From Dreams to Dawson
Lessons learned bikepacking through the Yukon
“No amount of dreaming will shift a seated man.”
- Sir Wally Herbert (the first person to cross the surface of the Arctic Ocean)
You can often pinpoint the exact moment when an idea floats through your peripheral, steals your attention and ultimately starts to gain momentum. Like a snowball rolling down a hill it takes on mass, growing exponentially bigger the longer it rolls.
Sitting in a cheap motel in Leadville, Colorado after a winter attempt of Mount Elbert was thwarted by historic avalanche risk, I read“In Shackleton’s Footsteps,” by the dim glow of the lamp on the bedside table. The beautifully written account of Henry Worsley’s polar expeditions was spellbinding, captivating, inspiring and painted the polar regions of our planet in mesmerizing beauty.
The idea of a self-reliant expedition started gaining momentum in my head. I thought of polar explorer Wally Herbert’s infamous words, “no amount of dreaming will shift a seated man,” and decided I was going to do it. Throughout the next few weeks a plan began to formulate until I settled on the goal of bikepacking through the Yukon Territory 1400km towards the Arctic Ocean.
Day 1: Whitehorse to Fox Lake
74km | 464m elevation gain
With the headwind, gaining momentum proves to be a strenuous task. I’ll have my work cut out for me tomorrow. Hopefully the wind lets up.
On trips like these there’s no grand departure. Pedalling out of Whitehorse up Two Mile Hill Road towards the Klondike Highway, I was alone, my bike rigged up with everything I needed. There was a moment where I realized that my trip had started. This was it. I kept pedalling towards the rolling hills and mountains leaving Whitehorse behind me.
Day 2 Fox Lake to Carmacks
110km | 200m elevation gain
The uphill roads gave way to flats, downhills and the occasional low grade hills. The distance proved easily manageable by keeping spirits high. After a long ride with mostly high morale I made it into camp with some pain in my knee. Time to relax down by the Yukon River.
Getting into a rhythm was the fun part. Quiet mornings leaving camp gave way to the whirling sound of my chain, the odd vehicle passing by and the sounds of the northern forest and river. I’d never been to a place quite like the Yukon. I found that it was a different sort of wilderness than I was used to in Ontario. This felt a lot more untouched. A lot more remote.
On the road I passed my time by just enjoying the scenery. When dreaming up a trip like this, we often have grandeur visions of monumental moments, but the heart of a journey, and I would go as far as to say life itself, is what happens in between those moments. It’s the accumulation of every boring kilometre, not necessarily the odd exciting one, that makes the trip.
I loved not knowing exactly what was coming around every corner. I was seeing this part of the world for the first time. Every mesmerizing contour and geographical landmark would never be new to me again. It’s a feeling to be cherished. That wonderment is hard to find and trips like this allow it to flourish.
With every kilometre I gained, beautiful mountainous landscapes revealed themselves.
ITB syndrome in my left leg had been an issue for the last few weeks and I was feeling it on these longer rides. Likely a product of rushing my training more than I should have, I decided just to deal with it and enjoy the scenery.
After a long day the feeling of riding into camp was priceless. I’d cook myself a dehydrated meal on a little pocket rocket stove and foldable pot, relax by the Yukon River and watch as the midnight sun hung in the sky reluctant to set again until the fall.
When I was ready to sleep I’d hop in my little one-man tent, waking up every hour or so to painfully bend my left knee in an attempt to keep it from getting too stiff.
Day 3 Carmacks to Pelly Crossing
104km | 619m elevation gain
The day began with hills until a long downhill segment led me to my first stop of the day. Approximately 26-28km in I met a kind man in his mid 80s on the side of the road. He shared his bag of cherries with me and told me of his goal to ride his motorbike all the way up the Dempster Highway to Tuktoyaktuk. This was his second or third attempt, I can’t remember. A bad fall on the Dempster had sidelined his previous attempt. He told me he was going to keep trying until his wife called him to come home. The rest of my ride today went smoothly. Now I’m sitting by the Pelly River.
After making breakfast, packing up my belongings and then stowing them away in the many packs and pouches secured to my bike frame I started the day with another beautifully quiet first few kilometres. Settling into a pace, I kept going for approximately 28 kilometres before I made my first stop of the day on the side of the road.
A motorcyclist pulled up beside me and shut off his engine. He removed his helmet, revealing that he was an elderly man, grabbed something from his saddle bag, and sat down beside me.
“Cherry?” he asked.
I graciously accepted and we got to talking, sharing food and swapping stories.
He was on the same journey I was, trying to ride all the way to the top of the Dempster Highway. He told me all about his first attempt and how a bad fall in a very remote section of the Dempster had forced him to abandon his ride. He was determined, though, to get back on the bike and do it again.
With a hearty chuckle he told me he wanted to try to finish his ride before his wife called him and told him he has to come home.
I wish I got his name, and have no idea whether or not he made it to Tuktoyaktuk, NWT. I hope he did. Meeting him was one of those chance encounters that left a serious lasting impression on me. How amazing was it that he was chasing his dreams well into his 80s and that even after a near-deadly fall he was back riding in the Yukon? Age is really just a number. Maybe you only get old when you stop executing on the dreams that excite you.
I thought about that as I pressed on towards Pelly Crossing. My achilles heal began to squeak. It sounded identical to a cheese curd squeaking against your teeth.
I had little to complain about though as I looked out at the beautiful Pelly River. My campsite backed right onto the water. I sat on the rocks for hours, resting after a long day. When I went to sleep, I could hear wolves howling somewhere in the forest.
