161 miles

Today was a reality check. For the past 4 days I’ve been reminding myself that the whole trip isn’t going to be as easy as the past 4 days. It’s not that today was a bad day overall, but it tested me. It’s the first time this trip I’ve felt pressured, the first time I let doubt and fear creep into my mind.

The day started off alright. I woke up and immediately realized that everything was soaking wet. There was so much dew. I’ve never seen so much dew in my life. It’s the first night I’ve had dew instead of frost. I guess that’s a good sign. Once I was off riding I realized it was going to be a cloudy day. I could see the mountains in the distance, but big cloud banks hovered on the horizon and a slight headwind was pushing them my way. On the first climb of the day I noticed frost at the top, just 100 feet above my campsite. All the dew made sense now, it was just the perfect temperature to create the maximum dew accumulation. I didn’t feel great, but the legs were spinning well enough. It was hilly all morning, but nothing too big. I’d let myself sleep in an extra 40 minutes because I could that my body needed the extra rest, so I was a bit behind where I wanted to be. Right before the Canada border I stopped at the Tetlin Wildlife Refugee Visitor Center to refill my water bottles. A nice ranger filled them for me as I looked out the window at the Wrangell-St. Elias mountains. Far away, but beautiful. I headed across the border and cleared Canadian customs no problem. This was my first of what will be fifteen border crossings, and Canada is the second of thirteen countries I will visit on this trip! Just past Canadian customs I rolled into Beaver Creek and stopped at the one gas station and general store. I saw a bike park outside! I could tell the bike belongs to a fellow bike packer by the many bags strapped to the bike. I was excited at the prospect of meeting another cyclist as this was the first cyclist I had seen all trip! I made my way into the store, made my purchases—chocolate milk, and a chicken sandwich among other things. There was one table in the store, and sure enough there, my fellow cyclist sat. I asked if I could sit with him for a minute, and he kindly moved over to make room for me. We exchanged backgrounds and realized that we were both cycling the Pan-American Highway! We have Ushuaia in common! The cyclist’s name was Tim: a 31 year-old veteran out of the United States. He had just finished up working for the military, and was using his new pension fund to bikepack the Pan-American. He wasn’t on a super fancy bike—it looks like a hybrid more than a road bike—which is a very bold call for such a long route. I greatly respect his set up though. One of the great things about bike packing is that you don’t necessarily need the nicest bike in the world to have fun. The saying goes that the best bike for bike packing is the bike you already have. That obviously did not hold true for me as my intentions bike packing a little bit different than the average. Regardless, it was great to talk to another cyclist and Tim was a fantastic guy. We chatted for about 10 minutes while I sat there and devoured my food.

I’ve had people tell me that they think what I’m doing is inspiring, brave, and impressive. I tend to disagree. I think the act of doing this ride and the years of training and planning I have put into it is actually incredibly selfish. I’ve spent so much time on this project that I could’ve put into building relationships or contributing to the world around me. Not to mention, my training and this ride is a constant source of worry for people who care about me. That’s a burden I directly—and cognizantly—place on others by deciding to do this trip. I haven’t done much with my life other than ride my bike and rack up some student loans. So no, I don’t view this ride as inspirational or brave or impressive, it’s just an extenuation—the embodiment—of my selfish dreams. However, I think what Tim’s journey IS inspirational, it is brave. And it is definitely impressive. Here you have a man who has worked hard to serve his country, he’s proved himself at the service of others, and now he is taking the time to chase his dreams. He had no training, no experience, no expectations. He just said screw it, that looks cool, I’m a man who likes a challenge. I’m going to go do that. He’d never even set up a tent before this trip, now he’s two weeks into the greatest journey of his life. Now that’s impressive.

Tim bade me goodbye as I continued wolfing down my food. He headed back outside hopped on the bike and continued south. I told him I’d see him in a couple minutes—implying that I would catch up to him rapidly—which was true, but it felt rude as soon as I said it. Luckily he just laughed and said he’d see me out there. Sure enough I saw Tim about 10 minutes later. We exchanged farewells and I told him I’d check in with him when he got to Ushuaia. I’m so excited for him.

