The Robert Service campground in Whitehorse is an excellent place to meet other travellers, essential, not only for the fun of it, but also to built up your itinerary with the exchange of information and travel experiences. Under the shelter by the camp fire was Edward, a beer bellied Australian from Waga Waga.From where?-I've asked again
- Waga Waga, he said, with a voice that sounded like he is used with been asked twice. Waga Waga is a small town some where on the Australian outback, and Edward came to Canada to work on the oil fields of Alberta.He told me, as he sipped his beer by the fire.
On the campground was also Tim, an American from Missouri that drove to the Yukon to do some canoe.He planed to canoe 350 kms from Carmacks to Dawson City in a week, he told me, with his baseball cap on his head. Why do Americans use the cap all the time, even when is not needed?.It was 10.30 Pm!For him it was going to be a life time adventure, and he was anxious to go back home and tell the stories to his friends of the trip he hasn't even started. He declared his gun without ammunition at the Canadian customs, saying it was for self defence against bears. He didn't showed me the gun but told me in detail how he would use it in case he sees one, articulating his arms as if he had it with him. Not even on holidays can they travel without it?Do they feel more venerable without them?In fact I think you are more at risk in the nature with one, because you let yourself came closer to danger situations as your sense of security increases by carring a gun.
Late on that afternoon a couple of suisse bikers arrived at the camp.Valery and Tony ,where seasoned cyclist who previously done several bike trips but this time riding only in north America and Mexico. They invited me for a coffee at their tent.
Next to it was another cyclist; a Japanese guy that I can't remember the name. He was starting his trip there and wanted to cycle to Vancouver. He spoke little English and spend the time moving his brand new equipment around and at the same time articulating some words in broken English that no one understood.When I got up next day he was gone.
Looking after all of us, was the gorgeous Stephanie, with her tight top that read: "I love Yukon". Stephanie was from Quebec and was spending her summer holidays working as a receptionist in the campground.
The young Bruno was another cyclist. A suisse retired with 64 years old, complaining about the ligaments of his legs and pain in the ass.. He has cycled over 1000 kms from Anchorage in Alaska to Whitehorse under strong pain, and was heading south, like me.He had gone to the hospital that morning and was decided to continue his journey to Vancouver under the effect of medicine and his determination.
He invited me to ride south trough the Cassiar highway. I said yes. We would travel in 2 days.
The next day I had thoughts of changing my mind.
Why on earth would I want to cycle with a 64 old retired suisse cyclist with problems on his ligaments and a sore ass?Next day, just before lunch time he appeared in my tent with his hybrid bicycle, with such an heavy load that I wondered how he managed to cycle till there.But the young Bruno was terminated. He had a wind prove jacket with all the colours of the rainbow, big sun glasses and a helmet on his head. On the right side of his hand bar he had 2 suisse bells, that for sure, would keep the bears at bay. his front bags where so lifted up, because of the suspension, that I wondered if he could keep a good equilibrium.
On our second day trough the Alaska Highway we where caught with front wind, strong at times. We cycled with the bikes next to each other alternating leadership to save energies. At least the landscape was nicer then the Klondike Highway, and even been the main Highway on the province of the Yukon, the traffic was light.A big part of it was R.V. ( receational vehicles ). Mobile homes that could vary in size and shape, from square boxes on top of a pick up van to semi trailers with bicycles, bikes, canoes, jeeps, all attached to it somehow. When parked they would take the space equivalent to 3 cars. With noisy generators ond air conditioned. And its occupiers, mainly retired Americans, spent their time watching American soap operas via satellite, and eating pop corn made on the microwave, or eating muffins with diet coke.
Commodities of a society of consumption.
It was a hard day and I was worried with Bruno's ligaments. At the end of the day we found a place to camp, prepared a generous meal and relaxed the muscles to the sound of a music session.Bruno, "o cota radical" (the old sports radical man),as I like to think of him, is from a rare breed. A man with determination. It wouldn't be a pain in his legs that would stop him to reach his goals.
I was watching him playing his harmonica and look at him as a source of inspiration for my journey. Bicicle travel doesn't chose age or fisical conditions. the will power and determination will take you almost anywhere.
Cycling along the Alaska highway, we came across another cycling couple. 2 dutch on their koga Miyatas , a bike of cult for long journeys. They had came all the way from Ushuaia, Argentina, my final destination. It was an opportunity for me to bombard them with questions about just everything. When I asked them about the durien gap, that I intend to cross.The only part of the Pan American Highway that is interrupt by 200 kms of jungle between Panama and Colombia, their answer was: 70 people just been kidnapped a few weeks ago by the Colombian guerrillas. Crossing the border by boat my be a more feasible option.
We managed to do 447 km from Whitehorse to Watson lake in 5 days with good average speed and partnership.We arrived today at Watson Lake, town that would go unnoticed if it was not for it's 'signs forest'. 54000 traffic signs are exposed in a labyrinth where in case you get lost, I'm sure you will find a sign saying "exit".The signs came from across the globe, and just for the sake of it, I've offered 20 bucks to Bruno if he founds one coming from Portugal.
Those signs are brought here by people traveling in Canada, and I suppose they know about this 'sign forest' in advance. I imagine them dismounting them in the middle of the night in their home towns, stealing 30 pounds of metal ( some are enormous) . putting them on theirs R.V.'s and drop them in this town in the middle of all this wilderness landscape.
It must give those retirees some sort of pleasure.
I had just finished to read the sign saying: "George Peterson quality meats, just up ahead", when I hear Bruno shouting:-I give up.Can't found any sign from Portugal.
tomorrow we will travel south trough the Cassiar Highway. It will around 800 kms trough an isolated part of British Columbia, only with a few villages signaled on the map. And, as I'm getting used to, most of them are no more then a motel a restaurant and a petrol station.
But before I go, I wanna leave a sign of my own on the 'sign forest' saying: APPC LEIRIA.Nuno
Nuno brilhante Pedrosa, in Watson Lake, Yukon, Canada
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