Some mornings start smoother than others. When we woke up in our cute cabin and wondered what we could get for breakfast, the resort hostess broke the unfortunate news that breakfast had to be ordered the night before, otherwise she’s taking the day off. I inhaled some Nutella, drank a cup of complimentary coffee, and we were on our way.
On the opposite side of the lake was a modest hill with a fire lookout tower. Perched around 600 m above the surrounding lowlands, and accessible via a dirt road with a poetic name Xhat Tlen Deyi Road, it was occupied by a human watchman and his canine companions. Few people have a reason to go up there and we figured the person stuck there for days on end would not mind a distraction. Summers in Yukon are busy with fires, but it was quiet for a time, so we chatted a bit. The morsel of wisdom we collected was that interior Yukon has the best climate of all Canada. Dry and warm in the summers, not too snowy in the winters, cold but without feeling excruciatingly cold, and beautiful shoulder seasons in between. Not a common take.
Keeping the lessons of our previous encounter with Alaska Highway diners, we made sure to stop in the biggest settlement possible to get breakfast. That meant traveling 120 km to the village of Teslin, where we ordered full burgers and fries in a very unimaginatively named Yukon Motel and Restaurant.
From there it was all a blur as the weather turned sour, with thunderstorm and lightning. Lightning hit pretty close to us at one point getting a roll off the throttle in an awakening awe! The slog of Alaska Highway turned into the slog of Cassiar Highway, and it was another 6 hours before we made it to the small village of Dease Lake, where we encountered 2 things of great interest.
First was an Asian food truck, which gave us hope for actual flavor and spices in our food. Partially substantiated.
Second was a conglomeration of large motorbikes, seemingly all Triumphs, in the parking lot of a hotel that was visible while we fueled up. What could be the meaning of that, we pondered as we chewed our noodles and spring rolls. It was the most exciting thing we saw since we left the fire lookout.
Time to find a place to sleep. It was beginning to rain. We continued to the nearby free rec site, on the shores of Morchuea Lake, where we promptly set up camp and began counting how many mosquitos managed to hide under our rainfly.
When the gloomy morning came, I took great pleasure in the forceful eviction of every long nosed squatter, occasionally finding blood on my hands and claiming self defense. The rain kept creeping on and off, and when we sensed that it momentarily stopped, we quickly packed up and left. It wasn’t even 7 am yet, and I was immensely proud of the early start.
We stopped at Tattoga Lake Resort for breakfast, just like the previous time on the Cassiar. The Starlink internet worked just as well, and the owner was still just as eager to point it out. Yet, he was also in a somewhat foul mood this morning, visibly pondering something unpleasant. At one point he coerced Alex into helping him move an old washing machine from one of the derelict cabins, driving his truck around the property in a manner than suggested he wouldn’t mind at all if he drove something or someone over while doing that. At another point a bicycle rider came in for some food, complaining how long it is between rest stops up here. The cyclist flew in from the UK to ride here. The owner looked him in the eye and told him that he should ride a few kilometers to the next town where someone is selling an old Toyota for really cheap, buy that Toyota and ditch his bicycle. I suppose that’s a form of thinking outside the box. The cyclist spent the next 3 minutes going through about 15 different flavors of shock and disbelief.
The goal for the day was a town on the edge of Canada, Stewart. Its claim to fame, aside from being in an all around gorgeous location, is the proximity to the Alaskan town of Hyder, which in turn only attracts attention as the gateway to Fish Creek Wildlife Observatory. What are we observing, you ask? Salmon run and bears feasting on fish!
Before we could do any of that, I was keen on getting decent accommodations. Awesome campsites up north are a dime a dozen. But if you want a roof and a bathroom and a space to dry out your gear after the rain, it is not so trivial. My extensive research indicated that the place to stay in Stewart was Ripley Creek Inn. I called them up asking about availability, which I already thought was an unnecessary precaution and was shocked when they told they were all sold out. Apparently, a lady just called and reserved the last room. She hadn’t paid for it yet, but should be calling shortly to do so. We took our chances and upon arriving in town headed straight for the inn, to ask for a room. Well, lady, next time you want to guarantee these fancy accommodations, you better move fast, because guess who’s enjoying coffee in the garden and who’s scrambling for plan B?
