The Dempster Adventure
"Hang on," she said, "I'll call up the road and see if anyone is headed this way that can pick up your food stash."
"Great!" we exclaimed in unison, as we do. Chelsea and I were in the Yukon Territory, Dawson City to be specific, at the visitor's center. We were preparing to bike 750km north on the remote Dempster Highway, into the Arctic Circle and all the way to Inuvik in the Northwest Territories. Prior to last year, Inuvik was the northern most place you could drive in Canada in the summer time, with only a 137km winter ice road taking you further to the Arctic Ocean, it's only access in the country. Last year a summer road was completed over the permafrost. We were hoping to unload half of our food cache to be picked up midway through our journey north at one of the few points of civilization on the road.
"Uh huh. I see. I'll let them know." The visitor center hostess concluded her call. "There's a blizzard up in Eagle Plains," she explained. "No one's headed this way."
We laughed nervously, and looked at each other a bit sheepishly. We knew we were taking a risk trying to make this journey so late in the season, but it was the time we had off and the adventure that I had, perhaps foolishly, chosen for us. We had been hesitant to even mention that we were biking, but the wise woman had squeezed our secret from us when we let it slip that we were flying back from Inuvik. To her credit, she did not try to dissuade us, and for that I was grateful. Too many times to count, our plans have been discounted, discredited, laughed or scoffed at, perhaps because we choose some interesting adventures, but more likely because we're two females venturing into the wild. She encouraged us to keep all our food with us and hit the road, at least to Tombstone, to see how things looked.
Welcome to Dawson City
With that, we headed to a warm cafe for a hot meal before embarking on a journey with far less certainty and confidence than we had started the day with. For weeks prior, my co-workers kept saying how cold we would be, but I shrugged their comments off, citing the weather statistics I had researched. "The particular week that we are going is historically the driest week of the month, September is in fact, one of the drier months in the year! It could be chilly, but it won't snow or rain! And, during this window there is usually a south wind." I was confident. However, it had, in fact, been raining during the entire 9 hour drive to Dawson and had already been snowing for weeks in Skagway, the small town in Alaska where I spent the summer.
We headed back to the van to finalize our packing. We evened out our panniers, left a few items that were deemed unnecessary and added a few extra warm layers into our bags. The weather finally seemed to be clearing after the rainy drive in and we hopped on our bikes. "Here we go!"
All loaded up, ready to leave the van in Dawson.
The first section of the ride from Dawson City (Klondike Highway) to the junction with the Dempster Highway is flat and paved. The riding was easy and we quickly adjusted to the loaded bikes. It started raining again not long after our departure. We were nervous about the Dempster, which is unpaved except for the first few and last few miles. We had seen photos and heard accounts of riders getting stuck in thick mud and having to wait for days for the road to dry out. I kept willing the rain to stop and dreading the transition from the pavement. I had flashbacks to our first attempt at biking to the Arctic Circle two years prior. In 2015, on a whim, we decided to go on our first bike tour ever and loaded up our bikes with the dogs in Burley trailers in an attempt to bike some 750 miles on the Dalton Highway north of Fairbanks, Alaska. We planned to bike to Prudhoe Bay, then turn around and bike back because we were unsure of how to get ourselves, our bikes, and the dogs, back to where we would leave the van. That tour ended unsuccessfully after one mile due to the thick gooey mud that jammed up in my derailleur, causing it to flip upwards and into my spokes and render my bike completely unrideable.
Failure on the Dalton
With our past failure fresh in my mind, we turned left onto the Dempster. The rain pounded harder. We pedaled on. Before we knew it, we were passing the "Pavement Ends" sign that signifies that either an adventure is about to begin or perhaps one is about to end, depending on your mode of transport. To our delight, the road was rideable. After a short ride, we were pulling over for our first night's camp. The rain had subsided, the road was in great shape and our spirits were high. The adventure was on.
Wet, but very rideable!
Chelsea and I have done a fair bit of backpacking together, and on our first successful bike tour (shortly after the Dalton fiasco) we discovered how rewarding two-wheeled travel is. The miles pass exponentially faster and none of the load is borne on your back. Plus, you can spin up all the hills in granny gear and then zip back down, both of which require much less effort than ascending and descending by foot. On our first full day on the Dempster, we looked around in awe as the skies cleared and the fall foliage unfolded before us. Mountains began to peak out from behind the clouds and we were soon pulling in to the Tombstone Territorial Park visitor center. The docent at the visitor center was exceedingly helpful, giving us a pen since we'd forgotten to bring one, letting us fill up our water in the center, giving us some small change for our Canadian bills so we could pay for our campsite and, most importantly, informing us that the weather had changed dramatically and things were looking great up the road. We headed to the campground to settle in for the evening.
