I stayed in Tok the next day to get set for 290 miles down the Alaska Highway to Haines Junction (population: 600). That little town is half the size of Tok, and there is not much in between. Best be prepared for that long, empty stretch. The biggest chore was fixing my tent. The zipper on the mosquito flap wouldn’t close anymore. The long hours of sunshine make central Alaska surprisingly hot in the middle of summer. There was no way I could sleep with the main flap closed.
I went looking for a solution and tried Bullshooter Sporting Goods first. I was thinking vaguely of a new tent or possibly some mosquito netting. Would you believe they had nothing of either sort? Another solution would be some way to lace up the mosquito flap. They sent me to a fabric store — something I would not have expected to find in Tok — where I found some hooks and eyes. Just the ticket. They worked out well, but it took three hours to sew enough of them on.
I met a family from Alberta at dinner that night. Their son was “…along to help with the driving.” It turned out the dad and his son were both glider pilots. They were also backpackers. You can imagine we had a lot to talk about. Then I went back to my campsite, packed my laundry and was ready to go.
Thursday, July 23: It was a boring ride for the first 20 miles or so. Nothing but scrubby taiga. Finally, I came to some interesting terrain. At the end of the last ice age, strong winds formed sand from the Tanana River into a series of dunes east of Tok. Subsequently, vegetation grew on the dunes and anchored them in place. Those sand dunes are now a series of 200-foot hills covered with trees.
I ground up the back of each dune at 6 mph and zoomed down to the next one at 25 mph. On and on. Somewhere in the middle of that stretch, I spotted a cyclist and a pickup. I rode up to where they were as the driver was putting her bike in the bed of his pickup. He had been out taking pictures with his new camera.
Then I recognized the cyclist. She was the one from France that I met in the campground in Whitehorse. She had been traversing the hills from the opposite direction. She said, “I have had it with these hills, I just want to get out of them.” I could empathize. I guess she couldn’t get into the zone like I had.
I came to a Forest Service campground at Deadman’s Lake. It looked like rain, so I hurried in and set up my tent in a ring of trees. That was a mistake. It rained hard, and the trees did not shed the rain and keep it dry like I thought. The rain collected in the slight depression between the trees and I soon had an inch of water on the floor of the tent. I was able to keep most things dry except myself, but it was miserable sitting in there waiting for the rain to stop.
I moved my tent to flat ground after the rain stopped and went down to the lake to filter some water for drinking and cooking. A floatplane landed and dropped off a Fish & Wildlife agent. I suppose they had been out to check the other lakes around there. There are hundreds of them here along the front of a long mountain range. It had been a tough day and I went to bed early.
The next morning the road offered more of the same. One hill after another. A big rain shower caught me on one of them. I steered into the shallow ditch, put my rain gear on, and just stood there holding my bike. It poured for 15 minutes or so while cars and motor homes whizzed around the curve and on down the road. I imagine I looked forlorn to them, but I was enjoying it.
Finally, I came to a flat stretch that took me to the tiny town of Beaver Creek. I had come 100 miles in two days. There was a restaurant there and I had a buffalo Salisbury steak. My notes say the steak was big. I remember the waitress was talkative, but I have no idea what we talked about. [Photos]
It rained again that night, and again when I went for breakfast. By the time I got back to my tent it had stopped. I loaded up my stuff and rode out of town on a fresh, clean highway. After a while, I came to three cyclists on their way to Tok. They started in Washington in June and were just getting here. They told me about a lodge up ahead. They told me it was run by two old characters and they had good food.
I decided to stop at the lodge they described to camp. I went over to eat after setting up my tent in the woods. The woman told me all about what those fellows ate. She claimed they ate her out of house and home. Maybe so, but there was still some for me. I had the “Truckers Special”. It was New York steak with a baked potato and broccoli. I’m not sure broccoli would appeal to truckers, but it was great for me.
My next destination was was Cottonwood Park near the head of Kluane Lake. The wind started blowing soon after I started. It got worse and worse, and I was down to about 8 mph. I struggled along until I reached Burwash Landing on the lake and stopped at a little snack shack. There were three or four young people in the shack, and they told me I should camp at the resort because there would be a party on the grass that night.
I said thanks, but I’m going on to Cottonwood Park. The road was steep up from the shack and then turned south and followed a ridge. I was in my lowest gear because it was so steep going up the hill. I figured I’d be able to go faster after the turn, but the wind was so strong I had to stay in the lowest gear. A little bit of that and I turned around, coasted down to the shack, had a laugh with the young people and went over to the Burwash Landing Resort.
Camping was out in front of the resort on a small field of lumpy grass, which was fine. That is, except that was where the party was going to be. But as tired as I was, I figured I’d be able to sleep through it.
Another cyclist, who was from Seattle and headed for Fairbanks, was already camped there. I set up my tent, staked it against the wind, put my gear inside for ballast, and went to take a shower ($3) and eat.
It was early so I was the only one in the restaurant. Bicycle tourist magic kicked in, as it usually did, and I answered the waitress’s questions for a while. I ordered a big steak and she went off to the service window. She told the cook, “Put some food on that plate for the hungry bike rider out here.” When it arrived it was all I could comfortably eat.
I heard the party start, live music and all, but I have no idea when it ended. My mind was on the wind the next day. I had learned that it “always” blows like that at Kluane Like. I would be riding right into it again. I was hoping for the best. I slept like a log, woke up at 4:00 am and was on my way by 4:30.
There was a little breeze up on the ridge, so I rode at the fastest pace I could maintain. Every little puff of wind made me think, “Here it comes.” But the wind had not come up much by the time I got to a restaurant near the head of the lake, so I stopped for breakfast.
The restaurant was part of a fishing guide operation. I had fish for breakfast, of course. A beautiful stained glass depiction of a trout jumping from a lake was hanging in one window of the restaurant. The fish was rendered in 3D and looked almost as if it had real scales. I took several (ill-fated) photos of it, and I had an urge to ask if it was for sale (which I severely doubted). I didn’t ask though as it was way too big to take along.
I talked with one of the fishing guides there about the wind. He also told me what I’d find on the rest of the way to Haines Junction. The winds result from the long range of mountains that run parallel to the lake. They act as a wall that forces the wind to flow north, right down the lake. The head of the lake is more protected, so there wasn’t much wind when I got going again after breakfast.
I rolled (the last 10 miles was downhill) into Haines at 4:00 pm. I had come 78 miles. I feared it would take two days, but I beat the wind by starting early and riding hard.
I stopped at a busy campground on the way into town. They recommended that I eat at a local bakery. The Village Bakery offered several baked dishes as well as bread and buns. I remember their spanakopita. It was delicious.
The bakery owner told me the ride from Haines Junction to Haines was rated second best in the world. (It was part of the race the two cyclists I met on the ferry to Skagway competed in). The owner also said I ought to go to the live theater at the high school that evening. That turned out to be a peculiar experience. [Photos of Haines Junction and Kluane Lake region]
More theater and the bakery in the next post…
Didit.Live 