Jokes aside, the cause for all the hype was not this unnamed last minute visitor, but rather the aforementioned Triumph convention. These people were on an organized tour, which they started recently by going from Anchorage to Deadhorse. Now they were heading generally southbound, aiming to make it to Ushuaia in 5 months, so they could be back home in the UK before Christmas. They ride their own rides during the day, but rejoin the group at the pre-booked accommodations each night, causing a hotel room shortage. Mystery revealed.
Like many named places in the North, Stewart got its start as a mining town. At some point somebody lovingly restored the town to a very tourist friendly level of rustic mixed with cute, with plenty of plaques around to explain the history of many buildings and houses still standing. It was a very cool place to spend a couple of days.
The main attraction though was the wildlife observatory, where a long boardwalk was built to allow safe viewing of bears catching salmon from an unprecedented close distance. The thing to remember is that the observatory is in Hyder, on the other side of the Canada-US border, so don’t forget your passport. No checks are done when going to the US, but they do check the passports on the way back to Canada. The most well regarded lunch spot in the area is a fish and chips place in Hyder, so it’s important to keep your papers on you at all times, comrades, in case the Alaskan fried fish calls your name all of a sudden.
Properly fed, it was time to take a beautiful day trip that makes most other day trips jealous. After the wildlife observatory the road climbs up parallel to Salmon River, over 1000 meters in elevation where you glance to your left and realize there is a huge glacier, oddly below you now. It was jaw dropping gorgeous. Mesmerized, we admired it without taking our helmets off, because the mosquitos were numerous and hungry. The road continued on, and had several offshoots that led down closer to the glacier. There were some areas perfect for camping, too, and a couple of vehicles were taking advantage of them.
At some point, while enjoying how beautiful my bike looked against all these natural backdrops, I looked at my chain and sprockets and realized they were kind of worn. The chain was pretty loose, but we figured some adjustments and lube would make it last to next service location, which we actually had already planned. We had chains and sprockets on order, to be delivered to Bellingham, WA, a mere 1500 km away using the shortest route. Should be ok, even if we don’t take the shortest route.
We ran out of our own chain lube and had to borrow some from the friendly Triumph riders. They had the good stuff, Motorex in a large convenient can that had no pesky removable straw to lose, and a sturdy lid that wouldn’t break or open by itself inside the overstuffed luggage. They were headed to Prince George next, and we intended to make it there in another 2 days. We bade them adieu and left beautiful Stewart behind.
We had grand plans for the next leg to Bellingham. We were going to take 4-5 days checking out backroads and unpaved mountain passes. Yet when I glanced at my sprockets at lunch, it looked like they aged dramatically in just 300 km, and we still had so much to go. I was embarrassed, for I was making fun of Gilberto in Alaska for the same offense. And so it has come to this. Difficult decisions had to be made. Do we explore the remote backcountry of British Columbia with a sprocket that’s about to lose its teeth, or do we stick to well traveled paved roads so that in case of failure, it’s less difficult to get out and get help?
Long story short, we pushed slowly but surely to Prince George, rolling into the same hotel as the Triumph gang. What I found disappointing was that next morning at breakfast none of them even looked surprised that our 250s were keeping up.
We rode uneventfully through the rest of BC, distracted only by the forest fires that blocked some of the areas we originally had planned to explore. So much for that. In Bellingham we were welcomed by a fellow rider who graciously let us swap the parts in his garage.
With the sprockets and chains refreshed, we were in a better position to move on, but upon close examination, a lot of other wear items have gotten to the end of their useful life. More orders would be placed, and a longer break was on the menu.
