Our options were to cower in our motel room for who knew how long or to head out into the rain. Layered up, we waddled to the bike and heaved on, unaware that this would be the ultimate test of Jules' riding skill, Rascal's amazing maneuverability, and my endurance.
For the first 50 miles out of Whitehorse, a misty drizzle and healthy road lulled us into thinking we were good to go. We rocked in the rain with Foreigner and Journey blasting on the radio. Then rock and roll took on a totally new meaning as we headed into one of the most challenging stretches of road imaginable.
The Alcan makes a right turn at Haines Junction and we took advantage of a small clump of services there to fuel our bodies and the bike, and to dry out a bit. The next hint of civilization was in Beaver Creek, 180 miles away and we geared onto the highway ready to face what the Yukon had to throw at us.
First there was the old road, heaved so many years by frost that our dragon became a bucking bronco, and Jules, the handler, rode her to victory. I hung on, the distance between my ass and the seat growing dangerously with each mogul. To add to the excitement, the clouds dropped and steady, stinging rain began to fall. Then there was the construction. Fifty miles of gravel, at times smooth but mostly rocky. Gravel is tough enough to navigate in general, but the rain made it a whole new dance. At times we waited on one way stretches only to follow the guide truck through mud that was in words according to Jules, "slicker than eel snot". But Rascal performed well, only skidding a few times.
Then the talisman of a golden eagle appeared and flew along with us, granting safe passage. The rain slowly abated, the road became passable and some shy mountains even spied on us through the clouds. Although the distance to Beaver Creek seemed interminable, we slowly consumed the miles and arrived wet and cold, but otherwise unscathed. Buckshot Betty's, our first choice in lodging was full, so we took the only other option, Ida's Motel. Not exactly four star, we still felt like royalty as we shucked our wet clothes and warmed our hearts. These two motels, a gas station and some questionable cabins in the woods complete the demographic of Beaver Creek. So close to the border tonight, we can hear Alaska calling us. Every mile of today's rocky ride was worth the effort as tomorrow we will conquer our 50th state!
As I drift into sleep, I sense our golden eagle watching. The mystical ancient races that walked these forests, rode with us today, enclosed us with their charm and brought us safely through. And for this I send up a grateful prayer.
Moooose!
Kluane Lake
Mystical Islands
Shy mountains
Rocky road
Fifty miles of this :/
Our talisman
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