Day 4 Pelly Crossing to Moose Creek Campground
95km | 565m Elevation Gain
Almost as if by design the day began with hill after hill followed by an incline. I met another cyclist 18km in, biking from Anchorage, AK back home to Washington State. Some relief was had from my steep climb with some decent downhill sections leading to Stewart Crossing. 10km after climbing out of Stewart Crossing, I passed the most beautiful spot on the Klondike River. So peaceful.
The hill out of Stewart Crossing was steep, giving way to a downhill ride and then a slow grade back up. Waiting for me just up the highway was one of the most beautiful scenic views I’ve ever witnessed. Maybe it was the exhaustion talking, I don’t know what possessed my to pull off the road and head through the bush towards this spot, but I did, coming out to the serene banks of the Stewart River.
Surrounded by tall trees I looked out towards the mountains. The peaceful flow of the river created a relaxing soundtrack to just sit and soak it all in. I only had about 12 kilometres left for the day, and could have easily ridden to the Moose Creek Campground, set up my tent and cooked myself a hot meal within the hour, but I chose to just stay, relax, and look out at the mountains. With 24-hours of sunlight, what was the rush?
Day 5 Moose Creek Campground to Klondike River Camp
136km | 580m Elevation Gain
Today was one of the most tiring days of my entire life. Sore from yesterday, I was set to tackle my longest ride of the trip. Throw in the rain, an aggressive headwind, countless more hills and it made for a very hard day. I was rewarded with an 8km downhill. 20km later I made it to the Dempster Highway where I had hoped to ride up to the Arctic Ocean. There was an agreement between me and the Dempster that this wasn’t the time to do it. While it would have been spectacular, I’m proud of what I’ve been through and what I’ve done. Tomorrow is a short ride to Dawson City.
There are two moments in my life that stand out as the hardest physical challenges I’ve currently faced: the descent from the summit of Mont Blanc from a trip in 2018 and this day of cycling.
I struggled to get into a positive mindset. The wind was howling, making progress ridiculously slow. I was being pelted in the face with rain. I was already exhausted, and the hills were maddening to my tired legs.
The previous night I made the decision that I wasn’t going to ride all the way up the Dempster Highway, and instead would continue down the Klondike Highway to Dawson City. That decision was largely responsible for the feelings of negativity I had on this particular day.
This trip was a major learning experience for me. One of the biggest lessons I learned was not to underestimate a physical challenge like this. My ITB and achilles were constant struggles, but I was motivated to overcome them. It’s just pain, I can deal with pain.
Logistics-wise, I could have done with some better planning. I realized about four-days in that I wouldn’t have the supplies to safely continue up the Dempster. The risk didn’t seem calculated anymore, it seemed foolish, so despite my desire to continue I made the hard decision to shorten the ride.
It was upsetting. Reaching the Arctic Ocean was a big goal, but I tried to refocus on riding to Dawson City.
That day I cycled 136 kilometres through the mountains. Over half-way through, the weather lifted, and I pedalled past the Dempster. I snapped a photo of myself at the sign and continued west on the Klondike Highway to to Dawson City.
It was a sad moment leaving the Dempster behind, but I was proud of the way I had handled the sufferfest that was that day.
Rolling into Klondike River Camp, I set up my tent for the unexpected last night of the trip.
Day 6 Klondike River Camp to Dawson City
19km | 12m Elevation Gain
After a week on the road and missing home, I’m finally off my bike and in Dawson City. I thought I would be more disappointed by not making it up the Dempster, but I’m still proud of what I’ve accomplished. I’ll be back at some point.
The ride into Dawson City was an odd end to the trip. I remember seeing signs of urbanization becoming more apparent. I remember reaching Dawson City and taking a photo in front of the sign. It felt sort of posed. I was proud of myself, happy to be in Dawson City, but still felt a level of defeat over the journey.
The silver lining of the trip was how much I had learned. I learned about planning logistics for expeditions, I learned about equipment, I learned about sponsorship and working with partners, and mostly I learned that I was capable of doing hard things.
I learned the importance of the in between moments. It’s not just about the achievement of arduous goals and the highs that stick in our memory long after we’re done. The in between moments of slogging kilometre after kilometre on the bike and experiencing a new landscape were the same whether or not I ended in Dawson City or Tuktoyaktuk.
Since completing this trip in early August of 2019, I’ve taken the time to thoroughly understand the planning steps necessary to turn a dream like this into a successful trip. I’ve worked on my backcountry skills, tested myself on countless smaller-scale trips and even worked contracted gigs as a wilderness guide.
Dreaming is great, but I’ve learned that planning is what gets you to the end of the road.
Every now and then when I reflect on this trip I still think about the man I met on the side of the road in the Yukon. What happened when he had his fall? He just went back and tried again. Inspiring.
I don’t know if I’ll ever consider trying this exact route again, I love the feeling of entering a new landscape a little too much, but I will do another trip like this in the future, and this time, take the time and preparation to transform dreams into reality.
But, then again, in the words of polar explorer Wally Herbert…
“Don’t think too hard. Just GO”
- Sir Wally Herbert (the first person to cross the surface of the Arctic Ocean)
When originally planning this ride I partnered up with the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society Yukon Chapter to raise money for their campaign to protect the porcupine caribou herd. They’re still working hard to protect wilderness and wildlife in the Yukon. If you enjoyed this story, please consider making a small donation to CPAWS Yukon so they can continue protecting wild places by clicking the link below:
https://cpawsyukon.org/porcupine-caribou/