivating account of a journey that today we can only dream about, "Two Wheels North" has won the Pacific Northwest Writers Association Nonficiton Book Award.</em><br />
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This is on my "to read" list now. If any of you readers out there have already read it, leave me a comment about what you thought. </div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-72549919815077501772012-06-27T13:20:00.001-06:002012-07-01T15:57:42.004-06:00Pacific Coast Tour 2012<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Mark and my dad, David, are off on a tour without me! They just flew out to San Francisco yesterday afternoon with plans to ride down the coast to San Diego. I'm very sad that Amanda (my wife) and I aren't able to join them this year, but it is for another good cause: Amanda and I are planning a big trip to Northern India this year! That should be a great adventure in and of itself.<br />
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Last year, Mark, my dad, Amanda, Renee, and I all did a tour from Vancouver, British Columbia down to Lincoln City, Oregon. It was pretty open ended, and we hoped to complete at least down to the Oregon/California border, but we only had two very unflexible weeks, and we ultimately didn't want to rush. I have been kind of left wanting for another tour sometime soon, and I would have really liked to join my dad and brother.<br />
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As I've been completely overhauling my photos and videos from our 2008 tour, I'm finding myself constantly longing to be on the road of some spectacular journey. Actually, I've been frequenting Google Maps to entertain ideas for possible routes and itineraries starting in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prudhoe_Bay,_Alaska" target="_blank">Prudhoe Bay</a>, Alaska. I'm not sure how to make the timing and funding work these days though. My wife has a job that she loves, and I can't imagine her having any interest in uprooting from that for 6 months to live on bikes without any income. I, on the other hand, feel like a fish out of water at my job, and would much rather my job be blogging about my adventures down the Panamerican Highway.<br />
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Good luck to Mark and my Dad, and if you see them out there on the road, give them some Oreos and a Red Bull for me!</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-81192262950189888722012-06-10T13:28:00.001-06:002012-07-08T15:32:38.356-06:00Day 10 - Kloo Lake to Champagne... Kind Of<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><em>June 2, 2008</em></strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>We</strong></span> <strong>were beginning to wise up a bit regarding the wind.</strong> The pattern we noticed was that the winds ceased at night, and started up again around 10 A.M.. As it so happened, our morning was wind free as we quickly broke down camp--but just as we had hypothesised, the wind picked up just as we were hitting the road around 10:00. It was a familiar foe that we were beginning to love to hate.</div>
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We noticed large sections of tall, dry grasses helplessly matted down flat, defenseless against the steady currents of wind trampling it down like an endless stampede of Yukon Caribou. We had been there, but we weren't going to let it get us down anymore. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The big stop of the day that we were looking forward to was the town of </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haines_Junction" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">Haines Junction</a><span style="background-color: white;"> which rested at the bottom of a long descent, but first we had to finish the continuing climb we had started out of Kluane Lake. At the slow speeds we maintained going up the gentle slope, and with my new found strength in accepting the inevitable wind, I was able to focus more on just taking in my surroundings. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The sky was much clearer than it had been over the past several days, and the air warmer--and it carried a sweet scent. Most of the local vegetation we had seen consisted of various greenery, but I noticed a distinct difference: Bright blue, violet, and small white flowers blossomed out in the open with the tall grasses where they were free from the dark shadows cast beneath the pines. It was finally starting to feel more like summer as we had steadily progressed towards our final destination at the US/Mexico border. We still had a very long way to travel, but I felt content at the thought rather than overwhelmed.</span></div>
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After about 10 km (a little more than 6 miles) we finally crested the top and picked up speed as we coasted down the other side. The winding nature of the road weaving down shallow canyons lined with more and more deciduous forest seemed to baffle the wind a little bit--enough that we were able to mostly coast on the steeper parts. It would be another 12.5 miles into town.</div>
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We saw a haggard looking cyclist heading in the opposite direction. As was typical, our conversation only lasted as long as we were within earshot of each other.</div>
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"Hey, where are you riding up from?"</div>
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"Panama."</div>
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He definitely looked like it. He was lean and strong, his skin had been deeply tanned, and his hairs on his arms and legs bleached white in the sun. I wondered how long he had been riding. He was riding alone, and I wondered to myself if a solo ride of that length would even be any fun. I decided I was very glad that Mark, my brother, was there to share the adventure. Half the fun was just getting into one pickle after another and being able to laugh about it with him. When there wasn't constant wind, we would just talk and talk for hours. When we ran out of real things to talk about, we'd switch into these different character voices and entertain ourselves that way. Also, there was always a little bit of competition between us that kept prodding us onward.</div>
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"Are you tired yet?"</div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">We rolled into </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haines_Junction" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">Haines Junction</a><span style="background-color: white;"> ready for some food and rest. It wasn't much, but it was the biggest town we had seen since Tok, so we were excited to have a fully stocked grocery store--rustic as it may have been. Most of our electronics were just at the verge of dying, if not already dead, so we were on the lookout for a good place to re-juice. The </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000FKL6T4/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=alastomexi-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000FKL6T4" style="background-color: white;">Brunton Solaris Foldable Solar Array (12 Watt)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=alastomexi-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B000FKL6T4" style="background-color: white; margin: 0px;" width="1" /><span style="background-color: white;"> was great when we didn't have any other option, but it only put out enough power to charge one thing at a time, so it was often tricky to keep everything charged. A picnic table out in front of the grocery store near some power outlets was the perfect spot for us to commandeer for a few hours, and as usual, we took turns to watch the bikes and charge up batteries while the other did grocery shopping. We made quite a long break of it as our electronics charged. </span></div>
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While we waited, we asked for some directions to the post office. Since we didn't know exactly what to expect that far North, we ended up with a lot of things that were just taking up precious space in our panniers and not doing much else to aide us. Two boxes later and a few pounds lighter, (almost all of it was my stuff) we were back on the road, headed North out of Haines Junction.</div>
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We had lost about 2 hours, so we picked up the pace. I mistakenly thought the wind had died down for the day, but as soon as we made the bend heading East again and came up onto the bench, we were back in the thick of it... but something was different. Mark's face suddenly lit up. It took me a second to realize that the wind was actually a tailwind that was helping push us along! Yahoo! With that, the miles seemed to fly by. The sun cast a warm golden glow over the tall grass and forest as the road stretched out far ahead of us with very little variation for about 15 miles.</div>
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We weren't really sure where we would stay for the night, as there wasn't really a predetermined stop so we stopped when we came to a turnout for the historic <a href="http://sightsandsites.ca/southern/alaska/canyon-creek.html" target="_blank">Canyon Creek Bridge</a> to have some food and evaluate our options. The maps showed a location called "Champagne," but after talking to some of the locals, it sounded like there weren't any campgrounds for us to stay in, and it also sounded like the cut-off road was not paved. The guy we were talking to told us that there was actually a bike route that we had missed out of Haines Junction, but we didn't feel too bad because a lot of it wasn't paved either. With no paved roads and no campground, it didn't seem to make much sense to take the cutoff route, so in favor of making good mileage, the new plan was to bypass the Champagne cutoff road and camp off the highway in the woods as soon as we found a good spot.</div>
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After 21 miles of rolling hills, we had reached our quota for the day of about 63 miles. (I always kept track of what daily average we had to maintain in order to reach Vancouver on time to meet up with our dad.) We found a clearing just off the highway with a patch of trees for some cover, and made camp there around 8:00pm--the earliest we had stopped riding on the whole trip. We were still a little spooked about bear and moose, especially since we weren't camping in an area that was established as being inhabited by people. With no man-made structures to exploit as our food storage bin, we rigged up our bear bag in the trees, and set our tent in the open so we could have a clear view of any wildlife that might wander into our neighborhood, and we made a small fire as an additional precaution to help deter unwanted furry visitors.</div>
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Because we stopped much earlier than usual, we had some extra time to just relax and settle in, and we planned to be up earlier too to avoid a few hours of potential wind. We relaxed around our little fire for a bit as we filled our bellies with food, and then we crawled into our tent and drifted off to sleep.</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001UPLT2W/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=alastomexi-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001UPLT2W">GET YOUR OWN Biking, The Bikers Journal - MINI Kraft Hard Cover on Amazon.com</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=alastomexi-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B001UPLT2W" style="margin: 0px;" width="1" /></div>
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Route - 59.2 Miles in 10 hours</div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Haines Junction, YT Y0B, Canada60.7544541 -137.511781860.723424099999995 -137.5907458 60.7854841 -137.43281779999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-55764020583130916982012-04-26T23:00:00.001-06:002012-07-01T15:57:41.968-06:002012 Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Wow, it has been too long since I have been able to keep the chapters rolling, but I should be able to pick it back up where I left off. As of writing this, I can see that my blog design template has not aged well, and most current browsers make a mess of it. That will be one of the first items on my "to do" list.</div>
