Day 6 & 7
At Haines Junction, Highway 3 merges into Highway 1 and I was riding on it. Somewhere here I met a traveller and he recommended me to buy a thick book called The Milepost, which is a mile-by-mile description of more than 20,000 kilometers of road in Alaska and Yukon. It proved to be a valuable guide – I knew when the next shop would be, the next sight, the following campground. It was also thick enough to sit on it. I am still in the possession of this book, though it is by now hopelessly outdated.
At one point, I heard an ugly noise from the back of my bike. I must have lost a screw from the luggage rack and it was grinding on the wheel. Heck, how do I fix it? I was also quite tired, so I took my thick Milepost book and sat down on it, to think of some way of finding a fix. As I was taking a rest, an RV (recreational vehicle) pulled up to ask if I needed anything. Dear Europeans, especially Austrians! Can you please take an example of the people you so much look down on – in my corner of the world, people do not even stop if you happen to jump in front of them. I will never forget when in Vienna I wanted to ask a person sitting in his car on the opposite side of the road, with window open, eating something. I did not notice a small berm separating the bike lane from the cars. As the angle was too shallow, I fell really bad, on my knees, with half of my belongings rolling all over the road. The guy in the car looked up for a second, then looked away, continuing to eat. Compare this with the US. Anyhow, this guy stops – and no, he did not have a passing screw, however, he took a metal shirt hook, tore it apart and placed it in the hole…thanks for the help! At least on one other location a car stopped to ask if I was feeling well, when taking a rest on the side of the rode. Nice, Alaskans!
Granted, there was one bad experience I have had as well. I was running low on water, when I noticed a campground with its gates open. I looked around to find a caretaker, found no one, then started filling up my bottles. Suddenly, an elderly guy comes charging at me, screaming obscenities, telling me to get the heck out of his property. I told him all I wanted is some water, he told me it would cost $20 a bottle. Obviously, he was not a fan of bikers. This was my poor experience (safe for the drunken sailors).
Not even my two-decade old mail notes where I had stayed that night.
The following day, I re-entered the United States, farewell, Yukon. Probably it was on this day that the conditions turned rather awful for biking. The summer of 2004 was one of the largest fires in Alaskan history, with 27,000 km² being burned. That is about the fourth of the size of Austria (84,000 km²). The effect of this was an unpleasant, low-hanging layer of a cloud, making one feel really hot and hard to breathe – an unpleasant combination.
Despite this, I got to a place called Deadman Lake (what a charming name!), meaning I had made some 360 kilometers in two days, or averaging 180 km per day. Oh, the young age! My guess is that I stayed at the Deadman Lake Campground.