We were both awake by 5:00 but didn't begin to make any progress toward departure until 5:30. We'd arranged to have breakfast at the main lodge at 7:00, so had plenty of time. A quick glance at the bikes revealed that it may have showered some in the night. I thought I'd heard some thunder. Or perhaps it was just a heavy dew.
Later, as we were about to begin our walk to the house, my phone rang. It was Floyd! He was in the small city of Thompson, having just driven down from the lodge he operates in the village of Kinoosao the evening before. And his report on the road was quite positive.
"Well, we'll see you tomorrow afternoon, then!" I vowed. "Thanks for calling me back."
The breakfast Audrey prepared was incredible! Besides the normal hot items, there were various homemade jams, breads, and pastries. We ate with her son and grandson and a couple of ranch hands. They were all very amiable, and it was enjoyable to hear their stories. I took my leave a bit early, however, to see if I could cancel the extra night's reservation I'd made for Thompson (just in case it looked like we wouldn't be able to make it all the way north to Kinoosao).
We didn't get off until 8:30 that morning of Day 3. I'd had to call the hotel in Thompson twice, in addition to the online travel website I'd used for the original booking. In the end, I'd had to cancel both nights, then make a new reservation for a single one--at a higher cost, of course. I'd even employed my father's help (via text) to run down a phone number I couldn't seem to find. It was quite the saga, and I did not rein in my frustration with the web agent very well. It was not my finest hour. Before hanging up, though, I apologized--and thanked him for being much more patient with me than I'd been with him.
What I needed was a long stretch of gravel road to help shake out my tension. And this one did the job nicely! The first 50 miles were mostly well maintained, with a few spots where you could tell they'd recently attempted to fix some washouts--with varying degrees of success.
I let Dan take the lead, and he said he'd wait up for me at the only major junction before the Manitoba border. It looked like dust was going to be an issue, so I knew we'd be out of sight of each other for most of the way. No one likes to ride in a dust cloud--including the motorcycles themselves. Air filters do clog up. And internal combustion engines need air. (I know this from sad experience.)
By this time, I was in the lead again. Dan had pulled over at a junction he thought was the one. But when I caught up, we determined it was still ahead--and he took the rear position. When I saw this nice, shady spot just off the main road, however, I thought it might be time for a snack break!
Standing up for a while is always good too. And this was an ideal position from which to spot his lights coming into view--and stride out to the road to ensure he saw me. If he were to pass by and think I was still in front, that could be problematic. I was quite sure our cell phones would be of no use here in helping us reconnect.
Reenergized from our brief pause in momentum (and intake of calories and fluids), Dan resumed the lead. Here, I stopped for a photo from the highest hill we'd summitted since Moose Mountain the day before. Some have asked if it's all flat up there in central Canada--but that's not the case. No, it's not the Rockies. But it's not Kansas either.
Not far from the bottom of that big hill, I found Dan parked at the intersection with Route 55. This photo is somewhat misleading. The narrow trail on the trikes' starboard side is a dead end. Route 9/55 continues past the picture's left edge to The Pas, Manitoba (as the road sign in the trees indicates). Behind us (off the picture's right edge) is Hudson Bay, where we'd just come from. The road to Nipawin and Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, (55) extends west from the trikes' port side. That's all very important to you, I'm sure. And I've been happy to explain it.
I was also very happy to be in the shade, as it was getting to be late morning--and the day was heating up fast. It had been a fun road though! And it felt great to be back on Canadian gravel after a two-year hiatus.
We each performed a quick check of our machines and luggage. My custom system for toting touring gear over rough roads had previously been refined over 1,000+ miles of gravel in Canada's Northwest Territories, The Yukon, and more recently in Montana. But it would be foolish not to keep a wary eye on things. Dan's equipment was still in the early testing phase. But, so far, so good!
Another 25 miles brought us to the edge of the pavement at the Manitoba border. It's always exciting to leave the blacktop--and always a relief to find it again! Okay, sometimes it's terrifying to leave the blacktop--but disappointing to find it again. But those are the exceptions.