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For a little update, Mark is currently attending college, and I recently married the love of my life, Amanda. We all (Mark, Amanda, my dad David, and our friend Renee) did a little tour from Vancouver BC down to Lincoln City, Oregon last summer. That was great to get back on the road, but I didn't train AT ALL and ended up with a pretty inflamed knee that slowed us all way down (though everyone was secretly happy to take the pace down a few notches). Mark, Amanda and I have decided to begin preparations to climb Mt. Everest in a few years. We want to get in much better condition as well as gain experience climbing other mountains first, but we have officially begun training. Yahoooooo!<br />
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<strong>UPDATE: Alright, I think I've got a good replacement skin for the blog. It works quite a bit differently, but it should be a big improvement. Also, note that you can change the style on the fly up in the navigation bar. :) Give it a try! If you want to just browse the various photos posted throughout the blog, try switching to "Snapshot" view.</strong></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-63822609242939704112010-02-24T16:57:00.006-07:002012-07-11T17:27:01.761-06:00Day 9 –Burwash Landing to Kloo Lake<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white;"><i>Sunday, June 1, 2008</i></b><br />
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Whoever told us that it would be windy by Kluane Lake wasn’t kidding. In the morning as we packed our things, the wind wasn’t yet blowing with full force, but it was licking at the lake, upsetting its surface and sending small waves into the North-Western shore. It was cold too -- Cold enough that we were wearing our wool mittens. We had pretty much blown our food budget on the $15 burgers the night before, and the store at Burwash Landing didn’t have much in the way of sustainable food, so we ate the last of what we had on hand, which wasn’t much at all. They warned us at the lodge that there weren't any grocery stores untill Haines Juction, but we knew to take that with a grain of salt. Destruction Bay was coming up, and roadhouses like that usually had the kind of food we needed. We made sure to grab a map from the pamphlet rack in the lobby since the GPS wasn’t being too much help, then we hit the road.</div>
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Down the road just a bit we saw a small round owl perched in one of the dead trees to our right. Apparently the dead woods were not void of <em>all</em> life. It was comforting to see, but perhaps it was a bad omen of what our day had in store…<br />
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The paved roads quickly turned to loose gravel, and it had more traffic than we were used to. When semis would pass us, they had enough brains to give us plenty of room, and enough courtesy to slow down so we weren’t sprayed by the loose gravel, but the goddamned average joe’s in their pickup trucks and RV’s didn’t seem to know or care that when they zipped past us that they were giving us a face-full of marble sized rocks. When these ass-hats passed us, it hurt like hell. We tried to signal to oncoming vehicles to slow down, but they just zipped on past at full speed throwing gravel up at us. We had to time it just right to cover our faces with an arm or turn our heads away from the road when they’d pass in order to prevent losing an eye or busting out our teeth. It pisses me off just thinking about it! We were also choking on the huge dust clouds that followed each vehicle, but we could deal with that. Dust to the face? Who cares. Rocks to the face? You've got an angry Jake.</div>
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THEN the wind started to REALLY blow on top of it all. It was time to put the music back on, so out came the MP3 players. </div>
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On one particularly mushy section of soft dirt and gravel, my bike sunk in so deep that it came to a dead stop, and I just sort of tipped over and fell sprawled out in the dust. I wasn’t going fast enough to actually get hurt, but since Mark was only half paying attention, it looked like I had totally ate crap on the road, so he jumped off of his bike in a panic asking if I was okay. I just laughed and dusted myself off, but after looking at my bike, I noticed that the grip-shift broke away from my handlebars, and I stopped laughing. A broken shifter means I’d be stuck in one gear until I could get it fixed. I fiddled with it for a bit, and I was able to get it jury-rigged back to the handlebars using a zip-tie and I got it to work correctly, but it was disheartening that my bike was becoming more and more just a mass of jury-rigged bike parts, and we'd only been on the road for just over a week.</div>
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Several miles down the road we came to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Destruction_Bay,_Yukon%20/%20Destruction%20Bay,%20Yukon">Destruction Bay</a>—another lakeside roadhouse community, but it was much larger than Burwash Landing with what looked like a few hundred hotel rooms available. They also had a much better store for re -stocking supplies, and since we were practically out of food, we did some shopping.</div>
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As was typical, we went strait for the sweets to satisfy our 11,000 calorie diet, which was particularly more amusing to us since we were in Canada, and there were all sorts of brands and labels that were unknown to us. Twizzler’s licorice for example looked TOTALLY different than what we were used to, and there is a no-name brand who’s actual name is “No Name Brand.” We got a kick out of all of it. After filling our arms with candy, I told Mark, “Okay, we have enough snacks, we need to get some real food, like…” and I looked around for some real, sustainable food, but I was quickly distracted by a big pack of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0043D2V1Q/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=alastomexi-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0043D2V1Q" target="_blank">Peanut Butter Oreos</a>, and exclaimed “Oreos!” Thus, "We need to get some real food, like... Oreos!" Mark and I busted up laughing.</div>
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(To this very day, Mark and I <em>STILL</em> refer to Oreos as “Real Food,” especially since they really were a MAJOR part of our daily diet after that--when we could get them.)</div>
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We did end up getting sandwich stuff, a few cans of ‘pork and beans,’ and whatever else we could get that was individually packaged and would last a few days without refrigeration. It was a small store, but we had a lot more choice than we had been used to over the past few days. We ate a full meal consisting of energy drinks, licorice, Oreos, and cheese sticks before we set off again into the wind.</div>
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Immediately before Destruction Bay the gravel ended and the highway met pavement again, making the riding a little easier, but the wind was still making the ride grueling. According to Wikipedia, the name Destruction Bay “is derived from the wind blowing down structures erected by the military during highway construction in 1942-43.” I’d certainly believe it, but the wind became much worse as we proceeded South. The hours dragged by as we followed the Western shoreline of the Kluane on our left, and a rocky, ice-capped mountain range belonging to Kluane Canadian National Park Reserve to our right, home of the tallest mountain in Canada.</div>
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The sky was a milky gray from all of the dust and water being blown into the air by the raging winds. Further South we could see where it may have been coming from as thick plumes of dust wafted above the lake from the mouth of a canyon where the wind appeared to be the strongest. Out towards the middle of the lake, great sheets of ice left over from the winter were being blown steadily to the North despite their enormous mass, and we rode onward.</div>
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Finally we neared the South end of the lake, the wind howling in our faces. Unfortunately, our MP3 players' batteries died, so we lost our only way of distracting ourselves from the adverse conditions as the wind muffled our voices and hearing so conversation was impossible. We stopped to rest, and take in the view. We could see that once we rounded the South end of the lake, the wind would finally be to our backs—but we’d have to ride through the wind and dust raging across the highway. We found a slight break from the wind, and it was interesting to us that the plants seemed to grow just fine here where they looked weak and disheveled out in the wind. There was also a small cabin protected from the elements a few hundred feet off of the highway, so Mark went to investigate before we saddled back up.</div>
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We rounded the mountain, and we were hit with a wall of wind like I have never experienced. No plants grew here where the wind was the strongest coming from the mouth of this canyon that I could now see was a long and narrow glacier bed. We had trouble keeping enough speed to even keep the bikes upright, and only just barely moving. When I stopped to take some video of these mighty winds, my bike—weighed down with 90 lbs. of equipment—was blown over like a card-house, and nearly rolled over. If my helmet wasn’t strapped to my head it would have blown away.</div>
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This was it! The highway crossed through the channel of wind, and then it would turn us around to have these mighty winds to our backs! Mark and I had a sudden boost of adrenaline, and we pedaled into the eye of the storm. BAM! The wind hit us like a overloaded semi! It ripped dust and debris across the highway in angery blasts making it hard to see. We had to lean our bikes into the wind in order to remain upright, but even then, sudden gusts would cause us to struggle to regain ballance, but we didn't care, because soon we'd have it to our backs. We gave it one final push, and we made it through to the other side, sheltered from the wind by the mountains.</div>
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It was great to finally be free of the headwinds! Looking at the maps, we figured we'd have it to our backs the rest of the day from the direction it had been blowing, so that put us in a pretty good mood. As we rounded the lake, we saw a massive heap of ice along the Southern shore, and we took a break to check it out. The heap was made up of millions of small flakes of ice that appeared to have washed in from the melting ice still out on the lake. They somehow had bunched up into a long floating mass like a frozen pier out onto the lake. The ice crystals were beautiful as the sun refracted through them causing them to sparkle, and it was nice to take in the moment, now safe from the wind. At the same time, it was another reminder that it was still a cold season, and that we needed to find a place to camp before the sun went down.</div>
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The road began to climb up out of the basin, slow and steady. Before long, we had left Kluane Lake far below us, but the road continued to climb. And then the wind started blowing against us again. It had caught up to us after all, and it slowed us back down to a crawl. We still had a long way to go after having only gone only about 40 miles the entire day, and the hours were crawling by. I distictly remember the thought going through my head: "It would take no less than a cool $million to get me to do this again..."</div>
