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finlandia

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I continue westwards across Ontario, through a countryside of lakes, trees, and rock. Once, alongside the road, I see a moose cow and calf. I stop to take a photo, but by the time I get out of my van, the moose is vanishing into the forest.

I stop in Thunder Bay for lunch. On a tip from a gas station attendant (“It’s world famous!”), I find Thunder Bay’s Hoito Ravintola (“Care Restaurant”). The restaurant is in the basement of the Finlandia club, and has all of the ambiance of a soup kitchen, except that Hoito offers table service. I wait in line at the bottom of the steps for a half hour with other hungry visitors. We watch folks eat and wish them a happy but quick meal. Finally a table becomes available, and I sit down.

Hoito was founded long ago by Finnish timber workers. When they came into Thunder Bay on their days off, they weren’t able to find good Finnish food, so they opened Hoito. Initially the restaurant served everything for the same price, about $1 per meal.

My waitress is a tall blond woman, strong and weathered. She walks up to the table and asks “Do you need a menu?” I nod and she brings one. After considering the liver and the fried Finnish sausages, I order the ‘salt fish and onions’.

“Oh, that’s just salmon that is preserved with salt” Helga says. “You can’t eat that.”

I assure her I can.

“No, perhaps you would like the roast beef sandwich” she asks.

I like salmon, I insist, and the salmon with onions sounds great.

“It’s very salty.”

I like salty.

“It’s not cooked, you know. Not even smoked.”

Sounds great. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Though not convinced that I will enjoy my salt fish and onions, she finall agrees to bring me some. It’s delicious, like thick-cut lox with a generous heap of raw white and green onions on top. The plate also includes rye bread, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and corn.

“Hmmmph. I guess you like salt fish after all” she says, approvingly eyeing my empty plate. “Would you like some pie?”

After considering blueberry (“It’s from a can!” she whispered), I ordered a slice of rhubarb pie. It was delicious, warm and mushy and tart.

The entire meal, including a bowl of soup to start, cost me $10 CDN. Not bad, and the salt fish was the most expensive item on the menu.

Heading out of town, I pass the Motel 8, which is featuring “Wazooz” in their lounge, “An Ozzy Tribute Band!” It seems strange to have a tribute band to someone who is still walking around performing himself.

I intend to stop for the night in Kenora, on the north end of Lake of the Woods, but the entire town is booked solid for a convention of French-Indians. I continue on, and on, driving into Manitoba. I finally stop at a truck stop on the far side of Winnipeg, parking amongst the trucks and eating dinner at midnight. I’m tired, homesick, and depressed.

Tonight I’m in Moosomin, Saskatchewan. It’s a small town on the Trans-Canadian, just inside the province. I’m still tired and homesick, but less depressed. Tonight I’ll get lots of sleep.

Coyote

south along the alaskan panhandle

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August 14th, 1996. Vancouver. Where it all began.

I haven’t written for a while, and I’m not likely to write any more dispatches. Unfortunately, the second Duo I borrowed won’t boot. Tobin’s suggesting that I get a job as a Apple Duo Road Tester. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I certainly seem to be hard on them. Anyhow, I’ll try to summarize what has happened to me since I left the group at Haines Junction, Alaska.

John and I drove south, looking forward to seeing our boyfriends, who had flown into Haines that day. We’d been away from our guys for three weeks or so, and it was going to be good to see them again. Despite this almost pathological desire for snuggles, however, the Haines Road took our breath away.

The Haines Road is spectacular. I’ve driven on the Dempster (starkly beautiful) and Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier, Montana (spectacular and aptly-named). I’ve driven through Yosemite valley, which is a temple. I’ve driven some of the most beautiful mountain roads in the U.S. and Canada, but the Haines Road is the most awe-inspiring road I’ve driven yet.

The road climbs through sharp peaks and snow-capped mountains, following the path of the Chilkoot trail (one of the two trails to the Yukon gold rush.) It’s not an easy route. The road twists and turns and climbs and climbs.

At the pass, John and I stopped and got out to take some photos. In front of us was a range full of glaciers. The sky was thick with clouds, which draped around some of the peaks like sheets on an unmade bed. The wind was cold, and constant. And most wonderfully of all, there were no mosquitos.

I climbed down the embankment to a clearing. It took a few minutes for it to sink in, but I was soon on my knees, grazing. Yum! Blueberries! Zillions of them, covering the clearing. I called for John to bring a bowl, and the two of us started picking. I’d pick for a while in one area, and then look up to find even bigger, more luscious blueberries a few feet away. I’d move, and after a while the same thing would happen. I was in blueberry heaven.

We arrived at the hotel in Haines, and met our boyfriends.

When the four of us saw each other the next morning, we drove down to the ferry. We ate granola with wild blueberries while waiting the two hours for the ferry to load. I can’t unfortunately write much about Haines. Dan and I didn’t leave our room much, and the ferry left at 7am. From the deck of the ship the town appears like a small colony at the feet of massive mountains. It’s quite beautiful.

One of the neat things about the ferries is that no matter when you stop at a town, there are tour busses waiting for you. They specialize in taking you our to see local attractions and getting you back before the boat sails. They’re there WHENEVER the boat arrives.

The ferry stopped in Juneau for an hour. We got off and got onto the tour bus to the Mendenhall glacier just outside of town. Dan and I walked as close as we could to the glacier, but the really cool thing we saw was a sockeye salmon spawning creek.

The salmon are amazing. First of all, after several years at sea they find the creek of their birth by SMELL. We’re not talking about major rivers here. The creek we saw was about 5 feet wide and 6 inches deep. Many of the salmon couldn’t even fit through parts of the stream. They would wiggle through on their bellies. Then they’d rest in a deeper spot, twenty or thirty of them side-by-side. They’d nip at each other, swim a little, and rest some more.

The Mendenhall Glacier itself it worth a look-see. It’s very large and drops right down into a lake. Within the lake are small icebergs, floating on the water and glowing like flourescent Windex crystals. (For those brand-name impaired readers, this is an intense baby blue.)

We did get back to the ferry in time. Yay! Along the way back, the driver pointed out a sturdy fence surrounding the elementary school playground. “That’s a bear fence. Protects the kids, who tend to look too much like prey.”

