The Icefield road and the US border (Canada&USA)

Day 64
Km 4369

That morning I woke up undecided. A signal that probably I would have a bad day.
I could not decide if I should leave, or wait another day to see if the weather cleared up. I look trough the window of the 44 beds room (yes, 44!) of the whistlers hostel, situated on one of the many mountains that surround jasper, 7 torturous kilometers uphill from the city. The day was dark and rainy, with low and dense clouds, that created an uncomfortable humidity. The weather didn't let me see any mountains, and I new I was surrounded by them. But I was in jasper already for 4 days and it was time to move on. Besides that danina got a lift with 2 other Canadian tourists to Banff, the town on the other end of icefield parkway road, where, we decided to met up again in 3 days.

I put my rain gear on, and left trough the icefield parkway road (highway 93), that the tourist brochures claim to be the most beautiful road in North America.
The 44 dollars that this lady charged me to enter the road (8 dollars per day, including the 4 I spent in jasper,plus the annoying Canadian tax), left me even more frustrated. With that weather the road was like any other Canadian road on a rainy day.
In the afternoon the rain intensified, so I decided to found a place to pitch the tent, doing only 70 km that day.
Next morning I woke up with a beautiful sunshine that would last for the rest of the days I spent in Canada. The difference with a clear blue sky was abysmal; gigantic mountains on either side covered with fresh snow and glaciers, alpine lakes that changed from green turquoise to every kind of green as the sun moved in the sky.
The landscape was too beautiful to describe. Each bend of the road would present me with a more beautiful view that the previous one.

It was 300 km of a gigantic parade of natural beauty. The icefield parkway road crosses the hearth of the Rockies, where one can almost feel its beat, taking me the closest possible to its peaks, without leaving the comfort of the road. It is 300 consecutive kilometers of world heritage declared by UNESCO.
I did 3 considerable passes on this stretch. one at 1890 meters, other at 2049 meters and the other at 2092 meters. The attack to the first pass was very easy and progressive, starting in jasper at 1000 meters and climbing slowly over 70 km.
I climbed the pass next morning with the last 7 km at 8% grade. The downhill is more accentuated and allows for the great views of the valley with the minuscule road at its bottom. One more pass on the same day, the Sunwapta pass, accumulating 1290 meters of vertical climb and ended with 110 km on the counter, in 6h11m at an average of 17.8 km/h, setting up camp by the Mistaya River, with one of the best views so far.

The 3rd day was the hardest of icefield road, only 897 meters of vertical climb, but pushed it to Banff that same day ending up with 134 km in the counter. Lake Louise to Banff was done in only 2h15m (over 30km/h) due to the great tail wind.
I arrived in Banff Saturday night, as promised to Danina, just in time for dinner and a bit of buggy. Banff night life was known throughout the Rockies and I wanted to have a taste of it.
We started with an acceptable Canadian wine for dinner at the backpackers’ hostel, continuing throughout the night doing the round of the local clubs, fueled by some round of shots.
4 days latter fully recovered from the hangover (it was the first time I drunk since I left Portugal) I hit the highway 93 again kissing goodbye to Danina with the promise that we would met up again some where in the states.

Highway 93 goes south trough the kooteney national park, partially burnt by a recent fire. I cycled only 57.6 km that day; camping for free on a closed campground (one of the advantage of traveling off season) not far from the vermillion pass, (1651 meters) one of the dozens of passes that cross the continental divide.
The mountain range that divide the waters on the American continent. The waters originating east of the range end up in the Atlantic, and the waters originating west end up in the pacific. I will cross that "line" many times throughout my trip. My first crossing was in the artic on the north fork pass, in the Dempster highway. Part of Canada and in the states the Rocky Mountains form the continental divide. And for the more adventurous cyclists, is possible to follow the continental divide almost all off road, from the town of Banff in Canada, all the way to El Paso on the Mexican border.
A good program for the A2Z!

Next day highway 93 had a surprise for me. The downhill from the Sinclair pass (1486 meters) revealed a very different landscape; small hills with a mixed forest, exhibiting the beauty of the autumn colors. I've descended about 600 meters and the temperatures climbed to a very pleasant 20/25 degrees at the midday sun.
I've entered the populated valleys near the Rockies, with a micro climate, where the softer autumns are longer.
In this vast country, second biggest only to Russia, but with just a few more inhabitants then Mexico city, 90% of the population live in a belt 300 km north of the American border, from Vancouver in the pacific to the French speak provinces of the Atlantic. It was this belt that I would cross in the next few days until I reached the US border.
I was about 180 km from the border when the chain broke and I had to make a detour to the ugly town of Cranbrooks to replace it. I took the chance to make a revision to the bike, tune the wheels, change the rear brakes and put a new cassette.
2 days latter I was again on highway 93 heading to the border....
The closer I was getting to the border the more negative thoughts I had.
And if they didn't let me in?