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Time dragged by. The days didn't seem like they could get any more difficult. <em>But somehow they did</em>. If it wasn't the hills, then it was the wind. If it wasn't that, it was freezing rain, or it was the complete lack of food and water, or drivers kicking up gravel in my face. Or, like that day, it was a combination of everything with the volume turned WAY up till I had to just get off of my bike and SCREAM. It was bull crap! We couldn't possibly make it to Vancouver in time if the days just kept getting harder and harder all the time! Yeah, you've got to expect some wind now and again, but this was rediculous! It was nothing but hills and headwinds for the past few days strait, and there was no end to it in sight! If I had any brains at all I would have stuck out my thumb and hitched a ride back to Utah.</div>
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<em>But I wanted it too bad.</em> I <em>said</em> I was going to do it, and dammit I <em>was</em> going to do it! But how could I if things kept getting harder? I stood out in the middle of the highway having just yelled my guts out looking around at the trees and grass swaying in the cold wind with the mountains still looming before us, uncaring and unwavering at my outburst. Could it just be that we had some rotten luck? If the winds had been this bad for other people who had ridden the route, wouldn't I have heard about it durring my research? I didn't remember reading about <em>this</em> in the "brochure." Would anyone in their right mind head into these hellish headwinds knowingly? No way.</div>
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I don't <em>know</em> if there is a God, but I was looking for <em>someone</em> to take my rage out on. I'd done everything I could--given it my all--so someone had to take the blame for my woes. I'd HAD it. There were no prayers to be had asking to make things easier. I turned my face to the wind and sneered at it as if seeing it personified. "What? You think this is gonna stop <em>me!?</em> You think some measly wind is gonna stop <em>ME!?</em> BRING IT ON! LETS SEE WHAT YOU'VE GOT!" And I promptly dropped my biker shorts to show the wind where the good Lord split me.</div>
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So there I was, mooning the wind.</div>
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I know that sounds pretty rediculous, but there I was nonetheless with my butt-cheeks out flapping in the Canadian wind, red, white, black and blue like a flag claiming a new land. What exactly was I thinking when I up and decided to ride my bike from Anchorage down to Tijuana Mexico? I mean seriously, I had just undergone major knee surgery just a year prior, and then I went and made hamburger out of my shoulder, but then there I was, in the middle of the Yukon, crippled, yelling and shaking my fist and the wind, finally bearing my blessed behind in a final expression of disgust.</div>
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Meanwhile, Mark, my <em>15 year old brother,</em> watched from the side of the road–too tired (and too amused just watching me) to participate with my colorful display out in the middle of the desolate Canadian highway. How had he been roped into this mess? Oh, thats right. I booked his ticket up to Anchorage without much more discussion than, “Hey! You wanna ride bikes with me from Anchorage down to Mexico?” So if he died out there, his blood was on my hands. Dad would be PISSED.</div>
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Wait, <em>HE</em> was the one to blame! My dad wass the REAL reason I was in this mess. He was going to meet us in Vancouver to join us the rest of the way to Mexico… He’s the one who booked his ticket into Vancouver only 32 days after we would fly into Anchorage, thus making me and Mark I <em>have</em> to average 75 miles per day to meet up with him! 75 miles per day!? Through THIS terrain!? You’ve gotta be nuts! That is the same pace as the Panamerican Highway World record holders for speed! We aren’t atheletes! I was a cripple, and my brother was the official token “fat kid” at his school! And somehow we’d found ourselves in the middle of the last great American frontier, completely unsupported, on our bikes.</div>
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After a week of brutal headwinds through the Alaskan and Canadian rockies, with freezing rain and miles of gravel roads, I couldn’t see how we could possibly make it to Vancouver in time.</div>
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So there I was in the middle of the Yukon.</div>
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With my 15 year old brother.</div>
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With two bikes full of camp-gear.</div>
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Mooning the wind.</div>
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<em><span style="font-size: small;"><strong>And I was having the time of my life.</strong></span></em></div>
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I felt <em>alive.</em> I caught the fire, and Mark caught it too. We hopped on our bikes and pedaled like never before. The wind gusted hard in our faces and I laughed with fiery glee, and pedaled faster. "You aren't gonna get me down." Now every gust of wind was only adding fuel to my fire. If every day was going to get harder, then I was going to fight back more fiercely. The elements had created a monster, and they were going to have to work overtime to stop me.</div>
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The rest of the day was still a miserable grind up the rolling slope till we made it to camp... but I had learned to enjoy it in a twisted, masochistic kind of way. To me, the harder things got, the more triumphant I felt after facing them. It was not so much pleasure in the pain itself, but pleasure in knowing that I would overcome it, or die trying, and grow stronger from it. I knew before the trip, but I understood better after that to expect the unexpected, and know that it all was going to be extremely hard to deal with--but probably not impossible.</div>
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Since we were no-where near civilization and the sun would soon be setting, we set up camp in a small rest stop on the side of the highway near Kloo Lake. It looked like a good fishing spot with the rest stop right next to a large crystal clear stream that flowed out from a thicket that slowly blended into the woods several hundred yards off towards the Southern mountains. Glancing at the map, the stream continued on till it reached Kloo lake about a mile North. There were various trails leading off into the thicket. Looked like bear country to me, and Mark thought so too.</div>
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I set up the tent, and then got out my backpacker's fishing pole that I had thrown in at the last minute. After only a few casts, I had a bite! I reeled it in eagerly, and pulled up... a freak of nature! I found out later that it is called an "arctic greyling," but it was the wierdest river fish I had ever seen. It basically looked like an ordinary trout... except that it had a huge unproportional dorsal fin, and big corn-on-the -cob looking scales. Well I yelled over to Mark to start a fire for us, and I got it all cleaned and ready to cook. It tasted pretty much like ordinary trout... that was cooked right in the coals of a fire ha ha. Well, Mark wanted to have a go at it, so he cast a few. He got a bite! But as he reeled it it, the line snapped, and we lost the only decent lure that I had brought with me.<br />
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Ah well. We really didn't have much time to fish out there anyway.<br />
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</script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1Burwash Landing, YT, Canada61.353977 -139.00469261.29308 -139.1626205 61.414874 -138.8467635tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-79376288217005835832010-01-20T18:10:00.003-07:002012-07-11T18:07:04.109-06:00Day 8 – “Chainsaw Massacre” Campgound to Burwash Landing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>Saturday, May 31 2008</i></b></div>
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It was kinda nice to be back home—nice warm bed, a fridge full of food, TV, etc. But it just didn’t feel right that I was back home already. It kinda felt like cheating to have stopped at home while I was in the middle of this incredible journey on my bike… Actually, I didn’t recall how I’d gotten home. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but I went with it.<br />
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When I opened my eyes though, it made a little more sense. I saw the teal-blue walls of my tent, and a big fluffy tuft of hair in my face. Part of me was relieved, and part of me was somewhat disappointed. It meant that we still had a VERY long way to go before we would finally be home. The air was frosty, but we needed to get going so I began the process of waking up Mark:<br />
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“Mark,”<br />
“Ugh…”<br />
“Come on, lets get going.”<br />
“Mmffghh…”<br />
“…Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!”<br />
“Hmmm?”<br />
“Ha! Come on, lets go!”<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ2XyTjiKgVnHrhTHek_EVUAYbvCHzvrojFWsIQSWwveaNKWl7uUVsq2Oc7dW3nyKdqq8OzoRtkTSeA2J7Y9Iflj9QQwghtDCWRvYaZJXpcI20BF6-6YyjoWCd2w46aKS4ctGLiYep57U/s1600-h/100_0244.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="nw"><img alt="" border="0" height="240" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428996182494297938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ2XyTjiKgVnHrhTHek_EVUAYbvCHzvrojFWsIQSWwveaNKWl7uUVsq2Oc7dW3nyKdqq8OzoRtkTSeA2J7Y9Iflj9QQwghtDCWRvYaZJXpcI20BF6-6YyjoWCd2w46aKS4ctGLiYep57U/s320/100_0244.jpg" style="float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" target="nw" width="320" /></a>That would usually get his attention, even if he knew it wasn’t true. Just the thought of eggs and bacon was enough to get him to finally wake up, and in a good mood too. I’d have to wake him up that way just about every morning. If that didn’t work, I’d have to resort to tickling.</div>
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I wasn’t too excited for this day to come. We knew from our research that this section would have a particularly nasty headwind thanks to a large lake between two mountain ranges. But we'd already been experiencing terrible headwinds! If it was going to be even worse... well if we could just get past the lake, we figured we would finally escape the headwinds, for a while at least.</div>
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As we ate some breakfast and packed up camp, I saw a man staring at us over from the lodge. I waved at him, but then he turned and walked away. I hoped it wasn’t to go get his shotgun (or chainsaw) but needless to say, we got packed up really quick after that.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYV9tbcL74REIYlbbZiQjoBAXfXYE9V2G75zgvYcmBkVrgKAj6BWqWOZcYGiJlQVDs8xl4DkLc0pk1QR3glkAZbsj-6LsYr20ptiknJLJkBBUtSw0Sh_4UpjLP-chmKhnz5fB_LHHAUfw/s1600-h/100_0246.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; height: 115px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; width: 204px;" target="nw"><img alt="" border="0" height="168" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428996384583777922" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYV9tbcL74REIYlbbZiQjoBAXfXYE9V2G75zgvYcmBkVrgKAj6BWqWOZcYGiJlQVDs8xl4DkLc0pk1QR3glkAZbsj-6LsYr20ptiknJLJkBBUtSw0Sh_4UpjLP-chmKhnz5fB_LHHAUfw/s320/100_0246.jpg" style="float: right; height: 105px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 200px;" target="nw" width="320" /></a>Back out by the highway, we met a guy who had a strange looking contraption on a trailer behind his truck. According to him, it was a rail car that he and his wife were going to ride from Anchorage down through Canada on the railways. “Well that’s one way to do it,” I thought. To each his own!</div>