There wasn’t immediately much change upon entering the Yukon, except for the road surface. The road went from smooth asphalt to concrete aggregate, which has a much higher rolling resistance than asphalt and is hence significantly slower for cycling. Surprisingly, the road also had no white line on the edge, and the aggregate slowly faded away into gravel on the soft shoulder, making it quite difficult to stay on the shoulder as there was no shoulder. A couple cars took serious issues with this, and made sure that I heard from them about it. To make matters worse on the road surface front, there were large sections that were completely unpaved. Seemingly at random the road would go out for a couple of kilometers. The gravel wasn’t too problematic in most spots, but some of these gravel sectors have not been graded in a long time and the highway department has instead elected to throw down very loose gravel. Loose gravel can be a solution to road surface issues at times, but in high speed thoroughfares, loose gravel only creates breaking bumps. These break bumps were by far some of the worst I have ever seen. They felt like speed bumps, one after another. Being on skinny tires was difficult but my bike is very maneuverable. Other cars weren’t so lucky. I saw one RV and one car break down in these sectors of very very rough gravel. It doesn’t really feel like this is a temporary issue either, it feels like the gravel has been there for a long time and there doesn’t really seem to any plans to fix it anytime soon. The gravel slowed me down, but it wasn’t a major issue. But what was becoming a major issue was the constantly strengthening headwind. Before I stopped in Beaver Creek the wind had been a manageable more or less 10 mile an hour headwind. Any headwind around 10 miles an hour or slower is generally annoying, but not a major problem. I can usually block out the mental effects of 10 mph headwind has on my riding and physically a 10 mile an hour headwind only slows me down by 2 miles an hour. Any headwind is annoying, but once the wind starts getting over 15 or 20 miles an hour, it starts to become actively detrimental to the enjoyment of a ride. It can even become dangerous at times. By mid afternoon, I was fighting against 20 to 25 mph sustained winds that only continue to grow stronger into the evening. It’s incredibly disheartening to be riding in such strong headwind. A 20 mile an hour headwind absolutely cripples your speed. I was struggling to get above 12mph even in the descents. The road was cutting through large valleys now and the wind was picking up speed. The strong winds coming from the southeast ran up against the mountain walls and fell back into the valley creating a wind tunnel affect, only worsening the already bad headwind. By 5 o’clock the wind was 30 miles an hour with gusts over 50, strong enough to knock me off my bike. Multiple times I had to put a foot down after a gust came through. On the bright side, I was moving so slowly that getting knocked off my bike wasn’t really an issue. More of a nuisance than anything else. The wind was incredibly damaging to my average speed, and physically presents quite an immense challenge. Where I was averaging 17-18 miles an hour in was now at 10-12. By late afternoon I was crawling along at just 8 miles an hour average. That sounds really slow but when you stop to think about how slow that actually is in context it gets even worse. I can run faster than 8 miles an hour. It would’ve been easier for me to hop off my bike and start jogging. The great mountains that were once passing by so quickly now seemed to march along at a snail’s pace. Instead of entering a new valley every hour or so, I was stuck in the same valley all day, looking at the same mountains all day. This wasn’t the worst thing in the world as the view was spectacular, but it’s not great when you’re trying to push big miles. Whenever I have a headwind I do my best to block it out. There’s nothing you can do about the wind. Some days it’s just bad. There’s nothing to do about it. You just have to keep riding. However, I found it incredibly hard to block this wind out. It’s very hard not to personify the wind, to get mad at it, to think that mother nature has it out for you. Especially on beautiful, clear days when everything seems perfect except the wind that is really holding you back. Mentally, it’s incredibly difficult. When the wind gets over 20 miles an hour, it becomes dangerous to try to ignore it. Riding a set up like mine with deep wheels and big bike packing bags to act like sails any wind over 20 miles an hour is a threat to my upright position. With gusts coming in at over 50 miles an hour I had to be constantly looking for the next bombardment of wind that might derail my forward motion. I had to constantly scan horizon, looking for that next gust ripping through the trees. The aspen saplings, already bent at 45 degrees, would reach down and kiss the ground as large gusts came through. The tall straight spruces that normally stand straight up and down begin to whine and crack. You can hear their bark popping and snapping. A sinewy fracturing sound as their integrity is tested. The trees are all engaged in a dance with the wind. Swaying and rocking, being thrown every which way. I saw multiple trees fall throughout the day. Winds like this are not unheard of, but to have sustained 30 mile an hour winds in the Yukon in September is quite rare. I was hoping to get at least to Destruction Bay by nightfall. However, after lunch my average speed plummeted. Between the hours of six and nine I covered, barely 30 miles. It was very tempting to stop early to throw in the towel at mile 140. I wanted to call it a day and hope for better conditions tomorrow. However, this was never an option. Out here every mile matters for me. I need to hit at least 160 miles every single day not just for the record, but for myself. I am to the point where any day under 160 feels like a failure, it feels like I could’ve done better, I could’ve pushed harder, like I’m cheating myself. Additionally, I was out of water and hadn’t seen a stream in many miles. I passed over a large river, but it was full of glacial silt, and I wasn’t about to drink out of that. Finally, over an hour after sunset, I happened upon a small stream in a large wash. I was only at 161 miles, well over 60 miles short of what I had planned for the day. However, I had truly given it my all and pushed through the worst wind of my life. Even after the sunset, the wind, did not abate. It kept howling through the trees.

