Bicycle Touring in the Yukon, Part 2

April 14, 8:45 PMBoise International Travel ExaminerNancy Sathre-Vogel

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Entering the Yukon on the Alaska Highway

 Editor's Note:  This is Part 2 of the third article in an ongoing series of articles about my family's bike trip from Alaska to Argentina as my boys try to break the Guiness world record as the youngest people to cycle the Pan American Highway.  You can read part 1 here.

We felt doubly blessed as we pedaled away from Prudhoe Bay – not only were we cycling under clear blue skies (a rarity for the north slope), but an awesome tailwind pushed us southward.  We rolled through the Arctic tundra, gazing at wonder at caribou grazing beside the road and at the sheer simplicity of the tundra itself.

In many ways, it seemed as though we had been transported to another planet as we pedaled through the tundra, a vast treeless prairie.  In the far north, there are simply not enough days of sunlight for trees to grow.  Trees use the sun’s energy for photosynthesis, but with so few days of sunlight, they simply cannot grow.  For us, that translated to no shade or place to take shelter.  With the tallest plants a mere twelve inches tall, there was no place to escape the elements at all.

Our journey began in the land of the midnight sun and we promptly lost all track of time.  Gone were the watches and clocks that had controlled our lives for so long, and we relied only upon our own body rhythms to tell us when it was time to set up our tent for the night.  After a full day of cycling on the rough surface of the Dalton Highway, sleeping was no problem – even if the sun was shining all night long.

On our seventh day we crossed the treeline, and entered back into the earth we were familiar with.  Sure, the spruce trees were a bit stunted from the short days and severe cold, but they were trees – those comfortable, familiar things we were used to.  Within the span of less than one mile, we went from no trees at all, so being surrounded.  As soon as we reached that point where there were enough days with sunlight for trees to grow, they thrived

Three hundred miles from where we started, we crossed the Arctic Circle, which meant the sun would finally set.  It didn’t, however, mean darkness would come soon.  It wasn’t until we were a good six hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle that darkness would finally arrive.  Until then, we lived according to our own bodily rhythms, sleeping when we felt like it and not bothering with clocks.

The Dalton Highway was not constructed with ease of traveling in mind; it was meant to be a supply route only.  For that reason, the engineers made no effort to create gentle grades or take into consideration the lay of the land.  They simply pointed their compasses north and built the road over whatever lay in their way.  We climbed up absurdly overgrown and ridiculously steep hills only to plummet wildly down the other side – day after day after day.

Fourteen days after we set out, we reached the end of the Dalton and celebrated on the side of the road with banana cream pie and chocolate.  We had done it!  We had conquered the Dalton!  We still had many miles to go, but had triumphed over our first major hurdle.

After the challenges of the Dalton, we looked forward to relative ease and relaxation as we cycled the Alaska Highway toward Canada.  The road, lined with a seemingly perfectly smooth surface after the rough dirt surface we had encountered on the Dalton, made for easy pedaling and smooth sailing.  For miles we paralleled the Alaska Range and marveled at the jagged, snow-capped peaks standing out in stark contrast to the clear blue skies overhead.

Although the difficult cycling of the Dalton had been left behind, the remoteness had not.  It would be six hundred miles from Fairbanks to Whitehorse in the Yukon Territories, with a grand total of three small settlements in between.  After that we could look forward to a 1000-mile trek to Dawson Creek and the end of the Alaska Highway.  The four of us camped on the side of the road each night, filtered water out of streams every day, and ate food I diligently stashed in my trailer every chance I had.

Wildlife was a continual concern as we cycled through the rugged wilderness.  Although we looked forward to sighting animals during the days, we did our best to avoid them at night.  One night, however, we were awakened by the crack of a branch and rustling of some type of feet in the brush a few feet from my head.  John and I sat up in panic, wondering which brand of animal it was – a bear?  A moose?  A fox?  In the end, we realized we had no way of knowing what kind of animal it was, but were happy it had passed on.  We redoubled our efforts at making our campsites as bear-proof as we could.

Each evening I packed all our food, toothpaste, and everything else with a scent into drybags (waterproof bags, which are also nearly completely airtight) and placed them well away from our tent.  At no time did any food come near our tent, and we did our absolute best to keep all food smells off our bodies.  We stopped early in the day to cook and clean the dishes at a stream, then cycled a few more miles before setting up camp each evening.

Day after day we pedaled through remote, rugged wilderness. At times enormous mountains towered thousands of feet above us, while at other times we pedaled along the shores of beautiful glacial lakes.  Moose grazed on the banks of ponds, bears crossed the road in front of us, and beavers played in rivers below us as we took breaks on bridges.

Five weeks after pedaling away from Prudhoe Bay, we arrived into Whitehorse 1200 miles away.  As we entered Whitehorse (population 20,000) I felt like I was leaving a part of my heart behind in the remote wilderness.  Alaska and Yukon are like no place on earth, and I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to spend this time in the special place.  I know, just like Robert Service, that I’ll be back.

There’s a land where the mountains are nameless,

And the rivers all run God knows where;

There are lives that are erring and aimless,

And deaths that just hang by a hair;

There are hardships that nobody reckons;

There are valleys unpeopled and still;

There a land – oh, it beckons and beckons,

And I want to go back – and I will.

                               - Robert Service

You can read the other articles in the series here:

Prudhoe Bay (June 2008)  
Alaska Highway (July 2008)  
Yukon (August 2008)
Northern British Columbia (August 2008)

Icefields Heartbreak (September 2008)

Cycling Montana (September 2008)

Wyoming & Utah (October 2008)

Exploring America's National Parks (November 2008)

On the US/Mexico border (January, 2009