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Well we set off down the road and after a few miles we came upon another campground roadhouse where we could have stayed if we would've known it was there. But we didn't, so we didn't. It was a pretty clear day and the roads seemed to be in better condition than they were the day prior, but we still had plenty of gravelly patches and some dirt sections that were several miles long. It was difficult to ride through especially when it was more powdery dirt because our tires would sink a couple of inches into it. The wind had already picked up, and it made things that much more difficult.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZbua7ufk5nNJC91-FDysL4U3JU47J7k5OQ-jTyn0UmaMQkgoBpnMHDG6S6tMsF30tvD4K2k8KC7l3eG8x0SQXuzvTsESQxSUoYPT_vBXAU2Fjqn1nTynMoFx15FkSbJd7VrFt1AiESk/s1600-h/100_0252.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="nw"><img alt="" border="0" height="240" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428997485198363666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZbua7ufk5nNJC91-FDysL4U3JU47J7k5OQ-jTyn0UmaMQkgoBpnMHDG6S6tMsF30tvD4K2k8KC7l3eG8x0SQXuzvTsESQxSUoYPT_vBXAU2Fjqn1nTynMoFx15FkSbJd7VrFt1AiESk/s320/100_0252.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" target="nw" width="320" /></a>We had found ourselves in a pretty broad valley filled with evergreen trees and surrounded completely by mountains that were topped with snow. Because the campground we had stayed at was not open for the season they didn't have running water yet either. Fortunately, nearby there were several lakes, and eventually there was a rest stop fishing area with a small dock by the lake so we pulled our bikes in there and as Mark cooked some lunch for us, I filtered some water. Filtering water usually takes quite a while especially for two people and for the amount of water that we needed it took about half an hour. </div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">While I filtered the water there were several people driving up to Alaska that had stopped in that same rest stop. We met a few of them, and one pair in particular who were riding motorcycles up there told us about some near misses they just had up the road. It sounded like some of the sections of highway that we had look forward to were going to be pretty rough and we'd run into plenty of washboard and some powder sections that we loved so very very much. On a bicycle it's not usually that big of a problem to have potholes and washboard since we were usually able to maneuver around these obstacles, but on a motorcycle when you're going highway speeds it can be a lot more dangerous and a lot more uncomfortable.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCpNwyQRu9coneic6uSmmMAJz9qryiSPt5Z7ziG3u-_ighQNYP4ZuwNZMH6wCvPnSwUFCl4vPMtNpx1e_imjP36zi2ctvO8NkVrdCiCZw8HsXaqxDi6chWvdPN77hk-PmTLImOGqM63k/s1600-h/100_0249.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; height: 105px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; width: 202px;" target="nw"><img alt="" border="0" height="152" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428996795442985650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCpNwyQRu9coneic6uSmmMAJz9qryiSPt5Z7ziG3u-_ighQNYP4ZuwNZMH6wCvPnSwUFCl4vPMtNpx1e_imjP36zi2ctvO8NkVrdCiCZw8HsXaqxDi6chWvdPN77hk-PmTLImOGqM63k/s320/100_0249.jpg" style="float: right; height: 95px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 200px;" target="nw" width="320" /></a>Sure enough once we got back out on the road we ran into some more dirt and gravel roads. We also discovered that the water that we'd filtered tasted pretty nasty. The part of the lake that I had filtered the water from was filled with moss and algae and that's exactly what our water tasted like. Without any other sources of water, we were stuck with it, but we would be sure to filter cleaner sources of water in the future. </div>
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The wind died down a bit, but the gravel roads became worse than ever to ride on, and on top of that, it appeared that we were right in the middle of the reconstruction of the road, as large dirt and gravel bearing semi trucks passed us constantly in both directions. We found ourselves sinking deep into the loose powdery road, and we both had a really hard time keeping our bikes upright, and it went on like that for miles. Finally, in the thick of all of the construction, a construction worker nearby said something into his radio, and then flagged us over. He told us that the semi drivers were concerned that it was really not safe for us to be out there bumbling around as they were constantly passing us, so they were sending a pickup truck to take us through the rest of the construction. I had to breath a sigh of relief, because at the rate we were going, it would have taken us about 3 hours to make it through that particular gravel stretch. We went ahead and kept on riding untill the truck met up with us, and when it did, we tossed our bikes in the back of the truck, and hopped in the cab.</div>
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It was odd to be in the truck. We'd only been on our bikes for about a week, but it felt very out of place to be moving so quickly. We passed through a lot of construction that I'm glad to have missed, but soon we were out of it, and we were back on the bikes with 33 miles to go before we would reach Burwash Landing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEios8R-o2l6nG5O3jjYX5InKHSJ8N9dPsBs5FS87czmmXCKYpnxAoyREi2bIwyUHxAiqKvnwwUNqeyhNO89d3YHLM48hWAyWsucdBJJWeykHqPlz-NpngdRZfAZZq5QE_lDvRdupuefihw/s1600-h/IMG_0215.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="nw"><img alt="" border="0" height="240" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428999385943003938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEios8R-o2l6nG5O3jjYX5InKHSJ8N9dPsBs5FS87czmmXCKYpnxAoyREi2bIwyUHxAiqKvnwwUNqeyhNO89d3YHLM48hWAyWsucdBJJWeykHqPlz-NpngdRZfAZZq5QE_lDvRdupuefihw/s320/IMG_0215.jpg" style="float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" target="nw" width="320" /></a>Slowly, we moved to higher ground, and as we did the scenery changed. The trees were further away from the highway. The area just seemed like it was a bit dried out. From the side of the road, a little grey coyote scampered up to greet us. He licked his chops hungrily as we stopped to snap some photos, but he sat patiently waiting for food that would never come. For one thing, we simply didn’t have any to spare, and for another thing, feeding wildlife can be hazardous to a species because they can learn to depend on humans for food. We set off again down the road, but the coyote decided it was going to follow us, which he did for about two miles. Eventually the little guy got tired of waiting for food and he went on his way.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLzwELgeKa7jg7-wQAW_Vx20Tu5giaYyjUjg_8Khhxu6EDvfaUK83cTXHkgqmF7mhIl5nlbRVGL7uQf-vwHSnFD2vxrhm9QbvM2vkYp7rafnGi8NSsMWEQyblrxx5Qs1Zq04fJ8JQ1lw/s1600-h/100_0287.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; height: 130px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; width: 204px;" target="nw"><img alt="" border="0" height="192" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429002452524631026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLzwELgeKa7jg7-wQAW_Vx20Tu5giaYyjUjg_8Khhxu6EDvfaUK83cTXHkgqmF7mhIl5nlbRVGL7uQf-vwHSnFD2vxrhm9QbvM2vkYp7rafnGi8NSsMWEQyblrxx5Qs1Zq04fJ8JQ1lw/s320/100_0287.jpg" style="float: right; height: 120px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 200px;" target="nw" width="320" /></a>Throughout the day we were mostly climbing, but we had a few good sections of downhill as well. We were surrounded by magnificent vistas of monolithic mountains in the distance beneath vanilla clouds. Occasionally we would pass by pristine streams and lakes that reflected the sky in their glassy surfaces, but sure enough, as we drew ever nearer to Kluane Lake, the wind began to blow again. It started softly at first, but before long it was pretty unbearable.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpDKk0g8JTBFbzjg1bD0W5KujCgKwGZlVf0k50pRlhyprXyPY5zcqBUkWdpAGM51YfHMfi_IcwUQJtlg9Kq8Rw2gSKJ6swUkfDuMciCkAu_BL9u7FLyPmvSd0hidcf1ykpHj24UkQGnM/s1600-h/100_0265.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="nw"><img alt="" border="0" height="150" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429004009647595586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpDKk0g8JTBFbzjg1bD0W5KujCgKwGZlVf0k50pRlhyprXyPY5zcqBUkWdpAGM51YfHMfi_IcwUQJtlg9Kq8Rw2gSKJ6swUkfDuMciCkAu_BL9u7FLyPmvSd0hidcf1ykpHj24UkQGnM/s320/100_0265.jpg" style="float: left; height: 94px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" target="nw" width="320" /></a>We normally liked to talk to each other while we were riding, but we couldn't even hear each other so we ended up busting out our MP3 players and listening to music as we pressed onward up the slopes. The music kept us distracted from the constant grind, and gave us a much needed morale boost which kept us going, each jamming out to our own grooves. </div>
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Now and again we would see signs advertising visitor areas, but without fail, every one of them was closed. We figured we had enough food and water to make it to Burwash Landing, but it was still somewhat disheartening to see. It was like riding through forgotten ghost towns providing a constant reminder to us that we were definitely in the frontier. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjeV408WhwegSgbIeSCJWeD00Q_LKo6gMxUR9otbun6Di4IQ9n9Z48K2dhP1sP3faP9KLGU3yXmqWQhWdwEdmWPqF78v-nM4qLsNJllmlCNe26KDQ5os21pTztWH8F-tbsoyUGJ-mcj4/s1600/IMG_0218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVjeV408WhwegSgbIeSCJWeD00Q_LKo6gMxUR9otbun6Di4IQ9n9Z48K2dhP1sP3faP9KLGU3yXmqWQhWdwEdmWPqF78v-nM4qLsNJllmlCNe26KDQ5os21pTztWH8F-tbsoyUGJ-mcj4/s200/IMG_0218.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
The climbs became more gentle, but the winds grew more fierce as we made our way to the top. All day the sky had seemed unable to make up its mind to be cloudy or blue, but now it was a beautiful picturesque blend of deep blue sky and lavender clouds. That time of the day when the sun was out, it would shine beautiful and golden all around us, highlighting the amber colors of the landscape. Although the winds were still wailing, with our music playing and the beautiful views the time passed with ease.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUp7FaGs9X6l7PnQ1WiLczGVc4lM0832YMCO9B5-71yPY9rLqC1iic_wq_Z3DgclcUSAB6ajKFCr9ZUbBXuaWHbOCSJ_9XU085_8eB_TCdsVQ0mixmBcYKy-wrwsPJqMaZ3n-nKZjg2_s/s1600/100_0301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUp7FaGs9X6l7PnQ1WiLczGVc4lM0832YMCO9B5-71yPY9rLqC1iic_wq_Z3DgclcUSAB6ajKFCr9ZUbBXuaWHbOCSJ_9XU085_8eB_TCdsVQ0mixmBcYKy-wrwsPJqMaZ3n-nKZjg2_s/s200/100_0301.jpg" width="200" /></a>Finally we were able to see the lake down below us to the South-East. All through the valley on the West shore of the lake there was a vast forest of dead gray trees. It looked like there had maybe been a massive fire or even a giant flood or something. Either way, there wasn’t a whole lot of life left in the supposedly once-flourishing forest.<br />
