A Triumph and Yukon
Whilst on a camping holiday in the Canadian Rockies I met an American couple who were making their way north to Alaska in a Motor Home, they had retired and were intent on visiting every State in their country. Talking to them stirred up an interest in the far north of Canada and when the time came for us to return the borrowed car to our friend Bob in Calgary I was already planning a Yukon adventure.
Chatting to Bob as we wound down ready for our long flight home, I was asked, “well what’s next” My reply, the American deserts or the Yukon on a motorcycle. The seeds were set! Work and family took precedence. Eighteen months later a letter from arrived in the post, saying he had bought a bike for my use, a Triumph Adventurer, and had already started to get it ready for an adventure, electronic ignition was on order. Bob had a Matchless G80CS he would use on the trip but was happy to leave the route and destination for me to plan. The idea was to ride from Calgary in Alberta and go up through the Rockies to Dawson Creek where the Alaska Highway (Alcan) started then follow this to Whitehorse in the Yukon. Only months before our planned trip, Bob was on his Norton enjoying an early in the season ride with a pal on the Matchless . Unfortunately the CS was dropped in a big way, needing extensive repairs, this together with work and business worries in Calgary left my friend Bob unable to ride with me. At short notice I wrote to my trail riding friend in Sheffield telling him the story, saying bob would purchase a bike on our behalf should he want to go. Mel could not wait to write back but phoned me the very night he received my letter, It was on. A Honda XL 350cc was purchased in Calgary and I started some serious research into routes and weather conditions. Our family holiday came, was enjoyed and I sent my wife and son home a few days after meeting Mel at Calgary airport. We spent some time working on the bikes, neither of them had racks to carry our vast amount of gear. Screens were almost mandatory and we decided to carry a set of spare tyres and tubes between us, as well as extra fuel, the small tank on the Adventurer was replaced with a larger BSA tank, brought with me in our camping gear. Screens were scrounged from Bobs pals and racks made rather crudely.
Our first days ride was in good weather and on superb roads with the first nights camp in a British Columbian Forest near the town of Jasper, all very civilised, we were not even concerned about the risk of Bear attack or being eaten by midges.
We set of next morning again in fine weather, noting that the Honda was a reluctant starter. Our route took us through forests on fine roads and as we passed the Columbia ice fields we could feel the chill as the wind blew across the highway from the ice. This was not noticed when we came in the air-conditioned Cadillac. First stop was a large filling station on a crossroads. After filling up Mels Honda took a good few kicks to start and then we were of, with myself leading. Its not hard to navigate when there are only a few choices to be made, in this case North South or West. We turned out of the gas station and made good progress, until we arrived at a viewing area on the side of the road to see an engineering fete called Spiral Tunnels, where the railway had driven through the mountain many times in order to pass through. When a train is going through them you can see the front and rear on different levels. It was then that the penny dropped, I had been here before in the car, and it was not where we wanted to be, we were heading west and not north. We retraced our route, for four hours, filled up again at the same gas station and headed north. It was a long days riding but we had made very little progress north.
A picture of the start of the Alaska Highway. Mile Zero
We were now heading for the town of Dawson Creek, the starting point of the Alaska Highway, mile zero. We passed lakes and mountains that were once just names on a map, Fort Mcloyed, Mcloyed Lake, Pink Mountain where we camped. We would have liked to have sampled the Liard River Hot Springs but denied ourselves this pleasure, electing t oppress on to a camp ground just beyond Watson Lake at Rancheria. The Alaska Highway is made with whatever material is available in the area and south of Watson Lake it is a substance like coal dust, fine when its just been damped down and graded. In the wet its terrible, of course we were there in a constant downpour. It was in this area that I had the only problem with the Triumph, black sludge thrown up by the front wheel had got into the electrical connections just behind the steering head and brought the bike to a stand still, of course in driving rain and on a filthy road. Sorted quite quickly we were away. We felt really uneasy when stopping just outside the town at a café we were not alone though. A Suzuki rider who overtook us many miles back, had parked his bike outside and was in the warm and dry, enjoying the excellent hospitality we were to find all along the route. This rider was from Vancouver heading to meet two of his pals who live and worked in Anchorage Alaska. They planned to ride to Calgary and then head east to ride down to the coast of Florida before returning to Vancouver via California.
