Teslin Lake to Prince George is 1600 km on the Cassiar highway. Cassiar highway runs through some of the most isolated regions of British Columbia and is packed with bears, glaciers, high mountain peaks and class five waters. This was the longest, wettest, prettiest and most memorable leg of my journey so far.

I left Teslin in a full blown rain storm towards Watson Lake at the junction of the Cassiar highway. I tried to find some sort of shelter after two hours into the ride, but every place I went to was closed or abandoned. My situation was pitiful and I could see the glances of dry people looking at me in awe out of their car windows the second they splashed me with more water and passed me by. I rode for 3 hours before I gave up as I couldn’t see anything and my face was tired of getting plastered with high wind and driving rain.

I stopped at a lodge called the Rancheria Lodge and parked the bike and walked inside. Every head was turned the second I walked in. I really didn’t know what shape I was in until I looked down on the floor and saw the puddle around my feet and dripping water from my chin.
The owner of the lodge, Denis Bouchard, sponsored the night and gave me a much needed warm room. Denis bought the lodge about 3 years ago and he is one hell of a nice guy. We talked for a few hours sitting in the lounge, and I showed him how to make a website for his business. While I was there, I met a native couple who were very nice and I enjoyed their company immensely.

After a breakfast of eggs and bacon, I left Rancheria in good weather and met Gib in Watson Lake. We backtracked the 30 miles to the Cassiar junction and stopped for lunch. At our stop we found out that there was a huge mudslide past Dease Lake and the road was closed until further notice.

Cassiar is usually known to be a bad road and Gib didn’t want to risk the weather and get stuck on the road so he decided to take the Alaska Highway instead. I wanted to see the Cassiar and no mudslide was going to stop me, so I said my goodbyes to Gib and went down the Cassiar with plans to meet up with him in Prince George 3 days later.

The first 20 miles was absolute hell – gravel with potholes about the size of a basketball all over the road. The rain had turned the dirt into mud and it resembled the Dempster highway all over again. Past this section, the road turned into one of the best roads I’ve seen in all Canada with perfect asphalt and beautiful scenery. In fact, there was not a single section that was less than perfect all the away to Prince George. Gib missed out big time and I was glad that I made that call.

The first night I camped at a clearing before the mudslide and went to bed early so I could get on the road at sunrise. I woke up with the sound of the rain drumming on the tent wall at 7 am. At every break, I got out of the tent to evaluate the situation but the second I was out, the rain started again, heavier each time.

I had no book with me or anything entertaining (I had two books when I started but I gave them away after finishing them earlier on the road), so I started reading every label I could find on anything I had inside the tent. You’d be amazed how much reading material you can find around you when “tent-bound.” I read warning labels for a few hours (I must have read some of them more than 10 times) until I fell asleep again. When I woke up, the rain had stopped and it was already 1 pm. I packed up the wet tent and got on the road and surely enough, the rain started again and continued for next two days. The mudslide was clear with no wait or hassle. I passed the area in awe of what this slide brought down with it. There were trees as tall as a 3 story building and rocks weighing a few tons each. The mudslide had buried an excavator for 24 hours before they could get it out! I tried taking pictures but the crew wanted me to get out of there fast and gave me some angry looks, so I got on my way.

That night I camped at a rest area and crawled into my damp sleeping bag dreaming of warmer weather and sunshine. In the morning, I used the break in the weather and started drying my stuff in the overcast sunrays while eating a bowl of porridge standing up. The rain wasn’t as heavy when it finally started again and it started to clear up as I made my way towards Stewart and Hyder. Low clouds and fog made it hard to see the road let alone the mountains, but came a moment when the clouds lifted and there it was. Conspicuous glaciers and sky high mountains all around me with a road so twisty that I never had to go a straight line for more than 10 seconds. High canyon walls and waterfalls in every corner and the sun finally came out.