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We descended into <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burwash_Landing,_Yukon">Burwash Landing</a>—a roadhouse community on the shores of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kluane_Lake%20/%20Kluane%20Lake">Kluane Lake</a> that looked like it belonged in a Spaghetti Western. It was a bit different from the roadhouses we encountered in Alaska—there were a lot more guests staying. Mark and I were pretty hungry, and we didn’t want to leave our bikes un-attended with more people around than we were used to, so we thought it was appropriate to wheel our bikes into the lobby with us. The lobby was outfitted with snack foods and souvenirs behind the old counter, and the main space of the room was taken up with tables for the restaurant. A waitress looked at us and our bikes and then said, “Uh, I don’t think you can have those in here.” A large woman, apparently the owner, came out from the kitchen, and scowled at us before telling us to get our bikes OUT. I was both embarrassed, and a little confused. It was as if we had rolled our bikes into Buckingham Palace even though it was just a crumby little roadhouse restaurant! Mark and I quickly learned that the Northern Canadians, whether of French, Swedish, English, or Native descent had a distinct taste for proper(ish) English manners. We were definitely in a new land that had some different customs and new definitions of what was acceptable and what was not. We took our bikes back outside and locked them up to a wooden railing where it looked like we would've tied up horses, and then went went back in where we were greeted a little more warmly. It was clear that we would need to be careful to be mindful of what our new hosts would consider to be impolite. As we looked over the menu, the matron made an off hand comment about it being rude to wear a hat at the table. Oops. We were going to have to REALLY be on our toes here. She didn’t sound cold towards us though—she could see that we were trying.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUH-A1idFdYX-lsI8rgztnQYlYIG-7DQrKu4HE99WYPjnmV3-aMw6H0IpzYzAn-d5cqHAp9slcecLkarmacBKh0B0mz9M98dTGkC4Q_oOGPbYIR-ZF3gBVgew3oh2OFSu-VbnqXaVHTS4/s1600-h/100_0304.jpg" style="clear: right; height: 160px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 203px;" target="nw"><img alt="" border="0" height="240" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429016330987423010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUH-A1idFdYX-lsI8rgztnQYlYIG-7DQrKu4HE99WYPjnmV3-aMw6H0IpzYzAn-d5cqHAp9slcecLkarmacBKh0B0mz9M98dTGkC4Q_oOGPbYIR-ZF3gBVgew3oh2OFSu-VbnqXaVHTS4/s320/100_0304.jpg" style="float: right; height: 150px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 200px;" target="nw" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best Soy Burger I've Ever Had</td></tr>
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It was getting pretty close to about 10 o'clock at night so the restaurant was getting ready to close, but they said we still had time to order. A cook who looked like a Native Canadian version of Groucho Marx enthusiastically recommended their double cheeseburger. The dish would cost $15 Canadian, but we had worked up a serious appetite in the wind, so we gratefully took his recommendation. These were serious business cheeseburgers. They were massive and delicious. After we had finished, the Groucho Marx looking guy came back from the kitchen to ask us excitedly how we liked the burgers. We agreed they were fantastic then he exclaimed that the burgers were made of soy. “Damn!” I thought. I never would have guessed it. “Best soy burger I've ever had!”<br />
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As long as we didn't have our bikes in the dining room or wear our hats at the table, everyone seemed to be pleasant enough, and as it turned out we didn't have to pay to camp there. However we did have to pay for showers, which cost about $3 Canadian a piece—worth it though to refresh.</div>
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<strong>Direct from the Journal:</strong><br />
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<span style="text-align: left;"><strong>Route - 76 Miles in aprox. 10 hours</strong></span></div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-65835343845487910952009-12-08T21:22:00.002-07:002012-07-11T17:51:21.255-06:00Day 7 – Yukon Border to “Chainsaw Massacre” Campground<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dVqFtvWvNUU4Q2_0YGxuWBnhtvwM6jPexExxJjtf-z6Brw5PhLsIWh6RBtYoQF5C1TtP8OSLgRhtD3HQAXVitGS92TKz3HADfIdsK_icMB9vdbBrhr7b4zFSH8-9T9aIQYpapo1ZyzE/s1600/100_0181.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dVqFtvWvNUU4Q2_0YGxuWBnhtvwM6jPexExxJjtf-z6Brw5PhLsIWh6RBtYoQF5C1TtP8OSLgRhtD3HQAXVitGS92TKz3HADfIdsK_icMB9vdbBrhr7b4zFSH8-9T9aIQYpapo1ZyzE/s400/100_0181.jpg" width="400" /></a><strong style="text-align: left;"><em>Friday, May 30, 2008</em></strong></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">By morning the rain had cleared up and we had a bright clear sky, so as we packed our things I charged another batch of batteries, and we set some of our things out to dry in the sun.</span><br />
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At the roadhouse gift shop, we had a chance to check our email, and we bought Alaska decals to put on our bikes like badges of honor. It had taken about a week, and the Alaskan highways had proven to be a worthy challenge that had broken us in more than enough. My whole body ached from the previous day of riding, but it was time to head back out on the road. We called home from the roadhouse payphone, then set out to cross the Canadian border.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjluVf3mrNHYtvZvrA6srEAooO21bISJ4BbhIxCOGdrIOaEZ-6S1UDZwcykFw7u-SvnsFZ3c2ezaPthETNZUJTcuPA3D9-odtcti2K-A8_NCgcEKIcgrvR6LOw27E2QdTrSVbQFbxIdkDk/s1600/IMG_0203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjluVf3mrNHYtvZvrA6srEAooO21bISJ4BbhIxCOGdrIOaEZ-6S1UDZwcykFw7u-SvnsFZ3c2ezaPthETNZUJTcuPA3D9-odtcti2K-A8_NCgcEKIcgrvR6LOw27E2QdTrSVbQFbxIdkDk/s200/IMG_0203.jpg" width="150" /></a>The roads were much rougher than they had been for the past week, (except, perhaps, for the sections coming up over Eureka.) Rather than smooth pavement, we encountered rough gravel-top tarmac. It definitely felt as though we had moved into a different locale. In no time, we crossed into Canada--and without much fanfare.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArT_rH59v5jJYc680Qx1Uxw1H8QMmGrpGizsOoS6KOBsrHtGuu3hvGK_P9Niv2ZI1yTGjpbOqCr9cRcJ_2xm8pD-W_A4yMY_VzRJqCz1Y0wLEoJIzr-heBggw35yqJvtqay_rzlmz6Po/s1600/100_0193.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArT_rH59v5jJYc680Qx1Uxw1H8QMmGrpGizsOoS6KOBsrHtGuu3hvGK_P9Niv2ZI1yTGjpbOqCr9cRcJ_2xm8pD-W_A4yMY_VzRJqCz1Y0wLEoJIzr-heBggw35yqJvtqay_rzlmz6Po/s200/100_0193.jpg" width="200" /></a>A large sign with a Canadian Mounty greeted us along with a sign marking the actual border, and another noting that speed limits were now posted in Kilometers rather than miles. There wasn’t much more than that—and the roads became even rougher as we moved into the Pacific time zone. They didn’t look like they would be getting much better either. In fact, after a few miles, the pavement ended and we had nothing but loose gravel to ride on. Although we were technically riding mountain bikes, we had replaced the rough tires with slicks, and slick tires on loose gravel do NOT work very well at all. Aside from being uncomfortable to ride on, it slowed us down and took more energy to travel over, especially with the rolling hills we were riding through. Fortunately, the gravel ended after a few miles, but we knew that it would be back...</div>
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We came to an area where, to our left, there was a boggy looking marsh blotted with soggy looking grass and a few trees that appeared to be drowning, and to our right a clear meandering river which flowed in a deep-set bed among the evergreens. A few flowers sprouted up here and there, and though it was the end of May, it still looked like just the beginnings of spring. When the river bent close to the highway to pass beneith it, we stopped and walked down to the rocky banks, passing a sign noting the river as “Snag Creek.” The water was fairly shallow and clear, but it had a distinct green-blue hue. On the opposite bank, hearty evergreens sprouted upward. We hadn’t seen much more of the “drunken trees” of Alaska since Tok, and I wondered if I’d ever see them again—but these were close. They could have passed as the Drunken Trees’ stronger, more sober cousins.</div>
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The highway stretched far ahead of us, taking us through some long, wooded corridors, then finally we made it to Beaver Creek, an<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnue-zG9oEKby7uzr36ndPlyjhuGXlWxayXwqhziiYOtz0ylOtze0j0f3R_850wNjdEU2MXC_XH1vDOd6yP7Mgfd5ZETQTc88zC7C2gqeFhnDU3fpaDgSwP-jyK_vWakpWIy2vWxktDw/s1600-h/100_0695.jpg" target="nw"></a>d the actual port of entry into Canada where we had to hop off of our bikes. I figured that the border guards had to have seen plenty of cyclists passing through over the years, but they still looked at us like we were the strangest things they’d ever seen.<br />
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“So… what is the reason for your visit?”<br />
“Sort of just… passing through. We are headed to Tijuana Mexico.”<br />
“Mexico?”<br />
“Uh huh.”<br />
“And you guys are…?”<br />
“Brothers. Mark is only 15.”<br />
“You realize you’ve got a long way to go, right?”<br />
“Yeah. Yeah, we know.” <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnue-zG9oEKby7uzr36ndPlyjhuGXlWxayXwqhziiYOtz0ylOtze0j0f3R_850wNjdEU2MXC_XH1vDOd6yP7Mgfd5ZETQTc88zC7C2gqeFhnDU3fpaDgSwP-jyK_vWakpWIy2vWxktDw/s1600-h/100_0695.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="nw"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414148738948565362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnue-zG9oEKby7uzr36ndPlyjhuGXlWxayXwqhziiYOtz0ylOtze0j0f3R_850wNjdEU2MXC_XH1vDOd6yP7Mgfd5ZETQTc88zC7C2gqeFhnDU3fpaDgSwP-jyK_vWakpWIy2vWxktDw/s200/100_0695.jpg" style="float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" target="nw" /></a>The officer eyeballed the big knife Mark was carrying, making me a little nervous because I knew from previous experience that Canadian customs typically doesn’t allow knifes into the country. But instead of commenting on the knife, she asked if we were carrying bear mace. I hesitated, not knowing if they were going to confiscate it, but then showed her where I had it stored. She nodded in approval, and commented that it was important that we always have it available in the backwoods of Canada. They checked our IDs and then sent us on our way into town. Painless enough!<br />
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Mark and I were pretty hungry, and we wanted some serious grub, so we stopped at the first restaurant we came to and each ordered a big old plate of lasagna and chatted with the locals. Since this was our first encounter with the Northern Canadians, we were fascinated by them, and they were fascinated with us. We ended up spending way more time chit chatting than we could really afford, and after exchanging some US dollars for some Canadian cash, we saddled back up. </div>
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Heading out of town the road was relatively flat and strait, but before long we started a very long ascent, and the wind started to blow against us, making us strain. The wind continued to pick up strength, and the ride became a miserable grind. Even as we crested the top, the wind pounded against us slowing us to a crawl. It was becoming so incredibly frustrating to me that we couldn’t seem to catch a break from the wind. Normally the downhill stretches allowed us to make up precious time, but we had to keep pedaling just to keep our bike moving! I had hoped that we would escape the wind in Canada, but wind knows no bounds.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJvq6CxacDzDspL_oFfbG6nHHoE4VtY-AC4xQ6cDRTMUF4DEWhWyJmLqOR7BS1w5xZt1Fiz8_HCHu_KNjwpCiKGrvTYle57WvY_q6AKja-5Lghk9U4SjbD-m71YsMGdrl1rgo5be_bihI/s1600-h/IMG_0216.jpg" target="nw"></a>We hadn’t picked an endpoint for the day, and it was especially hard to pick a spot to stop since the GPS was no longer a reliable source to gauge distance, so we’d stop somewhere as soon as we had reached our mileage goal. We had been told that we should find a handful of campgrounds that were either closed till the tourist season, or closed for good, and I figured we wouldn’t have a problem staying at one of them if we could make it before dark, which was quickly approaching.<br />
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It grew colder, but the wind let up a bit. Clouds had rolled in overhead as we had been climbing, but it made for a beautiful view after we had finally started to descend. The light that made it through the clouds on the horizon scattered into beautiful pink, purple, and orange hues. Mark and I stopped on a bridge traversing a broad river that flowed out to a grand floodplain, blotted with spots of water that had been trapped since the previous high-water as the river branched out randomly across the gravely bed. The view seemed to make all of our trouble worth the effort. All around the bridge were what appeared to be swallows of some kind—hundreds of them flying in unison, swooping up and around probably through a cloud of flying insects. <span style="text-align: left;">We just sat and watched them for quite a while, mesmerized, until we realized that we should find a place to stay before it got much darker.</span></div>