The first five miles of combined route 9/55 had been fairly nice--though the predictions of heavy truck traffic were well-founded. The last 20, however, had had alternating sections of shallow mud and deep dusty/sandy ruts. Unfortunately, I didn't get any photos of it--was too preoccupied with staying on the road while still maintaining forward momentum, I guess. But the loose shoulder we're parked on here is a less extreme version of what we'd encountered across the entire road width, at times. A slightly different riding technique was required, but we both got the hang of it--soon enough.
After 25 miles of rough pavement, we made it to the town of The Pas, pronounced, "The Paw." The history of settlement in the area includes native peoples, French military officers, French and Canadian traders, and Anglican missionaries. And the 5,500ish-population town still incorporates a mix of cultures, religions, and industries.
We stopped for gas downtown, then were able to squeeze into a shady spot beside the convenience store for a longer break. Besides the items I'd purchased there, Dan sliced up and shared an apple he'd brought all the way from Oregon. It was still crisp and delicious! A few young locals struck up a conversation with me while Dan was inside. They had lots of questions about the U.S. and our trikes. None of them had ever seen a Ryker before, even though Can-Am is a Canadian company. Granted, the nearest dealer was probably 300 miles away.
From there, we turned north onto the much better maintained Highway 10. It was only 30 miles to the tiny community of Wanless, but we knew the next stretch would be exceedingly long, so we stopped there for fuel as well.
"Nice new store," you say, "but where are the pumps?"
"Behind us!" I say. We stopped at that above-ground tank first, then pulled up to get out of the way for others--and to get closer to the cold drinks.
This was not my first time in Wanless, but I don't remember a store. In fact, I had camped on the shore of a lake near here eleven years ago. I was heading to Churchill (on Hudson Bay) astride my first KTM. Coincidentally, I'd passed within half an hour of Dan's place on my way out of Oregon. I'm sure I'd told him where I was going. And I'm nearly as sure that he'd been a tad envious. So, perhaps this current trip was, in part, an attempt to atone for that one.
In a dozen miles, we turned east onto Highway 39 and began traversing Grass River Provincial Park. The river is rarely (if ever) apparent from the road, but multiple lakes are at least briefly visible. I pulled into this gravel parking area, and Dan followed suit.
A short but steep trail led down to the rocky shoreline. The water was amazingly clear, but a slight breeze created a dimpled surface.
I'm contractually obligated to include at least one selfie every other blog post--for Mom. This one's not too bad. I think what looks like a stubby orange worm on my cheek is the sunlight shining through one of the vents in my visor.
Shortly after snapping this photo, the clouds began to thicken and darken overhead. We weren't really that excited about the prospect of rain--and even less so about lightning--but with the sun hidden, temperatures finally fell to a much more pleasant level.
Forty miles past the park (at the junction with Highway 6 South) we came upon a scene which could have been very concerning, if we hadn't been expecting it. Those pumps behind the fence were obviously brand new--but not yet operational. This was formerly the site of the Ponton Junction Motel, restaurant, and gas station. It had been a lifeline for me (and countless others) eleven years ago--the only services along a 245-mile stretch of road--but burned to the ground only three years after I was there.
While making plans for this trip, I'd discovered its fate--and that it had not been rebuilt. Fortunately, Dan's research had found the gas station back in Wanless--and one more to come (Wabowden), between this junction and Thompson. We knew we carried enough extra fuel (in all those red jugs) to make it if Wanless had been closed, but Wabowden was open. I wasn't sure how we'd fare if it was the other way around.
But we were about to find out. This is the public-access Wabowden fuel pump--30 miles farther up the road from where that last photo was taken. The paper notice taped over the company logo reads, "GAS PUMPS ARE OFFLINE AT THE MOMENT."
In the Scriptures, Peter wrote that "with the Lord, a day is like a thousand years." Question was, to a shopkeeper in extremely rural northern Manitoba--how long was a moment?
