Day 13; Thursday, June 8th, 1999
Start: Eagle Plains, Yukon Territory
End: Eagle Plains, Yukon Territory
124 Miles
I wake up to bright sunlight streaming
into
my tent, today's the big day, we’re
going
to Inuvik, and I feel very well rested....
I stretch out in my sleeping bag, bring
my
watch to my face and.... Whoa!! It's
4:00
AM !! 7:00 AM back home, but since
I'm not
back home I force myself back to sleep
for
a few more hours.
Eventually, it really is time to get
up and
get going. Joe and I have breakfast,
pack
up and head north.
A couple miles up the road, there's
a big
sign with words to the effect of "No
parking, stopping, or standing; and
look
out for aircraft". The road is
a runway,
with windsock at one end. We don't
stop to
take pictures.
The Arctic Circle is about 30-40 miles
to
the north, and we take our time getting
there.
The Dempster is in good condition,
there's
some wet spots that we easily avoid,
and
all’s well.
When we arrive at the Arctic Circle,
we're
all alone. There's a scenic overlook,
and
a very nice marker delineating the
Arctic
Circle itself. Joe announces that his
GPS
is spot on, and that the marker is
in the
right spot, and then grins.
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| BMWs at the Circle |
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| Joe catching up on journal |
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Joe and I, Joe on the left.
Arctic Circle, Yukon Territory |
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We talk for a while between us, about
how
good the steaks are going to taste
in Inuvik,
and how Joe wants to try to get aboard
a
ship in Inuvik and go to the Prudhoe
Bay
oilfields, or at least try to head
west into
Alaska after the Dempster Highway,
and go
up the Dalton Highway to Prudhoe Bay.
I'm
not up for that, I figure the ride
home is
going to be spectacular through the
Canadian
Rockies, I've only got 4 weeks off
and since
we're at Day 13 it would be a stretch
for
me to head further west. Joe asks me
to think
about it, and I tell him if he wants
to go,
I'd not be offended in the least if
we split
up and he could ride the Dalton Highway.
Then we're back to being tourists.
At the
overlook, there's a broad valley below
us,
and in the distance are the Richardson
mountains.
We can see clouds blanketing the tops
of
those mountains, and there's a feeling
of
accomplishment at getting this far,
as though
getting to the circle itself is a pretty
worthy goal.
A green van pulls up, driven by a retired
older couple from Quebec. We take each other's
pictures, we share lunch together, we talk,
and talk, and talk some more, the four of
us sitting around a picnic table there at
the Circle. They show us the inside of the
van they're driving; it’s equipped very nicely,
with built-in cupboards, a bed, everything
needed for a summer on the road.
It's a very nice day, but a bit cool
and
breezy. Joe and I are perfectly comfortable
wandering around in our riding suits,
with
some insulating layers underneath,
and the
breeze is keeping the rumored northern
mosquitoes
at bay.
Then we say goodbye to the Quebec couple,
and Joe and I continue towards the
Northwest
Territories border. I plug in the vest,
dial
in just a little heat, turn the heated
grips
on low, and all's well with the world.
A few miles later, we see our first
grizzly
bear, out on the tundra. Joe's in the
lead,
the bear runs across the road in front
of
Joe, out onto the tundra. At that point,
I notice him to our right and I initially
mistake him for a small buffalo, as
the bear
is brown and hunched over. By then
we are
much closer, he pauses for a minute
to look
us over as he half stands, and he is
big,
though not full grown. By now we're
going
rather slow, we aren't about to stop,
and
the bear is looking at us, we're looking
at him. About that time, I think Joe
and
I both come to the realization that
the grizzly
could catch us if he wanted, as we're
on
loose gravel and are at a bit of a
disadvantage
to the bear. We accelerate away, the
bear
runs out onto the tundra in the opposite
direction, and that sums up our grizzly
bear
story from the far north.
The Dempster begins to get a little
bit slippery
as we continue north, there's mud patches
that we successfully negotiate, each
time
thinking that must be as bad as it's
going
to get, and that all will be alright
now.
You really haven't lived until you've
had
the front tire of a loaded R1100rs
- with
it’s stubby bars - pushing / sliding
in a
straight line as you try to get the
front
and rear tires to agree on the direction
of travel...
We head up into the mountains, on the
Yukon
side of the Yukon Territory-Northwest
Territories
border. Fog rolls in, heavy fog, and
suddenly
everything is dripping as the mist
accumulates
and puddles and flies off various parts
on
the bike. Shortly after that it begins
to
rain. Joe motors away and disappears
into
the fog; he's a better rider than I
and I'm
not racing, I'm just waiting for things
to
clear up so that the riding will be
as pleasant
as it's been for the past week or so.
