Dempster Diary Update 6

The Third Day

I slept in (hell I think I deserved it), woke up refreshed, and after a shower that dispensed surprisingly copious amounts of water, to my delight, I headed downstairs for a huge “camp” breakfast that I so love.  Screw the cholesterol: I was gonna have buttered toast, hash browns, eggs, bacon and sausages, and lots of it, washed down by fresh coffee, in a room that had Norman Rockwell prints all mover the place. 

The plan for today was simply to look at the signpost forest and hit Whitehorse, where I hoped to stay for a day or two (depending on what I could find to do).  My rationale was that although I made no reservations in advance (except in Prince George), I did in fact want to do so once I hit each town in turn, for the next one in line, because my plans would be firm by then ast when I would be arriving and how long I’d be staying.  I had to check into Tok, Dawson City, and confirm the Dempster road conditions.  On top of that there were the weather issues and any changes in plan I might want to indulge. My mad scramble for the North was now over, and I could proceed to take some time and smell the roses (and the coffee, the hash browns, sausages, toast and multiple eggs over easy).

 

Having written the previous day’s notes, I proceeded to a leisurely stop over at the signpost forest, which was exactly as I had been led to expect. To my surprise, there wasn’t as much variety as I had been led to expect: I mean yes, there were lots of signs, but in the main, almost 95% were (get this) from Americans from what seemed to be every state in the Union.  Hardly any Canadians, in comparison, and even those were often crowded out by Germans, Brits and Aussies.  I hunted around as best as I could, but found no West Indians and no Central Asians: I might have missed one or two, always possible in a forest with 45000 leaves, but even so, I was disappointed not to find any.

That said, I was fascinated with how many different kinds of materials were used to make the signs that people put up: number plates, street signs, road signs, town signs, metal baskets, plates, sheets of metal, planks of wood with the names carved or burned in or simply written on, styrofoam, plastic maps, hub caps and even a circular saw blade...the ingenuity of the materials was truly astounding and I delighted in finding new and strange ones.

I took my pictures, and as I did so, I made my own decision: I would not place myself in any of the photos.  One day, years from now, I’ll come here and bring my own signs: for Guyana, for Kyrgyzstan, for Zambia, Kazakhstan and Germany…and one for Calgary, where we now rest our hats. I think it’s right that Surujballys are properly represented in all the lands we have called home.

I moseyed over to the Northern Lights centre, but their first show was only at 1pm, and even though my trip itinerary today was a short one (about five hours or so), I didn’t feel like spending that much time in Watson Lake, so I regretfully said “Crap” and headed out the door, feeling grateful that today, at least, I didn’t have to drive for fifteen hours or over a thousand miles.  In point of fact, I could afford to be leisurely and take my time, take advantage of photo opportunities as they presented themselves.

Unfortunately for that plan, the weather started to get all gray on me, and it continued that way all day.  And there really wasn’t that much to look at, bar some waterfalls that intrigued me when I saw the sign with a camera on it which indicates something worthy of investigation. 

I stopped at Teslin for a bit – the road overlooking the town on the other side of the river makes for a nice picture, and, while refueling, was treated to a pleasant bit of Yukon hospitality that I’ll be positive and optimistic about and say it is meant genuinely: ever since I passed Bell 2 yesterday, I have not once been asked to present either credit card or driver’s license for security while I go pump my gas. “Naw, just go and pump and come back and tell me how much it is,” I’ve been told by the lady at Tattogga (home of the mosquito trap), the old geezer at Watson Lake and now here at Teslin.  Makes me hope that the whole north is like that, honestly, because in too many people I’ve met on my travels, cynicism and a sense that mankind’s poorer nature is usually on display, is more often than not the predominant attitude.  Now I’m fully prepared to admit that there’s probably video-surveillance around, and since there are just a few roads in and out of and around the Yukon, anybody stupid enough to drive off will probably get nabbed without difficulty…but I still liked it that they say what they do.

So I drove off and around and took my time, and drifted into Whitehorse around three.  Too late to do anything meaningful, too early to go to sleep.  So I updated the blogs, posted the photos and after chowing down a reasonable dinner that will inflate my room bill alarmingly, have decided to call it a day…hoping that my wife and daughters have really enjoyed the Lion King opera they’re going to tonight (tickets bought seven months ago, and they’re good ones), that they’ll call me later, and that Mark is having a good time with Max at his house. I miss them all.

Maybe the wife is right, and this is the first and last time I’ll ever do this as a married man.  I’m enjoying it for sure – the fact that I can drive like this and still look around, still take joy and great interest in the vistas and people and things I see more or less proves that it’s not been a waste – but there’s no question that I am no longer the same man who jetted off with such carefree abandon and no second thoughts to Kyrgyzstan in 1995, or to Kujjuuak in 2003. Now….well, now I want others around me to see these things, it’s no longer enough that I’ve been here and said “Kilroy was here.” I want my family, my friends, to see and come along and share.  If for no other reason than to make this one point clear, this whole trip has been worth it already.

But still: it’s good, I think, to sometimes explore the route before subjecting others to it.  I feel better about it. And I pat myself fondly on the back (while looking guiltily over it to see if my clever darling wife is looking) at this blatant piece of self-justification, and telll myself soberly, while nodding like a sage, “Yes man, dat’s what it all about. Is all for dem.”

I’ll probably sleep like a lamb tonight after swallowing that one, and go looking for a bridge to buy on the morrow.