We were lucky enough to be on the same ferry with the Holser family. Malcom and his wife Molli wanted to join us on our journey to Inuvik in his 1980 Vanagon, but the timing wasn’t quite right. Instead they went their own way, hoping to meet at least part of the group somewhere or other.

Dan and I played Magic with his oldest kid, Ian, who was a very fun guy. He was just learning Magic, poor kid, and no one warned him how dangerously addicting it might be. Anyhow, Dan and I smashed him mercilessly in several games, knowing from experience that if we played him in a month or two, he’d do the same to us. (Incidentally, the other two kids are Colin and Dylan. There’s definitely a theme going on here.)

Malcom has a very cool lifestyle. He works for Adobe, but lives in the Sierra. Several times a week he commutes to the bay area… by flying his own plane. If I had kids, I would definitely want them to grow up in the mountains.

The next ferry stop was in Sitka, at 2 in the morning. There were busses waiting, and all four of us climbed on for a quickie tour of town. Our first stop was St. Michael’s Cathedral. The cathedral was built around 1844 by Bishop Innocent of the Russian Orthodox Church. The cathedral isn’t huge like Notre Dame, but it is nevertheless spectacular. And though it was 2am, we got a short lecture by the church’s choir director. And a plea for money.

Next we stopped by the Raptor Repair Center. The Raptor Repair Center is where eagles, owls, and hawks are brought when they break. There are lots of parts visible in the building, including bones, feet, etc. You can also see bald eagles up-close and personal, which is very neat. They’re BIG birds. And as Gary Larson says, ‘Birds of prey know they’re cool.’ They also asked us for money.

Our first *real* stop was in Petersburg. My impressions of Petersburg may be colored by the constant rain while we were there, but it didn’t strike me as the sort of place where I would want to live. I think after a week I’d be sending up distress flares to passing planes. First of all, the town smelled heavily of fish. Secondly, there was a bad water shortage while we were there. And thirdly, there were VERY few good restaurants in town.

The best place Dan and I ate was the Kave, a local bar. There is a small mexican place within the bar, and they make delicious burritos. Not only that, but a local band was playing, and they were really good. All in all, a nice place to hang out.

Our next stop, Ketchikan, was much more fun. Ketchikan is a happening place. I was pretty dubious when I heard we wer
e staying at the “New York Hotel”, but it’s a charming small hotel (8 rooms) with a wonderful attached café, and a sweet elderly couple running the place. Recommended.

Ketchikan is built vertically, with some streets becoming staircases. The town rises up from the water to the mountains, and there are lots of beautiful views. Down by the water is Creek Street, built on piers along a creek. It used to be the red-light district, and now houses a combination of tourist crap and cool stuff. One place that has very cool tourist crap is the Soho Coho gallery. This is Ray Trolls’ gallery, best known for his “Spawn or Die” t-shirt. He’s a great artist though, sort of a northwest Gary Larson, and it’s worth going to the gallery to just browse. One t-shirt says, for example, “Decaffeinated (art) Decapitated (art) Know the difference!”

Downstairs is the 5-Star Cafe, a great coffee shop with truly yummy black- bean burritos. They have poetry readings, too, so check the place out.

Dan and I caught a local play called “The Fish Pirate’s Daughter”. If you appreciate camp and love audience participation, then get thee to this play. It’s GREAT. In fact, I saw it twice while I was in Ketchikan. And I’d see it again. (The second time was one of the rare and wonderful trans-gender performances of the play!) The acting (for the most part) is definitely small-town theatre company, but that’s one of the great things about this play. The actors sometimes flub their lines, and everyone laughs, and they make faces at the audience. It’s incredible fun.

Ketchikan is a town I could easily live in. While we were there, there was the Blueberry festival. The methodist women sold slices of pie, there was a slug race, and local artists showed off their work. And it wasn’t a tourist event… this was real small-town America. This was community.

It was hard to leave.

But I did leave, sailing overnight to Prince Rupert. The drive down from P.R. was long, but (mostly) uneventful. I got into Vancouver around 3pm, and wandered around waiting for everyone else to arrive. I hung around Davie street, which is the big gay street in Vancouver. I ate dinner, and still no Christa or Tobin. I wandered around some more, and appreciated that Vancouver was the sort of place that had restaurants open until 11pm.

At around 11pm, I returned to find Jack’s bus next to mine. I rang Tobin, and he let me up. We spent some time catching up, but I really wanted to get into my bus. I missed my bus the same way I miss my home. The EuroVan was very nice, but it wasn’t *my bus*.

We went down to the garage and parked the EuroVan in a spare spot. I then went to move my bus so Tobin could take over the spot.

Odd, the drivers’ seat was fully forward. I went around the bus to the passenger side. Hey! Both the passenger door and the sliding door were ajar and unlocked. I opened the sliding door, and the interior of the bus was a mess. My stuff was scattered on the floor. I’m usually so neat… Then it slowly dawned on me… I’D BEEN RIPPED OFF!!! My bus had been robbed!

When their house is robbed, folks say they feel violated. I felt like I was going to vomit, or like I’d swallowed a magnet and I was standing on a steel floor. It was horrible. Why would someone do this to my home!?!?

Tobin was standing next to me, and got really angry. This was a secure garage, and you need a key to get in or out of it. And some punks had broke in and ripped off his friends’ car. Tobin wasn’t happy.

I was just stunned. I felt dizzy.

Okay, I assessed the damage. The folks who ripped off the bus had been really good. They’d professionally removed the CD player, and then searched the bus for other components. They found, and removed, the amplifier. They got my CB radio handset out of the glovebox and took that. They also got the faceplate for the CD player from the glovebox. (I figured that it was safe in the garage…)

They didn’t break any windows or do any significant damage to the car, thank god. They cut some wires, and broke a dash panel a little, but otherwise they removed things very cleanly. I was thankful they hadn’t hurt my car… It is weird to have that sort of bond with a piece of equipment, but a VW bus is pretty special.

This morning I filed a police report, and called my insurance agent. My deductible is only $50, and everything will be covered, since it was all built into the car. Other than the emotional pain, I only really have to suffer driving 3 days without music. It could have been much worse.

So tonight Jack, Christa, Tobin, and I will have pizza and cider and officially end the trip. And tonight I’ll cross the border, heading south, and go as far as I can. But not because I want to leave Vancouver. More because I need a hug from Dan, and it’s a long ways away.

