July 1st. I have been traveling three months now. I am in Minnewaukan, North Dakota, on a cold, very windy, very rainy day. A group from an organized Adventure Cycling tour, going from Seattle to Maine pulled into the park some time after I arrived. The entire landscape has been altered in this area due to flooding. The park lies on the shore of a very large lake. On the map, the lake is nowhere near the city, much less the park. Entire roads have been swallowed up, and new boundaries have been drawn on maps. This would be the only time heading west, that the wind would be blowing from the East. I could ride with a strong wind at my back today, but I choose to take my day off.
Tonight would be even worse as far as the weather went. Gale force winds tossed and crushed my tent all night. I had to leave the tent to pound the stakes back in as several were uprooted. By the following morning, the wind had calmed down, but the nagging rain remained. I put on my full rain suit for the very first time. I even had the hood on under my helmet. It was so windy, cold, and wet. Heading west on highway 19 through the strong winds and rain was miserable. When the rain finally subsided a bit, I was greeted by a medium sized, brown dog. He started playing chase and run with me about 8 –10 miles from Esmond. He would run this way then that, and followed me all the way to Esmond.
A priest drove by me on my way into town. Father Fish invited me over to the church to stay. We drove into the town of Rugby where we ate pizza and drank a pitcher of beer. He was a retired autoworker from Michigan who, after his wife died, decided to become a priest. He now lived in a house connected to a church in the small town of Esmond, out here in the center of North Dakota. With a population of 196, I thought it odd for Esmond to have this large church, as well as a good-sized school. But this is the way of the small town and small town farmer. People own large tracts of land for farming and, consequently are spread out over a large area. The town is the centrally located spot in which they can come together for communal activities. Their houses are much farther apart, and neighbors live a good distance from each other.
It was strange staying in an actual house. It had been three months since I had slept in a house, and not since the motel in Franklinton, Louisiana back in April had I slept in a bed. Now, I had the private guest room in this church.
The next day I made the trek to Rugby, the geographical center of North America, of my own power. Just like in Muscatine, Iowa, I had previewed the route and town by car, so now by bike, this section was not a complete surprise. I got plenty of experience riding through Rugby. I realized I needed to pick up my package that had been forwarded from Itasca, Minnesota. I tried in vain to find a grocery with an ATM and backtracked several times. I did finally make it to the post office in time.
I finally made it to my destination in the town of Towner, where I camped out in the customary city park, under the picnic shelter. I opened my package to find that my dad had sent me a small radio and headphones, which wore like a necklace. A little girl, Mary, and her family were there for a family reunion and town centennial. They own a construction company in Seattle and do work in Alaska. As I prepared to leave the next day, Mary gave me their address to send a post card from Alaska. (Unfortunately, the address must have been incorrect as the card was returned as no such address).
Well, today is the Forth of July. I made it to the town of Surrey, a few miles east of Minot. I found the usual city park campground and prepared to take the day off there for the Fourth. There was a small gathering that night to watch fireworks, and a group of kids had their own small fireworks celebration.
I stayed there the next day to rest. I was listening to my new radio and heard that Charles Kurault had just died of Lupus. That sucks. I remember watching his “On the Road” shows on TV as a kid, and I always wished I could do what he was doing. They played a recording he made at the age of 14 of an essay/poem he wrote. He was a poet and a great storyteller, and it is too bad he had to go. This trip is my “On the Road”.
The next morning as I packed up, I noticed several pin-sized holes burned into my tent cover – tiny mementos of my trip, and testament to an Independence Day celebration. It was a short jaunt to the city of Minot. With a population of around 35,000, it is no huge city, but one that I have been aware of since I was a child. It is, apparently large enough to have a university, and a football team to boot. Many years ago, my Tampa Bay Buccaneers had a quarterback named Randy Hedberg who was drafted from Minot State. It is the odd football player that gets drafted into the NFL, and makes the team, and the local slogan here in Tampa Bay was “Why not Minot?”