All afternoon I kept having to remind myself to keep my chin up. Figuratively of course I was trying not to let go let the wind get under my skin, but literally too. The mountains were absolutely gorgeous and when the sun came out to play I was treated to spectacular views. It is important that I keep my chin up to remind myself of the beautiful views all around me. The mountains here in the Yukon are definitely slightly different than in Alaska. In many ways, they are very much alike. However, they don’t look as inviting. They rise much steeper and don’t have quite the same coloration in alpine foliage that mountains in Alaska did. I guess the alpine foliage is less diverse down south, or perhaps peak foliage season just hasn’t come yet or has already passed. Certainly, I can notice a small difference in the color of the aspens already. Many of them are playing with the golden yellow that I have raved about for the past several days, but a significant number of them have yet to change or not in peak state yet. I’m moving south so rapidly that every day presents new species, new variations in the season, and new landmarks. The Yukon is no less beautiful than Alaska, that is for sure. Even though I have not been able to see the peaks of the mountains, I can tell that the beauty here much like in Alaska is almost unrivaled. Every day I get to wake up and ride through a postcard. It’s important that I savor these moments while I’m here, even through the harsh headwind, as I know, I will miss these beautiful vistas when they’re gone. In just a few short days I will be out on the great plains of Canada in American Midwest. Here I might find myself facing the same headwinds just without the views to accompany them. And it’s helpful to have so much to look forward to contextualize whatever setbacks or temporary suffering I’m faced with in the moment. I also know that no matter how bad things get right now, they’re gonna get way worse in South America when I’m 70 days into this trip instead of four days in. Knowing that, it helps rationalize any other sufferings I have. If I’m not cut out for the Yukon, I’m definitely not cut out for the Atacama desert for Andean Highlands, much less Patagonia.

All afternoon I’d been waiting for the wind to die down a little bit. Generally, the wind picks in the late afternoon then tapers off as the sun sets, and generally becomes still after dark. Today the wind only grow stronger and stronger until after 8:30 when it consistently was hitting 30 mile an hour. The fact that the wind is not abating at all makes me nervous that a storm system is blowing in. Generally, the only time wind is a) this strong, and b) this consistent into the night is when a large system is moving in. Nonetheless, there was nothing for me to do about it. I pitched my bivvy and ate a sad little mess of snacks for dinner. At lunch I thought for sure I was going to make it to the next town before dinner, so I hadn’t stocked up properly. Of course the wind had other plans for me so I was left eating crackers for dinner. I was able to get plenty of water thanks to the creek though, so that wasn’t an issue. I laid out my bivvy, ground pad, and sleeping bag, still wet from the heavy dew this morning and immediately drifted off to sleep. I worked incredibly hard today even if the numbers do not show it. If it were not for the headwind I’m sure I would’ve averaged over 18 miles an hour. My legs feel decent, but all the headwind made the riding a lot harder once again, slowing my pace down. My knees aren’t a problem now, but I worry if the headwinds continue for weeks on end, the constant low cadence movement will eventually start hurting my joints. Hopefully tomorrow is better.