Aftermath of a very dirty road.
Tony the
Suzuki rider stayed in a lodge, we being British and all that camped. We last saw Tony a few miles outside Whitehorse, we were to call on a Canadian I had been corresponding with and was an officer in the RCMP.
He lived and worked in Whitehorse. We found Dave’s home after some running around, having just a box number made it a challenge, it turned out that he was on shifts and we waited outside for a while until he got up, our time was spent checking the bikes. Despite daily cleaning and oiling of chains, Mels Honda had a badly worn chain and sprocket, it was clear that we had to renew it. The starting problem had been cured at a gas station miles back; his bike had a very rusty tubular toolbox on it not opened by us or anyone for years. With some encouragement and brute force it opened to reveal one equally rusty spark plug, after fitting this the XL started as easily as the Triumph. Dave came to his back door exclaiming 2 hey you must be my English friends” he pointed us in the direction of the Honda dealers. After flagging down a young lad on a rat bike we found them, only to be told they had no suitable chain or sprocket in stock and it would be some days before they would arrive. On learning about our adventure the manager instructed his staff to remove the parts from a new bike, we were back on the road at no extra charge.
During our stay overnight at Dave’s we were treated to a feast of Caribou cooked outside on a BBQ. After a much needed shower we retired to Dave’s cellar, where we spread out our airbed and turned in for a good sleep, it was the darkest place I have ever been in, you could not tell whether your eyes were closed or open.
Our journey was to take us away from the Alcan and north on the Klondike Highway to Dawson City and the new Dempster Highway opened just the year before.
Just a couple of pictures of the Klondyke Highway and the Dempster riding south
Before we left Whitehorse and our friend Dave, one of us voiced concern about our self- imposed tight schedule. We both wanted to explore the Roof of the World Highway and get into Alaska by this route. We also wanted to get to the Arctic Circle via the Dempster Highway. Our concern was “what if we get stuck or stranded due to breakdowns or whatever” Dave reassured us that whilst in Yukon we didn’t have a problem. You have the RCMP behind you now, just stop anyone and ask them to ring us. Good news, thankfully we did not need to lean on their generosity.
The road surface out of Whitehorse was paved and quite good; this would soon change when we turned right towards Dawson City. Mel and I had spent many years riding in Trials, we soon found that the struggles we had on the Alcan were nothing to the skills needed on this highway, we could be rattling along (well chosen words) on loose shale one moment and next it would be wobbling about on a surface very like 1 ½ inch marbles and would go on for miles. A couple of times a day a truck would come blasting by, we cowered behind our windscreens.
The road went on for miles between stunted Firs, we knew when we were in for bad weather as it could be seen in the far distance miles away. It was on this road that the Honda complained
, the exhaust retaining collar is held by two nuts, ( there was a nut on each bike as well) and during the journey they had to be tightened up a few times. Now one was lost and all similar fasteners on the bike had been used up, well those that could be spared, We managed to get to the next camp ground with a noggin of wood wedged up between frame and the collar.
Fettling time again, our search of the camp found us a piece of heavy wire clothes line and this looped around the exhaust and cylinder, with a piece of wood as a tourniquet did the trick. Our mileage suffered due to the road conditions, we could only manage no more than 150 a day on some days. A good long day would see us doing a hard 200+, we didn’t need to use lights as now it light until midnight.
Several nights I would up until the small hours, staring up into the wonderful night sky in the hope that I would glimpse the “ Northern Lights ” I did see them many years later from the window of our home now in Wales, it seems I was looking at the wrong time of year to see them in Yukon but no one told me this.