A childhood memory of such a trivial thing as that is enough to give certain meaning to the arrival. Most towns are no more than names on a map, and speculation as to what lies around the next bend are always left to the imagination. Even a vague point of reference as this can spark a certain interest in reaching that town as a milestone. It was something to look forward to. The Curiosity of matching the name with the actual experience of it added excitement to rides that can be, at times, rather uninspiring. I found that even a short sentence mentioning a certain point was enough to do this at times. One short phrase to spark the imagination, and plenty of long hours, days, and weeks to think about it, and level of enthusiasm can be great upon approaching it. For close to 20 years I had been aware of a town called Minot. Now I was riding a bicycle through it, and it is no longer a mystery, left only to the imagination.
Well I peddled through Minot today, getting most of my goals done with the exception of finding a cyclo Computer (All the stores were closed or they just didn’t have them). I did buy a pair of cycling gloves, though. I mailed my broken computer to the company – $6.17 U.P.S. – what a rip-off!
It was a long, quiet, peaceful ride after leaving Minot. I have always daydreamed as I ride, and now that I have a radio, I hear music too. I still daydream as I listen but it gives me an audio perspective of my trip. I hear all the local stations of the area and its just another way of traveling and observing my progress as I move out of one area, and into a new one. It was interesting to tune into stations I had never heard before, with references to different local cities and businesses. They played some song by a new band called Hanson.
Small towns in North Dakota are like islands on a sea of wheat fields. Right now, I was in the middle of an ocean. The map says “no services next 42 miles” after leaving Minot. I would have a long way to go before I reached another island.
That island would be the town of Parshall. I asked a couple where the park was and they pointed it out to me. It was one of the most remote, barren, and un-kept-up city parks I can recall. As I was figuring things out, came by again and offered to let me take a shower and use the phone at their house. It had been four days since I had had a shower – not since the Catholic church in Esmond – and that sounded like a good idea. But I like to take a shower in the morning so I figured I could hold out another day. They said it would be all right to come by in the morning. That night they took me out to Tastee-Freeze for a burger. They had a 5 year-old daughter who giggled a lot, and her mother said that that’s what to expect at age 5.
This is an odd town. Dogs roam around everywhere, and there are a lot of Indians. The layout has a strange feel to it. It is island-like, but even more so – very secluded. These people are very nice.
The next day I pay a visit to my new friends to take my shower. I get their E-mail address but when I try it in Florida months later, it does not work. This stretch of North Dakota was bad for getting addresses. That makes two that didn’t go through and, as far as I know, the only two on the whole trip. I am thinking ahead to Montana somewhat. It is one of the places I have always wanted to go, and now, it was only a couple days away.
It was a wicked headwind I plowed through today. I was excited about riding through the Badlands area o highway 1804. For this stretch of road the map states “few services next 70 miles”. They don’t call these the Badlands for nothing. It looks like grassy canyons sloping upward and downward. There were no structures that I can recall, only raw nature, and it was beautiful. These were the steepest climbs I have had for a while. This part of the route is roughly the area Louis and Clark traveled on their famous journey, and the large body of water is named Lake Sakakawea after the young Indian girl who guided the expedition through hostile land, hostile weather, and hostile Indians, and probably, enabled them to complete a mission which would have been unsuccessful without her.
Before making it to the badlands I stopped in Newtown. It was here I started seeing cyclists who were a part of a large Cycle America tour heading east. I talked to their van driver and she gave me a brochure and some Mounds bars. I was seeing other cyclists on their tour as I passed through the badlands and talked to a guy who has done a lot of touring and tried to persuade me to go through Banff and Jasper on my way through Canada. All in all it was a tough day. Strong wind AND hills.
It was nearing sunset when I pulled off on the side of the road and set up my tent. It was not the first time I just pulled off to the side of the road to camp, but it was the first time when there were no trees or anything. It was just bare land everywhere. No buildings -nothing, the whole day, and I didn’t know how I felt about it. Apparently North Dakota is a place where you can just do that, so I did.
The next morning I got up around 7:00 AM, which is extremely early for me, but typical when I am camped out in the open. I stopped at a campground for water and asked about a shower. The lady said there was no shower, but when I went to get the water, I saw a shower right there. What a Liar! Her husband liked my radio and wrote down the part number.