Ron

P.S. Despite everything, I still believe people are good at heart. Except for the fuckers who broke into my bus.

P.P.S. Oh, yeah. Jack and I were doing our laundry, and there was a woman in the laundry room folding her clothes. Jack muttered something about ‘wanting to get everything clean.’ Of course, I thought. I headed for the elevator. Just as it arrived, Jack came came around the corner from the laundry, wearing his backpack, boxer shorts, and a nothing else. “These shorts are clean, or I would have washed them too” said Jack

south to alaska

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Well, I’ve been really lazy about writing. Things have been moving fast, and I just haven’t taken the time to write.

We all returned to Dawson City together from Inuvik. It was hard for me to leave Invuik. It’s a nice little town, and it’s so isolated that I felt protected there. The people there were really nice, and the tundra is beautiful. Inuvik is really somewhat forested, but the immediate area is surrounded by tundra. Dave Barry says that ‘tundra’ is an eskimo word meaning ‘nothing.’ Maybe that’s why I like it… the nothingness appeals to my zen nature.

Two vans (Dennis Gentry, and John and I) drove all the way through from Inuvik to Dawson City. We were tired of running around, so we wanted to get to Dawson so that we could set there a day. The other vans made it varying distances south, and everyone arrived the next day. Our two vans made the trip with no problems, but I heard later that there were a few flats in the other vans. More seriously, Pete and Sallye Clark lost a wheel entirely. From the looks of things, it had been running loose for a while, and eventually left the car entirely. They found the tire a few hundred feet out in the tundra, scrounged a lug nut from each of the other wheels, and continued south.

From Dawson City, the group shattered. Bus owners are free spirits, and the Inuvik was the goal holding us all together. Once we accomplished this goal, many folks went their own ways. Jack Stafford, Jorge and Yvette, the Wigleys, Tobin and Christa, John and I, the Freemans, and Dennis Gentry all drive from Dawson City to Tok, Alaska together. After that, Dennis headed north to Fairbanks.

John and I continued with the rest of the folks south to Haines Junction, Alaska. There everyone continued east, while John and I turned south to Haines.

The road to Haines is probably the most beautiful road I’ve driven on this trip. Sharp snow-capped mountains line the road, which tends to stay above the tree line. Neat Chilkat pass, John and I stopped to take photos of the glaciers. I climbed down off the road onto the tundra, and immediately noticed that the ground was covered with blueberries.

I called out to John, who scrambled down with a bowl. We squatted there a half-hour, picking blueberries, with the glorious glaciers creeping down the hillsides around us. There were billions of lush, ripe blueberries out there. I would pick in one spot for a while, and then look around. Invariably I would see another spot with even more, fatter blueberries. We almost filled the bowl, and had some of the berries in granola while waiting for the ferry the next morning.

While waiting for the ferry, we also met the Holser family. The Holsers wanted to join us for the trek to Inuvik, but their schedule didn’t work out, so they were travelling the north hoping to find us along the way. From Haines to Petersburg, we were on the same ferry. Nice folks, travelling with three kids. Dan and I played Magic with their 13-year-old, Ian. We beat him twice, but I expect that the next time we meet him he’ll kick our butts. Teenagers learn fast.

The ship stopped for three hours in Sitka, from 1:30 to 4:30 in the morning. It seems like enterprising tour operators are always waiting for the ferry to come in, 24 hours a day, and this was no exception. We paid our $10, and were hauled around Sitka for a while. We visited the Russian Orthodox Church. It was very cool, in an icons-and-ceremony sort of way. There was a painting of the Virgin Mother that was supposed to heal folks. It was a nice painting, but it didn’t do anything for my low-level depression.

Then we were off to the Raptor Repair Center, where they fixed broken eagles. They specialized in Bald Eagles, and my suspicion is that this is because they bring in the donations. They had eagle parts hanging around, like bones, feet, etc. Everything you’d need to fix your bird.

The eagles themselves, though, were magnificent. I’ve only seen a bald eagle once before, and that was at a distance. They’re BIG. Real big. And they have a very majestic, fierce, don’t-fuck-with-me look in their eyes. I can understand why the U.S. would want them for a symbol, despite what ol’ Ben Franklin thought. (He wanted us to pick the wild turkey.)

In Petersburg, we bade goodbye to the Holsers, and drove into town. Petersburg is a small Norwegian community that seems to make most of their money from fishing. The town smells fishy, and fish guts float in the water of the harbor. Right now they’re experiencing a severe water shortage. The processing plants have cut their water usage in half, and we were asked to keep our showers short. Drinking water has to be boiled, and the whole town is on edge. If the water level in the resevoir drops any more, then the water supply for the entire town will be shut off. The fish processing plants would have to shut down operations. Quite a crisis.

I’m regretting somewhat leaving the ‘official’ tour. I miss Tobin and Christa and everyone else. The scenery from the ferry is wonderful, but I rather enjoyed staying in the EuroVan. I miss my flannel sheets and beautiful wool blankets. And I miss the conversations on the CB about everything from where we would camp that evening to Indonesian politics.

I’m also a little sad that the tour is winding down. Life on the road is rather nice, and I’m not ready for it to end.

Ron

P.S. Jorge, who burnt himself quite badly starting a fire, is now almost completely healed. He had some patches of new pink skin, but the burn seems to have peeled off almost entirely. (Too bad his goatie didn’t burn off as well… he would be much cuter without it :-)

tuktoyaktuk

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I didn’t write from Inuvik since our time there was pretty short. I wanted to spend as much time there as possible, and there just wasn’t time for writing. Actually, I wanted to spend much more time in Inuvik. I felt comfortable there. But travelling with a group, sometimes you need to move on.

I like the folks I’m travelling with. Bob Hoover is bluntly honest, arrogant but wise. He rubs folks the wrong way, and doesn’t seem to give a damn. And he hates being beholding to anyone. Christa and Tobin are almost one unit, very close and very much part of one another. They’re also very sweet people. I like them a lot. And Christa gives good hugs. Their kid will be very lucky to have such parents.

Jorge and Yvette are two kids on the loose, partying their way from Puerto Rico to Inuvik. They stay up later than everyone else and get up in time to hit the road. Jack Stafford doesn’t say much, and when he does talk, he tends to be interesting. He seems to have hooked up with Yvette and Jorge and they sit around the fire at night.

