6 Wheels North: Return to the Unknown

 

Up at 6:00, we began our day with breakfast in the hotel lobby.  In no way was it comparable to the one we'd been served at the Fir River Ranch, but it was readily available and already paid for.  And it was more substantial than the lone granola bar I'd had the previous two mornings.

After that, it was out to the trikes for pre-trip checks.  My Ryker's oil level looked a bit low, but I didn't add any because I hadn't bothered to go through the proper warm-up procedure first.  I'd check it again later in the day.  Really, it was quite amazing that both our rides had endured the punishing trip to Kinoosao so well!

After repacking and loading, we were off by 8:00.  Our first planned stop was less than an hour away--an impressive waterfall I'd visited 11 years ago and wanted to show to Dan.  

But that didn't go so well.  An official of some sort had the access road blocked with her pickup truck.  There was no current issue in the park itself, she told us, but all recreation sites were being temporarily closed due to a wildfire in the general area.  It did make a little sense, as we'd begun to see and smell smoke since leaving Thompson.

Initially, our second planned stop didn't look that promising either.  But this one was more important.  When we pulled up to the fuel pump at Wabowden, there was no one around.  I got off the cycle and walked up to the door to read the fine print on the sign.  As I did so, a couple in an SUV arrived and headed toward me.

"I guess they're not open yet," I informed the other potential patrons.

"Sorry we're a little late," the woman responded.  "I'll have the pump working in a couple minutes."

"Oh!  I thought you were more customers," I explained, as she inserted a key into the lock.  "There's no rush--I'll have time to pick out a snack."

We had no problems filling our tanks again in Wabowden--same place we'd done it on our way north.  I'd neglected then to notice that they didn't open until 9:00.  But our relatively late start had allowed it to work out perfectly.

We briefly pulled off the road again just before entering Grass River Provincial Park.  I remember that the wildfire haze was clearly visible from this vantage point.  It's not so obvious in the photo, but you can see some odd coloring hanging above the treetops.

Once we had entered the park, though, it seemed to have dissipated.  I think this is Reed Lake.  It may be the same one we'd seen three days before (there are several) but from a different access point.

After enjoying the view for a few minutes, we climbed back to the trikes to head for the next one.  We only had 240 miles to cover that day, all paved, so we had time to kill.

This might be Iskwasum--or it could be yet another angle of Reed.  For our purposes (then and now) it didn't/doesn't really matter.  We were enjoying the nice weather and beautiful scenery.

I'm a bit more confident about this lake being Simonhouse.  But don't quote me on that.  I do know it was our last stop in the park before turning north onto Highway 10.

That long boat dock/fishing pier was calling me.  I had to give it a go.

It wasn't quite wide enough for Ryker, though, so I had to go on foot.

There was more to see in Grass River Provincial Park, but we didn't want to "waste" too much time.  Plus, I was becoming anxious to leave the route which had become somewhat familiar to me--and strike off again into completely new territory!

And the village of Cranberry Portage was just that.  Inhabited since prehistoric times, barely a mile of land separates the Grass River and Saskatchewan River watersheds.  A Rapid City friend of mine has visited the area, so I had to be sure we got a photo that would document our arrival.

Here, this shot's better.  The red paint is very faded, but you can just make out the words, "CRANBERRY PORTAGE Welcomes You."

But we wouldn't be lugging any canoes across to the other side that day.  Which was a very good thing--because it was uncomfortably hot by then.  All we needed was gas--before the final 30-mile stretch to our destination for the night.

Founded in the 1920s on the Saskatchewan border, the mining town of Flin Flon got its name from a character in a novel that was published in 1905.  As soon as we arrived, I noticed a city park featuring a larger than life statue of that fictional adventurer.  I had to get off the trike for a better view.

I wouldn't have known who he was, if I hadn't done a bit of research on the area before leaving home.  And it's not the only interesting factoid I dug up--like the necessity of above-ground water and sewer lines in some sectors, due to a lack of topsoil covering the impenetrable Canadian Shield.  (No idea how they keep them from freezing in winter.)  One of Flin Flon's nicknames is the City Built on Rock--not very catchy, but you get the idea.

In fact, though I regrettably did not stop for any photos, the scenery coming into town had been incredible!  We'd crossed causeways over multiple lakes, surrounded by hills of solid rock that inexplicably supported small stands of healthy trees.

Our hotel wasn't far from the statue.  Once we'd checked in and lugged our gear into the room, we walked down to the on-site restaurant and asked to see a menu.  The meals were expensive, and the setting wasn't very attractive.  It was only 4:00, so we decided to hop back on the cycles and look for more options.

