Johnson's Crossing to Munch Lake

(Mercifully) Cool to start, warmed up with hazy sun

Up at six and quite excited. Will we have a proper riding day without interruptions from God? After a gargantuan (and world famous) cinnamon bun, we set off at 7.30, bang on schedule. It was great to be riding again, great to be on our way but even better to be cool. Cold, even.

We really racked up the kilometres, not stopping until Watson's Lake, 315 km down the road. The countryside was shrouded in what we thought was morning haze but, as we got closer, our noses told us that it was smoke from the numerous forest fires which are burning the Yukon. As we rounded a bend across the top of Lake Teslin, we could see for ourselves several fires on the far shore, each creating spumes of blue smoke. We couldn't see any flames, though. Other than this memory, it was heads down and riding hard, all the way to Watson Lake. That first coffee tasted 'reeel gourd', as they say 'round here.

We passed into British Columbia and then, just a few miles later, bizarrely we returned to Yukon. Hmmm. But not for long as soon we re-entered BC. Yukon's mountains gave way to BC's lower - but still impressive - hills, now most with their slopes softened by spruce trees. Every 25 km or so we seem to pass over another river large enough to engender awe in any other part of the world but, here, they're common as ditches. Canada's finest highway engineers do, though, need to be called to book for some of their bridges. They look all very fine on approach but then you realise that the bridge surface is open-meshed metal decking, the weave of which snakes across the span. A motorbike, being a slavish student of physics, follows the meandering of the metal, such to induce a most unpleasant - frightening, even - fishtailing. We suffered three or four of these today. (But some of the bridges, including one suspension bridge, were beautiful, though. GT)

Sandwich Break
We stopped by the side of the road to eat the sandwiches we'd bought in Watson's Lake. While we chomped a bike roared past so, as is the scheme of things, we waved. The rider didn't wave back but suddenly stopped a quarter of a mile down the road, U-turned, and came back. Sorry, he said, I was asleep. This bloke had been riding since 2.00 o'clock the previous morning on his way home to Montana, having left a summer solstice party inside the Arctic circle. What a sight! He was riding an old ratbike CB750 which (as they do) was leaking copious quantities of oil from its head gasket, on both sides of the engine. Not only was the bike completely coated in hot oil, so was he. His kit was saved from eternal waterproofing by the expedient of wearing plastic hiking gaiters which caught the worst of the deluge. And he worked in an Honda dealership!

Lake Muncho
We made the J&H Wilderness Motel, on the stunning shores of Lake Muncho, at 4.00 in the afternoon, 576 km in 8.5 hours. At last! We're making up some time. So expect Yarweh to be forging heavy hammers of fate ready for tomorrow.

One really delightful interlude has been an hour's trip around the lake on a pretty wooden

craft, captained by Cap'n Jack, on whom Cap'n Birds Eye was obviously modelled. Jack had a fine knowledge of the natural history of the area and its wildlife and, crucially, he cared deeply about the place. This came through with a narrative delivery that would not have been out of place in Lake Wobegon. Charming.

Jeff 22.06.04