Mels Honda liked to buzz and was grossly uncomfortable & with a twisted frame, but it used about the same amount of fuel as the Triumph that was fairly comfortable and had bags of low down torque. We new we were getting near to a settlement, there was what appeared to us to be heaps of quarry spoil or the remains of sand quarries, we later found out that these were spoil heaps from the gold rush days, I was a couple of miles in front of Mel who had stopped to take photos, I didn’t know that while trying to get back onto his bike he dropped it, having no chance to lift it upright himself he elected to wait for me to go back for him. In the meantime a truck emerged from the only side road for a hundred miles. “Do you need and help” a voice called. Can’t lift my bike up Mels replies. And with that the driver came over, lifted the bike mumbling us Yukon Gels must be tougher than Limey blokes.
Meantime I was at the Dawson Airport where I photographed a light aeroplane resting on its back, we were told that this pilot always lands that way up but later found out that it was wind damage. Its interesting to note that the airport had a barrier across the gate and a small hut the other side, a notice stated that only those with security clearance were allowed in, a book and a pencil on a string asked you to sign in and enter.
Two or three days south of here we were warned by notices that the road was used by aircraft as a landing strip and barrels of fuel were evident.
As you enter Dawson City from the south you pass the junction with the Dempster where a gas station and restaurant is situated. The best place for food in the area and travellers hang notes outside informing their companions of their whereabouts.
We were not prepared for the sites we saw in town. It was straight from a film set. Building falling down, the roughest street surfaces, dust everywhere and a character that draws you back.
To hell with our schedule, were going to spend a few days here. To get to the campground there is a free ferry over the Yukon River, The camp ground was crowded and we got the only remaining lot. Our bikes were unloaded and the tents put up. A chap on a well-used motorcycle was riding around looking for a spot; we invited him to share ours. He was a welder from New York, given up his job and home to ride up and see the north before it was to late. He introduced us to Chilli & toast.
We both slept well that night and strolled along to catch the ferry to town for our breakfast. Despite being so far north, the prices were reasonable and the food superb, but oh dear what a shock Dawson City was. A lot of the houses were damaged, the streets worse than any UK farm track and dust everywhere. Being in the electrical trade I was taking photos of the supply system. Poles with HT, LT transformers and telephone cables all draped on one badly leaning pole. One building had been jacked up to replace the foundations and several were shored up to prevent disaster.
These were historical and from the gold rush period. Board walks were everywhere, very rickety but essential. We saw the service pipes, water and sewage running on raised pillars above the roads, it was to prevent freezing and frost damage, the contents are kept circulating and insulated. I understand that today 2009 most have been laid below the surface but I cannot be sure of this, certainly some of the cabling has. We both became members for 12 months of Diamond Tooth Gerties gambling Casino, the only gambling Casino in Canada. That was an eye opener and well worth the small fee.
Our couple of days were spent wandering around the town and visiting places of interest, I have never enjoyed poetry, cant see the point, but a visit to Robert Services cabin to find a chap reciting his work encouraged me to by a book and a tape of his poems, it really is very good and catches the mood of Yukon and its people.
We fired up the motorcycles and visited the gold fields, amazed at what we were looking at. Our bikes were a delight to ride without the mountain of luggage we carried. On Bonanza Creek we visited a huge dredger and were lucky to enough to be given a tour by a chap who certainly told a good tale. It was here when a large camper van stopped near the very scruffy bikes. The driver was Bud; he had driven from Fontana in Southern California. It turned out that he was a motorcyclist and was staying on our campground; he invited us to his van that evening where he filled my mind with stories of the desert and his rides, Barstow to Vegas etc.