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We saw a sign advertising a campground up ahead and as expected, it had not yet opened for the season. The entrance blocked with 50 gallon drums so no cars could pull in, but a bike could easily slip in un-noticed... I figured they wouldn’t mind if we stayed there overnight, but Mark was a bit wary. The campground, surrounded by canyon walls, was flat and covered with lawn. Trees stood out here and there, and around the campsites were vintage Army vehicles of every kind. To me it looked like a nice little place to stay, but to Mark, it looked like something out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. We also noticed there was a newer pickup truck parked at the camp lodge, and there was smoke coming from the chimney. Although I wasn’t creeped out by the place like Mark was, I didn’t exactly feel like knocking on the door to ask if we could stay the night.<br />
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We picked a nice little campsite— far away from the lodge—and set up camp. We had some dinner, and then hid the food bag in the cab of the old 1940’s Ford-looking Army truck, and called it a night. The air was getting pretty frosty, so we hunkered down in our sleeping bags, and drifted off to sleep.</div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;"><b>Route - 61 Miles in aprox. 10 hours</b></span> </div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-35363272094843789362009-12-08T00:14:00.000-07:002012-07-06T14:18:35.788-06:00Remarks on Alaska<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I’m not sure exactly what I expected Alaska to be like, but I was surprised around nearly every corner. My exposure to Alaska before this had only been what I had seen on TV and in pictures, but they almost never show some of the things that I feel truly represent the sections of Alaska we had traveled through. Much of it felt familiar, but so much more of it felt strange—larger than life, in just a few words. The sky is bluer, the mountains rockier, the sun hotter, the wind colder, the climbs steeper, and the roads rougher.<br />
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I will attempt to describe my impression of it with a few words and phrases: Lusciously green, and yet rocky and bleak. Jagged. Towering. Daunting. Wild. Frigid shadows--burning sunlight. Otherworldly. A sense of always being on the razor's edge of treacherous, life threatening danger. A feeling of extreme altitude, as if I could easily slip and fall endlessly into the sky. Exploding with strange, whispy yet resiliantly dense life.</div>
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In the lower 48 states it feels like man calls the shots in changing the environment, but up there it feels the other way around. You have to play by Mother Nature’s rules or she will just trample you into the Moose Carpet and Whoville forests. Maybe I felt that way because there was little between me and the raw environment other than neoprene and spandex, but I look back on it all with very fond memories. I truly miss the Great North, and I feel like part of me stayed there, waiting for my return…<br />
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Our spirits had been forged and our bodies strengthened through the various trials of day-long rain storms, steep winding climbs, taunting headwinds, frigid nights, scorching sunlight, constant equipment failure, and the overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety towards what our path held in store for us. It had only been about a week since we found ourselves soaked to the bone braving a springtime shower wondering if we’d be able to continue—and we had found the strength to make those first few steps of our journey—but we still had a very, very long way to travel, and for us to try and comprehend the actual distance was still so frighteningly overwhelming that I simply had to push it from my thoughts and draw upon blatant, deliberate denial. We figured things could only get easier after Alaska, but we were very, very wrong.<br />
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"Bring it on."<br />
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<a href="http://alaska-to-mexico.blogspot.com/2009/12/day-7-yukon-border-to-chainsaw-massacre.html">Read More...</a></div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-66963317994843523532009-11-24T12:52:00.000-07:002012-07-06T14:14:39.775-06:00Day 6 – Tok to Alcan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>Thursday, May 29, 2008</i></b></div>
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Before we left on our trip we had visited many websites and Internet forums trying to find some good information and good advice about the types of distances we'd be able to ride. This was particularly important to us after we had learned that we would need to average 75 miles per day in order to meet our dad in Vancouver when he would arrive. I remember that several people said that it would be impossible for us to average 75 miles a day up in Alaska and Yukon, but the fellow whose blog we had been following said that we definitely could do 75 miles per day, but that we'd be hating life. Well, we had just finished a 90 mile day the day before and we were feeling mighty proud of ourselves. Getting up bright and early we had another 90 mile day ahead of us.<br />
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Mark and I didn't want to sleep in too long because we knew that we had a long way to go and we were also looking forward to the sourdough buffet that was advertised on the campground lodge door. We had no idea what a sourdough buffet was, but it sounded good to us, so after we were packed and ready to go, we hopped on over to check out the sourdough buffet. Apparently, for seven dollars we could eat all the sourdough pancakes and biscuits and gravy that we could handle, and for an extra two dollars we could throw in some reindeer sausage or some good old-fashioned bacon for good measure. Good stuff. I think I had several plates of sourdough biscuits and gravy. I recently calculated how many calories we were burning per day, and it averages out to about 11,000! That is like the equivalent of 30 double cheese burgers from McDonalds! No wonder we had superhuman appetites! </div>
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I normally was a fan of Red Bull, but up that far North, Red Bull did not come cheap. We were usually looking at about six dollars for a can. (And I'm talking about small cans, not those big double or triple sized ones they have back down South.) Because of this, coffee was quickly becoming my energy drink of choice because it had one distinct advantage—it was free nearly everywhere we went. So, having eaten far too many sourdough pancakes, biscuits and gravy and reindeer sausage links than is healthy for normal human being, and topping it all off with a couple of cups of coffee, Mark and I finally made it back out on the road. </div>
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As we made our final preparations to leave, I overheard some RV tourists commenting on Alaska. “It isn’t quite what I expected,” one woman said on the payphone to someone back home with a hint of disappointment in her voice. I thought that summed up Alaska pretty well. It is certainly very different than the way it is depicted in pictures and on television. It can seem desolate and overwhelming, but it is filled with an immense beauty that can only be appreciated by being in the thick of it. “She’ll warm up to it,” I thought with a grin. </div>
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Now Tok was an important milestone for us because it meant that we would finally turn that right corner from heading Northeast to finally finally FINALLY heading South towards Tijuana Mexico. As we rode down through Tok, little stores and homes sprouted up around us. (Not many though mind you.) We were focused on that one corner point, heading bravely into the wind. </div>
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We had another important milestone that we'd try to reach that day, which was the Canadian border. If all went according to plan we would make it to the Yukon by nightfall, which, of course, up there didn't occur till quite late. Before leaving Tok, we decided to take care of a few things.<br />
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We stopped at a local grocery store, which happened to be one of the largest stores we had seen in several hundred miles. It was large enough that we were able to restock on videotapes and look around for some of the hardware that we might be able to use to replace the jury rigged fixes that we had made to my bike. Unfortunately we weren't able to find the size of screw that we needed to reattach my rear rack, so the hardened piece of metal from my bungee cord would have to do till we made it to a better store. We also noticed our bikes were developing lots of creeks and groans so we decided to pick up some grease to try to slick things up and get rid of those squeaks. You can imagine after riding all day long up and down hills and whatnot, the various squeaks and rattles would start to get on your nerves, and they did ours.</div>
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The road out of Tok was a long straight stretch. Fortunately we didn't have to worry about any hills in the first little bit. We crossed over the Tok river and all around us were those funny little pine trees again. Though the sun was out and there were very few clouds in the sky, the air was still crisp and had a bite to it, so we both kept our jackets on. After a couple more bridges we found ourselves with some gentle slopes to climb, but they weren't anything too serious and we cranked right up them and right down the other sides. The land stretched out all around us and we were happy to see that there were no major mountain ranges in our near future. </div>
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The forests changed again and the pines found themselves equally matched with quaking aspens -- thin and wispy and easy to spot with their light green color against the dark green of the pines. We had reached the summit of one of the longer hills, and we prepared with excitement to cruise down the other side. We picked up speed as we cruised down the curvy slope, but at the bottom we found something we had not expected.<br />
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A wall.<br />
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A wall of mosquitoes. Before we even knew what was happening we found ourselves in the very center of the thickest cloud of bugs I'd ever seen in my life. I tried desperately not to inhale them but was also dealing with batting them out of my eyes as they kept getting caught in my eyelashes. A few moments later, we made it out of the other side of the cloud and quickly proceeded to ride up the next hill. Mark and I didn't want to stop for fear that they would be following us. We stopped at the crest of the next hill--out of breath--and took a moment to get off of our bikes to catch it. Much to our dismay, however, we soon realized that we had hitchhikers. Mark could see on my back (and I could see on Mark's) that they had somehow found wind shelter and latched onto us, waiting for the perfect moment for us to stop when they could make their strike. Sons of bitches! We frantically brushed the mosquitoes off of each other because we definitely did not want to be covered with itchy bites. We brushed down our bikes as well, hoping to get rid of any stragglers that may have latched on them, and quickly hopped back on and zipped down the other side of the next hill. Fortunately, we didn't have any more mosquito attacks that day. <span style="text-align: left;">Some sections of the highway had been cut into the mountains, so we passed between several rocky, and sometimes sandy embankments as we climbed steadily over the next several miles.</span></div>
