The Rise Up Ride: Day 121, My Forrest Gump Monument Valley Moment
Date: 21 August 2021
Start Location: Congdon Creek Campground, Yukon
End Location: Haines Junction, Yukon
Distance: 89 km
Time: 4:32
Total elapsed: 5:37
Elevation: 713 m
Winter's shoulders are broad in the Yukon, reaching well into July some years and often stretching up the other side of "summer" into August. The locals watch the fireweed and know that there are two weeks till first frost when the top flowers blossom. It's been a fortnight since the Yukon's official floral emblem finished blooming. Last night's storm dropped the snowline on the mountains to about 800 meters above Kluane Lake, warning with this dusting that it is time to quit 61.15°N and head to lower latitudes.
The well-pitched-tent "bend but don't break" defense worked against the wind and rain all night. My downy inner nest stayed dry, and the electric bear fence held. The rain had stopped and, as forecast, the wind was blowing briskly from the north. Time to set the spinnaker and ride this Arctic blast south to Haines Junction.
I was rolling my loaded Seven through the gate of the electrified fence at Congdon Campground on Kluane Lake when Emma, a hearty hiker from Whitehouse wearing shorts in the cold because, as she said, she's from the Yukon, asked where I was headed.
"I'm going to visit some friends in Atlin, one of whom wrote a book about cycling and adventure ...."
"Oh, do you mean Kate Harris? She's the coolest. I was in a bookstore in Atlin and met her when she was signing books. You know her?? I loved the book."
Yes, I'm going to try and visit my friends named Kate who live in Atlin and one of whom is "legend" in the Yukon. Perhaps I'll hear from them tomorrow when they return from a bike-hiking adventure off-grid to a First Nations encampment. Depending on their schedule, I'll either be heading to Atlin, or turning down the Haines Highway to climb up and over the mountains back to board a ferry towards home.
I pedaled less than 200 meters to the road and there was the bear. My photos are not the best, but the proper sequence is to remove the safety on the bear spray before grabbing the camera. I'd hate to have the forensic evidence at my autopsy include a great last shot of a charging Grizzly.
Today's ride, except for a short swing around the tip of Kluane Lake into the teeth of the breeze, was a blast. Surrounded by gobsmackingly gorgeous mountains crowned by new snow, alluvial fan valleys still bearing the marks from retreating glaciers, and traversing one of the prettiest parts of the Kluane / Wrangell-St. Elias / Glacier Bay / Tatshenshini-Alsek UNESCO Outstanding Universal Value for World Heritage Property. Next time, I'd like to stop or stay at the Kluane Lake Research Station (Arctic Institute of North America) located at the southern tip of the biggest lake in the Yukon, and adjacent to the world's largest sub-polar icefield.
The 2-3% climbs felt like flats with the tailwind, and the long steep downwind into Haines Junction was thrilling at over 60 km/hr, feathering my disk brakes to keep from losing control during crosswind gusts. Every ride should have a fast drop to the finish as a reward for the effort, and today's final downwind descent into Whitehorse, to possibly end my ride down the Alaska Highway, was, frankly, epic.
Of all the places to roost for the night on a long bike trip, my favorite indoor accommodation is a space at a hostel (followed by a WarmShowers home or an inexpensive motel.) Hostels, like the Stroppel Hotel and Mineral Baths in Midland, South Dakota, or the Nauti Otter in Seward, Alaska, are perfect for the "communitarian" who enjoys sharing common areas like the kitchen and living room with other travelers. If your mother (or partner) has taught you how to clean up after yourself, and you can label your food, you might have the skills to thrive in a hostel. I've been looking forward to laying over at the Wanderer's Inn Backpackers Hostel, trading messages over the last few days with Martin, the whip-smart, worldly, rough-edged owner, who had informed me that I'd be the first cyclist to come through this season.
But when I arrived there was another pannier-laden bike in the yard. Liam was still here, waylaid by the charms of a local cutie and unsuccessful in getting a ride with his bike, crippled by a bent hanger, over Haines Pass to the border. He's lined up a shuttle for tomorrow and we caught up with each other's adventures over ice-cream at Frosty's, the local hangout, it seems.
I'm staying in the Hostel's Fire Tent Cabin, the perfect spot for me since it's outdoors and private, not as inexpensive as a bunk in the shared dorm but with less chance of viruses or snoring. I shopped for food at the grocery store before they closed for the weekend and was informed that they'd "get more stuff on Tuesday." Tonight it's reindeer sausage burritos at the hostel.
In the morning, I'll drop a note to the Kates to figure out my next direction. As Martin keenly noted, I'm not the first traveler in the last 130 years to arrive in Haines Junction unsure of which road to take out of town. However, as I flew down the mountains, I felt the cumulative weariness for the first time this trip. The thought of riding hard for two more weeks to Atlin and back over the pass to Skagway filled me with less enthusiasm than a more direct path to my departure in Haines on 4 September. Maybe it was the "smell of the barn" wafting up over Haines Pass that made me recall the scene from "Forrest Gump" when he stops running in Monument Valley and turns to the camera and says:
“I'm pretty tired… I think I'll go home now.”