In the morning, we learned just how lucky we were getting with the weather. Two women regaled us with stories of their attempt to reach the Arctic Circle two days prior. The road had been covered with snow and ice and they left their car, unsure of its competency in the conditions, and hitched a ride to the Arctic Circle crossing. The ferry crossing further up the road was closed and with no further to go, they had returned to Tombstone. The ferry was still closed, but the road was clear and the weather report looked fantastic. We hopped on our bikes and climbed to our first summit of the ride. From there, it was nice coasting and easy riding as we comfortably cranked out a 75 mile day and arrived at our next camp.
Summit selfie!
Conditions are looking great!
Past Tombstone, all the campgrounds were closed for the season. In the Yukon, this doesn't prohibit you from staying at the campgrounds, it just means they won't be stocking the wood cribs, putting toilet paper in the outhouses, or taking out the trash. Because we were on bikes, we could easily go around the locked gates and stay for free at the wonderful campgrounds along the way. One of the great things about bike touring in a wilderness setting such as this, is that you can pull off the road just about anywhere and camp. But because of our tardiness in the season, we had planned to try to stay at as many campgrounds along the way as possible. Why? Because the campgrounds in the Yukon all come with warming shelters built around fat pot bellied wood stoves.
Enjoying a meal in the warming hut!
The next morning a wonderful couple who we had met at Tombstone offered to carry some of our gear up the road for us. We weren't feeling constrained by any sort of code of ethics that dictated that we carry all our own gear the whole time, so we agreed. We took a few key items from our bear canisters and passed them along for a ride in the truck. Kiel and Ashley planned to leave our canisters at the Eagle Plains Hotel for us. This was a very ambitious plan, as the hotel was 175km away, but we felt that we could make the distance, and if anything came up, that we still had all of our camping gear and could stop along the way.
Unfortunately, this turned into the worst day of riding I have ever done. It started off well enough with the first 50km whizzing by. Then the climbing started. Based on the elevation profile we were studying, it looked like a large climb followed by some rolling terrain. We climbed and climbed and climbed, and finally made it to a summit-like area. From there we continued climbing with very short descents mixed in occasionally. Not long after, the road turned into a cobblestoned horror scene. I was actually surprised that my bike didn't shake itself into pieces over the bumpy road. The going was extremely slow and very frustrating. We stopped for a late lunch and tried to pretend like we were more than halfway there.
Shortly after lunch, our ride got injected with a bit of excitement. In the distance, we could make out a mama bear with her two cubs. They seemed to disappear off the side of the road so we continued cycling. We rounded a corner and to our surprise there they stood. We stopped our bikes and waited to see what they would do. They began ambling towards us. I summoned up my biggest, deepest voice, and from the bottom of my belly I shouted, "HEY BEAR! GET ON BEAR!" This did not have the effect I was hoping for as the bear not only didn't stop, it started to RUN towards us. In perhaps the fastest reaction either of us has ever had, we whipped out our bear spray, popped off the safety, and aimed towards the bears. Fortunately, mama was just bluffing us and she stopped her charge. Chelsea and I scooted together to appear larger and the bears begrudgingly shuffled off the road. We put one hand on our handlebars and kept the other tightly gripped on our bear spray and quickly cycled away. Once we were a good distance past, we holstered our bear spray and rode on with an extra bit of adrenaline.
Three bears
Soon we saw a vehicle bumping down the road towards us and recognized it as Kiel and Ashley. It was great to see some smiling faces. We asked them if we were almost there. "Ehhh mmm... You're getting there!" They said unconvincingly. We asked if it at least flattened out a bit. "Wellll ummm, no, not really. But the road is much smoother!" With that we pedaled on, knowing we still had a lot of work ahead of us.
Soon the light was fading and we were still struggling along. Our frustration mounted. We couldn't believe how inaccurate the elevation profile seemed. We had not mentally prepared to be climbing for the entire day. A few times we stopped and agreed that we would try to thumb down the next vehicle that passed and see if they could bring us to Eagle Plains. Unfortunately, no vehicles passed after that plan, so we kept riding as day turned to night. We put on our lights and eventually wobbled up to the Eagle Plains motel.
We had originally planned to stay at the campground at Eagle Plains but we were so defeated that we coughed up the money to stay at the motel. We pushed our bikes into our room and collapsed. We were both totally incapacitated. "I need an adult!" I wailed. We couldn't even manage to feed ourselves. As we lie down for desperately needed rest I kept going over the day in my head and kicking myself with regret. My knee was throbbing and I knew Chelsea's achilles was in pain. I wondered if we had just blown our chance at completing our ride. I knew it was stupid to push ourselves as hard as we did. Why hadn't we stopped earlier?! [Probably because there were no water sources]. I fell asleep wondering if we would be able to ride in the morning.