I would have to cycle to Vancouver, catch a plane to Mexico, ruining all the plans. The day before I started by deciding which would be my best look.
Since September 11 the American government committed it self to build a "country castle" against any suspicious penetrations, including aliens and cyclists. I've heard innumerous stories of the border officers that regardless of the type of visa on your passport, had the full authority to do what ever they wanted.
I've chosen a quite border, near the Rocky Mountains, with little traffic. But some times that means that the officers had more time to implicate with each individual. My worry was my beard! I had 3 options:
a) leave the beard as it was but that could be an indication of my relation with some Arabic terrorist group.
b) Cut off the beard, but leave the mustache. Option that I rejected straight away because that could reveal an association with Mr Bashar.
Or c) and last option,would be to shave completely. But that would expose my skinny and long face, that all my life, I debated my strong links with my Moorish blood. Besides that, could be taken by a Moroccan terrorist traveling with a fake Portuguese passport.
I've chosen the last one, because, at least I knew that the passport wasn't false.
I went to the local government department of my home town, just a few days before I started this trip, to make a new one. My old one was still valid until 2009, but because it was hand written by an employee of the Portuguese embassy in Atens, Greece, years back, on an emergency situation, it wasn't valid in the states, under the new waiver program.
The waiver program, offers visas for 90 days on arrival, to citizens of an "elite group" of "nice and friendly" countries in which Portugal just join recently.
Every other citizen of this planet, has to queue in one of the most volatile terrorist spots across the globe: American embassies.
The traffic on this part of highway 93 was light, with just some local traffic and the occasional group of motards on road trips, on their loud Harleys.
The building of the frontier was brand new. There were only 3 cars in front of me, and they went trough pretty quick. It was my turn.
-hi
-hi, I replayed.
-how are you today?
- I'm fine, and how are you?
"how are you" and "have a nice day" are 2 expressions in the American English, that I always found a bit irritating, because of the lack of genuity of the people who pronounce it. I listen to them all the time, everywhere, in any situation.
I imagine the number of times each American citizen pronounces them each day, multiplied by 300 million and in unisonous, it would be enough to create an avalanche in a mountain.
-so, where are you going today?
Looking at the bicycle, I felt like saying that, "today", I wasn't going any further then the next forest and pitch my tent. But the officer that actually was very cordial, pointed out that because I've been in the states before (stop over in Seattle, in the beginning of this trip), and left to Canada without an exit stamp, I was entering the states with the same visa which had only 25 days left on it.
Not enough to cross the country by bicycle.
- Please, park your bicycle over there, and go to that building.
I knew it! I should never shave!
They going to start with the interrogations, and bags searching, with no food, or drinks, or be able to call the Portuguese embassy to say that I'm just a simple cyclist crossing the American continent on a 25000 km journey!
And the gasoline bottle of my stove? And the solar panels that my cousin Pedro offered me? And the Portuguese flag that my sister put in my bags?
I don't know!
Anything could be suspicious....
I still fresh memories of my border crossing into Israel from Jordan,in 2000, thru King Hussein Bridge, where I was left in a compartment, only in boxes and t-shirt, until the Israeli authorities convinced themselves that the only reason why I was cycling through the Middle East, was for pure tourism and pleasure.
But this wasn't the Middle East neither Guantanamo bay.
Inside the modern building with some bizarre pieces of decoration, amongst them a fin of a whale to the left of George bush picture, and a fur of an animal to the right, the number of computers outnumbered the number of officers by many.
One of them, the one that wasn't reading the news paper, bombarded me with the usual questions of a border officer, plus some that I found a bit out of context, like: there are mountains in Portugal?
And how did I intend to cross the Panama Canal?
He explained that the waiver program didn't allowed extensions, but due to the circumstances, he was going to make an exception, proving once more, his total authority. He asked me for 7 dollars, that I couldn't figure out if it was for the form I filled out, or for the ink of the stamp, and said: -have a nice day!
Since that moment, I started to believe that the reason Americans repeat unnecessarily, and almost in a religious way:"have a nice day" is because they believe the repetition of the words transform it in reality.
With me it worked that day!

I grabbed the "burra", and kicked of on my first strokes on American soil.
I have entered the USA, but funny enough, it looked like if I was entering the "alentejo" (a region in south of Portugal). The road made its way trough small brown and yellow hills of hay and the air was dry and hot.
After a while I look at the map and realized that I calculated wrong the distances, it was another 30 km to Whitefish. Of course, from now on the distances are in miles...
Montana has funny names, starting with the border town of "eureka", "yaak", "paradise", "pompey's pillar", etc...
But my favorite is: "going to the sun road", that in fact doesn’t go to the sun, but to the ironically called "international peace park".
Tomorrow I will go for a scroll there, to see if I found some "peace" from the traffic of the city…..


Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa, in White fish, Montana, USA.

Party for the "special children" (Canada)

Ola amigos lusos,

Acabei de fazer a "icefield parkway road". A etapa mais espetacular ate ao momento, como podem ver nas fotos do ultimo album, se e que fazem alguma justica a lindissima paizagem das "rocky mountains".

Foram mais 280 kms pedalados pelas criancas da APPC.

Um dos patrocionadores desta viagem, a discoteca Alibi, em colaboracao com a APPC, vai realizar uma festa de apoio as criancas especiais do centro da APPC de leiria, ja nesta proxima sexta feira, dia 29 de setembro.
Uma boa opoturnidade para voces poderem colaborar para esta nobre causa e ao mesmo tempo divertirem-se.Parte da receita da noite vai directamente para a associacao.
A discoteca encontra-se no centro comercial maringa, no centro da cidade.

Bebam um copo por mim.....

Hi guys,
just finnished the icefields parkway road. The most spetacular road until now, as you can see in the new album in the photo gallery,if the photos make it any justice....

another 280 km ride for the special chldren of the "APPC"

Just in case you are in Portugal this week, and around Leiria, my home town, one of this trip sponsors, the Alibi club, is putting up a night dedicated to them. Its already this friday the 29th of september and part of the evening revenue goes straight to the association.
The club is located inside the "maringa" shopping center,in downtown Leiria.
A good oputurnity to help the "special children" and have fun at the same time.

Have a drink on me....

Yellowhead it to the Rockies (Canada)