Next day we packed up and left the town, not before filling ourselves with a large meal and our bikes and extra fuel in the extra containers Dave had loaned us. These were very important as neither bike could travel the distances between fuelling areas on a tank full. Between Dawson and the filling station at Eagle Plains there was nothing, we were told that the road maintenance camp might have fuel and might sell us some, that was if anyone was there. I carried an extra 3 gallons and with a larger tank almost another 3. Mel carried and extra couple.
It was interesting at the start of the Dempster to find groups of people, some begging lifts and others asking us to carry messages to travellers further on. We only managed50 miles that day, such was the going, a full belly and a late start. We did encounter people on pushbikes (brave or what?) who told us they would camp in the roadside ditches and should we meet their pals, tell them how far back they were. As it turned out it was two days before we saw them. We did get to the road menders camp and they sold us fuel with a 50% hike in price and happy to pay. We saw one BMW who was heading south and they had dropped the bike and dinged up the fairing, they were two up. Speeds were so slow that damage to the person was unlikely. It took us 3 days to reach the Arctic Circle. We camped out two nights and this our third night could have proved problem, no suitable areas off the road. We were looking for a large metal land drain tube to crawl into, plenty on the way up but none to be found here. Then a big shock, we arrived at a large modern building with huge satellite dishes on it, this was the new Eagle Plains Hotel, the only accommodation on the entire road. We were scruffy but leaving our riding gear in little cubby holes in the entrance lobby we booked in. the chap at the reception desk told us that the Arctic circle was only a few miles further on. So it being only 9 pm we did the tourist thing. Getting into a hot shower and soft bed that night after achieving one of our goals was most satisfying , we had ridden for a long day, 300 miles through very bad wet cold weather. Tomorrow we go south again, heading back to Dave in Whitehorse. We were told when in Dawson that punctures would be many and the midges and mosquitoes would carry us away. Keep the food on the bikes well away from the tents, as the Bears were a problem. None of these caused us any problems. I think we were just lucky?
Us and the bikes at the Arctic Circle 10 30 at night
The ride back down to Dawson was the exact opposite of that on the way up, the sun was out with no wind, mountain ranges looked glorious and the road surface was almost dry. At one spot I was about a mile in front of Mel and pulled into a cutting in the hillside where the road had been driven through, it was the quietest place I have ever experienced. Mel must have stopped his engine or I would have heard it, I did here the sound of a birds wing as it flew above me and there was the noise of a rock rolling down the bank, Mel arrived after a few minutes and we went slowly on our way. A couple of hours down the road we stopped to have a look around a building set off the road behind scrubby little fir trees, not a soul in sight of course and we gathered that it was a road maintenance building.
Coming out back onto the road was where it happened, Mel in front and myself following, now this is not an excuse you understand but the triumph has a lot more urge than the XL 350 and I found the back end of it stopped me surprisingly quickly. Two bike collided on a road with zero traffic and 300 miles from anywhere. Mel thrust his hand through the windscreen. Both bikes toppled over and his Billy can set was modified it now had character. Whilst we lifted the bikes between us would you believe it a truck, a truck came along, the driver asked if we were alright and told us that the building was a fully equipped workshop, should we need any tools call in. the windshield was the worst, we taped corn flake packets over the hole as windshields are an absolute must for the next week.
We arrived in Dawson City in a couple of days and had the usual hearty feed at the junction, then retraced our route to Whitehorse. Our hopes were to take the roof of the world highway from the campground in Dawson City and join the Alcan before turning left at Haines Junction and then back to Whitehorse. Unknown road conditions and short of time we thought it better to go via the way we knew. We stayed one night at Dave’s, he told us of a new road that had been driven through to Skagway from Carcross and a boat trip from Skagway to Prince Rupert in BC was possible. The ferry left mid afternoon, we could do it.
A US customs hut just beyond Bennet was manned and we were beckoned in, I leaned the Triumph against the hut and asked Mel to park his bike near mine to hide the missing licence plate,My concern was that it could cause us a problem, no worries we were given a couple of weeks to stay in the USA but only needed two days.
