I left Edmonton and headed north up to the Alaska Highway, also known as the ALCAN or Alaska-Canada Highway. Once I arrived at Mile Zero in Dawson Creek I saw the task in front of me in full-- it would be 4 full days of riding to Whitehorse, the next major settlement and capitol of the Yukon Territory.
The Plan:
-Ride
-Arrive, make camp and sleep
-Wake up, break camp
-Repeat
I did this for 4 days in a row to arrive at my current location, the capital of the Yukon Territory: Whitehorse. On the way here, great plains finally disappeared in my rear view mirrors, the pine trees rose to meet me, and I dove deep into the Taiga Forests of Canada's northern reaches.
Each campground I stayed at was planned in advance. The towns along the Alaska Highway toward Whitehorse are like islands in an ocean of wilderness and trees. Plan out where you're getting your gasoline. Call ahead to ask if there's space at the campground. Know that in between each settlement? Each outpost? Cell service is a luxury.
It's lonely out here.
The highways here? They're all named. The Dempster Highway. The Dalton Highway. The Top-Of-The-World Highway.
The Alaska Highway is one of 2 lifelines up here. It's said amongst locals that it's in the best shape-- paved and well maintained-- but it's long. Each jump takes a day for a motorcyclist.
The animals are everywhere. Caribou, goats, bears, moose, deer, bison, and many other animals are roaming hazards. The insects float in clouds and swarm the grills of vehicles. The smell of pine is welcome and inescapable.
Then I saw something I didn't expect: bicyclists. These guys are chugging along the highways powered only by their pairs of legs and lungs to propel them. I find myself marveling at the distances I'm covering but I cannot fathom the patience of these guys. Some are in groups, some are in couples, and some lucky few are alone, dozens of miles from other human beings in their loneliest stretches.
I got the chance to flex my Spanish-speaking muscle at a gas station when I came across a young couple from Argentina on bicycles. No Joke: they had been travelling from the bottom of Argentina to the Arctic Ocean and it's taken them 6 years to get here.
"How do you sleep?" I ask.
They carry tents and food on themselves but they must be very light. I imagine them rationing water religiously. The fear of bears is what gets me-- they told me they either sling their food in bear bags on trees or hide their belongings in the rafters of public buildings. One time, they took the garbage bag out of a bin and hid their bear bag underneath it. The girl shuddered and expressed disgust at the memory.
Believe it or not, this is still the more populated region of the arctic. The Alaska highway runs along the southern border of the Yukon Territory and even bounces back and forth into the province to the south, British Colombia. Beyond Whitehorse to the north and west, I'm aiming to venture into even more obscure locales, only coming up for air and settling down to sleep in towns like Anchorage and Dawson City.
This is just the gateway. I've only ridden half of the Alcan, too. The harder highways also lie just beyond. Boy howdy.
JT - 7/27/2022