The wind wasn’t nearly as bad today. It’s interesting how the dry air masks how much you sweat. After living my life in Florida where there is constantly high humidity, it was a shock to actually experience the dryness of the plains. I don’t feel so hot and I’m not at all wet but I’m covered with salt and am drinking quite a bit more water than usual without having to stop to pee much at all. I guess the sweat must evaporate straight from the pores.
I get to Williston and talk to an airline pilot who has done bike tours in Australia and Great Britain. I finally managed to find a bicycle shop and buy a new, cheap cyclo-computer for $30. I am so glad now to just have one.
I cross into Montana, another long time place that existed only in my imagination. Now, here I was. The sign immediately upon entering the state lists the speed limit. For daytime driving the speed limit is whatever you think is “reasonable and prudent”. For me, I rarely get above 10 m.p.h. The Jet Stream is not kind to cyclists headed west. I have a package waiting for me in Culbertson, so that is where I stop. The next day I plan to pick up my package and take the day off.
Upon awaking in Culbertson I head out to find the post office. Today’s package is of particular interest to me. Before I left my house, I left a pile of stuff I knew I would want for the portion of the trip when I got to Canada. The Alaska mileposts book, maps of Canada, and literature concerning this stretch.
It was hot and sunny today, and I lay down, relaxed, and soaked up some rays as if I were on a Florida beach. A couple cyclists pulled in that day to camp. Both were heading from Seattle. One man was from Switzerland, and he had flown to Seattle from Switzerland, and was cycling to Montreal. We walked up to a restaurant to eat lunch and exchange bike trip stories.
Making it to Montana was a milestone for me. It would be my last state before hitting Canada, and I had never been outside the United States before. For now, I was just enjoying being in Montana, even though Highway 2 was a bit monotonous. It was very hot, sunny, and windy, but I was making good time throughout Montana because I was more enthusiastic. I don’t mind the heat without all the humidity, and as long as it doesn’t rain, I can’t complain.
Shortly after leaving Culbertson, I crossed into the Ft. Peck Indian Reservation. My main priority leaving Culbertson was to find a Laundromat. I stopped in the town of Poplarville and immediately found a place to do cloths. I changed cloths in the bar next door. Little did I realize I would end up leaving my socks in the dryer – including the wool ones I got from the priest in Esmond, ND. I would not find that out until two days later. This day would take me to a park in the town of Wolf Point, still in the Reservation. An Indian was playing catch with a boy right by my tent. I was sitting at a picnic table. He sat down and we talked. He was there with one of his relatives, drinking whiskey mixed in a bottle of Pepsi and I drank some with them. He talked about the way the government mistreats the Indians. He talked about how the government would recruit Indians whenever there was a forest fire, to fly in and battle the blaze. It appeared as if a storm were approaching. He stood up and started reading the clouds. Waving his arms in the air he forecast the possibilities. Depending on what this cloud formation did or where that one move he described what might happen. He told me his brother was coming to pick him up, and if it ended up raining they would come back to get me to stay at their place, but the weather ended up being alright.
I had a long ride to Hinsdale today. I arrived at the park after riding 82 miles. I encountered the worst mosquitoes that could possibly exist. These things were like super charged, genetically engineered monster mosquitoes. They were smaller than regular skeeters, but they were fast. They stung a lot harder and were impossible to get away from. Riding from Hinsdale to Malta the next day was like something out of a horror flick. Normally, riding a bicycle is a sure fire way to escape mosquitoes – but not these. No matter how fast I rode they kept up with me, and managed to find my peddling legs. They could even buzz along, hovering up and down as my legs moved, to land as they pleased. I finally bought a can of insect repellant, as I was not planning to wear my mosquito suit while riding. In between this entire psychotic mosquito war zone, I hit my 4,000th mile near the town of Saco.
That Night in Hinsdale, though, was a trip. After battling the mutant skeeters and getting in my tent, some kids walked up and camped right near me. They were drinking and partying all night, and I laid there awake the whole night listening to them get drunker and drunker, until they finally started getting in fistfights with each other. Also that evening, a Mosquito truck came through and sprayed the place, so the next morning wasn’t such a rude awakening. It wasn’t all that great, though. My tire was flat. This was the first time these skinny street tires had gotten a flat since I bought them in Red Wing, Minnesota. It would not even be close to being the last time either. I fixed the tire and took a Sun Shower shower in the porta poddie, which was a big pipe set on one end.
