Ever since the first time I heard Johnny Horton sing "North to Alaska", I was intrigued by the North. No, not Prince George, I mean the Real North-- the Yukon, Northwest Territories and Alaska.

I did spend a few years working in northern British Columbia and was able to spend a great deal of time in Whitehorse and other Yukon points. But that was nearly a quarter of a century ago and I was long overdue making a journey back.

Well, this year, a group of us from Williams Lake (and Linda from Lillooet) decided to do a motorcycle trip up the Alaska Highway to Whitehorse and points north, time and weather permitting.

We left Williams Lake the morning of Saturday, August 4, 2001 and headed up through Prince George onto the Hart Highway with Dawson Creek as our first night's destination. With the exception of some rain through Quesnel, we arrived in Dawson Creek warm and dry.

The next morning, we lined our motorcycles up on either side of the "Mile Zero" post in downtown Dawson Creek for a photo op. No big problem at eight in the morning on a Sunday in Dawson Creek. With the exception of one late night partier using a convenient planter as a urinal, I think we were the only ones up and moving at that time.

On up the Alaska Highway past Fort Nelson to our second night's accommodation at Tetsa River Outfitters. This was a very rustic outfitter's camp near the Tetsa River (hence the name, I guess!)

Now, the Alaska Highway was apparently paved back in 1992 for the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the road. Well, since that time, a lot of the pavement-- or chip coating in most cases-- has had to be repaired or replaced. Needless to say, we experienced numerous sections of dry, dusty gravel surfaces along the way. Potholes along the way could rival Cranbrook's best (or is that worst?)!!

Our third day of travel saw us arrive in Watson Lake, Yukon, the home of the world famous "Signpost Forest". This "forest" was started back when the Alaska Highway was being constructed when a homesick soldier nailed a sign to a tree indicating his home town and the number of miles it was to get there from Watson Lake. I added a "Cranbrook" sign to this "forest" back in 1976 when there were only about ten or twelve posts with signs on them. Well, in the twenty-five years that have passed the "forest" has grown from those few posts to an amount numbering in the hundreds!! No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find my sign. Oh well, maybe it's time to make a new one for the next trip to the Yukon.

From Watson Lake we continued on westward through Teslin to Whitehorse where we spent a couple of nights regrouping and doing laundry. We took in Whitehorse's famous Frantic Follies-- a show similar in nature to the summer shows at Fort Steele. We also took the opportunity to get our bikes serviced at the local Harley dealer.

The weather was predicted to continue warm and sunny for the foreseeable future so we continued on our trip. We headed up the Klondike Highway to Dawson City. No trip up that highway would be complete without a stop at Braeburn Lodge for a famous cinnamon bun and coffee. The buns are large enough that two can easily share one and still be stuffed afterwards!

A couple of nights were planned for Dawson City so we could take in some of its attractions. One of the most enjoyable was the Robert Service presentation. A local actor has been performing this show for a number of years now and did an excellent job. He narrated the history of Robert Service and then intertwined a few of his most famous poems-- "The Spell of the Yukon", "The Shooting of Dan McGrew" and "The Cremation of Sam McGee" as well as an encore with a recitation of "Bessie's Boil" that brought down the house!

We toured the largest dredge that was used on Bonanza Creek in the area. Built nearly 100 years ago, it could still be considered an engineering feat today. Nearly four stories tall, it would work up the creekbed in its own pond. It would scoop up bedrock from in front and transport it up a conveyor belt to a set of screens and riffles where the black sand and gold would settle out before the tailings were discharged out the back. It would work its way up the streambed, cutting away from in front and filling in behind, all the time moving slowly upstream. Each link of the chain used to raise and lower the cutting boom was the length of a man. All parts of the dredge were constructed in the Eastern United States and shipped piece by piece out to the goldfields where it would be assembled on site. Although it would employ many men to construct it, only four were needed to operate it once done.

The "Top of the World" Highway is literally that-- a highway on the top of the world. This road runs from Dawson City to the Alaska border and then into a little settlement called Chicken, Alaska. Why did they call it "Chicken", you ask. Well, they wanted to name it after the bird that was most abundant in the area but no one could spell "Ptarmigan", also known as the chicken of the north.

Once across the Yukon River on a small ferry, the "Top of the World" climbs quickly away from Dawson City to the tops of the mountains. You travel mainly above tree-line all the way to the little customs station on the Alaska-Yukon border. The road there is paved, or at least chip-sealed, for a good way out before reverting back to just gravel. Once across the border into Alaska the road gets worse! It's more like a poor exploration road at this point. Where are the dirt-bikes when you need them? My poor old Harley has sure been taking a beating.