Neil and Niniek Wigley seem to have buddied up with Pete and Sallye Clark. They seem to be wonderful people, though I haven’t talked much with them at this point. Niniek has wonderful indonesian food, and loves to feed people. My mom was the same way (with Canadian food), and I think Niniek is really sweet.

The Freeman’s (Freemen?) caught up with us in Eagle Plains, and they’re a great group of people. They’re the classic nuclear family, except Dad drives around in coveralls and always looks ready to climb under the bus and fix something. Their son Ross is already a hearthrob at 15, and their daughter Lynn is beautiful like her mother.

The Kanes are wonderful people. Don lent me his Duo for as long as I need it, and I’m using it to type this dispatch. Alan is a little ball of energy, buzzing around camp and giving us all gifts of rocks. He’s very sweet, except when he’s covered with marshmallow or playing ‘see-food’. Vivian is quiet and shy and pretty. I think that in a few years, she’ll be breaking boys’ hearts left and right. Bess (Don’s wife) seems to be a great person, though she’s often so busy watching over the kids that I haven’t gotten a chance to talk much with her.

Gary Millang has a great smile, and a sort of midwest friendliness. His wife Corin is equally friendly, and somewhat of an artist. She’s also a massage therapist (this may be why Gary’s always smiling.) Their daughter Lauren is a nice quiet kid who seems to love taking the dogs for walks.

Dennis Gentry is a hell of a nice guy. He’s easy going and push-starts his bus about half of the time. He has that quiet hacker arrogance. When I wrote earlier that he was helping to find the problem with the Kane’s bus, he corrected me, “No, actually, if I had been diagnosing the problem we probably would have found it. I’m very good at finding problems.” If I were to pick one other person on this trip besides John to share a bus with, it would be Dennis.

Eddie and Bob Hintz are both cool people. Eddie is a texas opera-singing hippie, while Bob looks like a grizzled mountain man. Besides Bob Hoover, Bob Hintz looks most at place in the Yukon. Their relationship is classic father-son. Reserved, respectful. I’d love to hear how they relate to one another on the long drives between campgrounds. Seeing Eddie and Bob together leads me to miss my own dad, who couldn’t make this trip. I know he’d get along with most everyone.

Dave Williams left for Anchorage yesterday, but he has the lifestyle I most envy. He lives in Bethel, Alaska. There are no roads in Bethel, nor any leading there. He keeps his Syncro garaged in Anchorage, and flys in occasionally to drive. He lives out in the bush, trying to give kids a better life.

John Schirano is my co-pilot, and I like him a lot. He’s interesting, very cute, and drives reasonably well. We respect one anothers’ space, and we work together in the camper without bumping into one another constantly.

So with all of these great people on the trip, why do I feel so lonely? I think it’s because I want to be close to someone, but I don’t have the social skills necessary. In a group this size, I feel like an outcast… like I don’t belong. It’s not anyone’s fault but my own. People scare me. I’m so afraid of being rejected that I freak out in groups. I think that people sense that in me, and in turn don’t allow themselves to get too close.

When we were all flying to Tuktoyaktuk, I felt this strongly in the airport. Everyone had broken up into little groups, and I really felt alone. I wanted someone to spontaneously throw their arm around my shoulder.

When we got into town, I headed north on my own, trying to go as far as I could. I got out alone onto a spit of land that curled out into he arctic ocean, and sat down on the polished rocks.

Tuk is a lonely place, and I felt very lonely. From where I sat, I could see a few women searching the beach for artifacts that may have washed ashore. I could also see a dozen sled dogs, chained to stakes all in a row. But generally I was alone there, with the arctic ocean. I’d gone as far as I possibly could from people. The only way I could proceed further would be to swim.

After sitting there and feeling sorry for myself a while, I headed back to ‘downtown’ Tuk. I passed Eddy on the way. (He’s the hitchiker we picked up in Dawson City.) He told me he was going for a dip. I started walking by myself towards the airport. I was desparate for some sort of human contact, but I also was afraid of being disliked. The lonely part of me won out, however, and I went back to join Eddy.

He started stripping, first pulling off his shoes, then his shirt, then his pants. I wanted to skinny dip, but I always feel uncomfortable getting naked in front of straight people. ‘Will they think I’m coming on to them?’ I wonder. Eddy took off his shorts, and waded out far into the ocean, skinny and buck naked. I stripped down to my undies, and wondered what to do. The native women were not so far from us, and I’m sure they saw what was happening. Did they care?

Eddie asked me to grab his camera and take his photo. Okay, I’d always wanted to shoot male nudes. I took a few shots of him, and he waded in to shore.

I asked, and he agreed to take my picture. Still in my underwear and feeling like a damn fool, I set up my tripod and camera. Then I stripped and waded out. I didn’t go as far as Eddy, but got to the point where I was waist-deep. The water surprisingly wasn’t cold. I’d swam in much colder. Standing out there, with the sunset behind me, I posed for a few pictures.

I felt a little better. Eddy and I had shared something.

Gaw, I’m feeling a little fretty today and wanted to be honest about my feelings. I figure it’s more interesting when the author isn’t always perfect, and I’m far from that.

I’m in love with Inuvik. It’s a small town, and literally the end of the road. The town seems full of interesting people, which sort of makes sense. If you’re not *from* Inuvik, you have to be at least somewhat interesting to move there. You have to survive the 2 months of night, and the bitter cold. You have to learn to live in a town of 3,000 where everyone knows your business.

It has a small college (Aurora College) where Brian McDonald works. He’s one of Inuvik’s two Vanagon owners. Brian tells me that Inuvik has some of the best and worse that humanity has to offer. Folks are kind and support one another. But there are also a large number of cases of physical and sexual abuse. The long winters are hard on some people. Inuvik has the highest per-capita birth rate in Canada, and AIDS and other venerea
l diseases are spreading quickly.

On the other hand, Brian tells me that Inuvik also has a fairly large gay community. The news shop not only carries two gay newsmagazines (the Advocate and Out), but also carries two gay porn mags. I wish I had met some of the gay residents of Inuvik, but I didn’t. Next time I visit, I’ll try to make contacts before I head up.