I took a short ride to Malta today because I decided not to take anymore days off, and it was too far to the next place. There at the park were an Englishman from New Jersey, and an old man in his 70’s who was riding from Alaska to Ohio. I had met many cyclists touring as our paths crossed on this trip, but this is the first person besides me who had Alaska on his itinerary. He was also about twice as old as the average cyclist who I passed. This was no lazing retiree. He has walked the Appalachean Trail. Not once, but twice – the first time when he was 63 years old. (Talk more a bout the old guy) There was a wedding there so we all camped out in the shelter at the other side of the park. The next day some ladies came by and gave me a cinnamon roll.
I showered at the truck stop for $2 the next morning and here I bought my can of Off. Nowhere could I find the bottles of Deet that came with my mosquito suit. The suit was starting to be dry of its repellant so I would end up just spraying it with Off. I passed so many cyclists heading east from Seattle, that I couldn’t possibly remember them all. One guy stops and asks, “Are you Eric?” They had met the couple on the tandem I had talked to in Culbertson. I spoke to a couple at a restaurant that was closed, and note that most of the cyclists have been older – middle aged and up. They are probably doing this now because they can. After the kids are all grown up, and/or they have enough money to live comfortably. I talked to some Indians at a store in Ft. Belknap Agency who ask me where I’m headed and they say to say hi to the Eskimos. I sit and share my lunch with a pregnant black dog there begging.
Chinook had a place called Waterworks Park at a water treatment plant. There they allowed camping and had free showers. Crazy shower, though. You have to hold the button in and it’s hard – water goes everywhere too.
It’s July 14th, and I pass through the city of Havre (pronounced – Have-er, not how Brett Favre pronounces his name). I ate at an all-you-can-eat KFC and I have never eaten so much in my life at one sitting. It was amazing. Riding a bike all day really gives me a huge appetite. It has been so windy, especially today. I ride all day and don’t seem to get anywhere. I make it to the town of Rudyard.
July 15th. I got a sunburn today on my arms on parts that were already dark tan. My lips are chapped to the point of bleeding. I break out the Vaseline but it is too late. My lip is split right down the middle. Another day in a row of strong head winds – another day where I ride all day and go a mere 63 miles. I stopped in the town of Chester to withdraw $400 before I get to Canada. I’m not sure at this point how the ATMs work up there for an American bank. I showered this morning with a hose of ice-cold well water. I went to a rest stop to eat where a group of cyclists were hanging out. I called my dad there and found that my uncle Don had just died. There was not much else between Chester and Shelby. I stopped at a bar in Golota to fill up on water and there was no one there but the bartender. It was like one of those movies where they’re out in the desert and nothing but little worn out gas stations dot the roads from time to time. I made it to the town of Shelby where I set up camp. It would be my last camp in the USA and I decided to take the day off to fix my bike a little. The campground was right at the top of a dammed up lake, with the town of Shelby down below, which I admired that night from atop the dam hill.
Wow! This is my last day in the USA. It’s hard to believe I will have ridden my bicycle all the way to Canada. I did my laundry, some shopping, and fixed my bike. I changed the tires around to put the worn out one in front. When I did this I noticed a broken spoke, which I replaced. That is the first time I ever did anything to a bike other than change a tire. I called Motiv, the maker of the bike, to tell him I was about to pass into Canada.
Today was going to be the biggest milestone thus far on the trip. I was to ride into Canada. Before I made it there, however, I still had some interesting things to think about here in the US. I had been debating for a long time whether to go up the Riding to the Sun road. It is steep and narrow, winding up the rocky mountains of a road. I had decided to forgo such an episode and head straight to Canada from Cut Bank.
The snowman statue that welcomes westbound visitors to Cut Bank bills its town as the coldest in the US. This is not something I can determine for myself here on this hot, sunny day in July. The ride north, out of town gave a clearer indication as to what type of country I was in. I didn’t see much along the way that would tell aliens from another planet that this one was habited, besides the road itself. In fact, the ride from Cut bank to my destination across the Canadian border was the most stark, barren, and secluded stretch of road I had ever encountered. The entire day passed by without me passing many signs of humans.