Day 50 Km 3486


Travelling by bycicle everything is unexpected.
one never knows whats around the next curve; a beautiful landscape, a mountain to climb, a puncture or an unexpected encounter. What appened to me the day I left Smithers, was in fact unexpected.
I left late that morning, it was around 11am. It was a beautifull day, high clouds, but sunny, and a soft brease from norhtwest,easyed the ride. I just talked with my parents over the phone, and that iluminated my day.
The Yellowhead highway, conects the pacific coast with the provinces of inland canada, it crosses heavely florested areas, and by the road, I could see some ranches with green fields, cows and horses. The first ones I saw, since I left Inuvik.
The landscape was changing since I left the Cassiar, the human presence was more evident.
I had just done about 40 km, when a pick up truck, over takes me and pull over a few meters away. out of it came a strong and tall man, in shorts, coulourfull shirt and a big smille on his face. At first, I thought it was the campground attendent from Smithers, that found out I left without pay the last night, and came looking for me.
I had an excuse formulated already, in fact was the true; I had look for him everywhere the previous day and that morning too. He was nowhere to be found, so I left him a message on his door saying: " looked for you everywhere. I'm i the Yellowhead'n east. The Portuguese cyclist" After all the tall man with a beard face, was Paul, a dentist from Huston, the next village, 30 km away.
After a small talk, he invited me to stay the night at his house, giving me a card with a number to call, when I arrive in Huston.
3 hours later, I was in his garage, that looked more like a bycicle workshop, cleaning up the 'Kona Fire Mountain'.
Paul had a big laught, when he was cleaning the chain of the bike, and I told him, that I've been using olive oil. I should have explained that, olive oil, like rice in India,or coconut in the caribbean, is a multi-function ingridient much used in the mediteranean.
That night at the dinner table, with Gheri, his wife, Alli Dani and Jo, his 3 daughters, we spoke with entusiasm about wich areas I should visit, and about bike touring in general, something that the all family are 'aficionados'. By the time desert came, Paul diverted the conversation to the alpine pine beetle....
Another effect of the global warming, that is topic of conversation in BC, from the dinner table to parlamentary sessions. The alpine pine beetle, atacks the trees, cutting the flux of water and nutrients, the leaves turn red, and at a later stage dies... It's necessary cold winters with temperatures well below 0, to kill the lavae. The mild winters of the last few years, allowed mortality rates as low as 10%, insted of the usual 80%, sesultinfg in a explosion of the beetle population.
The days that followed this dinner, I observed with more attention the pine forests, realising that the red patches, that I been seen since the Yukon, wheren't part of the autum coulours, as I inicialy thought, but a result of this epidemic that afects mostly the provinces of the Yukon and BC, and tretens to expand east, beyond the rocky mountains. The rest of the evening, was spent looking at maps of North America, and trying to make up the best itinerary for me. Everyone was unaminus, including Jo, the youngest daughter, that I should follow the pacific coast through Oregan and California, because it would be too cold in the american rockies, once I get there.
On the next morning, Gheri prepered me some snaks, and Paul a small bottle of oil for the chain, that he garanteed me, it would work better then olive oil, in the rocky mountains.
I said good bye to the Comparelii family and to this unexpected suprise, and continued my journey.
I had done only 10 km, when I met Kathy and David, the only cyclists I saw on this strech of 807 km between Smithers and Jasper.
Kathy and David are from Seatlle, they left the children with someone and dicided to tour the brithish colombia for a month, and because they travelled much faster then me, doing 150 km per day average, I only saw them that day.
What they didn't know, was that destiny, had a suprise for them.
The 2 days that followed on the way to Prince George, I had a strong tail wind, I took advantage of it, to add up kms; 127 in one day, and 146 in the next, setting up camp at 5pm and 5.30pm, respectevly.
Prince George is a big and modern town, and the plant on the east side spread its vapours everywere, so I dicided to push a bit further that day. But before went into town to buy a new sleeping bag, leaving the old one with a drunken native couple that where sitting on a bench in the library gardens.
Alcoolism is a problem amoughst the native comunities.I've been observing it since I've left Inuvik.
Traped betewn 2 societies, where they don't identify intirely with either, they leave with a nostalgic past, long gone, and are not acepted in full in the modern canadian society, resulting in problems like alcoolism and unemployment.
My new sleeping bag is much bigger then the old one, and it doesn't fit inside my bags. I have to transport it on top of the rack, next to my tent. But with just over a kilo and comfort temperature of -7, is just what I need for the rockies.
It was worth every one of the 79 dollares, right on the second day, when the temperature of the spot I found to camp, next to the Holmes river, went down to -2.
That afternoon, before I started to look for a place to spend the night, another car over takes me, and stops a few meters ahead. It was Kathy and David.
Kathy crashed on a downhill on her own., and after a visit to the hospital in Prince George, they dicided to store their bikes on the back of a rented car.
They showed me her helmet broken in 3 parts, and David insisted in offering me his.
My Fidel's hat, moved to the bags, for the moment, and in fact I fell better riding with a helmet. On this last stretch of my journey through the Yellowhead Highway, I've crossed all the BC, from west to east, climbing the rockies at it's lowest pass, the yellowhead pass( 1159 metres) and arrived yesterday at this small mountain resort town of Jasper, already in the Alberta province.
The jewel of the crown in the canadian mountains. This gigantic mountain chain, that stretches from the north of Canada, all the way to the Mexican border.
Waiting for Danina, at the moment, an old friend from Autralia, that live in Wistler and is arriving tomorow.
Our lives have been crossing each other, over the years. First in portugal, on a summer holidays when I first met her, then in london years later, again last year here in Canada, and once again tomorow, here in the rocky mountains.
From here I will follow the rockies into the United States, first riding the icefield parkway road to Banff, and then beyond into the south of Montana or until the weather permites it.
Once again the Elements, always present, in the built up of this journey to the land of fire......


Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa, em Jasper, Alberta, Canada.

Stewart&Cassiar highway (Canada)

Crossing the 60th parallel that passes over Watson lake, made me feel 'more south' for some reason, even if I was still in the remote area of the north of British Colombia. We disarmed the tents from the garden of the lady that works at the tourist information centre, that very cordial, offered her garden, when we asked a recommendation of a place to stay, and left into the Cassiar Highway. The Cassiar Highway is a remote road that links the coastal centre of British Colombia with the Yukon. It crosses beautiful valleys with mountains already covered with the first snow of the season.

The first part of the highway was a bit...wet!!
It started to rain on the second day afternoon, I was about to reach the km2000. We stopped to put our raining gear; gore-Tex jacket, poncho over it, sun glasses to give visibility, water proof trousers and two plastic bags over my shoes. "Country Harvest" is a brand of sliced bread that I like to buy. Wheat bread with raisins and Cinnamon flavour. not bad in taste, have 70 calories each slice and came in a plastic bag size 43 (e.u.) that fits perfectly in my shoes. Tied between the socks with the water proof trousers over it. They are light, disposable and free. Another hard and wet day. Half way trough the day, I had a puncture. The first one of the trip after 2208 km. I've changed the inner tube and put 2 patches on the tire, that was starting to open up on the sides, and continued cycling It rained all day and the strong wind coming from south didn't stop blowing, and the humidity went right trough into my bones. Our objective that day was to reach John's house at Bob Quinn, the highway maintenance camp. It would be a 100 km stretch, we had no alternative. Camping with that weather it would mean to have a miserable night. The wind was blowing hard and the cold rain didn't let me enjoy the beautiful landscape of the Cassiar highway.