Hyder is technically in Alaska but since there are no American towns even close to it, it’s much like Canada with Canadian dollars used as currency. With population of only 25 families, it’s a pretty rustic town sitting at the mouth of Portland Canal, a 150km long fjord that runs along the southern edge of the Alaska panhandle.

When I got to Hyder, it was Sunday so everything was closed and with not much to do, so I went up and down the bumpy “street” of the town till I saw the whole town 10 times over and crossed back to Canada. The border crossing is just a formality and all I had to do was to take out my passport and as soon as he saw the blue cover he waved me in.

Being happy that the weather was finally decent, I rolled on the throttle to enjoy the twisties from Hyder to Stewart when all of a sudden I felt a little jolt and I knew I had a flat tire. I started to slow down from 60mph gradually but the bike shifted to the left and then to the right as the tire started to come off the rim. It was my rear tire that was getting shredded and I had no choice but to slow down gradually while holding on for dear life on a bike that had a mind of its own. Applying the front brake, I slowed it down to 10mph or so when I heard the rim hit the asphalt. At that speed I figured that it wouldn’t hurt that bad if I fell, so I squeezed the front brake as hard as I could and the bike stopped in its tracks, saving my rim.

I was Ok and the rim was Ok, the bead of the tire was broken but it stayed on the rim, so I pushed the bike to the side of the road and caught my breath. A pickup truck stopped and the lady asked me if I was ok. She first thought I was looking at a bear going in a wrong lane but when the bike started to shake and wander off she knew it was more than a bear. I asked her if she could get me an air compressor and off she went to find out. Seconds later, another car stopped and it was the British couple that I met earlier in Stewart while having lunch in the park and they helped me get the bike on center stand. He left me his ratcheting tie down strap so I could wrap it around the tire and give it a better seal to set the bead when I get the air compressor.

The lady with the truck showed up with a small 12v air compressor and knew it was the wrong tool from my smile. She went back again and this time showed up with a 60 gallon giant tank of air which did the job perfectly. I inflated the tire and rode back to her house in Hyder so I could fix the tire in her driveway. Sue Hickman was a God-send. Wife of the local pastor and a true Alaskan at heart, she provided every little thing I asked for to get the job done, from soap, towels, water, hammer and C clamp, to Pledge for lubrication. Without her help, I would be still sitting somewhere on the Cassiar waiting for a tire to get there. Thank you, Sue.

It turned out to be 3 holes in a 12 inch section of the tire and I had to plug this tire 3 times to get it to stop leaking. I had to break the bead one more time since it was leaking from the rim and with help of Pledge and good air compressor, I set the bead finally to my liking with no leak.

I headed out of town right after the repair and rode out towards Meziadin Junction. On the way, I stopped in the Bear Glacier Canyon to take a picture of the raging glacial waters rushing through the canyon. I wanted a better shot, so I climbed over the road side on a little steep hill directly on top of the swirling waters down below. I was taking pictures and trying to get a better angle when the soft dirt gave out under my feet and I started hurtling down towards the washing machine hole down in the river. I franticly grabbed on to anything I could and for the second time that day, a branch sticking out of the side of the hill saved my life. I climbed back up, shaken but unharmed; thinking what the hell else could happen that day.

As Murphy’s Law says:  if something can go wrong, it will go wrong. 2 kilometers down the road, this giant black bear that came out of nowhere is in the middle of the road and stopped. I hit the brakes and stopped too. Maybe 40 feet away, he stared at me and wouldn’t go away despite me honking the horn and revving the engine.

I was in the middle of the road and turning around required getting closer to the beast, so I stayed put. He stood up on his back legs and started walking towards me. I have no idea how fast I got out the buried bear spray out of my tank bag, dropping a million things in the process, but before I pulled the trigger, he ran into the bushes 20 feet away. I wanted to get the hell out of there right then, but I had to get off the bike and pick up the stuff that I dropped earlier, so the time stood still. I picked up the stuff and got the hell out of that place like a mad man.