I cross into the Northwest Territories,
Joe's
invisible to me somewhere up ahead.
There's
a very unique marker at the NWT border,
we've
arrived!! The northernmost, most empty
province
in Canada! Just another 160 miles to
go and
we'll arrive in Inuvik; I can almost
taste
the steak dinner now...
Then I come down out of the fog, and
I see
Joe standing in the middle of the road,
looking
down at a big pile of stuff on the
left side
of the road, with another smaller pile
behind
him on the right side of the road.
The first
thoughts that pop into my mind are
"Why's
Joe standing in the middle of the road?
Where'd
he get that pile of stuff? And where's
his
GS?"
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Crash site, Dempster Highway
Northwest Territories,
Canada |
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R11RS, Dempster Hwy.
Northwest Territories, Canada |
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| Joe and misc. BMW parts.... |
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Joe's GS
Note mud on top of drybag |
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| Cracked swingarm |
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| Detail view of crack |
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| Arctic Circle Certificate |
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Suddenly, I understand everything as
the
RS bars go full lock to the right and
I'm
down, sliding on my right side, through
the
slipperiest mud I've ever seen, following
my RS as it does a slow 180 degree
turn in
the muck on it's right side. Damn!!!
I scramble to my feet, run over to
the bike
and hit the kill switch. I pull my
camera
out of the right chest pocket of my
mud-covered
'Stich, and record the scene for posterity.
Joe is in the distance standing over
his
GS, that second pile is one of his
saddlebags
that was snapped off the GS, the fog
is lifting
from the roadway, the road is muck,
and we're
about 5,000 miles from home. The earplugs
are still in, so it's eerily silent
- there's
nobody else in sight, just the road
stretching
across the tundra into the fog, curving
to
the left in the distance.
Joe walks over to me, and says in a
monotone
"We got a problem - swingarm's
cracked
on the GS....." I reply "Which
one? Are you sure?" Joe looks
at me
like I'm an idiot, and says, in the
same
monotone "Yes, I'm sure; the rear....."
Oh boy - suddenly we're even further
from
home than I thought!
We right my bike first, since we're
both
standing there, and it's not damaged
at all.
Apparently deep mud is about as soft
as deep
snow.
Then we walk down to Joe's GS and wrestle
it upright. Holy crap!!! Joe's bike
high-sided,
snapping off both the saddlebags and
splitting
the rear swingarm open. The rear wheel
is
cocked about 10-15 degrees away from
the
vertical plane. Very, very ugly. We
can look
inside and see the drive shaft and
U-joint
for the para-lever through the crack.
Interesting
in an abstract sort of way at the moment.
The windshield is gone, and there's
a trail
of plastic debris marking the final
trajectory
of the GS, along with little divots
in the
mud and stone roadway marking the impact
points where it tumbled.
Neither of us seems seriously hurt, so we
discuss the best direction to go for help.
The GS is dead. The weather is crap. Fort
Nelson to the north is closer at about 20
miles, while the distance back to Eagle Plains
is about 60 miles. But the road north is
an unknown quantity, it could be 20 miles
of impassable crap for all we know. Since
I'm the one who'll be going, I vote to go
south because at least I know the condition
of that road, even though it is 60+ miles
back to Eagle Plains, and because Joe and
the GS will have to go south eventually anyway.
I ask Joe for his CO2 cartridges, since
he
won't be needing them, and I don't
want to
be stranded on my run for help. Is
there
anything else that would be helpful
from
the dead GS? Nope, and I'm on my way,
going
for help.
I meet up with the French-Canadian
couple
that we snacked with at the Arctic
Circle,
and I warn them that the road ahead
just
past the Northwest Territories border
is
about as slippery as snow. And then
I continue
on.
The muddy spots don't seem as bad on
the
way south, I suspect that the road
has good
drainage and that it probably dries
out quickly.
I get to Eagle Plains safely, and go
to the
front desk of the motel to see who
to contact.
The girl at the front desk tells me
not to
worry, that they've got it handled.
They've
dispatched a Yukon road crew truck
to pick
up Joe and the GS. How'd they know??
A semi-truck
driver radioed it in. Guess it wasn't
as
remote as it seemed at the time.
I hang out, waiting for Joe. To pass
the
time, I talk with the girl at the front
desk.
I also see that they have “Arctic Circle
Crossing” certificates, so I get one
for
Joe and one for myself, the girl at
the front
desk fills them out in perfect calligraphy,
and I rent us a room and lay Joe's
certificate
on his bed. We did get above the Arctic
Circle,
we did ride our motorcycles to the
Arctic...
Then the road crew hauls Joe and the
GS in,
and loads the GS onto a pallet for
the trip
home.