Skagway was another Dawson with not quite the same atmosphere. We booked our passage. They wanted our licence plate numbers and I told them mine was lost and that I could not remember it. Have a guess I was told so I gave them one from a BSA Bantam I had at home,$75 for each of us and $54 for the bikes. Then down to the waters edge to scrub of the layers of mud and dust from our riding gear. Suitably cleaned we strolled around the town and then back to the ferry terminal to chat to other travellers and watch our boat come in.
We were to be two nights on the ferry and found that there was an area on deck covered but open fronted where we could stake a claim by putting our sleeping bags on the deck, we were lucky to find just two places left so we left our jackets in place and went below decks to get our bags from the bikes. We left Skagway and were soon at Haines where a collection of vehicles was waiting to board, it was a brief stop and the ferry was soon on its way.
Below decks I was coming out of the wash room and bumped into Tony the Suzuki rider, words like “ well good heavens its my Limey mate “ were uttered and he introduced me to his two BMW mounted pals.
The scenery from the ferry was spectacular and on board was a Ranger from the national park we were travelling through; I think it was called Ketchikan NP. The ferry stopped a few Islands on the way and we were allowed to to look around providing we got back in time, one girl on a 750 Honda missed the boat and was left yelling on the quey side in only a track suit. The pals she made on the boat unloaded her bike and gear at the next stop and she met up with it later, she should have known better as she was a world traveller.
I would urge anyone making a similar trip to use this ferry. To see the ice fields and ice burgs’ floating by in clear water and the Whales spouting in the distance has remained in my memory. The islanders way of life was another eye opener. The very early morning arrival at Prince Rupert was not so pleasant, it was very very early, dark, cold and we could find know where to eat, it was a long cold ride to Terrace on the Yellow Head Highway heading for Prince George.
This was to be one of our longest days in the saddle, we were on paved roads with traffic and our early evening search for a campground was fruitless, all were full. It came as a shock when we had to use our lights, it was never really dark up north but here were in another world. Around ten pm we were tired and desperate to find a spot to camp when on the edge of a full campground we spotted a very small entrance to a lake. After wheeling the bikes in we pitched tents and crawled into our sleeping bags, to be woken from time to time by the Canadian Pacific rail engines horn just across the lake, now they are wonderful to hear and see during the day but tired as we were we wished them in hell. The next morning we noticed animal tracks around the tents and on the nearby lakeshore. The triumph had been parked on a notice warning that this was a no camping area, Ah! Well .
We visited Banff and bought huge ice creams, our bikes were parked in a side road out of sight, but other motorcyclists knew who they belonged to. On our ride back through British Columbia we kept being overtaken by the two BMWs and the Suzuki, words like, well its our two Limey friends were uttered, well not quite the same words. One BMW had developed an oil leak, (oh yes they do) and was hoping to get it fixed in Calgary.
We arrived back in Calgary the following day and set to cleaning the bikes, The Triumph frame had been sandblasted and all the paint had gone, the shiny engine casings were now dull, they were so bright to start with.
Would I do it again? Yes but not at the age I am now, 30 to 55 years old is ideal. What motorcycle? Well its got to be shaft drive, minimum 600cc and must have trials tyres and a large fuel tank. BMW R80 naked but with a screen
The motorcycles
The Honda was sold for a small loss.
The Triumph is still in Calgary and sparkling again I have tried to buy it, its not for sale
Punctures None
Oil leaks None
Chain and two sprockets on the Honda
Electronic ignition on the Triumph never faltered probably because I took the old points system with us as back up.
Bears/ saw a couple but no problem, probably because I took my Bear deterrent, an axe.
Midges? A couple of bites each that’s all’
Wear good tough boots and a lightly armoured jacket and trousers.
You will fall off and you will get stoned by passing traffic, but in any event get out there and just DO IT
I have loads more photos but they need scanning, one day perhaps.