About halfway down from the border to Chicken, I noticed my bike was handling a bit funny. I pulled over as best I could on this narrow, dusty, rough backroad and looked at my back tire. Oh well, at least it's only flat on one side!! A large fence staple, the thickness of a four-inch nail, was imbedded in my back tire and had punctured the tube.

Thank goodness for the presence of mind of one of our company, we had a patch kit, tire irons and a small compressor with us. With my bike backed up over the ditch and propped up under the frame with a number of flat rocks, we were able to remove the wheel and tire and get the tube out. A couple of attempts at getting the patch to stick-- each time someone drove by, the dust would billow up and settle back down on everyone and everything making it difficult to get a "clean" surface on which to apply the patch-- we were able to finally get the tube to hold air. We reinstalled the tube and inflated the tire to full capacity and then tried to put it back on the bike. Well, no matter how hard we tried, how many different ways we approached the problem, how many ways we held our mouths, the darn thing would not fit between the belt guard and the brake caliper.

It came out easy enough. What was the difference? Oh yeah, it came off with no air in it. We quickly deflated the tire back down and, sure enough, it slipped back into place with little difficulty. By the time we again re-inflated the tire to the proper pressure you could have fried eggs on that poor little compressor!

The patch job held until we were nearly back at Beaver Creek in the Yukon. The bike got a ten kilometer ride into Beaver Creek on a snowmobile trailer behind an RCMP pickup truck. The bike and I were dropped off at the local campground which just happened to be about a block away from a tire repair shop.

The next morning the tube was re-patched (ours had finally come unglued) and remounted on the bike and we were back on our way. This time our destination was Carcross along the highway to Skagway, Alaska.

A couple of incidents while on the way to and while in Carcross kept us there an extra day. One of our first-year riders dropped her bike at low speed and ended up breaking her wrist. After the necessary surgery to install pins and other hardware at the Whitehorse Hospital, we took her bike into the Harley dealer to be shipped down to Williams Lake by truck. We had planned to do a run down into Skagway one day when the Harley dresser that was on the trip experienced a crack in the support for the trunk. One of the couples on the trip had lived in Carcross and knew nearly everyone there. It was only a matter of time before a local was contacted who had an uncanny ability to fix or repair almost anything. Once done, we left the next day for the Cassiar-Stewart Highway.

We camped that next evening at one of my favourite lakes in the entire country-- now called Boya Lake, I knew it affectionately as Chain Lake when I lived and worked in Cassiar those so many years ago. No showers at this Provincial Campground, so it meant a dip in the lake to clean off the day's accumulation of dust and dirt.

Linda and I did a little detour off the road into the old townsite of Cassiar. However, the road is gated off by the old mine dry and access to the old townsite is not possible. I was able to point out a few features to Linda anyway before we made our way back to Highway 37. On the way out I was finally able to locate the remains of a log cabin I had helped build back then. It had been torched some time previously and Mother Nature had seen fit to hide it behind some of her handiwork.

The Cassiar-Stewart Highway (Highway 37) had only a few short portions of pavement back when I frequented it. Now, there were only a few short portions that were not paved or chip-sealed. Mind you, those portions were not very pleasant to ride on with a Harley, especially a portion south of Bell II where they have ripped up the entire road and road bed and are totally rebuilding it. Thank goodness that the road was dry and packed or we may not have been able to traverse it by motorcycle.

Our stop that evening was in Stewart with a trip down to Hyder, Alaska planned for the next morning.

The next morning dawned grey and overcast with the definite feel of precipitation hanging about. The rest of the crew decided to press on while Linda and I decided to hang back and take in a few of the sights. We traveled the two kilometres down to Hyder, took our pictures at the border and returned to Stewart. The bikes at this point were filthy so a trip to the local car wash was in order. About twelve dollars later, both bikes were somewhat cleaner and ready to head on down the road.

A stop along the Bear River to take photos of the incredible waterfalls in the area and another at Bear Glacier to attempt to capture the beautiful turquoise blue of the glacier on film was made. I'm sure the photos will not do the glacier justice.

A stop at the VanDyke Camp near Meziadin for refreshment and we were on our way again for Kitwanga, some two hours south, the next semblance of civilization.

We stopped in Smithers that evening. A motel advertising a hot-tub caused the bikes to do a quick left hand turn off the highway. After a fantastic meal and a soak in the tub a real bed never felt so good.

The final day of traveling saw us leaving Smithers and traveling along Highway 16, the Yellowhead, towards Prince George. So far, the weather has been kind and we have not had to wear our rain gear for some time now. That did have to come to an end though. About thirty kilometres before Prince George, the skies decided to open up and provide us with a full-immersion baptism!!

Rains followed us off and on, mostly on, for the rest of the run down to Williams Lake. Total distance traveled for the trip added up to just under 6000 kilometres! Not bad for a two-week jaunt.

I'm definitely ready for coffee, eh...