My eyes where only focused on a5 meter triangle of asphalt in front of me. My mind was travelling much further south, in the warm beaches of a sunny Mexico.John's house was just a few miles Way, when another blast brings my mind back to the cold wet and windy road of British Colombia
BANG !!
In a fraction of a second the rim of the back wheel touches the asphalt. I didn't even needed to break at the slow speed I was going. I screamed at Bruno, but the wind sent it back to me What a day!!! not one puncture, not two. But two blats, wind, cold and rain, all mixed up like if it was the reaction of a bad karma of one of my previous lives.
The first tough that came to my mind was to lit up a cigarette. I took off the bags, turned the bike around and pulled the wheel off. the tire had opened in a different place. A car passed by, I waved at the driver to stop.not only he didn't stop, but also projected a jet of muddy water into my trousers. For the first time on this journey I lost the straight. some time after, Bruno showed up, another car passes by, this one stopped and offered help. We put our bikes on the pick up and reached John's house in just a few minutes.
John's house was one of the 6 or 7 houses, built by the Canadian government for the highway workers. apart from free accommodation and health care they had 27 Dollars an hour. there was no one in the house, john was enjoying his annual holidays, working on his private business, a motel in Iskut, where the rain made us stop for a couple of days.
He bought it for 150.000 dollars, very cheap, he said, but with the very little traffic didn't give him much money. After an excellent shower and a comfort dinner, I observed the tire with more attention. It was opening all over the place there was nothing I could do.
I regretted deeply for leaving my extra tire with Susie, days before, at Boya
lake.

I decided that I would hitchhike my way to the next village, buy a tire, and
came back. with luck it would take me 2 days.
Next morning I had a scroll trough the camp in the hope to find a more feasible solution. In one of the houses, there was a lady of around 50 years old, with the skin of her face aged by the many lonely coffees and cigarettes taken in front to
the TV. I explained my problem. she said to try my luck in the backyard of the
house.In the middle of the old rubbish, truck tires, old pieces of furniture and
rusty parts of household I found a mountain bike tire!! 2 coffees after and a bit of conversation, I left her 15 dollars in appreciation, and carry on my journey south..
Nothing like a miserable day of rain, to give valor to a hot and sunny day my luck was changing, so was the landscape, we descended into the valleys ,the temperatures raised a bit, and the mountains with the tops covered with fresh snow followed us all day. Before we started our descend I adjusted my altitude with a sign on the side of the road.. I had 120 meters difference. Good news. A high pressure was on it's way.
The next day I wake up with Bruno shouting: Nuno, come here.-He said,I want you to meet someone.
-someone?
I thought we camped in the middle of nowhere.
And we had, but on the side of the road.

The beautifully landscape of the Cassiar, the little traffic and the remoteness of the road are all good reasons to attract touring cyclists. Bruno was talking with another cyclist. But this one was different from the others we met before.
Randolph was a German cyclist, already on his 4th round the world trip. 14 years on the road. Almost recovered from a cancer and an accident in Argentina, that left him in the hospital bed for 4 years, Randolph was determined to break his own record of the Guinness book, as the cyclist that travelled more days in temperatures below 0.
we where heading south to runway from the winter, and this crazy rider was heading north in search of it!
This time he was equipped with 4 skies, made by himself, and set up on the sides of the bicycle, he carried with him, schwable tires with spikes for the snow, and just incase he run out of energy, he had 3 dogs huskies with him, to push him in the snow.
Around the world within his own, and in search of his memory.
we arrived late that day at Meziadin junction, where we camped by it's beautifully lake. The forest reflected it's own beauty on the placid waters of the lake.
The next day ride, from there to the small village of Stewart, in the border with
Alaska, was a very beautifully one. Green mountains with glaciers hanging on its cliffs, wild rivers and water falls everywhere, and of course bears!
The counting goes at 11, since I left Inuvik.
The communities of Stewart( 600 inhabitants) and Hyder (90 inhabitants), are set at the end of the sea channel of Portland. One of the many channels that make up the Alaskan "misty fjords" . the communities are also surrounded by high coastal mountains, with glaciers that make part of the Cambrian icefields. The main reason we made this 65 km detour, was to have a closer look at the spawning of the salmons.

One of the many wonders of the Mother Nature. The end of a life cycle of 4 or 5 years, that terminates with the dead of the fish at the right place at the right time. After spending their adult lives roaming the high seas they start their arduous journey up streams until they found the exact place where they born, releasing millions of eggs and die of exhaustion.
Next morning , we did again the 65 km, from Stewart to Meziadin junction, where we continued our journey south through the Cassiar.One more day on the road, and the tire that I found in the dump at Bob Quinn, started to "look" tired.... One more puncture and a few more patches in the tire. This time in the form of a plastic glove, involved around the inner tube.