I had enough of mishaps, so I started looking for a bear free camp spot and I found one. I camped at the Meziadin Provincial Park next to a picture perfect lake by the same name. I was finally free of troubles after all.

I shared camp with a Canadian girl named Stefanie Peacock. Stefanie is a biologist from Vancouver Island who decided to ride her bicycle from Whitehorse to Prince Rupert. She had dark chocolate and cookies and I had black tea, so we got along.

It rained all night again and in the morning, I packed up the soaking tent and got on the road, determined to make it to Prince George that day no matter what. It was probably the longest ride of my life as I stopped to check on the patched tire every now and then and had to replace two of the plugs with new ones as they kept going into the tire and leaking air. Somewhere along the way, the engine started leaking oil from the valve cover gasket and it got worse as the day went on. It took 12 hours to cover 450 miles and when I got to Prince George, I was so tired that I could barely stand up straight. I met Gib at the Boston Pizza place and I rented my first hotel room since I started the expedition. $85 for a motel is a normal price up here, but to me it’s a waste of money that I could have put toward the cause. But I needed a dry place and there was no way in hell I was staying in that soaking tent for another night, so I checked in the Camelot Motel and sat on a soft spot after 7 days of hell. It’s 2 am here as I’m typing this blurb, and that’s all I can muster up for now…

My Jeep rolled over twice on N. Montana Ave in Helena, MT and took two men down with it. The accident happened on Sep, 11th at around 7pm. Tim, the driver, is reportedly in critical condition and has been transferred to Great Falls for surgeries; Colonel Bruce Murphy is in not-so-good shape himself, hospitalized in the VA hospital in Fort Harrison.

I met Bruce Murphy (AKA “Colonel”) when I was living in my camper prior to my departure. A Vietnam veteran who’s like so many others that have been neglected to a degree that they don’t resemble a living thing of any sort anymore. Living out of his old camper with no electricity of any sort in an abandoned parking lot, he was as cheerful and funny as a man can get. We talked and laughed many of nights, sitting around that old parking lot talking about absolutely nothing worthwhile.

Before I left, he purchased my Jeep as he wanted a moving vehicle to get around. On Sep, 11th, Colonel and his friend Tim were on a beer run to town and on the way back, Tim lost control of the car on a bad road and they both went down. My good friend Joe DeLuca recognized my jeep in the newspaper 5 days later by the zip ties that he put on the trailer hitch harness when I sold him my hitch and went to the hospital to check on the guys. I feel guilty and very disturbed by what happened even though I had nothing to do with it. Tim is in pretty bad shape and according to Joe, he has little chance of surviving but I hope they both make it through. Hang in there guys…

When I woke up, Stephanie was already gone, so I packed up and got on the way. I talked to Gib this morning and he is meeting me at Watson Lake on Friday. From Watson Lake, we are planning to travel together all the way to Oregon, fundraising on street corners all the way.

I covered the 170km section of the Alaska Highway to Teslin Lake and stopped at the Yukon Motel, in Teslin. Teslin Lake is one the biggest lakes in Yukon Territories and can be seen for miles while driving on the Alaska Highway. In fact, it seemed so big that I thought it would never end. It might have had something to do with the drizzling cold rain that was hitting my face, but it sure looked like the Pacific Ocean.

At the Yukon Motel, I talked to Juanita Kremer, the owner of the lodge and she generously sponsored my accommodation for the night. The Yukon Motel consists of a gas station, large RV Park, restaurant, several cabins and an amazing wildlife museum. It is a lake front property with a beautiful view of Teslin Lake. The wildlife museum is one-of-a-kind, stocked with most creatures of the north in a magnificent display setting. I am just happy to be out of the cold for the night and I’m heading to Watson Lake tomorrow to meet up with Gib.

Tonight I received an email from a guy in Guatemala named Oscar stating [sic]: “congratulation for your travel is very interesant please visit this tread this open in honor of yor travel”.