Inuvik also has its share of good places to eat. The Blue Moon bistro serves some of the best pizza I’ve had. Yummy. They were out of anchovies, and the cook got a little weirded out when I told him to put garlic on the pizza. “Are you sure?” he kept asking. I ate at the Sunriser for ‘brunch’, for the sole reason that they offer bottomless coffee (at $1.75 a cup.) The food was classic diner fare, and I had a tuna sandwich and fries.

Brian tells me that vegetarians don’t last long in Inuvik. First, fresh veggies just aren’t available for most of the year. Secondly, even if you don’t buy or kill meat, folks give it to you. Brian hasn’t bought meat since arriving, but he has a fridge full of Caribou and Musk Ox steaks.

I couldn’t live in Tuktoyaktuk, however. Inuvik may be the end of the road, but Tuk doesn’t even have a road until the river freezes. And there just doesn’t seem to be all that much to do. Unfortunately, there *are* drugs. Within 15 minutes of getting off of the plane, a thin goth native girl tried to sell me pot or heroin. She was tripping on something. According to the RCMP, joints sell for $20 each in Tuk. I can’t even imagine what heroin sells for.

Yesterday we left Inuvik around 2, after giving an interview to the local paper. John and I and Dennis decided to keep driving when we got to Eagle Plains, and arrived back in Dawson City at around 1:30am, just as the sun was rising.

Today we’re taking a lazy day. Dennis and I found a couple of log rafts on the river, and we’re thinking of taking them downriver a ways. We’ll see where the water takes us. I wish we could get the vans up onto he rafts.

More later,
Ron

up the dempster highway

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We tried to leave Dawson City this morning at 8am sharp. Right. It hasn’t happened yet and the harder we try, the less likely we seem destined to succeed.

For one thing, almost everyone went to Diamond Tooth Gerties’ Casino last night to watch the floor show. Some of us went to the 8:30 show, and some of us (Dennis Gentry) went to the 10:30, ‘more risque’ show. The beer was good (this is Canada.) It made our beds all that much more difficult to escape from this morning.

Next, Sue (the documentary filmmaker) was having overheating problems with her diesel westie. She and Bob painstakingly peeled the duct tape off of her cooland resevoir so that new tape could be applied. (I am *not* making this up.) Then Don Kane’s bus was being a tad difficult. (It has been throwing more tantrums than Don’s 3 1/2 year old!)

By the time we finally crossed the Yukon north onto the Dempster, it was 11:00. No one was really surprised, and no one seemed really to mind. Hey, these are VWs. Like all great divas, they are tempermental, and we understand that. It’s part of the culture.

So we headed north, up the Dempster. About 20 kilometers in, a grader had made a windrow down the middle of the road, and we needed to cross into the left-hand lane to get past the grader. Sue, near the rear, made a mistake crossing the windrow and drove off the road. Luckily, the drop from the road was neither far nor dangerous, and she was not hurt. About six vans headed back (to laugh at her, for one thing), and soon she was up on the road again. We rerouped and once again drove northwards.

The Dempster is a spectacular highway, one of the most amazing roads I’ve ever driven. Everything around you tells you that this is the arctic. The mountains consist of either lichen, moss, or bare rock. Forests max out at about 10 feet, and the trees have a diameter of around 2 feet. They look like they don’t want to reach out too far, for fear of frostbite.

When you get out of the van and walk across the tundra, the ground sinks beneath your feet; a spongy bed of moss, fungus, and low berries. You reach down and pick something that looks like a fat orange raspberry. Ignoring your personal well-being, you pop it into your mouth, and it tastes like mango. You eat a few more, just to ensure they’re not poisonous.

We drove the Dempster today through glacial canyons and along ridges. We stopped at Red Creek, brightly colored from iron oxide deposits. We moved steadily northwards.

At one point, a car raced past us, doing about 100 kph. (The limit is 90kph, and we didn’t drive that fast most of the time.) As they moved up through the convoy, they earned the nickname ‘the crazy family.’

About an hour later the word came down over the CB. The crazy family were in a ditch. They had taken a corner too fast, lost control, and rolled the car off the road. Luckily they were all okay. The drop where they rolled was only four feet. Other parts of the road had hundred-foot drops, or icy rivers, either of which could be fatal.

The road went from being very dusty to very muddy. The day had been overcast since morning, and it finally started to rain. By the time we arrived in Eagle Plains, each van was thick with mud.

Eagle Plains is little more than a roadhouse. There is a filling station, garage, hotel, and RV park. They have a bar, where we drank and played foosball. (Jorge and John beat Yvette and myself.) On the walls were photos of dead men and skins of dead animals. A beer cost $3.75.

John and I were joining Tobin and Christa for desert in their camper. They’d made a wonderful hot compote of Rhubarb, which we’d bought outside of Dawson from an organic farm. We’d just finished when a red breadloaf westie pulled in, and parked alongside.

A gentleman got out, and Christa went to say hello. “You must be Christa!” he said, “I’m Doug!” Doug Freeman had caught up with us, having driven three days nonstop from Bamff. He was very hyped up, and couldn’t stop talking about how he’d been racing to catch up with us. He wanted to make it to Inuvik in time to fly to Tuktoyaktuk with us. (We spent an extra day in Dawson City, so he expected us to be in Inuvik tonight. He almost blew past us, heading north.)

Here’s the status of the trip. We currently have 14 busses, as follows:

  1. Tobin and Christa
  2. Ron Lussier and John Schirano
  3. Pete and Sallye Clark
  4. Yvette and Jorge
  5. Jack Stafford
  6. Don, Bess, Vivian, and Alan Kane
  7. Gary, Corin, and Lauren Millang
  8. Pam, Doug, Ross, and Lynn Freeman
  9. Neil and Niniek Wigley
  10. Bob Hoover
  11. Dave Williams and Eddie (who we picked up)
  12. Sue
  13. Eddie and Bob Hintz
  14. Dennis Gentry

Eddie (riding with Dave Williams) is a guy working for the summer in Dawson City. We picked him up when his girlfriend’s camper broke down at our campground. He wanted to go to Inuvik, and Dave graciously offered to take him.