July 17th. I’m headed for Canada. It was such a strange surrealistic ride. It wasn’t as windy today, but cool and cloudy with some rain here and there. I passed the day riding through a Blackfoot Indian reservation but I didn’t see any Indians – In fact I didn’t see much of anything at all. It was like riding in a trance with little outside stimulation and practically no traffic. I like it. There was nothing but rolling, treeless landscape all the way to the Canadian border, with the occasional ‘butte’ to break the monotony – I guess a butte is like a hill with a flat top. I was at high altitude, about 4000 feet. At the Canadian border I was asked questions about how long I’d be in Canada, and how much money I had. I said $400 and she told me you usually need $500 but since I was on a bike it was ok. She asked about guns and weapons and passed be on through. About seven miles past the border I came to the Milk River and the Del Bonita campground.
I set up in the shelter and hung out the rest of the night in complete solitude and spooky quiet. It was the most desolate area I had ever been. I did not hear a single vehicle drive past the entire night. The only sound was the rush of the Milk River as it roared by. The fastest river I had ever seen.
These first several days in Canada would prove to be the easiest of my entire trip. I was heading due north, coming down off the 4000-foot elevation in northern Montana, and had the wind at my back the entire time. Not surprisingly I had my three longest mileage days starting with 84.3 today, which would be a short-lived world record for me. This made for a pleasant introduction to Canada. I was enjoying Canada’s roads too. It was secluded and the roads were well paved and had the extra shoulder lane to ride in anyway. It was so smooth and quiet and I finally came to a town called Magrath where I ate and exchanged money at $1.38 to $1US.
This was the first time I had been out of the USA and subsequently, the first time to use foreign currency so it was pretty cool. It was fun spending all this different colored paper money, and the $1 ‘loonie’ and $2 ‘toonie’ coins. I’m like a little kid playing some board game with fake money. The only town of size I passed through was Lethbridge, and it was my first taste of Canadian cities. Very clean, modern, and organized. Large parks with trails which made it easy to get around.
I made it to Fort McLeod, Alberta and the Old Man River campground. I tried for a while to find a spot in this totally packed campground when the campground hosts told me I could camp in their spot with them. I haven’t paid for a camping spot since Fargo, North Dakota and am glad to be saving the money. I hung out and tried to get used to the fact that I was in Canada. I even set my cyclo-computer from miles to kilometers to try to get a feel for the metric system.
I don’t know if I ever really got a feel for the metric system and kilometers in the short time I was in Canada, but it sure looked cool raking up all those kilometers. It would just so happen that these first two days on metric units would end up being my longest daily rides. Today I went 153 kilometers, which, being around 94 miles, beat my old record set yesterday by 10 miles. There was plenty of daylight left, and I wasn’t even tired yet at the time. I could have easily gone past the 100 mile mark, but was at a park in Calgary talking to these people and decided to just camp there so I could see a little of Calgary the next day. I didn’t realize that camping was not allowed there so I went behind a row of tall bushes to be discreet.
While riding though Calgary on their massive trail system, which is great, I stopped at a bathroom to wash up. I couldn’t believe how nice this was. Trails and parks lead all over the entire city. With the wind at my back I was flying again. I got a flat tire and stopped, unloaded, fixed it, reloaded without leaning the bike on anything, and watched as it promptly went flat again. This time, out of sheer impatience and frustration, changed the tire without unloading anything, while the bike lay on its side. Even so, I made it over 90 miles again to the city of Innisfail. Today, I would pay to camp.
Today is July 21st. I leave Innisfail and get another flat tire. These skinny road tires have worn out their usefulness. This time it is a piece of glass in the well-worn front tire. I duct taped the tire a little to help keep it until I can get new tires. Today I made it to the Lions Park in the town of Millet, just south of Edmonton. I can’t help thinking how lucky I am having the wind at my back all these days in a row. What a difference it makes, especially compared to how it is going against the wind!
I have been looking forward to reaching Edmonton for a long time. Calgary and Edmonton are the only large metropolitan cities I have been through on my trip, and Edmonton has what has been described as the biggest mall in the world. A couple kids I talked to the day before said I would need a whole day to really seen the whole thing. I was only planning on spending a couple hours there, but ended up staying more than four hours.