I put the books and other heavy stuff in the front bags, and Bruno carried my tent on top of his already heavy load. But half way through the day, the old tire refuses to carry me any further. This was the last day we travelled together, and we didn't plan to say good bye like this. At the end of the Cassiar, Bruno would head west to prince Rupert, where a ferry would take him to Vancouver island. And me, I would turn east to the interior of the British Colombia on my way to the rocky mountains. With the next house at the native settlement of kitwanga , 70 km south, I had no other choice, but to hitchhike my way to the next bicycle shop. We exchanged addresses right there on the road. Bruno gave me a few pieces of equipment, purification tablets, a Swiss army knife and an excellent cycling poncho and promised to donate some money to my cause, the APPC leiria. The forest guard that gave me a lift dropped me right in front of the bicycle shop in Smithers, where I bought the best tire in the shop a Schwalbe marathon plus.
It was 2 weeks of excellent friendship.
Bruno was a great travel companion and a truly inspiration for this journey
through the pan American highway.....

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
in smithers, BC CAnada

Alaska highway to Watson Lake (Canada)

Watson Lake km 1834

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

The Klondike Highway to White Horse (Canada)

Kms 1387

The Klondike highway follows more or less the 'gold rush trail' to Dawson city. The route 40.000 dreamers took at the end of the 19th century in search of that precious stone. It was a epic journey due to the severe weather, the conditions of the trails and the rapids of the river Yukon.
The asphalt has covered the foot prints of the miners long ago and there is not much that reminds you of that glorious past. Apart from the interpretive centers doted along the way, and the transformed landscape especially around Dawson city where one can see the man made hills of broken rock made by the machinery.

The 562kms I've made from Dawson city to Whitehorse where very easy compared with the dempster highway. The Klondike highway apart from small stretches of gravel road is in good conditions, crossing the small rolling hills of the Yukon plateau.
I’ve took the chance of the relatively good conditions to increase the daily average to 93.5kms. Not only due to the road conditions but also due to the monotony of the landscape, that didn't invite to make too many stops. Also the climatic window is closing. The daily temperatures are very pleasant for cycling, with maximums of 20 degrees, but the nights are cooler with the thermometer going down to 5 degrees.
The summer is ending.
And I'm not prepared to face the rigor of the Canadian winter.
Beaver creek, not too far from here, registered in the 70's the lowest temperature of North America. An astounding -63 degrees.
On this part of the Klondike highway the landscape may seem monotonous but camping on one of its many lakes or rivers and the nature comes alive. Reminder that I'm not cycling alone.

I pitch my tent by Gravel Lake. Some beavers are busy bulding their houses, networks of pieces of wood that change landscapes. The beavers are the engineers of the animal kingdom. One single beaver can cut up to 200 trees in a year. That justifies the Canadian saying: "busy as a beaver".
Some ducks and other waterfowls land in the water to spend the night.
I turn on my short waves radio and listen to the weather forecast for tomorrow. Pump the gasoline bottle and set up the stove. As I cook dinner I observe the lake full of live and its surroundings at the sunset.
And there I am. Alone, me and the nature.
I'm starting to feel more at ease to camp in the wild. I’m starting to identify some of the nocturnal noises and sleep well at night without wake up with the lightest noise of the nature thinking that it’s a bear, like I used to do in the beginning of this trip.
In fact in this part of the world is more dangerous to a bear then to be a human.
On the following morning I zipped open my tent. The first rays of the sun warm up the chilly morning. Just in front of me are 2 white wild cisnes with black beak.
I transport myself in time and see myself waking up in the room of my flat back in London, with a hangover of the many cigarettes and glasses of wine of the previous night. And I'm late to work, again!
Where’s the reality? Here or there?
I prepare a bowl of cereals a few sandwiches of butter nut crème(highly energetic) and a cup of coffee. Pack everything up and dismount my tent. A process that takes me one and half hour every morning. and I continue my journey.
I feel stronger then ever. I almost can fell my muscles growing.
Each day with more motivation then the other, to reach south and Tierra del fuego.