Don Kane is having trouble with his bus, so we may leave his bus here and carry his gear in the other busses. Meanwhile he’ll have the necessary part(s) shipped up from the Volks Cafe in Santa Cruz, who are supporting the trip. (They seem to be nice folks!) Hopefully we can get his bus into shape when we return to Eagle Plains in 3 days.

We’ve been taking lots of pictures, but due to computer problems, they’re delayed getting to the web. (It’s expensive!) I’ll upload them when I return at the very latest. And in the meantime, I’ll be using Don Kane’s wonderful little duo to send stories back home.

Peace,
Ron

life in a camper

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Life on the road in a VW camper just doesn’t suck. In fact, it’s pretty great.

Last night Tobin, Christa, John and I pulled our campers together in Dawson City. We parked by the Yukon River, and cooked a meal together. John steamed organic broccoli, and I made some spicy wonton egg-drop soup. Christa made a fabulous rotelli with a smolked salmon sauce. As a salad course, we had some left-over taboulli, and some fresh cherries for desert. It was delicious, and we even had leftovers.

I’ve been sleeping in a VW Camper for two weeks now, but I’m still comfortable. John and I maneuver around one another in the van, managing to avoid invading one anothers’ space. We cook, clean up, and sleep. Right now, John is cooking dinner while I type this, and it smells wonderful. He’s making a pepper, onion, and tofu stir-fry, served on a bed of wild-mushroom couscous. I am *not* making this up. (Lest you think this is unfair, I’m doing laundry, and I’ll clean the dishes afterwards.)

I find that I don’t feel slimey if I find a shower every two days. When I wake up without a shower, and my hair is a real nightmare, a gas-station sink serves me well. I soak my hair, dry it with paper towels, and it’s manageable once more. (Not fashionable, but manageable.) I can brush my teeth in the van’s sink, so that’s not a problem.

And the bed is comfortable. I don’t really miss by home bed, though I do miss having my boyfriend by my side. I could sleep in here every night, and not have a complaint.

The EuroVan is very nice. The cabinents are wonderful, with tons more storage than my Vanagon. Likewise, the fridge is much better. It’s about the size of a dorm fridge, and we store tons of food in it. In addition to being larger, it seems to keep things colder than the old Vanagon fridge.

The beds in the EuroVan are also a little bit improved. The bottom bunk folds out just like the old EuroVan bunks, but because it slides as it folds out, it actually sits further back in the living area, giving more floor space. The top bunk doesn’t only fold, but you can even remove the floor and push it back, giving you head room through the entire floor area.

It’s the little things that I really appreciate in the EuroVan. The tent on top opens on three sides, giving the top bunk a great view. Also, the pop-top contains a light at the very top that illuminates the entire van very nicely. If it’s not bright enough for you, there are two flourescent and two incancescent lights around the bottom compartment.

Outside the van, the wind is whistling, and the it’s cold. Tonight we’re going to fire up the propane heater and see how that does. I’m looking forward to giving it a try.

What don’t I like about the EuroVan? Well, first of all, I miss having cloth curtains. The blinds in the EuroVan are efficient, but cloth curtains are so much more homey. Also, the front curtains in the EuroVan attach with velcro, and I much prefer the old snaps.

I don’t like the automatic transmission at all, but you can avoid that. Standards are supposed to be hard to find, but they exist. I have to admit that this is a reasonable standard, however. In addition to drive, there are three low gears.

Harder to avoid is the ground clearance. Because the EuroVan rides lower, the propane connection guard is only about six inches above the ground. Ours has scraped the earth (and roots) several times. Right now, it’s looking pretty warped.

Lastly, the EuroVan just isn’t a bus. That might be fine for mini-van buyers, but it doesn’t have as much personality as a Vanagon or older VW bus. And I want to drive an interesting car. From the outside, this looks remarkably like a Chevy Lumina or any of the other mommie-mobiles. Volkswagen needs to allow its designers to go wild again, and design something really off-the-wall. The bug was one of the best-selling cars of all time, and it didn’t look like anything on the market. And look at the microbus phenomenon, still ongoing.

Tomorrow, we arrive in Inuvik. Our journey is almost half over.

Peace,
Ron

dawson city, northwest territories

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We’ve taken a free day in Dawson City, for folks to fix up their busses and get some personal time away from the group. We’ve been on the road over a week, and lots of folks haven’t had time for laundry or provisioning.

Three days ago, we had our first serious incident. Jorge was lighting a campfire. It flared up on him unexpectedly, and his long hair caught fire. Before he was put out, one half of his face had been burned pretty badly. The group salved the burn, but it looked pretty nasty. My van had split off from the group so that John and I could travel through Whitehorse, and the accident occurred while we were away. The accident occurred while we were gone, on Yukon highway 4 near Ross River. When we rejoined the group at Frenchman’s Lake (outside Carmacks), we found out about Jorge.

He was being brave and a little too macho about it, insisting that it didn’t hurt too badly. He didn’t see the use of going to a hospital, but we finally convinced him to go. Yesterday, he left Frenchman’s Lake early heading for the clinic in Dawson City.

Meanwhile, another problem occurred. Don Kane’s bus refused to start, and all of the mechanics on the trip couldn’t figure out what the problem might be. Don, Bob Hoover, Eddie, and Tobin were all looking into the engine compartment, debugging the engine. They couldn’t figure out what the problem might be, and we eventually tow-started the Kanes’ bus. Don’s bus continues to have weird electrical problems (no headlights, no radio.) We’ll keep it running.

Disasters aside, Frenchman’s Lake was a beautiful spot. The lake was clean down to about 3 meters, and Dave had brought a canoe with him from Anchorage. We took turns taking the canoe out onto the lake. John and I paddled to a far shore of the lake, and pulled ashore. I wanted to walk somewhere where no one had been.

The shore was thick muskeg, a deep bed of moss and fungus. It sank six inches under our footsteps, and then sprang up again. When we laid down, the spell of the forest was thick in the air, and the moss was more comfortable than a featherbed. The sunlight speckled down through the fir trees, and we lay there, listening. The only sound we could hear was the buzz and hum of insects, and the occasional bird.

Yesterday morning, John woke me up to listen to the cry of the loon. We both listened to the song, and the echoes over the lake. Then we got up and dressed.

On the way to Dawson City, we passed a sign that said ‘Organic Vegetables!’ We all agreed that Organic Vegetables would be a Good Thing, so we stopped at Partridge Creek Farm. The veggies there were amazing. You could select what you wanted from a list, and the proprietress would walk into the field and pick the veggies fresh.

