Canada EH!

One of the positive (I think) side effects of the depression issues that I have is that I am able to kill time better than any person I know.When I first started really being affected by the illness I used to find that I would miss hours at a time without even knowing what happened.I couldn't tell you how many times I used to get all my gear ready to go out training then when I sat down to put on my bike shoes that would be it.I'd either just glaze over and stare blankly into space for hours or just wake up hours later curled up on the couch.I've learned to apply that to be a positive and now I can easily find ways to shut out the sense of passing time by watching  the world go by,chatting with anyone or wandering the streets checking out new places.Long haul flights are a breeze as time means little to me now.

 So it was for me during my days stuck in Tok waiting for the horrendous weather to clear and for my knee to stop hurting.I walked around checking out the small town which exists entierly on the whim of the passing caravan to tourists who drive up to Alaska in search of adventure.Depending on which direction you are headed it is the first or the last town to you see in Alaska as you drive the ALCAN Hwy.Physically it is a pretty non-descript place but once you dig a little deeper the character of the locals shines through.I had a blast spending an hour or so each morning chatting with the lady who runs the RV park and campground where I was staying.We would sit there chatting away and highjacking everyone who was coming in to check out each morning.I met all kinds of cool people from local retirees who dropped in for the free coffee to old,fat RV drivers loading up the van with more store bought crap,to some of the countless motorbike tourists who ply the back roads of Alaska each summer.It was cool and is the sort of thing I love doing.All this hanging out wasn't getting me anywhere though so I decided that the blue sky morning was a sign to move on and at after three nights in tiny Tok I rolled out well before the town woke up and rode towards Canada wth the highway to myself.

  The chilly morning had me again wearing four layers of clothing in order to function properly and not even the first of the endless supply of the days rolling hills could force me to strip down.Even though I felt that I was crawling up the hills this was the best I had felt on the bike for the whole trip and was starting to feel like a cyclist again which made me really start to enjoy the days ride.I had hoped to ride on through the whole day and night for the next day or so to make up some time and get some miles uder the belt so when I stopped for breakfast at  the general store of the Indian community at Northway Junction I had covered 80 kilometers and hadn't really noticed the time at all.After a bite to eat,a coffee and of course a chat to the ladies running the place it was off to the border for me.

The next 70 kilometers passed in some sort of strange familiarity as I passed,or thought I passed the same places again and again.In reality all I was doing was continuing to follow the highway around a huge curve in the lanscape where the hills I was riding followed the edges of a huge boreal forest that stretched for miles to the Nutzotin Mountains which stood like a huge barrier of snow capped peaks far to the south.The repetitive scenery was a bit dull but the road itself was fun .I figured that my planned 230k ride to White River would be a no-brainer as,rounding a bend I saw the red roof of the Border City  Lodge dominating the landscape of a huge plain below.I knew I was now nearing the border. I had covered about 150 kilometeres and it was only just approaching lunchtime.

I rolled down the long,winding descent to the plains and before long was ordering myself a burger and making myself comfortable in the wam shelter of the lodges small diner.Joining me was a large group of young American tourists who were heading the opposite direction and they were full of interest in my trip and peppered me with questions on all things cycle-touring.One of the girls asked my if I was a triathlete as she noticed a set of aero-bars on my bike,which to her seemed an odd choice to use as a touring bike.I was surprised that she would know about them at all and asked her how she knew about bikes.She then told me that she lived in a Kona and was used to seeing triathletes and their gear all over the place,she then asked me if I had ever done Ironman and I said that although I had done 20 Ironman distance triathlons I had only entered the specific one she meant the one time I didn't go.I told her that I now had shifted to mainly doing longer races and bike tours like the one I was now on.I mentined that this ride,with that specific bike,was for a reason and that I was doing an event called Ultraman at the end of the month.Well,she could barely contain herself and it seemed I had found the third Ultraman Hawaii groupie of my journey.She said that she followed the race every year and was in awe of those guys and gals who could finish one of those events.I laughed and told her not to be too in awe as I had finished a few and assured her that we were all quite normal,for the most part anyway.With that her friends mentioned that time was getting away from them and they were soon gone leaving me wondering just how many more folks I would meet who knew about the silliness of a couple of obscure races which have an alumni smaller than the select group who have summited Mount Everest.I sat around for about an hour drinking coffee and using the lodges computer before setting my watch to Canada time and rolling back onto the highway toward the US border station ALCAN perched at the top of a hill about 4 kilometeres away.

Cresting the long rise from the valley floor had me passing by the US border buldings before rolling down the other side and past a sign welcoming me to Canada.The thing was there was another sign that told me the actual immigration and customs would not be for another 27 kilometers.So where the hell was I?I'll tell you where,I was in a place where the road construction guys have a great sense of humour.The road under my wheels turned from a nice smooth asphalt to a rough chipseal and my speed slowed considerably as the wheel of my trailer rumbled along noisily behind.If I thought that was bad enough then the first of the Yukon's famous gravel sections would make me wish for roads as nice as the rough chipseal I was cursing.I quite literally got smacked in the back of the head and brought around to some serious realities about the next few hundred kilometers as I negotiated the next 800 meters.

As I approached the gravel section I noticed just how much dust the vehicles before me were kicking up and I thought it best to wait for a break in the traffic before making my mad dash to the top of the steep little climb.I chose my time and sped,well I should really say wobbled,along the start of the dusty section and as I slowed to a crawl up the hill a semi-trailer thundered up the grade from behind kicking up a cloud of dust so thick that I could not see anything at all and niether,apparently could the driver of the RV following the big truck.I only heard it for a second before I felt the blow to the back of my head and thankfully that second was enough to make me duck and veer to the right.The wing mirror of the RV hit my helmet and sent me sliding to the edge of the road.Luckily we were all going so slowly that I didn't crash but the harsh reality of what had nearly happened hit home when the RV didn't even slow down.I do not think that the driver saw me at all and the thought that I could have easily been run down had me stop at the top of the hill,unhitch my trailer and stick my thumb out in search of a ride to Beaver Creek still some 22kilometers away.I had read on a sign behing me that there was possibly 184 kilometers of road work ahead of me and I was having none of it.

I stood on the side of the road for about an hour and a half before realising that nobody even remotely looked like picking me up so it was time for plan B.I had already changed into my running shoes and as the rain started to fall I hooked up my trailer again and started to walk the next section of gravel which started another 100 meters or so away.The little sign at the end of the pavement told me that this  was gravel section number 67 and after riding the 300 meters in between this and the next,which read number 66 I realised just how much gravel there was to negotiate.Holy Crap!!!

As I had been advised by a friends Facebook post a day or so earlier I decided to tuurn a negative into a positive and took the time to enjoy my surrounds and even though it was raining quite heavily during the three long hours of my trek I didn't mind it at all.Clearly my hopes of making it toWhite River that day were now gone but thanks to a long paved section I arrived at the "official"border crossing at around 7pm and then the town of Beaver Creek shortly after.I had covered just under 190 kilometers for the day and was happy with that given the circumstances,what was really going to make me happy was something to eat and across the road from where I was standing was the culinary haven of Beaver Creek, the world famous(as the signs advertised) Buckshot Bettys Cafe! Ha ha ha I still can't say it without laughing a little inside...Welcome to the Yukon!