Whitehorse, Yukon Territories, Canada

Hi from Whitehorse, Yukon Territories

The ride across Northern British Columbia was through thickly forested mountains. The forests go as far as the eye can see, a rolling campus of evergreen trees. This is the Taiga, the great pine forest that stretches around the world at this latitude. The mountains here are relaxed little things, more like the Appalachians than the rugged Rockies.

Wildlife was everywhere. I had to be alert. No time for napping allowed because----

Going around a curve you might come face to face with a cute bunch of baby mountain sheep eating salt off the highway.

This little guy (or gal) was very curious about me (What are you up to strange man on a black motorcycle?)

Don't worry, Mama is watching closely. (Yes, mama bighorns have horns, but the daddy bighorns have big daddy horns --- uh, remember that I promised a test later?)

 

Why do they put up signs like this? They should know that bison are too stubborn to pay attention to them. Do the sign people expect bison to show up just like that? Really now!

Well, what do you know. There they are. Right on cue.  I sat there for a long time, traffic lined up behind me, wondering how I was going to get through this herd. They just kept coming, climbing over the fence. You can see one on the right doing that very thing. Just then, a tanker truck came roaring around me. Those guys stop for no buffalo. I went through very quickly right behind him. Whew!!

There were a lot of these girls also. Wouldn't want to be going very fast and hit one of them. There were foxes, too, and lots of bears, both black and grizzly. All these creatures had their cubs (calves, pups, kits -- whatever).  Springtime is a busy time in the forest maternity ward.  It was like riding through a very busy zoo.

I couldn't resist showing at least one scenery picture.

And then, pretty soon, I was in the Yukon Territory. About that time I met two other riders: Ron from Oregon (I like that name; it is easy to remember) and Les from Texas. Like me, they are headed to Dawson City for a bike rally with Adventure Riders. We hit it off, and have been camping and riding together since.



The three of us are camped at Whitehorse tonight. Whitehorse is the capitol city of the Yukon Territory. This paddle wheeler used to go on the Yukon River up to Dawson City until they built the highway. Since then, this boat just sits there being the major attraction in Whitehorse.

Tomorrow, We are doing the ride along that rather new highway up to Dawson City. It is a long way, but a lot faster than going by a paddle wheeler. 

More later,

Ron

Somewhere close to Fort Nelson, British Columbia

I was tired and cold Saturday night. The wind was murderous. I needed a rest. I happened to see a tiny sign for camping, and so I stopped. What a delightful place; a little farm owned by a friendly couple, Tweazle and Robert. Tweazle is from Sussix, England, where until ten years ago, she owned and ran a British pub. Robert was on holiday there. He met her, wooed her, and brought her to British Columbia. She says she loves it dearly here. It seems like paradise to her.

Durng the night the heavens turned on a terrifying pyrotechnique display. The lightning flashed, the thunder rumbled, and the echos bouced off the mountains, going on and on for the longest time after each flash. The wind took hold of my tent and shook it back and forth, and then suddenly stopped. All was quiet for a long moment, and then the rain came down in torrents. What a night.

I woke up to foggy drizzle and, after a fast cup of coffee, Odysseus and I set off.

There was not much to see along the road, I can tell you. This area has little to recommend it. British Columbia is huge, on the map it looks like it is as big as six of Western States, and the road goes on an on. Except for the occasional black bear or two, and here and there a moose, there was little to occupy the mind. There were mountains, I could tell, hulking just behind the fog; and the sun would try to peek-a-boo through the clouds from time to time, but very soon gave up on wasting energy on that sort of thing.

The highway itself is beautiful, however, perfectly manicured with not a hint of trash and never a billboard to spoil the beauty. The speed limits are very low (60 miles per hour), but people drive carefully and within safe speeds despite the fact that there never seems to be any troopers. They certainly seem to do things up right here.

I camped last night next to a lake. A sign warned that there was a bear and her two cubs in the area, but they didn't show up. It rained again during the night, and has been raining off and on all day. The forecast calls for more of the same for the next several days. I hope I am north of it all soon.

I am in a little restaurant in a tiny town somewhere close to Fort Nelson--just 150 miles to go. The TV is playing, and everyone is glued to the Croatia vs Spain soccer match. This is a Russian community, and I am having trouble understanding their accented English.

There are no pictures to show you: there is nothing really to see even if it were not raining. So--

More later,
Ron