2000-07-26 - 23:05:02

A guide book I read in Dawson 10 days ago described the Dempster highway as 'a near religious experience for cyclists'. 7 days and 740km of potholes, mud and gravel later, I can only agree - the ride to Inuvik has been pretty hellish, and about the only thing worth seeing in Inuvik is a Roman Catholic 'igloo' church. However it did provide several days of stunning scenery and an incredible sense of remoteness, and I now understand the accomplishment cyclists speak of after 'doing the Dempster'. One guy I met in Inuvik had saved for 2 years and flown from London just to ride it. There were several occasions when I burst out laughing, tears streaming down my face, simply overwhelmed by the vast, unspoilt beauty of the landscape. I saw an average of about 10 cars/trucks a day, sometimes with nothing for hours. For 300km either side of the halfway mark, the road was the only sign of civilisation, and every other person I encountered was an immediate friend with mutual interest in conversation.

At its worst, after waiting hopelessly for a storm to subside, I was forced to ride mostly uphill for 60km, hungry, cold and wet in blizzard conditions to reach food and water at the halfway point. 5 minutes after I arrived, a helicopter pulled into the hotel carpark. It had followed the road for half an hour, flying 10ft above the ground.

At its best, I cycled on a tailwind for 160km until 2.00am with unbroken sunshine through a scenic smorgasboard of mountains, lakes, tundra and spruce covered plains. Low points were the daily bike cleaning and maintenence sessions required to get mud out of the drive chain, breathing in clouds of mosquitos while pitching the tent and cooking in the icy rain, and worse, my first encounter with hungry horse flies that managed to take chunks off my legs at 35kph. One high point was an impromtue lunch with trapper 'Pete' in his remote cabin after stopping for water. After mentioning that he left school in 9th grade "'cause I knew more than me mother', he then entertained me for an hour with flawless recitations of Robert Service poems from memory, and enthralled me with the true story of the 'mad trapper'; a trapper who went berserk in 1932 and sparked the longest ever Canadian manhunt through the Yukon. Another priceless moment was stopping beside a lake at 1.00am; an enormous moon perched on the spruce trees across the lake, a crimson sunset behind me, and a beaver splashing about in the twilight in search of food.

Other wildlife spotted on the road included a moose and calf, wolf, fox, porcupine, dozens of ground squirrels, man walking across Canada (run Forest run!), and a handful of cyclists.

Arriving in Inuvik on Saturday night, I was on such a high that after 2hrs of eating, tent pitching, eating, clothes and body scrubbing and some more eating, I headed out to explore the town. My reintroduction to civilisation was a nightspot called 'The Zoo.' I stepped in just as they closed the bar and announced the final song, and sat transfixed as half of Inuvik stumbled onto the dance floor and began heaving to a techno number with a catchline which went something like:

"You and me babe, we ain't nothin' but mammals,

So lets do it like they do it on Discovery channel."

Robert Service eat your heart out! I wondered what mad trapper Pete would have made of it all.

The following day I visited the 'Great Northern Arts Festival, which was fortuitously timed with my arrival. The biggest event of the year brought native stone carvers, painters, sculptors and tailors from all over Arctic Canada together for a week of workshops, festivities and selling of wares. I was sorely tempted by a pair of waterproof sealskin shoes for cycling in, but realised I'd have a problem getting them out of Canada.

Wandering back to the campground, I was accosted by a tourist guide and talked into a Cessna flight to Tuktoyaktuk (Tuk) 200km north on the Arctic coast, accessible by ice-road only in winter. The flight gave a bird's eye view of the Mackenzie delta, beluga whale pods, pack ice on the northern horizon, and weird permafrost patterns in the tundra below, including the world's second largest 'pingo'- a conical hill formed when trapped water freezes between the tundra layer and the permafrost below.

Apart from about 79 gazillion mosquitos, Tuk is home to a small Inuit community who practised subsistence living until the 70's and 80's when they made it rich in the oil boom - which has since slumped. They still hunt (fresh beluga meat was drying on racks outside several homes) but the economy is now centered around carving, tourism and dismantling some of the many cold war early warning radar systems scattered along the coastline. To earn the title of 'arctic toe dipper', I thought I'd go one further and dive in head first (with bike helmet), but as I surfaced I was immediately put to shame by an Inuit waterskiing past in t-shirt and shorts!

The following morning I cycled just south of Inuvik, and in the world's fastest ever hitchiking manouver, stopped the first car for a ride back to Dawson. The couple who stopped were French honeymooners, so I spent most of the drive in yet another world altogether - they struggling with English, and me struggling with topics ranging from the French/English cultural conflict, architecture, rugby, music, politics, nuclear testing and the Rainbow Warrior!

Back in Dawson, it's been great to catch up with Sarina. We've spent today fixing up the bikes and preparing for the next leg of the journey - 600km south to Whitehorse, leaving tommorrow. Her Knees are still not in fantastic shape unfortunately, but she's determined to carry on (we can't wait any longer - winter's nearby) and with a few bike adjustments and knee braces, we're hoping she'll be ok.

Bumper sticker of the week:

'Out of my mind - back in 5 minutes'

Total distance cycled: 2709km

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