Edmonton has bike trails throughout the city also. A psychologist on a bicycle toured me through Edmonton a little bit, and another cyclist took me as far as the West Edmonton Mall.
One of the things that concerned me during the planning stages of the trip was what to do with my bike and all my stuff when I needed to go inside. I worried about shopping and visiting attractions or whatever, and how would I keep my stuff safe. I had been pretty lucky. Passing through mainly small towns and shopping in small stores had been fairly simple. I had even been to a Wal-Mart here and there and just tried to be in and out as quickly as possible. I hadn’t even locked it up anywhere. But I wanted to spend some time in the West Edmonton Mall without having to concern myself with my stuff. I ended up wheeling it to the security booth where they led me to a stairwell in back that gets little traffic. I locked it to the rail and went on my way.
This mall is huge. Submarine rides. Live dolphin shows. A ship floating in the middle of it all. It has a beach fully enclosed, with warm air and waves. A large waterslide. Another section of the mall has an entire fair with games and carnival rides – including roller coasters. Those kids were right. I had only been there four hours and hadn’t even scratched the surface of what was there. I had planned to make it to the town of Onoway, but with my prolonged stay here in Edmonton I only got as far as the Lions Club park somewhere to the west of Stoney Plain.
I had planned on making it to Onoway and taking the day off, but my overstay at the mall meant I would have to spend today riding the 20 something miles to Onoway – then take the day off. My tires are really becoming a nuisance now. I expect upon waking for the tire to be flat. I took it to a garage were the guy puts air in it and it blows out another hole. The stores don’t have my tires so I need to patch it up some more and ride. It is now full of duct tape. I have been picking up pieces of tires from the road and attempted to melt them down to pour in the holes but I don’t have enough heat to do it. I do manage to make it the 20 miles to Onoway. It’s another shitty day – cloudy and cool, and the park is lousy and run-down, but it’s free so how can I complain. I am starting to get the sensation of this trip coming to an end. It seems it will soon be over and I miss it already.
It may seem like the trip will be over soon at the rate I’ve been traveling through Alberta, but this sensation would not last long. I had been making the best mileages of the trip since I left Cut Bank Montana. But as sure as the last half of July was a time of ease and plenty speed and miles, the rest of the trip would more than make up for it, for I still had the Canadian Rockies to content with, not to mention what Alaska itself had in store. These last couple of months would make the hills of Tennessee and Missouri seem like speed bumps. I didn’t realize it at the time, but these last few days in Alberta would be an easy period that I would not get to repeat very often for the remainder of the trip.
It was a nice flat ride to Whitecourt today, and I was really enjoying myself. I stopped in Sanguido on the way and took a free shower. I got another flat tire today, and it was in the same spot I had duct taped before. I duct taped a dime to the inside of the tire over the hole since duct tape alone was obviously not enough. Now I was at the Lion’s Club Campground (where else?) in Whitecourt. The temperature had dropped rapidly and was now pretty chilly. I started a campfire for the first time in a long while. I was happy as I lay in my tent listening to a local Whitecourt radio station. It was playing all different types of music and I thought about how when I got back to Florida I will miss this trip and all these great moments and I guess I got about as close as I ever have to grasping the moment in the present tense. I imagined being back home and how distant and surreal all these places will seem. Everyday brings new surroundings and I’ll probably not see, and for sure wont’ experience ever again. It will be strange.
Well, moment over. Today is a lousy day. For some reason, I liked today, so it was alright but I got rained on three separate occasions, and I didn’t go too far – about 54 miles – and made it to Fox Creek. There really was nothing in between Whitecourt and Fox Creek. I staked out a campsite at a damp campground. I took the opportunity to photograph my Canadian money in the bathroom there.
July 26th. Today was awful. It was raining when I woke up and it was raining when I got to Valley view and it rained most of the time in between. It was cold, wet, and windy the whole day. It was amazing how quickly time flew today. Of course, I didn’t leave until after noon, but I guess I was in a rain-numb trance. There was, again, not much between my starting and ending points. I stopped at a gas station in Little Stoney to get water and had to dump it back out because it was the worst I ever tasted. As I was leaving I noticed my tire was mostly flat up front. Instead of fixing it then and there I filled it up some and took off. That was the wrong thing to do. It went flat about a mile away and I had to walk it back to fix it. I will run out of patches at the rate I am going.