Joe and I talk, he's pretty sore now.
His
thumb and his ribs hurt. He has painkillers
in the first aid kit, and takes some.
And
then he starts going through his stuff
in
the motel room, separating good from
bad,
two piles, one of things that will
be thrown
out here at Eagle Plains and the other
of
stuff that will be go home, somehow.
He boots
up his notebook computer, and it works
!!
It goes in the good pile.
We shower and clean up, we feel a little
better. All our gear looks like Hell....
there's dry mud caked all over everything.
I get out my BMW Anonymous book, looking
for local dealers. Not surprisingly, there's
none in the Northwest Territories or even
in the Yukon, the nearest dealers are in
British Columbia.
We eat supper and discuss some of our
options,
it's not the cheery dinner in Inuvik
we'd
imagined this morning. He tells me
there's
some things he never did find at the
crash
site, such as our food bag; and that
he got
to watch a semi-truck make 3 attempts
at
the hill before getting up it, and
that the
Quebec couple got very sideways coming
down,
in spite of my warning.
Later that evening, I head into the
bar for
some socializing. There's not much
to do
at Eagle Plains, it's really just a
way-station
on the road. The bar is a cross between
"Cheers"
and "Northern Exposure";
the employees
at Eagle Plains outnumber the guests,
and
the truck driver is a regular customer
on
his twice weekly run up to Inuvik.
The guys on the road crew who picked up Joe
and his GS are there, and we get to talking.
They're very ticked that the Northwest Territoires
road crew patrolling the northern section
hadn't notified them that the road was that
bad, or they'd have closed it at Eagle Plains.
And oh, by the way - the Dempster was closed
after your crash. There were cars and semi-trucks
having difficulty at the same spot.
I talk to the semi-truck driver in
the bar,
probably the guy that radioed for help,
and
explain how Joe and I had hoped to
make it
up to Inuvik, that in planning the
trip we'd
looked at the map and we really wanted
to
ride to the very end of the road, and
the
end of the road is Inuvik, and that
we've
failed.
He says not to worry, that we made
it above
the Arctic Circle, how many can say
that?
Inuvik will still be there for us for
another
trip, another year. Gives you an excuse
to
come back again. Then he explains that
we
were pretty much screwed when we left
Eagle
Plains, and tells what he saw coming
southbound
from Inuvik that day - in addition
to the
mud we fell in, further north there
were
extremely high winds in a section of
the
Dempster that the locals call "Hurricane
Alley", and north beyond that
the ferry
landings were so soft that heavy equipment
had to be used to pull some of the
RV's out
of the mud as they left the ferry.
So if we had made it past the mud, it's extremely
doubtful in his opinion that we'd have made
it past the other obstacles in our way. He
then goes on tell me some very interesting
stories about driving semi-trucks on the
Dempster in the winter, when it's dark 24
hours, with the northern lights glowing,
and bitter cold, and the road crews blade
an ice road across the tundra 30 miles past
Inuvik up to "Tuk" on the Arctic
Ocean, and how his truck was blown over one
winter coming through Hurricane Alley, how
it slid forever on it's side in the snow,
and about survival gear carried in the truck....
He says all of this in such a matter of fact
way, no bragging, just simply reporting what
he's seen, I'm in awe of this place, and
the people, and the truck driver telling
me the story. I thought it was a big deal
going to the Arctic Circle on a motorcycle,
and I'm humbled by this truck driver.
When the bar closes, the sun is going
down,
just above the horizon as it's been
since
about 11:00 PM. I go into the lobby,
I'm
wide awake and wound up, and feel like
relaxing.
I look for a recent newspaper, and
the latest
I can find is two weeks old, but it's
news
to me, so sit down and begin to read.
Then
Stan, the owner of the motel, comes
in, tells
me there's no need for me to sit there
alone,
the employees are having a party in
the Atco
trailer next door - would I care to
join
them?
Sure! I head over to the Atco trailer,
which
is the on-site housing for the college
kids
that staff the motel through the summer.
We have some wine, talk about home,
have
some more wine, discuss religion, more
wine,
philosophy... I'm a little bit influenced
by the alcohol, and I tell a political
joke
about doctors and medicine and insurance
- am greeted by a roomful of blank
stares.
Oh yeah, I'm not home - I don't do
that again.
Finally at 3:00 AM we're all exhausted.
I
walk out of the Atco trailer, and the
sun
is still going down in a beautiful
orange
and yellow sunset that has lasted over
4
hours so far.
I stumble into the motel room in the
dark,
Joe mumbles that he wondered when I'd
be
going to bed. I climb into my own bed
and
am instantly asleep.
What a day...
Doug Grosjean
Pemberville, Ohio
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