I checked out the site and emailed him back in Spanish saying thank you for his efforts and so on. He wrote me back: “Gracias a dios hablas español por que yo no hablo casi nada de ingles”.

After a few emails I got to understand the depth of the efforts these guys are putting into collecting food for poor people in Guatemala. These guys are not waiting for foreign assistance and took the matter of feeding their people into their own hands. I salute their determination and fortitude. Although they are not rich by any means, they are playing their part. Please visit this link to see their efforts: (you can use the Google translator if your Spanish is rusty like mine)

Guatemala is among the 10 poorest countries in Latin America and according to World Bank, more than 33% of the population is living in poverty. I will be visiting Guatemala in 3 months or so but in the mean time, I’m reaching out right here and now to teachers, doctors, farmers, livestock growers, … to answer my call. I can arrange for your accommodation and tools so you could teach and practice there, if even for a short period. I’m only one man and can do just so much.

They need your expertise and resources; they are a proud and willing people who just need a helping hand. Please contact me if you are willing to help however you can. I need volunteers for many different tasks and projects. Let’s be united; let’s feed a piece of bread to a hungry child. I’m begging you… please make a donation, even if not here, please go to donation page on my website and support an organization of your choice.

First, I’d like to thank Ronald Schulten and Sarah Olson for their generous donations.

If you go to northern Alaska, you have to visit Chicken. It is laid back, fun and in the middle of nowhere. With the population of only 27, Chicken was settled by gold miners in the late 1800s and in 1902, the local post office was established requiring a community name. Due to the prevalence of ptarmigan in the area, that was the name suggested as the official name for the new community. However, the spelling could not be agreed upon, and Chicken was used instead to avoid embarrassment. I was pumping gas when a Cessna 150 pulled in next to me and started filling up. The highway is also used as a runway for aircraft. You don’t see that in New York City.

From ,Chicken I rode southwest towards Tok to spend the night. Gib told me about a motorcycle campground named The Eagle Claw in Tok and I wanted to check it out; I also wanted to check my voicemails after 2 weeks. I got to the campground and saw a sign that said “Pick a spot, we will be around later.”

This campground is a marvelous place. Clean as it can get with teepees, cabins and tent sites. There’s a steam room, an unbelievably clean outhouse, dish station, ready-cut firewood, and real flowers on the table. There was also a stove and a pot to warm up water for cleaning dishes at the station. I was the only person in the whole area and no one came around, so I made a good fire and put Brian’s moose steaks on the coals. Dinner of moose and mashed potatoes and hot chocolate for dessert capped off the night. I packed up in the morning, turned the bike’s switch to “on”, pulled the clutch in, and heard a snap.

Lots of people made fun of me for taking spare parts with me, but dammit I was right. In the middle of nowhere, I had a brand new clutch cable sitting in my saddle bag and the tools to pull off the job. I got to work and unloaded everything again since I had to remove my seat to take the tank off to replace the cable. The weather was perfect and I was amused that my preparation had paid off. The new cable was not an exact fit but I made it fit anyway.

I loaded everything back up and stopped at the cabin to pay my camping fees. I knocked on the door and waited for a while, but no one was home and there was no drop box anywhere. I remembered seeing an ad for the place at the gas station where I filled up the night before, so I went back to the station and got the number and called the owner. She was a very nice lady and even told me to not worry about the camping fees, but I went back anyway and left the money in her car. If ever in Tok, don’t miss this place.

Crossing back into Canada was a breeze and the Alaska Highway was in its best shape. I stopped in Beaver Creek for a sandwich and met two guys on BMWs. Stephane Vachon is a French Canadian who’s been living in Panama for the past 15 years, and Oliver Fecht is a German teacher from south of Munich. I walked in and sat next to them at Buckshot Betty’s. I think it was Buckshot Betty herself who was serving us since she wasn’t very nice, but the food was great.