Now we’re in Dawson City, here at the base of the Dempster. Dawson City is remote, and the streets are dirt. Along each road is a boardwalk. The place is half-falling-down, and only about 2000 folks live hear year-round from a gold-rush population of around 30,000. It’s also expensive here. Gasoline is around $2.80 Cdn, and a mug of draft beer is $4.50. Still, it’s damn tasty, and “Better than that American shit”, as one guy at the bar told me. I had to agree.

I had two beers, and John drove us back to the campground. Now, two beers is double my limit, and I was very tipsy. I made a point of walking around saying hello to everyone who was still awake. It was 12:45, but it was still very light out. Yvette said “Wow, you look really relaxed!” I laughed.

Tomorrow we head north once more, leaving Dawson City early to hit the dirt of the Dempster. My next dispatch will be from Inuvik.

Ron

trailer park from hell

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We left Fort Nelson this morning, heading North on the Alaska Highway. Last night we stayed in the Trailer Park from Hell. The place sounded good in the guide… shaded spots, showers, and mini-golf.

When we arrived, however, we found that the campground was little more than a parking lot occupied by uptight old folks in huge RVs. They kept asking us to turn down our already-quiet-music. Eddie was quietly singing folk ballads by the campfire when one neighbor asked us to ‘can the music, okay, buddy?’

The past day’s drive from Moberly Lake was a fairly uneventful one. The Alaskan Highway consisted of gently rolling hills through forests of stunted fir trees, none over 15 feet tall. I later learned from a native of Fort Nelson that this was muskeg, a boggy land. He also told me that there was permafrost at this latitude (59 degrees).

The arctic circle is defined as the latitude where the sun never sets at least one day of the year. We’re not there yet, but the days are getting noticibly longer. It was still quite light out at 10pm, and when I awoke at 8am, the sun was already high in the sky.

I’m writing this on Don Kane’s Powerbook Duo. Mine appears to have died in a fairly significant way. It doesn’t boot past the little ‘happy mac’. I’m somewhat depressed about this, since I was really enjoying my role as chronicler of the trip. I’m going to try to find an Apple Service Center in Watson Lake or points North. The machine is still under warranty, and it would be great if they could fix it.

Until I find a fix, I’ll continue to write using Don’s mac, and I’ll take one or two photos a day with the Quicktake camera. I’ll then upload the photos to the net when I return.

Today we’ll get to Liard Hot Springs, just 200 miles or so down the road. And then we’ll soak our mosquito bites in the healing waters.

Scratch scratch scratch…
Ron

prince george

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I’m writing this from the back of the EuroVan, heading north from Prince George. The rest of the convoy should be about 3 hours ahead of me now, camping at Moberly Lake, just outside of Chetwynd (“Chainsaw Sculpture Capitol of the World.) This puts us 2/3 of the way up through B.C. on our second day out. B.C. is BIG. Much larger than I imagined. I’m told that end-to-end B.C. is larger than California, and in land area, B.C. is larger than California and Texas combined.

Last night, we were pulled into a filling station when we started attracting attention. First, a group of five kids came over and said, “Hey, were you guys on the radio this morning???” We admitted to the deed and then showed them the interiors of our vans. Meanwhile, a brown ’67 splittie puttered up and out came a gentleman looking like a younger, slimmer Santa Claus. He introduced himself as Wilbur and a fellow VW nut. “Hey,” he said, “would you guys like me to show you a camping spot with a great view, near a lake, quiet and isolated?” Well, we were supposed to be an hour north last night, but then again it was 9pm. The mutiny took about 1 minute, and we all rolled up the hill behind Wilbur. His ’67 bus was faster than the EuroVan, which was faster than any of the other busses. Then again, his bus was optimized for B.C.’s hills.

The spot was everything that Wilbur promised, and the 11 busses pulled tight together beside a lake. We cooked, and ate, and Wilbur told us that “You know, I own a house, but I still sleep in my bus most of the time. I’m comfortable there.” We all nodded knowingly. And then we slept in that grassy meadow by the lake, and Wilbur slept beside us, in his bus.

At 6:15 this morning, John and I packed up the EuroVan and pulled out of the quiet meadow. We were huntin’ Hoover. Bob Hoover, that is. Drivin’ a ’65. Sorta curmudgeonly-like.

Tobin was sleep deprived from trip hosting. John and I were going to look for Bob Hoover at the scheduled camp sites, and then proceed on to Prince George, where the busses would be serviced by VW.

We didn’t see Bob along the way, but when we pulled into Hub City Motors in Prince George, there was a scruffy-but-noble-looking splittie bus there, with a huge rack and two tires on top. Inside, were two auto dealers in striped white shirts and ties. Between them stood a man wearing a woolen cap and an evil grin. He looked like a cross between Adam (the mad chef from Northern Exposure) and a local lumberjack. “You must be Bob Hoover” I said, extending my hand. He grinned wider, nodded, and shook my hand.

We waited there for the rest of the gang to arrive. Now, I can move pretty fast. I can get stow the van, get dressed, and be ready to drive in under a half hour. When I’m travelling with someone, that amount stretches to 45 minutes.

When you add more folks to the equation, you have to figure around 10 minutes extra per person. Bob, John, and I waited there for the rest of the vans to show. And we waited, and we waited.

Finally Bob got antsy. His bus is a ’65, and thus is pretty slow. His engine is the same engine they put in VW bugs. Bob and I made an executive decision on a campsite where we’d meet. Two things influenced our decision… it had 109 spots, and it had showers. That it was by a lake was only a bonus.

While waiting my Mac had hung up. I’d spin the trackball, and the cursor would move grudgingly and with great trepidation. The machine was hesitant, and I was getting very frustrated.

Now, I love Macs. They’re beautifully designed machines. But their total dependance on a mouse is a major downfall. Hopefully at some point they’ll give users a way to use dialogs and menus with the keyboard.

Around 12:30, folks started pulling in. John and I went off to the Internet Cafe, where Eddie Hintz tried to get my Mac working better. (He is using a Duo to write his many dispatches.)