In the morning, we took things slowly. We packed up and headed to the motel restaurant for breakfast. We ate what will probably go down in my memory as one of my best meals ever- bacon, eggs, potatoes, toast. The greasy food must have lubed up our joints because we decided to get on our bikes. It was an exciting day after all- we would reach the Arctic Circle! We had found an alternate elevation profile and now felt properly warned about the climbing in our future. Before we knew it, we were arriving at the Arctic Circle crossing!
I ate all of this no problem!
I'm not sure what originally motivated us to want to reach the Arctic Circle. Most likely it was venturing into the unknown, exploring a new territory, and the adventure it would take to get there. When we rolled up to the crossing, it was warm and sunny and we were overjoyed. More than two years after our first attempt, we made it. It was different than we expected- colorful, mountainous, tree covered, and the warmest weather we had experienced thus far.
WE DID IT!
YIPPIE!
After reaching that milestone, the rest of the trip felt attainable. Our spirits were high and the riding was incredible. The scenery was unmatched. The fall colors stayed with us for the entire journey north. We saw golden clad larches and red blanketed hills. We continued on to camp that evening and woke up in the middle of the night to find the northern lights dancing above us. The next day we climbed and climbed until we were crossing into the Northwest Territories- another milestone. The terrain that followed the border crossing reminded me of traveling in the Andes, it was different than anything we had seen so far. We briefly battled a fierce crosswind that threatened to blow us off the road. Some descents were disappointingly slow because of the thick gravel that covered sections of the road. We continued on until we reached the Peel River Crossing.
It was very chilly at this summit!
The crossing was still closed due to high water, but we had talked to a few locals who had assured us that we would have no problem getting across the river with our bikes. As we approached the river, we passed a long line of cars, trucks, and RVs who had been waiting, some for up to 5 days, to cross the river. We biked right up to the edge of the river and took a few pictures. A kind gentleman asked us about our trip and we asked him if he knew how we could get across the river. He gestured to a man and said "Keith is going across." He caught the man's attention and asked him if he would take us across. Keith was happy to do it. He loaded up his chainsaw and his husky and helped us get our bikes on. Not five minutes after arriving at the river and we were on our way across. We felt a bit guilty about all the people we left on the opposite shore who had been waiting for so long, but we were also giddy about our luck and the kindness of strangers.
The nice husky who escorted us across the river
Once across the river, we settled in at a nice campground for the evening. The kind folks who were stranded on that side of the river told us stories about their travels and gave us water and snacks. We were visited by a beautiful Arctic Fox who kept sneaking up to our camp to try to steal things. That night we fell asleep to another incredible display of northern lights. This time we viewed them from the warmth of our sleeping bags through the mesh of our tent. In the morning it was back on the road towards the Mackenzie River crossing. Unfortunately the road was thick with gravel. A car came flying towards us from the opposite direction and I tried to scoot towards the side of the road to avoid being sprayed with rocks but my tires began to fishtail in the thick gravel and I crashed. I landed hard on my elbow and hip. Fortunately, I was able to walk away with just bruises, a hole in my shirt, and a bloody elbow. My bike was fine except for a couple of new squeaks. I got back on and we slowly made our way to the next river crossing.
A blurry picture of our fox friend!
The northern lights through our tent
Ouch.
The Mackenzie was much wider than the Peel and had a much bigger ferry. Because the Peel Crossing was still closed, there wasn't much traffic getting on to the ferry- there was us and one man on an ATV. Soon we were on the other side and armed with a great camping suggestion from the ferry operator. We stopped for a bite of lunch and continued on to a beautiful camp above a river where a beaver was swimming back and forth. This would be our last night before reaching the end of our journey in Inuvik. We enjoyed our freeze dried meal and were treated to yet another magical display of northern lights.
Two happy campers on the ferry.
I couldn't find my tripod...
I woke up on the morning of our last day of riding and felt completely wasted. My body was tired. Knowing that we were so close was enough motivation to get on the bike. We pedaled out of camp and we began drafting off each other and keeping paces of 25kmph. With each passing kilometer I was feeling more and more energized. We were riding faster and more consistently than we had for most of the trip. We finally had continuous flat riding ahead of us. As we got closer we counted down each kilometer until we were riding into Inuvik and to the sign that said "End of the Dempster." We did it.
Completing the Dempster felt the way a huge accomplishment should, equal parts tiring and inspiring. We traveled by bicycle, self-supported, through a chunk of North America's most remote wilderness. We camped and cooked, biked and laughed, struggled and triumphed over 7.5 days in the Great North. We left this adventure with a greater sense of confidence and a fire for more.