Oliver went looking for a campground. Stephane and I went to find a hotel room for him so I could use his internet connection before I would head out of town to pitch my tent somewhere in the bush. The single bedroom was $90 but the double bed was only $69, so Stephane invited me to stay. Stephane is riding a GS1200 BMW which he bought in Florida and has been touring Canada and Alaska for a while now. He was heading back to Whitehorse, so once again I found a cool travel mate. After answering emails and updating the website, we both crashed and before I knew it, the sun came up. It was -2C outside with a good frost covering everything. The morning started cold and stayed cold well into the afternoon. We hooked up with Oliver at Betty’s and all rode south together, changing lead every now and then. I wore everything I owned and had to bust out my ski gloves since my fingers were freezing, but it was a beautiful ride.

At the Haines junction, we said our goodbyes to Oliver as he rode south for Skagway while we went toward Whitehorse. We are staying at a hotel in Whitehorse (courtesy of Mr. Vachon) as I’m writing this and will go our separate ways tomorrow. Stephane will go to Skagway and take a ferry south, and I will head for Prince George in British Columbia. Stay tuned…

“People who get up early in the morning cause war, death and famine.” Bansky

I woke up late again. Dempster took a lot out of me and resting up seemed like a good idea. Let’s backtrack a day or two so when you read this post, you are familiar with the characters.

When I got back from the Dempster and met up with Gib again, I found out that he wasn’t the owner of the lodge. Gib Acuna is a Californian who’s been traveling for over a year now and decided to go up the Dempster on his Fat Boy Harley. On his way back, he asked for a job at the lodge and he’s been working there for a month now. The best way to describe this man is to say he is a “people person.” He can start a conversation with a dead tree stump if you let him. He loves candy bars (he already ate half my candy collection) and to cap it off, he is the coolest guy you’ll ever meet. Pushing 61, he still jumps around like a 5 year old and has more energy than a humming bird. After 4 days, it feels like I’ve known the guy my entire life. He offered to let me stay at his place and as I never say no, I moved in right away. He has also shared his employee meals with me ever since I’ve been here, and I’m indebted to this man greatly.

Gib had a master plan to build a motorcycle park right at the gate of the Dempster highway, with campsites next to the river, mechanic shop, food service and entertainment! His idea was a brilliant one and the location he had in mind was unbelievable. You can’t go a meter on the Dempster without relying on the Klondike River Lodge, and he wanted to pitch his idea to the owner of the lodge. I helped him prepare his business plan, make a PowerPoint presentation, and we worked on the details for a long time. When “show time” came, he nailed it and the great news is: starting in May of 2010, there will be an amazing motorcycle campground at the base of the Dempster highway with full support, from tires to towing and rescue. He is the right man to do it and I’m sure it will be successful. I’m designing his website, logo, and taking care of the computer stuff while he does his construction. I wish him the best of luck.

I also met the owner of the lodge, Ross Weitzel. Ross is an interesting sort of guy who does his business on a hand shake. Up here in Yukon, there are no lawyers or legal complications, you shake the man’s hand and your word is your contract. He sponsored my lodging and my meals throughout my stay and reimbursed my camping fees. I liked the place to begin with, now I like it even more. The cook’s name is Brian and being a long time biker, he feeds me every night and supplies the beer while we talk all night and he has more stories than you could imagine. One hell of a nice guy.

The most revolting encounter I had was a conversation with a guy named Mario who was dating Christy, one of the waitresses. Mario is a German who moved to Canada some years back and is a farmer in Whitehorse, Yukon. He asked me what was all the world hunger stuff about and as I was explaining, he said something that I will never forget. “What happens after we feed everyone and no one is hungry? They are going to want more, they would want to eat beef, they would want a motorbike, and they would want a house. I am not ready to give up what I have so they can get what they want. It’s a cruel reality but that’s how it is. They have to be poor so we can be rich.” Is it the ignorance or the arrogance or both?