We rode perhaps half a mile, but nothing looked as good as the Chicken Chef a few hundred feet from the hotel--so we went back.  Turns out, it's a Manitoba-born franchise!  Dan's (on top) is a veggie pizza.  Mine is Chicken Chipotle Poutine.  I've had (and loved) lots of slightly different poutine on my Canadian trips over the years.  But I'd never had it like this.  And it was incredibly tasty!

Back in the room, we checked in with our home people--and were in bed before 9:00.  My adrenaline from the most difficult and critical days of the trip was completely spent.

"I'm so tired," I wrote in my journal--then fell asleep.

6 Wheels North: Hub of the North

 

After passing that grader, there were no more washouts, but the surface was a tad muckier.  We made it back to the pavement in Lynn Lake, however, with no real difficulties.  The 60-mile stretch from Kinoosao on Reindeer Lake had still taken three hours--not much less than the outbound leg the day before.  It had seemed less rough and exhausting, though.  One might even have called it enjoyable!

The ESSO gas station was right where we'd last utilized it--less than 24 hours ago.  But the weather was looking much more promising than it had then.  All that remained that day were 200 miles of alternating pavement and gravel to Thompson, the region's only city--aka, the Hub of the North.

After refilling Ryker's tank, I refilled the bottle holder on my luggage bag with a fresh cold hydrating beverage.  I was good to go!

Sixty-five miles later we were back in Leaf Rapids, and the clouds were building and darkening.  This time, we opted not to mess with the card reader at the pumps (between those two busses).  You may recall that our last visit had entailed multiple failed attempts (by each of us) before Dan finally got one of his cards to work.  We still had plenty of fuel in our reserve cans, and I'd decided that this spot looked like a nice out-of-the-way place to make the transfer.

While we were pouring, a remarkably talkative man approached us on foot from across the parking lot.  I attempted to carry on a reasonably engaging conversation without interrupting the precariously controlled flow of combustible liquid.  Completing the process without spilling any on the cycle or onto my boots is never easy.

But I was doing it--until he stepped around to my side of the trike and bumped into me!  He was ostensibly demonstrating something that had happened to him in a story he was relating, but I immediately flashed back to a couple of experiences I'd had overseas--and checked to confirm that the jacket pocket where I keep my wallet was still zipped up.  It was.

If I'm remembering this correctly, Dan and I both finished our refueling about the same time another man drove up and began talking with the first man--who turned away from me and took a few steps toward the truck.  At that moment, Dan and I wished them well and took off.

It might have been nothing--or it might have been an attempt at something that resulted in nothing.  The encounter had most of the hallmarks of the latter.  Either way would not have been my first.

On a rare stretch of nice blacktop again, we finally began to make good southward progress.

As you can see from the bent-over trees, the winds had picked up considerably by this time.  While having a third wheel does not make a rider immune to a strong gust, the effects, I'd say, are less startlingly terrifying.  We took a break at this junction--then continued on.

In the midst of the final 60-mile segment of gravel, a temporary resumption of asphalt signaled the proximity of the dam we'd crossed on our way north.  This time, we wanted to have a better look.  As soon as I'd killed the motor, I heard the rushing of mighty waters.

This stunning scene was only steps away!

The other side was a little calmer, but I wouldn't call it placid.

I assume the lake's dark color was a result of all the recent rain.  The sky had lightened up again, though, which was certainly encouraging.

Somewhere between Leaf Rapids and the Footprint River bridge (behind us), we encountered that same couple in the white SUV, who the previous day had reported that Floyd was expecting us.  When we told them how much we'd enjoyed our stay at the Grand Slam Lodge, they seemed a bit surprised that we'd made it!

A handful of miles later, we rolled onto the final 50 miles of pavement before Thompson.  The road from Lynn Lake hadn't seemed as bad as I'd remembered it, but then, return legs rarely do.  For the most part, we'd known what to expect.  And that usually helps relax any tension and pass the time.

We pulled into Thompson around 5:00 in the afternoon, gassed up, then found our international chain hotel not far from Walmart.  No, we weren't in the wilderness anymore.  As soon as we'd checked in and carried up our gear, we marked the occasion by walking across the street to Boston Pizza--rather oddly founded in Edmonton Alberta!

My individual Great White North (Canadian bacon with tons of mozzarella) was quite good.  Back at the hotel, Dan and I both called family while we did our laundry for the first time since leaving South Dakota.

We didn't turn out the lights until 11:30--about an hour after Dan took this sunset shot through our 2nd or 3rd floor window.  We'd covered 260 miles that day, our 5th since departing from Rapid City.  Nearly half had been unpaved.  If all went according to plan, tomorrow would be almost like a day off--our shortest one yet, and no gravel.

"Might be kind of nice," I thought.