Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

Up early, blogged and on to the Rika Roadhouse for a hearty breakfast. Rika's is a restored 2-storey log cabin, that was originally built to offer travellers crossing the Tanana River refuge on their way from Valdez to Fairbanks. Built in 1909 by John Hajdukovich, a Yukoslavian entrepreneur, it was operated by Rika Wallen, a Swedish immigrant, who used to raise silver foxes and also kept many animals, including cows, sheep, chicken, goats, duck, geese, rabbits etc – and had to construct log barns with innovative (for the time) heating in order to do so in the harsh Alaskan climate. But enough education, onto the hearty breakfast. Only it wasn't, because they no longer cook one, so we had to make do with a cinnamon pastry (delicious) and a decaf coffee (I'm not drinking the normal stuff because it gives me a bad head).





After taking a few photos it was time to hit the Alaska Highway (the Alcan as it's known), taking it really easy, running a nice relaxed pace, just enjoying the ride. We stopped at Tok (pronounced “toke” but there was no sign of anyone passing a joint round...) where I had shrimp in a basket for lunch (which was basically 4 deep-fried breaded prawns and chips). Then it was on to the US border, where I passed out of the US without seeing a soul. I pulled up to park and was joined by Kevin, Julia and Aaron. With the sun shining and little sound, it was a perfect spot to stop and enjoy the moment. Officially, we were neither in the US nor Canada (the Canadian customs is 20miles inside the border). We were now entering the Yukon, a mythical land that features in one of my favourite Calvin and Hobbes stories, Yukon Ho!, in which they set off on a big adventure, the Yukon being their destination (despite them not knowing where it is). When Tracy and I were in Thailand in 2004, I bought a tee-shirt that I had intended on wearing on our RTW trip when we got to this point. At last I got to put it to use!





It was then time to enter Canada properly...





The border crossing was simple, all I had to do was hand over my passport, and as Kevin and Julia had already been across confirm that I was travelling with them, and answer the question “When are you flying home?” (answer: 9th December from Buenos Aires...). Beaver Creek and out motel was just down the road, but as we'd lost an hour due to crossing a time-zone, it was now around 4.30pm. There was a laundry on site, so I grabbed my now full bag of dirty socks and underwear and washed them, then shared a tumble-drier with Nick. I went to try and sort the Internet out whilst my smalls were drying, returning about 40 minutes later to discover the drier wasn't working... we'd not pressed the “push to start button”... doh!

By the time we'd got them dried it was time to meet the rest of the group in the lounge bar for a drink and to go over the plans for the next couple of days. One beer turned into another, as is so often the case, and then the pitchers started appearing. I ordered a plate of Hot Wings, which proved to be aptly described, the sauce very hot indeed. They were delicious, but obviously had to be washed down with a few more beers. I'll summarise the rest of the evening, or this will be a very long post... It went something like this: Beer, Pool, Beer, Kevin doing his “preacher act” (which involves a sermon about riding, including a chorus of “twist that throttle” - think Gospel preaching and you'd be close), then American Pie came on the sound system so there was a lot of singing, more beer, then some locals came in and started doing tequila shots (they had 6 each and then left), so we had one just to be sociable, then more beer and singing, then the bar closed so we went up the road with the bar staff (well, Richard, Karen, Nick, Kevin, Julia and I did, the rest had been sensible and bailed out), where we had some more beer and played table football. Finally the bar closed and we staggered up the road back to the motel and our beds. I have no idea what time it was, but it was dark (which makes a change from Alaska).