Brian marinated two moose steaks for me to take along for dinner and after exchanging numbers and emails, I finally got on the road. First stop was Dawson City and I got aboard the ferry to cross the river. Top Of The World Highway starts from the river bank and goes all the way to Alaska. It’s a gravel road with occasional potholes and some paved patches. The road was OK and the scenery beautiful, but to be honest, I didn’t see much of it as I was cold and the wind blew so hard I could barely keep the bike upright. I concentrated on the road and zipped through for hope of lower elevations.

At the American border, the drama started. At the border crossing, I stopped at the red light. I put both of my feet down and put the bike in neutral and as I raised my head, I noticed the border patrol man in his shack waving at me, so I took it as a sign to go to him. I covered the 20 feet or so and stopped at his window and turned the bike off.

He asked why I ran the red light and didn’t wait for the green light. I told him that he signaled me to come over and so I did. He said that he was signaling me to stop. I told him I was already stopped and there was no need to signal me to do so. The conversation went on and on as to who was right, so I finally asked him straight up “what is it you want me to do?”

He said to go around and come back to the light again and wait till it was green, then approach him. I’m getting pretty pissed off at this point but I did what he wanted. I crossed into United States and came back into Canada and stopped at the light again. On green, I approached the window and this time he asked me why I didn’t stop at Canadian Customs while I was turning around! I told him that I was instructed to turn around and come back to him and that he didn’t tell me to stop at Canadian Customs. He looked at me and said: “You people don’t have a stoplight in your country?”

That’s when I blew up and said: “Well I’m an American and we do have a goddamn stoplight in our country. We also have another thing called Freedom of Speech and expression. Watch me exercise it for you now: Go F*** Yourself.”

There was a silence and his eyes were starting to open up, so I went on by telling him that he turned me around for no reason and I don’t care if he’s going to let me in Alaska or not. I will write a complaint letter to the Department of Homeland Security and will see it through to the end. He looked at me for a second or two, then asked for my passport very firmly calling me ‘Sir’. I thought to myself that he was going to rip the bike apart but to my astonishment, he stamped my passport with a big caribou stamp and said “No hard feelings. We are just testing our new light system. Have a good day.”

Warning: You should never tell a man to go f*** himself if he is the only one with a gun in the middle of nowhere! I got lucky; do it at your own risk.

All in all, I enjoyed my stay in the Yukon and met some amazing people. Yukon with little over 30,000 in population is still a wild place. Hope it stays that way…

I dedicate the following verse from an Alaskan bumper sticker to this infamous highway:

Dempster Highway

Winding in and winding out

Fills my heart with serious doubt

As to whether the lout, who built this route

Was going to hell, or coming out

The ride from Whitehorse to Dawson City went without a glitch. When I woke up that morning, Jean-Luc was ready to go but I was not. I told him to go ahead and we will meet at The Pit, a local bar in Dawson, in case I did’nt catch up to him on the road. I got to Dawson at 6pm and went straight to The Pit. There was no sign of Jean-Luc there or anywhere in the town. I waited at the bar for a couple hours and he didn’t show up so I figured he stopped somewhere along the way and called it good. He was trying to get out of going up the Dempster after all the horror stories he heard in Whitehorse and I think that was his way. It was raining on and off but nothing too bad, so I headed out of town to look for a camp spot. 15km out of Dawson, I found a small regional airport with a gravel parking lot. I pitched my tent in a corner and crawled into my sleeping bag.

I woke up to a jet landing 50 feet away from me and it was time to go. Dempster Highway starts 40 km before Dawson as Klondike Highway and there are only 3 fuel stations in the 750km stretch of the road. The first is called the Klondike River Lodge at mile zero; the next is at Eagle Plains, 370km deep into the Dempster; and the last is in Inuvik. My tank has a 450km range so reaching Eagle Plains should be easy but with the rain and the road conditions, I carried 3 extra gallons of fuel just in case I need a bailout before reaching Eagle Plains. I filled up at the river lodge and as I was pulling out, a guy from the restaurant ran out and asked me where I was heading. He said his name was Gib and if anything happened, that I should call the lodge and he would come up there to get me. I thought to myself what a nice owner.