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At last we made it to the final junction that would send us to the Yukon border, and we stopped at a little general store to pick up supplies to last us the next few days. It was then that I noticed that right next to the Alaska Tesoro gas station, there was a burned down Texaco. Normally I wouldn’t have thought much of it, but we saw the same thing in Tok earlier that day, and the same thing in Glenallen a few days earlier. Mark and I wondered if it was just a coincidence, but it was quickly forgotten as we started scoping out the food. </div>
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The sky had turned gray, and we were beginning to feel quite exhausted. We didn’t even have the energy to turn around and pick up Mark’s unopened energy drink that had fallen off of his bike—I could only watch over my shoulder as it disappeared behind us into the distance. We gave the lost soldier a moment of silence.</div>
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Up ahead of us we spotted something in the middle of the road—a dead hawk. It looked like a car or semi must have hit it in mid-air. Welcoming the break, we hopped off our bikes to take a closer look. We prodded it a little and noticed that it was still warm. It must have been a fairly recent kill. I picked it up to look at it. It was a beautiful bird--it was a shame that it was dead. A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Mark, I think we could eat this.” Mark rolled his eyes at me, but I kept looking the hawk over. I mean, how often to you get a chance to eat a rare bird? I knew how to clean and cook birds, and it seemed crazy not to just go for it. As I thought more and more about it, the better it sounded to me, but Mark provided the voice of reason, pointing out that if it wasn’t as fresh as it seemed and it ended up making us sick, we’d be in serious trouble considering that we hadn’t seen a hospital or even a small medical clinic since we left Anchorage. He made a good point, and I decided that I couldn’t put our journey at risk by making a careless mistake. Instead of eating it, though, I decided to cut off its foot and keep it as a memento. It turned out to be easier said than done. Even though we had a big K-Bar combat knife with us, we didn't wanna use that to cut off its foot because we used that for all of our food. So instead, I just tried to remove it with my bare hands. That sucker did not want to come off. I bent it and twisted it and twirled it around, but it kept hanging on by a couple of threads of sinew till finally I was holding it by the leg and whipping it around and around out in the middle of the road until the hawk finally broke free of its foot and flew off into the trees. It wasn't exactly the proper burial I had imagined for it but I wasn't about to go tromping off into the woods to go find it. I put the foot into a little plastic baggy and tucked that away into my things. Mark and I both wondered what kind of a reaction we'd get if we were searched going through border-customs, and they found a hawk’s foot in our things... I decided to tuck it in a little deeper. </div>
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The miles began to really drag, and time seemed to be moving in slow motion. The Alaska Highway curved around the many rolling hillsides and continued taking us upwards. It seemed like every time I checked the GPS it kept saying we had 10 miles left... 10 miles left... 10 miles left... About ten minutes later, I checked it again… 11 miles left… wait, WHAT!? I stopped my bike right there because this was making me angry. I took a closer look at the GPS to try and figure out what was going on. I soon came to realize that this particular section of the Alaska Highway was not mapped very well on the GPS. I checked to make sure my maps were loaded correctly, but something was wrong. The more detailed maps I had installed were no longer showing up on the GPS, and therefore, we did not have an accurate reading of the distance to our next stop. This would be a major setback if we couldn’t accurately estimate our distances for the day. I fiddled with it for a while but I couldn’t get the maps to load. We’d have to rely on printed maps from there on out. The map we currently had on hand was not the most detailed, so we’d have to find some better maps later. </div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The air became chilled, and small raindrops began to sprinkle down on us. Finally after what seemed like an eternity of riding on an endless loop of cold rolling hills, we made it to a very new looking “log cabin lodge” type roadhouse with a large RV campground in the back. This was the "community" known as Alcan, only two miles from the border. Even though we hadn’t quite reached the border, we decided this was where we would spend the night. They had a small grassy area in the back for tents, right next to what appeared to be a scrap yard with lots of old cars, tires, and miscellaneous machine parts. There was already a tent set up there with a young couple who was starting a fire to roast hot dogs. As the darkness fell, we exchanged a few stories and they shared their hot dogs, but as the rain began to pour down harder, I crawled into our tent, and got into my sleeping bag...w</span><span style="text-align: left;">hich I discovered was soaked! There was a massive puddle inside the tent right under my stuff! Normally my tent is pretty good at keeping the water out, and it wasn’t even raining that hard. Then I found the culprit—my Camel Bak had completely emptied through the mouthpiece. That was 72 oz. of water that had pooled up under my sleeping bag, <i>and the last time I ever kept my Camel Bak inside my tent.</i> I dug out my camp towel and mopped it all up. Luckily it didn’t get any of Mark’s stuff wet, but I’d have to let my bag dry out a little before I could sleep in it, so I trudged off through the rain to the showers.</span><br />
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<b>Route - 88 Miles in aprox. 12 hours</b>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8678558428323078153.post-48309584636498192942009-10-16T04:34:00.000-06:002012-07-06T14:12:20.528-06:00Day 5 - Chistochina to Tok<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="font-size: 85%;"><i>May 28, 2008</i></b></div>
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In the morning, there was still a light wind, but Mark and I were ready to deal with it. Well… almost.<br />
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We were using GPS to map our course and also to provide all sorts of other information about our whereabouts and, more importantly to us, how far to the next thereabouts. It runs on AA batteries and, over the past 4 days, between the GPS and Mark’s camera, we had depleted my store of rechargeable batteries. But the sun was up, and that meant it was time to use the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000FKL6T4/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=alastomexi-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000FKL6T4" target="_blank">Brunton ™ solar array</a> I had brought along.</div>
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Okay, so it wasn’t like an ARRAY, but it was a little solar panel that folded out from the size of a largish pocket book, to about the size of a smallish bath towel. And it was flexible--cutting edge technology at the time.</div>
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Anyway, as the batteries charged, we took our time getting up and eating breakfast. The folks who owned the B&B came outside to go about their chores, and also chit-chatted with us for a while. They pointed out a mountain just to the East covered in snow. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Sanford_%28Alaska%29">Mount Sanford</a>. It looked kinda lonesome out there because there really weren’t any other mountains around it. It was also difficult to judge it’s scale or distance from us because it was pure white with snow. The B&B folks then told us that it is the third tallest mountain in the US at 16,237 feet, and is actually a volcano. “Woa! That little thing?” That gave us a pretty good idea how far away it actually must have been.</div>
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Well, they sent us on our way, off into the wind, with the sun high in the sky. With the reflection of the sun off of that mountain, there was a different feel in the air--almost Christmaslike. Maybe that’s why we were in a good mood. As we passed through what little there was of the Chistochina outskirts, we passed a little grassy field that was set up as a little airstrip. We were reminded again that it is pretty commonplace for Alaskans to own small airplanes to get around in. Trust me, it makes sense when you can see exactly how much open space there is up there.</div>
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Again we were traveling through the forests of drunken trees as far into the distance as we could see. It was a mostly strait shot headed Northeast to the Mantasta mountain range, which we knew from our maps that we would have to cross. Steep mountain passes are our FAVORITE.</div>
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The gentle slope gradually grew a little steeper bit by bit as the road curved Eastward and began to crawl the side of the Mantasta mountain range. We still had a great view of Mt. Sanford, although from a different perspective. On the edge of the mountains, they shot up steeply to our left, and dropped down to our right.</div>
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Mark was starting to feel hungry, but suddenly, down in the trees there was a flash of brown fur as something large and surprised moved from our view. Mark and I both saw and heard it, but we weren’t able to see what it was. As a rule of thumb, we didn’t stop to see what it was. We knew it was inevitable for us to encounter bear on our journey, but we did what we could do avoid it, if ya know what I mean. We pedaled a little faster.</div>
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Since we had changed directions, the wind wasn’t so bad, and as the road just followed the base of the mountains we encountered gentle rolling grades, though a bit curvey. We were making good time, but we felt like we were just being teased. After all, we knew there was a mountain pass coming up sometime soon, so it was annoying to loose elevation. Finally, we came upon a long downhill stretch with the snow covered peaks of the Mantasta mountains in the distance. It took us clear down away from the mountains into the basin.</div>
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“Oh well. So much for loosing elevation,” I thought. We were just going to have to start at the very, very bottom, and deal with it. And what better way to do that than to take a rest and have some lunch? We stopped somewhere at the bottom at a gravel pull out area next to a muddy looking river, and “refueled.”</div>
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The road bent Northward again, and directed us right into the heart of the Mantasta mountains, and as it did we were greeted with lots of ups and downs. I always got a bit nervous when I saw snow on the mountains. I recalled looking down from the jet just a few days earlier and seeing nothing but snow covered mountains out my window triggering a sick “0h crap” feeling. Immediately around us, however, there was no snow to be found. In fact, everything was quite green.</div>
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Soon we were riding up, down, around, and over massive yet beautiful and round pine covered hills making up the greater mountains. It was not an etched canyon like what we expected from a mountain pass. Each gentle mound hid the next as we wound our way through them, with only snow covered peaks above them and showing between them in the distance. I was amazed by the number of lakes! Around seemingly every turn there was another small lake formed in the small spaces between these mounds. You hear that Alaska has a lot of lakes, but man, they are not kidding. </div>
