Whitehorse, Yukon

Distance: 17 miles (total 392 miles)

Climb: 650 feet

Brushing Off the Rust!

Today is the first clear day I’ve seen since arriving in the Yukon. Lucy needed a little exercise, so around 9:30 a.m., we rode north on Mountain View Drive for a few miles in the 53-degree weather before crossing over to the Alaska Highway at Porter Creek. I was rusty after several days of downtime, first in Prince Rupert and now in Whitehorse. After a few more miles, we turned around and rode back.

It felt good to pump my legs and lungs, to breathe in the fresh Yukon air, and to warm in the Canadian sun. The 17-mile ride over two hours regenerated us both. I parked Lucy in the room, showered for the first time in two days, and walked over to Legends.

The fresh air on the deck felt good. I ordered a cheeseburger and fries. The 30-something couple in front of me were kind enough to launch non-stop F-bombs across the deck, as they enjoyed their noon time breakfast of sausage, eggs, and hash browns. Don’t get me wrong! I love a good carpet-bombing of F@#k derivatives as much as the next guy. Who doesn’t, right?

I just wasn’t sure if they were catching up after a long night of partying, freshly released on parole, or had just gotten out of church, but they F-bombed the outdoor dining platform, like this was the last day before both our governments imposed costly F-bomb tariffs.

The woman, who did most of the talking, employed the F term in all its glorious forms—noun, verb, adjective, and gerund—no fewer than 40 or 50 times throughout the meal. Despite his best efforts, her partner simply could not keep up with her. He was only able to sneak 20 or 25 sorties in. He tried. He really did. You gotta hand it to him. He was no match for her prowess. Some people are just born with the gift.

The burger was good, but the service was really poor. There were only two servers, best I could tell, for maybe 12 busy tables inside and the three tables outside.

After feeling adequately rejuvenated by the F-bombing campaign, I went back to the room and napped. (I am a big napper. Not long naps, just regular ones.)

Later in the afternoon, I came out of my room with $1.25 to purchase a Diet Pepsi from a machine.

“Don’t use that one,” a young man with an Australian accent said. “I lost my money in it.”

I thanked him and got on the elevator with him. He and a friend had just ridden bicycles about 550 miles north and back. I was too tired to tell him about R4P. So, when the elevator opened, we parted ways—he outside to explore Whitehorse, and I to the pop machine in the laundromat.

I set my alarm for 11:15 p.m. so I could meet James. He arrived around midnight from the airport. We shook hands, stepped outside, spoke some about R4P, and took photos in the Midnight Sun.

It was a real pleasure to meet him.