The sun came out for a minute and it looked like a good day to go, but I knew it rained non-stop here for the past 7 days so I was expecting some bad sections. The first 5km of the road is paved, the next 5 is packed gravel of decent quality, and after that the road turns into chocolate pudding. Potholes 4-7 inches deep all over the place filled with water, deep tire grooves in the mud also covered with water, and the shiny surface of the road was a bad sign. I started at 110km/h on the paved section and gradually slowed down to a crawl of 30km/h. If I went any slower, I would dig into the mud so deep that I couldn’t get out, and if I went any faster, the bike would go all over the place. Since none of the road hazards were visible due to being filled with water, I couldn’t tell where the holes or the mud grooves were, so every time I hit one, especially the grooves, the bike would start shifting hard to the left and right which was scary as hell. I had my entire load with me and at 1,000 lbs, this bike isn’t exactly a light dirt bike.

I pushed on despite the conditions in hope of better sections to come, but it got worse as the day went by. 55km into the highway, I saw a truck coming toward me at full speed, and since I was riding in the middle of the road (the highest and driest section), I had to get out of the way just in case he slipped, so I slowly inched my way toward the shoulder, but all of the sudden I hit one of the mud grooves and flying into the air I went. I realized I still had hold of the handlebars, so I stood up on the foot pegs, shifting my weight to counter balance and rolled on the throttle hoping more speed would bring the bike upright again. At this point the truck is getting ready to pass me and he was freaking out seeing me out of control and heading straight for him. With all my might, I got the bike out of his way and kept rolling on the throttle till the beast was going in a straight line again. It all took only a few seconds but the bike fish-tailed the whole section of the road maybe 5 times before I barely escaped my death.

I was so shaken that all I wanted was to pull over but the mud was so deep that I knew if I stopped, I would never get out of that mess. With adrenaline so high and shaking uncontrollably, I pushed on and found a somewhat dry spot and stopped. I carry a piece of 1×4 plywood with me to put under my kickstand on soft ground, but even with that, the bike was leaning at a 45º angle with the wood buried in mud. Astonishingly, I decided to go on, and on I went. The road was getting better until the rain started and now I couldn’t see anything out of my goggles and the bike went for another slip. This time there was no other vehicle around and as soon as I got it under control, I found solid ground and stopped. I had to make a call then and there and I made the hard decision. As hard-headed as I am, this ride was suicidal and I had no such death wish. Turning back meant going back over the same road now in rain, but still seemed like a more logical choice than to continue north. The ride back was even scarier, but at least I knew what to expect. After a lot of sliding and slipping I made it back to the pavement and was home free.

I pulled into the parking lot of the River Lodge covered in mud and Gib asked me what happened. I said I stayed upright! I spent the rest of the day working on my World Hunger presentation and ended up doing two shows that night. As I never give up on anything, the next morning, I started planning my second assault on the highway.

The rain eventually stopped and the sun came out. 2 days of sunshine dried out the road somewhat and I unloaded 80 percent of my gear at Gib’s place. On the afternoon of Sep, 2^nd, Dempster looked like a different road. There is nothing more beautiful and majestic than seeing the Tombstone Mountains in full sunshine and not worrying about when you are going to hit the ground.

Autumn is the best season to go on Dempster (scenery wise) and locals agree. The whole land starts changing colors and the brisk air of the arctic is refreshing to breath. This road is a perfect practice ground for dirt riding as it changes every 10 miles to a different surface. I ran mud puddles, potholes, loose gravel patches, sharp corners but nothing even came close to the experience that I had on my first attempt. The Pirelli Scorpions held up and gave me the much-needed traction on the road and I averaged 80km/h on the highway. Wildlife is abundant here and rivers and creeks cut through the landscape all along the road. Passes and high plateaus cover much of the area and the road opens up in the boreal forest and the tundra follows. The most beautiful sections of the road are from Tombstone to Eagle Plains and through the Richardson Mountains in the Northwest Territories.