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The sky gradually had become gray high above us. Below the general grayish layer, there were small, light and fluffy clouds that drifted along, but appeared harmless.</div>
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We passed two people on bikes headed the other way, and talked to them long enough to find out that they had ridden up from Montana. Mark and I both though “Montanna!? What the crap? Why would you go from Montana to Anchorage!?” We just shrugged it off though and figured, “Hey, for us it is Anchorage to Tijuana. For some it is Fairbanks to Tierra Del Fuego, and for some, it is Montana to Anchorage. Whatever floats your boat.”</div>
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Things sort of leveled out, and we came upon a large marshy lake that filled the upper basin we had ridden into. The road followed the very round curvature of the lake and we saw a little bit of civilization up ahead. Okay, it was just a roadhouse, but to us, that meant civilization. All around us those mamoth snowy peaks we had seen in the distance were now upon us, steep, and rocky. Past the roadhouse, the road bent around right into a small break between the mountains, hiding what was up ahead. I didn’t want to think about it.</div>
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We parked the bikes and sauntered into the little back-country store. I always felt like a wild west cowboy wandering into a saloon in these situations because we always got the same kind of reactions from the Northern folk. However way they greeted us, it always sounded to me like “Howdy stranger, where‘d ya ride in from?” Plus, my cycling shoes had a slot to add pedal clips, and without those clips, they would always jingle around with each step like spurs. Yee haw. This store was like the others, like a really really mini grocery store, except this one also had a refreshment bar which doubled as the checkout counter. We sauntered (bow legged from the riding, of course) over to the bar and took a seat on the stools. I asked the barkeep -- er--the clerk for a nice cup of coffee. (No taste for sarsaparilla.) We decided we had better get a bunch of treats and energy drinks to last us till we finally got to the summit. We asked the clerk how far it actually was to the summit, and as it turned out, we were there! Great news considering we had been dreading it all day. The climb wasn’t anything like what we expected--but then again, what <em>was</em> what we expected up there? We hadn’t planned on making it all the way to Tok that day, but if we were already to the summit, it was certainly not outside the realm of possibility. That would make it a 90 mile day, and we still had about 43 miles to go, so we jumped on that and rode like crazy.</div>
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Unfortunately, as we stepped out of the roadhouse, the sky had become heavy. As we rode towards Tok, small raindrops started to fall here and there. A mile or two past the roadhouse, a police truck pulled up beside us and the officer asked us if we were okay, or if we needed any help since it looked like the rain might hit hard and fast. We just smiled and sent them on their way, and continued to pedal as it looked more and more like the clouds were about to burst. Although we had passed the summit, the downhill side was a lot like the uphill side with lots of ups, downs, twists, and turns. Also, wind is apparently mountain-proof up there because we were taking a mighty wind in the face on top of it all. THEN it started raining. We stopped and put on our rain gear, and packed our things better to avoid getting wet, and hoped for the best.</div>
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The road took us through some beautiful areas that weren’t hidden as much by pines. In fact, a lot of the dark pine trees were being replaced by some much lighter colored broad-leafed trees that seemed similar to aspens, but generally smaller and more narrow. We’d go up over one hill on a strait climb, and ride down the curved slopes on the other side seeing fewer and fewer mountains in the immediate distance.</div>
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The rain was sporadic. It would stop long enough for us to take off our rain gear and get riding, and then start up again long enough to put it all back on. Eventually we got tired of having to stop every time we needed to adjust, and we each worked out a way to adjust on the go. When it wasn’t raining, I simply unzipped all of my layers of shirts and jackets down to the skin to let the heat out, and I just had my neoprene knickers on which kept me warm enough when it got rainy, and cool enough when it wasn’t.</div>
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After a while, the rain completely subsided, and we finally made it out of the mountains and into a more distinctive canyon at it’s base. I could see a major change in the trees in that area. Much larger trees with thicker trunks started appearing among the stunted looking trees. Some of them towered high above with nice foot-thick trunks with heavy, hearty bark. Within a mile or two, we were surrounded by this type of forest with thicker foliage, but with plenty of space below to see deeper into the woods. </div>
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I was admiring the scenery, but then Mark stopped abruptly after seeing something up ahead. I looked up to see what it was and my heart jumped into my throat. Right up ahead of us just over the hill was a brown lumbering… something. We were both stopped, frozen, staring at it, whatever it was. I watched how it moved carefully: slow, deliberate, lumbering, about the size of a man--it had to be a bear. A decent sized one, at that. Mark got out the big knife, and I un-holstered the bear mace, and we both watched as it lumbered over the hill…</div>
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The tension in the air was so thick, we could have choked. Since the sun had come out, there were heat waves obscuring our view just where the horizon met the road up ahead, and it was difficult to make out what was headed towards us. I could see then that it was coming right down the road towards us, and fairly quick. Details started to form out of the vague brown shape as it neared. Was it running? No, just sort of… lumbering… no… pedaling? I squinted and was able to make out the details of a very old, sunburned looking man wearing what looked like a very thick, tan, winter coat, on a bike pulling a bright yellow kiddie-tote trailer. Not only was it NOT a bear, but it hit me that I knew who exactly was! It just had to be the legendary Al!</div>
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You see, when I was following the blog of the kid my age who had ridden all the way to Panama in 2007, he wrote that he had encountered this fellow on the road by the name of Al. According to him, Al is known to ride his bike almost non-stop during the warmer seasons between Anchorage and the Canadian border, just back and forth doing odd jobs and living on those limited means. I probably would have been disappointed to have not crossed paths with him at one point.</div>
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As he approached us, Mark and I were laughing ourselves silly that we had thought he was a bear. We reacted as if we had just bumped into a major celebrity, and he was surprised and pleased that we had not only had heard of him, but that we were glad to meet him and shake his hand. We sat and talked for a bit as he told us about his adventures on the road. His head was nearly bald, with frail wispy hair around his crown, his skin tanned deep from all of his time in the elements. He had a pleasant demeanor and smiled plenty despite the fact that he had precious few teeth to show, and had a warm, but croaky old-man voice. He was pleased to announce that he was celebrating his 60th year of being alive, and boy was he ever, just tugging along with life on the road. The most striking thing about Al was that up close we could see that he was actually wearing layer upon layer of clothing rather than just one thick coat. His neck was so scrawny that we could only imagine what frail body lie deep beneath all of those layers of plaid shirts and thin jackets. Easily 1/3 of his mass was made up of clothes. I couldn’t help but be worried about a guy his age wandering around on a bike in the middle of Alaska, but he sure seemed to have spunk. He told us that sometimes just takes naps here and there, but then rides on through the day and night rather than sleeping in normal cycles. He doesn’t carry any camping gear like a tent or sleeping bag; all he needs is his layers and layers of cloths which keep him both dry and warm. His trailer was one that is designed to carry little kids as passengers, but he used it to tote all of his canned food and extra water. Not a bad idea, if you ask me. It does a better job of carrying a lot of weight than those touring trailers I’ve seen, and keeps that weight off of the bike’s rear axle.</div>
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After exchanging a few tales from the road, we parted ways, and Al disappeared behind us with the Mantasta mountains. Who knows? Maybe you’ll see him along the road one day.</div>
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The road continued to wind and turn, but the grades were much more gentle. The rain started up again as we started to follow a slow, clear stream. Heavier this time. Instead of getting me down, it gave me a little grin. This was NOTHING compared to what we had on day one, and that was good enough for me. I started humming to myself the old song from Damn Yankees, “Heart.” Soon I was singing it out loud at the top of my lungs, Mark joining in with rich harmony, rain pounding our faces.</div>
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“We’ve got heart! Miles and miles and miles of heart! When the odds are saying you’ll never win, that’s when the grin should start!”</div>
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We just sang and sang as the miles rolled by, until finally the rain stopped, and the sun peaked out from behind the clouds, but not far above the horizon. The last 20 miles was almost completely down hill, and we coasted our way through the orange light nearing dusk with the horizon stretching flat ahead of us. Aside from getting chased by a dog when we passed a house (and almost getting bitten!) the ride went smooth down into Tok.</div>
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We pulled into the Sourdough Campground on the outskirts of Tok sometime just after 10 pm, and checked ourselves into one of their vacant tent sites. I was somewhat surprised to see how many RV’s and trailers there were. I mean, it wasn’t packed full or anything, but there were a lot more campers than we had seen coming from Anchorage. I was pretty tired, and got into bed after setting up the tent. Mark, however, wanted to get some laundry done while we had facilities available, so he stayed up to get that done. We picked a tent site that was right next to a shower/restroom facility, and I took advantage of the power outlets to get my electronics charged, such as cell phone, and video camera batteries.</div>
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Reflecting on the day as I drifted off to sleep, I starting to sing “Heart” to myself again, pleased that we had done our first 90 mile ride. We’d never done it before, and hadn’t planned on it for that day, but it felt good. We did, however, plan on riding the 90 miles the next morning from Tok to the Canadian border, and of course, we had no idea how difficult that would actually be.</div>
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<a href="http://www.alaska-to-mexico.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-6-tok-to-alcan.html">Interesting. Read More...</a></div>
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<b>Route - 90.2 miles in about 12.5 hours</b></div>
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