Day 8 - The Klondike Highway To Mayo

It was shorts and sandals weather this morning as we stepped out of the hotel.  A slight chill in the air, but only slight, and a beautifully clear blue sky as we made our way down to The Deli to pick up some freshly handmade sandwiches for our journey to Mayo.  A lovely day, yes, but already I could feel my stomach knotting slightly at the thought of picking up our rental vehicle and learning how to drive on the wrong side of the road all over again.

We finished packing and checked out of the High Country Inn, then took the complimentary shuttle to the airport and the car rental place.  There we were expected, and even though we were an hour early, they let us have the keys to our new vehicle and bade us bon voyage.  Back outside again, I surveyed the newest member of our team, and the fourth vehicle we've rented in Canada: jet black, suave, roomy, he's a Ford Escape.  We've called him Arthur, because the first three letters of his number plate are "RFR".

Before setting off, though, there was one last thing to see in Whitehorse; the Yukon Transportation Museum.  This was an interesting look at transport in the Yukon (hence its name), especially around the Gold Rush time, and also the construction of the Alaska Highway, which we shall be travelling down in just over a week.  Pride of place, though, was given to CF-CPY, an old Douglas DC-3 aeroplane that had seen service in World War II, and had later performed for many years in the Yukon transporting goods and passengers.  When finally retired, the original intention was to use it as a practice vehicle for the fire department, but an absolute genius called Joe Muff appealed to have her restored and set up as a weather vane.  It actually works, too; just a 5 knot wind is enough to turn the whole aeroplane on its mount.

At last we could put it off no longer.  All our gear stowed in Arthur, I spent 10 minutes working out how to adjust the chair into a decent position for me to drive (I wasn't procrastinating, it really was that difficult to set the chair up).  Then, sat nav primed with the location of, well, somewhere at least, we set off.  Very slowly.  I mean, have you seen modern cars these days?  They're like flying an aircraft; Arthur has touch-screens and everything.

Three main roads in the Yukon, I said: the Alaska Highway, the Klondike Highway, and the Dempster Highway.  The sat nav seemed to think we were on all of them and none of them.  I didn't think the roads in the Yukon changed that much (with the exception of the Alaska Highway - more info next week!) but it seems that, perhaps, my maps on this old sat nav are finally out of date.  Luckily we had a standby; a paper map and some common sense.

It wasn't long before we were headed north on Highway 2, the Klondike Highway.  It was after 2 pm by now, our sandwiches were starting to sweat, and I desperately needed the loo.  However, there just didn't seem to be such a thing as a lay-by or services on this road in the north of Canada.  Eventually we came upon an area with a couple of vehicles in it, both empty, one with a boat-trailer on the back.  We were by Little Fox Lake, and out in the distance I could see a boat and a couple of guys fishing from it.  We pulled off the road and parked with the other vehicles.  I got out of the car to get the sandwiches from the boot, and was instantly surrounded by horse-flies.  Doors had to be opened and closed quickly, to avoid the flies getting into the car.  I snatched the sandwich bag out of the boot, flung it into the passenger area for Sandra to deal with, then marched off in search of a private place to do my business.

Tramping into the bush, wafting aside horse-flies and mosquitoes, I braved death by bear-mauling or penile-midge bites to finally relieve myself like a true Yukon Pioneer.

Two kilometres further up the road we came upon a proper rest area with toilets, where Sandra went about her business in a far more ladylike manner.

You don't know what to expect, you see?  I certainly wasn't expecting the equivalent of motorway service stations, but then I actually wasn't expecting anything at all.  I didn't know there would be rest areas.

We've driven 250 miles today and passed through three towns, none of them more than wide places in the road.  The biggest of them, Carmacks, had a population of 500.  Pelly Crossing was barely more than a bridge, and Stewart Crossing only seemed bigger because there were roadworks on their bridge (actually the population of Stewart Crossing is about a tenth that of Pelly Crossing).

The journey north was, believe it or not, through the same forest that we travelled through on our way to Peace River, and through which we waded extensively on our travels around British Columbia.  It's that big.  The road was straight in parts, but also twisty enough to keep up the concentration.  At times we found ourselves following the Yukon River again, now wider and more powerful than it was in Whitehorse.  We stopped at Five Finger Rapids, where four rocky outcrops split the river into five channels; only one was passable by the sternwheelers, but it was narrow and treacherous until widened with dynamite to make it easier for the big boats.

On we travelled, the rain coming now, dropping the temperature from the mid-twenties to the high teens, and then down to a cool 14°C.  At Stewart Crossing we turned right and headed along the Silver Trail.  This road follows the Stewart River, a large river in itself but merely a tributary to the mighty Yukon.  Silver was mined along this river, the centre of activity being Keno City, which we will visit tomorrow.

For now, though, we pulled into the tiny village of Mayo, named after the explorer Alfred Mayo.  No hotel here, instead a motel, the North Star Motel.  We picked up our key and then, because it was getting late, asked if there was anywhere we could get something to eat.  We were pointed towards the Chinese restaurant on 1st Avenue (having walked around the town after our meal, and looked on the internet, I'm not actually sure there is anywhere else to eat out in Mayo).  We dumped our luggage, exchanged shorts for long trousers, and headed down to The New China Village.

It's the kind of place where, as soon as you walk in and see the tables mostly empty except for a few locals who stare at you, the notices about not selling alcohol to people who aren't ordering food, the condiments of salt, pepper and soy sauce alongside knives and forks rolled in a paper napkin, every fibre of your being cries out to you, "go somewhere else!"  But there's nowhere else to go, and besides, we were hungry, and besides, this is what Mayo, YT is all about.  So we were shown to a table by Jody Ma who in a posh place would be called the chef patron.  And she chatted to us, and asked us where we came from and how we were finding the Yukon, and fed us stir fried beef and rice with Yukon Gold beer, and when we were finished she asked if we wanted some of the cherry pie she'd baked that day.  And when we both said we'd like to try a little bit, she nodded and smiled and brought us both ENORMOUS bits, and though it wasn't the best cherry pie we've ever had, we just felt so welcomed and accepted into this community.  What a special lady Jody Ma is, and what a treat to have met her.

After our meal we walked across the road and up a bank, and there was the Stewart River before us, moving in a slow and dignified manner, while behind it stretched the forests and hills of this part of the Yukon.  So peaceful, so utterly, utterly peaceful.

Apart from the midges.  I suspect they may get worse.