I reached Eagle Plains sometime after 5, fueled up, and headed north again. I passed the Arctic Circle without stopping and made it to Forth McPherson in Northwest Territories on the McKenzie River. That’s as far as I wanted to go and I passed on going to Inuvik so I could do the Top Of The World Highway in Alaska before snowfall instead.

I rode back to the Arctic Circle and pitched my camp right on 66º 33’north. After a dinner of soup and mashed potatoes, I retired for the night under a perfect arctic sky. I crashed like a log.The ride back was a treat on a dry road and I took my time taking in the scenery and taking pictures of everything. (I took 231 pictures on the way back).

If you are thinking of doing the Dempster, there are few things you should know:

1. Do NOT trust the weather reports and give yourself an ample amount of time to get up and down.
2. Go as light as possible but take good cold weather gear with you. (There was snow at the NWT border.)
3. Be sure of your riding abilities; this is not a time to bullshit yourself.
4. If your instincts are telling you that you shouldn’t go on, don’t go on.
5. Take a bottle of brandy with you for celebration ( I celebrated with mashed potatoes which sucked)
6. Don’t attempt the Dempster in torrential rain. No matter who you are and how many years you’ve been riding. Dempster is the most dangerous road in North America when wet. No question about it.
7. Don’t pass on the ride; it is the most gorgeous ride of your life.

I’m heading for the “Top Of The World Highway” in Alaska tomorrow. Next Stop: Chicken, Alaska. Population: 27.

I’d like to thank Geoffrey Tayner and Kim Geisbecht for their generous donations. I’m not asking you to buy me a beer or pay for my gas; all I’m asking is that if you are enjoying these reports, support me by helping to fulfill the goal of $1500 for the month of September as I’m doing my best, fundraising on the road. This expedition is financed out of my own pocket and with the help of my generous sponsors, NOT from the donations. All donations are directed toward the cause not one penny excluded. Sparing one espresso or a sandwich a week goes a long way. Be mindful of people out there who have nothing to eat, day after day after day. Their story could be your story. Your donations keep me going and make me more enthusiastic about updating the website more regularly.

“After these things I saw, and behold, a door opened in heaven, and the first voice which I heard, a voice as of a trumpet speaking with me, one saying, Come up hither, and I will show thee the things which must come to pass hereafter.” Book of Revelations 4-22

I have been holed up here in Yukon Territory for 4 days and 3 nights and have seen weather like I’ve never seen before. I’ve gotten ready to break camp and get on the road a million times, but in a blink of an eye, the sky turns apocalyptic and hail, rain, thunder, wind and agony dumps on me. If the end of the world is not coming, I’d be surprised.

The place I’m staying at is called Robert Service Campground and is just outside of Whitehorse. The famous poet Robert Service lived here for number of years before he married a Parisian and eventually moved to Paris. The campground is nice and clean and has a common area called the living room which is a few couches and a fire pit covered with a tarp overhead. I spend most of my time in the living room talking to people and working online. You meet people from all over the world and intelligent ones at that. I met Tammy Elliott, a plant ecologist who is doing a research on “Alpine Tundra Ecology” here in Yukon. She also did some research on Ellesmere Island in the Canadian High Arctic on muskoxen and showed me her presentations on the subject, which I found very interesting. The arctic has always been a big interest of mine. I even wanted to become a polar explorer when I grew up, but Robert .E. Peary beat me to it.

On Friday night I attended Jean-Luc’s Canadian Legion ceremony which was very touching and at the same time fun. They were a great bunch of folks and I enjoyed their company immensely. I did pick their brains on world hunger and recruited a few more people up here as well.

The rain has stopped so I’m going to pack the bike and get everything ready for tomorrow morning. God knows what Dempster looks like after all these rains, but I need to get closer if I want a shot at it. Still heading north…