But for now, I’ve arrived just at Whitehorse, capital of the northern province of the Yukon.
This province 5 times bigger then Portugal has just 32000 inhabitants and 23000 live in the capital.
That is 6 caribou per inhabitant or a grizzly bear per family of 5. In the Yukon, nature reigns. is the queen of the attractions.
Whitehorse is not only the capital, but also the frontier town to the north. The border between the wildness of the north and the somehow controlled landscape of the south. In here finishes the greyhound bus network .The national emergencies services 911, and the good reception of radio and mobile phones. Not even the corporations like Mc Donald’s and Pizza Hut venture further north.
I will stay in Whitehorse for another couple of days. Ahead of me is the infamous Alaska Highway that will take me to Watson Lake. From there is another 1000kms before I reach Prince Rupert,trough the cassiar Highway.
Of course the route may change. But the itinerary is easy:
Always south until there is no more roads...

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa, in Whitehorse, Canada

Dempster Highway (Canada)

Day 13
Km 825

Dust,dust,dust....
The Dempester highway or the dust highway or even better the mosquito highway as I prefer to call it travesses the vast wilderness of the Canadian artic.It was probably not the best place to start this adventure trough the pan American highway by bicycle.
It was not easy.825 Kms in 10 days without a days rest. distances between places are enormous.One stretch alone was 369 Kms without a place to by food. I had to carry enough food with me for 6 days.

82 Kms on average a day is too much for this beautiful part of Canada,too quick to enjoy in full the nature and the landscape..2 weeks it would be ideal.
the first 150Kms from Inuvik until the Mackenzie river are the less interesting part of the trip,the dempster cutted trough the artic plains near the Mackenzie delta,the 3rd biggest in the American continent after the Amazon and the Mississippi and the 10th biggest in the world.
Apart from the migrating birds (they came as far as Africa to nest here) and the zillion of mosquitoes, there was little animal life to be seen.
dust made by the lorries could be seen from miles away and it was a good way to see wish turn the road was going to make.
On the first day I've done only 40 Kms ,enough to warm up the muscles and test the strengh of the bike.

On the second day I've camped where the Mackenzie and the red artic river meets ,crossed the ferry late that day and camped by the river with the view to the settlement of tsiigchtchik nested on the top of the hill,with it's 160 inhabitants almost all of them aborigenas gwichi'in.
Gwichi'in means the "people of the flats",residents of this comunity still rely on hunting, fishing and trapping for food and income.They are organized under political bodies that includes bands created under the Indian act and the gwichi'in tribal council.
From the settlement on(no grocery to buy food,there was one but closed some time ago),the dempster highway didn't stop to surprise, with a constant change of lanscape every 40/50 Kms.The landscape went from artic tundra with caribou on the horizont to rolling hills,to naked rock mountains,valleys,lakes,rivers....
Nature at it's best with no trace of man apart from the gravel road.

The next stop was Fort Mc Pherson the only settlement in 750Kms of the highway with grocery stores.Arrived late that day with the sun set.And with everything closed,camped just at the entrance of the village near a small lake.
I got in to the habit of riding till late in the days as they are very long at this time of the year.It was beautifuly strange to see the sun go down at 1.30 AM so slowly that the late night and the early morning almost blended in a magical way.
Next morning I went to the settlement and packed up with groceries enough for 6 days,kicked the"mule" and trotted away on the dusty gravel road.
I was so loaded that the lose gravel made me loose the equilibrium and went on the floor a couple of times.
That day the traffic intensified from one pick up every 2/3 hours to one every 30/40 minutes,as I was approaching the midway lake.
Midway lake was the area chosen for the annual festival music of the NWT.It was Friday and all the preps where well under way,the "first nation people",setting up tents fire places and cabins to rent out to tourists. there was a central stage and the all cenario seemed a bit surreal in the point of view of the location:in the middle of nowhere.

The Kms that followed where the toughest of the trip,the dempster highway went up and over and down and up and over again the rolling hills some with 12% inclination,and there was the rain, and with it the mud that made it almost impossible to ride at times.That day it was up and down all day, and each time I've stopped to clean my sweat away, there where my mosquito friends,travel companions.Zillions of them.There are 40 different especimes in the Canadian artic alone.
I thought I would prefer to run out of food then to run out of insect repellent..
I even dedicated songs to them,to entertain myself in the vain hope that my tremule and grave voice would scare them away..

It was on top of one of those hills that I arrived at the sign that marked the artic circle,immediately I forgot about the mosquito's and contemplated the surroundings almost in reverence.I have been dreaming to reach this place for quite some time.I've censed the isolation and the misticy of the place.An enourmous happiness took over me, giving me the energy to cycle the last few hills until Eagle Plains.
Eagle Plains was the second place to by food, I thought,but it was no more then a lodge with 8 inhabitantes, a garage, petrol station, motel , restaurant ,but no groceries.I had lunch at the restaurant and negociated with the chef to sell me some fresh vegetables,eggs ,bread,milk and a piece of meat(at a price!).
From this part of the dempster highway one could observe a lot of wild life,caribous,migrating birds,foxes, eagles,falcons and of course:bears.
I've been waiting for this encounter for quite some time.And, there they where,right in front of me.2 small bears playing on the side of the dusty road,and not far in the tundra the mother bear.