Can you believe that there is an Internet Cafe in Northern B.C.? I was surprised. Even more surprisingly, it’s one of the coolest coffee shops I’ve ever been in. It does this in by being both incredibly huge and incredibly eclectic. The place is literally the size of a Woolworth’s, and contains terminals, pool tables, murals, paintings, a bookcase, and some things that were fairly inexplicable. I think that this must be a big-time happening place in the long winters. (Note: Bob Hintz noticed that many of the local cars had a plug dangling from their front radiators. The locals would plug in their cars to heat up the block before even trying to start them.)

So Eddie had marginal luck getting the Mac to feel better. Meanwhile, I’d discovered that there was an Apple Authorized Service Center just around the block from the Internet Cafe. The convoy was to leave soon, and the Apple repair folks told me it would take a few hours, so I told Eddie and Co. to go on ahead. I handed over the Duo, and John and I bummed around Prince George for a few hours.

Notes on Prince George:

  • I counted three internet service providers during my walk.
  • There is a shop called ‘Dead On Arrival’ that delivers boquets of dead flowers artfully arranged in old paint cans and shoes.
  • John spotted the lone town clone.
  • Fashions in Prince George aren’t that different than in San Francisco. Folks have shaved heads, piercings, and I saw yet another one of those pesky goths.

So around 5pm I picked up the laptop. The boy servicing it was adorable, but didn’t look a day over 17. I was fairly certain he didn’t know what he was doing. He told me he’d cleaned the trackball but didn’t find anything else wrong.

I went back to the van, booted the laptop, and lo! Everything worked fine! So I’ve been given a reprieve to write this dispatch, and hopefully I’ll get it sent off soon.

Now we’re camping by Moberly Lake, I’ve eaten well, and even showered. Life is good. Thanks to the time zone change, it’s 2am, and time to sleep.

Until tomorrow,
Ron

vancouver / day 2

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Well, I’m here in Tobin’s parking lot typing this short note. Folks walk by just a few feet away, but I’m comfortably cocooned here in my bus, the top popped, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

I’m using an Apple Duo 280c, lent to me by a friend at Apple Computer. At the last minute, just as I was about to leave without a computer, Ramesh phoned and said “Oh, I just got back from vacation. Would you like to use my computer?”

The Duo is classic Apple. Light and stylish, it’s the perfect computer for this sort of thing. It has a built-in 14.4 modem, hidden just behind one of the fold-out legs. The screen is beautiful, 640 by 480 pixels of active, sharp color. I haven’t used a Mac in several years, but the OS is so intuitive that I can usually figure out how to work things.

(I had a little trouble getting PPP to work right, but my friend Bri has done this before. He stuck FreePPP on the system and now it works like a charm.)

I’ve been taking the pictures on this trip with an Apple Quicktake digital camera. Using the Duo and the Quicktake, I can examine the images, crop them, and enhance them (usually just a little tough-up to the brightness.) When I connect up to the ‘net, I just FTP the images to Chaco, and Stev0 takes it from there.

Tobin and Christa are even nicer than I imagined they would be. They’re extremely vivacious, as you’d expect. Jack Stafford arrived before I did, as did Johnny and Heidi Stutsman and their two very cute kids, Sage and Reed. Jorge and Yvette also arrived this evening, having driven 5,000 miles just to get to Vancouver. Attached to the front of the bus was a very shredded tire, their last spare. They’d blown four getting here. Jorge is going out tomorrow to get a full set of new tires.

Tomorrow will be a busy day. I need to get more film, meet John Schirano (my co-pilot), and pick up some fresh produce. Everyone else starting from Vancouver will arrive (except Bob Hoover, who is meeting us on the road North of town.) And then tomorrow night is the going-away party.

I’d better get some sleep…

vancouver

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Last day to get ready, last day to prepare, and probably the last chance to get really good vegetables before hitting the road. I’ve trasferred my stuff to the EuroVan, garaged the Westie, and eaten a yummie lunch.

Vancouver is a very lively city, beautiful in the summer sun. The temperature is a reasonable 70 degrees, and Vancouverites have stripped down to skimpy bathing suits in city parks, gathering as much sun as possible in this often-rainy city.

Today I’m seeing everything with rose-tinted glasses. I’m not sure why. Maybe its having been emotionally flushed clean by a few days alone in my bus. Perhaps it’s the euphoria that comes from the start of something really important in my life. And maybe its that Vancouver is a really pretty city.

The people are beautiful, the temperature is perfect. Tobin lives in the West End of Vancouver, which is also the gay district. (Pink triangles, rainbow flags, self-sufficient women and overly stylish men are everywhere.)

Big John and Little John came over, and the three of us took the cutest little ferry over to Granville island. The ferry is about the size of a bathtub, and the journey to Granville island is about 250 feet across a channel. Along with art galleries and street artists, Granville island contains the Public Market.

The Public Market is the Vancouver equivalent of Pike Place Market in Seattle… i.e., Very Dangerous. Lots of great looking produce, fresh pasta, olives, cheeses (unfortunately no stinky french cheeses), and seafoods. John and I stocked up on oranges and lemons for the trip, so that we wouldn’t get scurvy.

Everyone showed up for the party, including folks why weren’t going on the trip, like Harry Yates. Eddie finally got here after his repeated tries to run the border (see his dispatch for the whole story.)

Christa’s brother (Peter Ovenell) and Peter Viney, the rep from Volkswagen, both came down with me to check out the EuroVan. Peter Viney was checking out the sign I made for the camper, when Peter Ovenell said, “Ron, what’s this ‘homo’, eh? Is it your sexual orientation?” (Stev0 gave me a darwin-fish that says ‘homo’ inside.) I was worried that Peter Viney would freak, but he didn’t say anything. He was worried a little about my ‘Free Tibet’ bumper sticker, but I think he was half-joking. (He told me that VW has two factories in China.)

I got everyone together for a photo. From right to left are Eddie holding Indra, Tobin & Christa (up above), Glen, & Caron, Yvette & Jorge, Jack Stafford, John Holland from Victoria. Down below are Neil Wigley (absorbing the flash), Johnny Stutsman, Niniek Wigley (below Johnny), me, Elvis, and Bob, Eddie’s father.

Christa’s sending us all off to bed now. Tomorrow we hit the road. And we’ll soon be sending EMAIL from the ARCTIC!!! (Insert reverb here.)

Ron