I almost stayed the night at a primitive campground in the town of Little Smokey. It had no water and I decided to leave, to press on, since there was no reason to stay. I pulled into a campground in Valleyview during the pouring rain. There was a laundry there and I tried to dry my shoes but the lady pulled them out because they were noisy. I talked to her and she said to go ahead but they never really got dry. They have good radio stations up here with plenty of alternative type music. I’m waiting for the weather report hoping it says something good.
Today I would make it to Grand Prairie. My last stop in Alberta. It only rained part of the day and, yes, I had a flat tire. The dime wore right through – I now had a large circular hole in my tire and knew I would have to get new tires soon. It kind of quit raining the last half of the day and I make it to Grand Prairie where the campground office was closed, so it was free. I got the shower number from a cyclist named Jeff from California. He was riding from Alaska and was on his way to Montana. He said Dawson Creek had an $8 campground with a $2 off coupon that you could get from the tourist information booth.
I reached my 5000th mile here in Grand Prairie – which really makes it sound far. Fortunately Grand Prairie was a fairly large city, and the next day I went to a department store that had tires for sale. This time, I bought a pair of thick road tires – two for $60. The thickest I could find. I’ll put them on in Dawson Creek. These would be the tires that would carry me the length of the Alaska Highway.
I didn’t get to Dawson Creek until later today and the tourist information booth was closed, but they let me have the discount at the campground anyway. Tomorrow I’m taking the day off to see Dawson Creek, but I have to go find my rain cover, which blew off somewhere.
Dawson Creek is the beginning of the Alaska Highway. ****miles of rough road that until a few years ago wasn’t even paved the whole way. It was constructed in a matter of months during WWI so troops could move supplies and personnel to Alaska in case of a Japanese attack. Even as it stood now, it was a rough road by any standards. I was taking the day off, but had to backtrack to find my rain cover. It was not a really huge deal, but after all we had been through together, I knew I would really miss it. I rode a 25 mile round trip to no avail. I would have to do without my beloved rain cover.
I spent that day cruising around Dawson Creek, watching films about the Alaska Highway at the tourist center. I bought seven post cards but lost them somewhere. I put on my new tires and was ready for the Alaska Highway.
I picked the wrong time to lose my rain cover. My first day traveling the Alaska Highway it rained all day till at least 8:00PM. Everything was soaked. It was possibly my most miserable day. I bought plastic sacks to cover my stuff, which helped a little. I was riding in the pitch dark. Even after swearing in southern Illinois that I would never do that again after nearly being run over trying to make it to ****. I ate at a Wendy’s upon entering Port St. Johns and blew through the whole town without stopping. I finally lumbered into the Charlie Lake Rotary RV Park. It was the dead of night. I was soaking wet, freezing cold, and thoroughly beat. They had a laundry where I dried everything – even things you would not normally expect in a cloths dryer. This is one night I slept very well. Come to think of it, I always sleep well on this trip. At home, I’m an insomniac. This is not a problem here.
I took my time getting ready the next day. I remember just sitting at the picnic table listening to the radio. I don’t think that after the day before, I was looking forward much to riding today. Well, ride I did. I met two Japanese cyclists who were riding from Anchorage to Tierra Del Fuego, Argentina, at the southernmost tip of South America. I had heard of people riding from Deadhorse, Alaska to Tierra Del Fuego – which is the longest you can ride from point A to point B on a road in the entire planet. I was going to try for at least the northernmost point, but had no desire at the time to hit the southern extreme. I only go about 50 a day these past two days but it is up and down hills all day.
The Alaska Highway is marked with mileposts for it’s entire length. At milepost 101 is a town called Wonowon – get it? It used to be called Blueberry but now goes by its milepost numbered name – Those Canadians! Today is the last day of July. It has been four months of riding for me on a trip I had originally planned to total four months. By rough calculations, I was still about 2000 miles away from Deadhorse and it was looking like I would not be able to make it past Fairbanks due to the weather and the impending closure of the Dalton Highway on September 1st. I was still planning to try. To go as far as I could possibly go.