I was there for more then an hour observing them and also waiting for an opoturnity to pass. The wind was blowing from east to west,that was,from me to the mother.I found it prudent to wait for the kids to leave the road until a save distance.
My heart was pumping with excitement and joy but also with fear.I had taken off the security cap from the bear spray offered to me by another cyclist in Inuvik,( http://www.rideon2006.blogspot.com ) the spray was never more then an arm away during the all trip,when 2 young gwichin natives passed by on their pick up.When they saw the bears,they stop and reversed until they reached me.
They offered me a lift saying that it was too dangerous to be there on the bike.
-the cubs are very curious and will came to you soon or later one of the youngsters said.
-And you don't want to see a mother bear pissed off,man!.Not even the bear spray you have will do anything.
I was not sure in how much danger I was,but seeing the 2 folks determination of not leaving me there alone,I've decided to ride along the truck complying with my promise that I will do the all pan-American on bycicle as long it permits it.
Suddenly one of the small bears heads towards me ,we put the bike on the pick up and drove away leaving beyond a cloud of dust.

They left me a mile after that. I said goodbye, thanks them and continued my journey.
The Dempester highway started it's slow climb to the Oligivie mountains until it reached it's pass at 1289 meters,the north fork pass.The first of the continental divide.Is not much compared with what's awaiting for me further south, but the latitude can make the temperatures drop dramatically. The pass was 8 degrees compared with 26 in the plains.
From the pass to the end of the Dempster highway its 82 Kms of a very smooth downhill. Stopped a the newly created tombstone territorial park for the night(cyclists don't pay) and next morning headed towards Dawson city making 116Kms in 7 hours,40 of them in alsfalt.
Oh...asfalt....it was like putting the bicycle on a magic carpet!
Dawson city is a strange place. Looks like it was taken from a western movie set.
The gold rush brought the miners here. In the beginning of the last century it was the second biggest city in the west coast only surpassed by San Francisco.
With the gold rush over the city was lost in time until the descendents of the miners found a new gold:the tourists on theirs RV roaming the first street like caribou.
Still the town has a very spaced out and relaxed atmosphere.
To me it's also a place to rest my legs take the mud of my panniers tide up my staff and relax.
The dempster highway was a true test on this trip.I'm sure it will stay as the toughest part of the trip for a while........
for now,I'm going to panning a bit of sand to see if I found any brilliant stone...

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
in Dawson City

Inuvik, Northern territories (Canada)

Day 1
Km 0

I’ve finally arrived in Inuvik, NWT, Canada.The very beginning of this 25000 Kms journey trough the Pan American highway, after spending a week zig zaging trough different airports.2 days stop over in London became 4 when I was unable to travel to Vancouver on the standby ticket offered by Isabel, from British airways (thank you Isa and Wallid). After 2 day and 4 attempts decided to travel to Seattle, where I arrived without one bag and the bicycle .The 2 days I’ve spent in Heathrow airport got to know some interesting people. Temporary ‘residents’, that likes me, on standby tickets. There was Shoma from Bangladesh on 2 days waiting Vancouver bond, an aussi girl 5 days commuting from the airport to the hotel room trying to get to Sidney, and there was the Irish corporate lawyer that his secretary book his ticket the wrong day.

2 more days in Seattle waiting for the bike, some shopping done and off I went to Edmonton, Canada where I’ve spent a day and 2 nights before taking other flight to Yellowknife and another to Inuvik with 2 more stops on the way….And that’s about enough of flying to reach the top of the world. From now on is on the saddle…
Edmonton was a pretty relaxed place. Down town has an almost deserted felling (it was Saturday), but old stathcona on the other bank of the sashatchewan river, is a buzzing neighborhood with a lot of funky shops, hip bars and a young and edgy crowd.
Inuvik is a world apart from Edmonton or Seattle. Tiny little town of just 3000 inhabitants at the end of the Dempster highway with a mixture of Inuit’s,Gwich’in and Canadian settlers amongst others. The artic sea is just 90 Kms north of here and only accessible by plane, or ice road in the winter.

The 747 Kms of pothole gravel road that makes the Dempster highway from Inuvik to Dawson city aren’t an easy ride for cyclists. Gravel, dust, great distances of vast wilderness and loneliness, all make up for an adventure trip.
I may start today late afternoon and ride trough the night, I mean the day…or the night that is like day….. Didn’t get used yet to this 24 hours day light…..


Nuno Brilhante Pëdrosa
in Inuvik, Canadien Artic