6 Wheels North: Back to Saskatchewan

 

No, that's not snow.  On the morning of Day 7, we walked out to our trikes to find a fresh dusting of ash on the seat cushions.  We'd heard that La Ronge, Saskatchewan, (the day's goal) was thick with wildfire smoke, but evidently, it had drifted east during the night.  Perhaps that meant conditions would improve as we rode west.  If not, there was a potential escape route to the south about halfway there--much as we would have hated to abandon our final scheduled stop.  There was only one way to find out for sure.

Having risen at 5:30, we were loaded and ready to go at 7:00.  As you can see, the Victoria Inn was somewhat lacking in the curbside appeal category.  But the interior was fine--clean, comfortable, and quiet.  And for a largish hotel, parking was quite convenient.

Even though we'd filled our tanks the night before, we decided to add some to our auxiliary fuel cells as well, since we knew it could be as far as 200 miles to the next opportunity for gas.  Pre-trip research had uncovered conflicting reports.

Dan was in the lead (following his GPS) and turned off the main road at this park.  No doubt it was a shorter route, but I wanted to see Flin Flon's historic downtown section.  I pulled over so I could give him a call, and we agreed to meet up near the provincial boundary.

In the meantime, I checked out the combination city park/community garden/graffiti canvas.  I guess the residents in those houses could use binoculars to determine when their vegetables were ready to harvest.

A few minutes later, Dan and I were reunited--together again in Saskatchewan, after nearly four days in Manitoba.  The sign says, "Land of Living Skies."  But that morning, the skies did not appear very lively.

The roadside looked better, though, with green grass and wildflowers...

And the occasional outcropping of the Canadian Shield.  Apparently, the previous year had experienced a pretty devastation fire, however.

The first potential gas station was 70 miles down Highway 106.  An older man was walking towards us as we rolled up to the pump.

"There's no gas," was his short and to-the-point greeting.  Then I read the sign, "STORE CLOSED PERMANENTLY."  Good thing we didn't really need any.

The second place we stopped, some miles later, didn't even have hoses on the pump.  In fact, the area we were traveling through had several lakeside resorts, but most were not well maintained, if they were open at all.  For some reason, the tourist business there was not what it used to be.

One hundred twenty miles from Flin Flon, we turned off the pavement and onto gravel route 165.  This is where we could have bailed on La Ronge and headed south.  But the smoke wasn't any worse than it had been when we left the hotel.  And we'd have another chance at an emergency exit at the end of this 60-mile stretch.  The sign says 128 kilometers (about 80 miles) to town.  The last 20 were supposed to be paved.  Beauval (the other listing on the sign) was another 100 miles of gravel farther west.  I'd originally considered it for this trip but decided it would have to wait for the next one.  That way, I can always be planning.

Full speed ahead!  Well, a prudent speed, of course.

But first--a final look back.  Sky is nice and blue now in that direction.  Maybe it would catch up with us soon.

And it did!  The gravel road surface, however, became much looser and deeper.  We were glad for our third wheels.

Compared to the region north of Thompson, MB, this route did not offer a lot of waterfront riding.  There were a few named streams, though, that flowed north into Lac La Ronge--10 to 20 miles distant.

Nipekamew and Meeyomoot are fun to say, but Bow River was easier to remember.  I'm afraid I don't know which of the three this is.

As we neared Highway 2, the topography got more interesting.  The dust kicked up by the occasional approaching vehicle was the worst we'd experienced thus far, but, fortunately, traffic was very light--and we kept our distance from each other.

From this junction, the town of La Ronge is only 20 miles north (to the right).  In the morning, we'd pass this spot again and continue south to Prince Albert--and on toward the U.S. border.

As soon as I completed the turn, my low fuel light came on.  It's the little yellow gas pump icon near the lower right corner.  I'd never seen it before.

In the upper left, you can see that I'd gone 179.6 miles since filling up last in Flin Flon.  The digits below the "0 MPH" speedometer reading estimate that I had 42 miles left before empty.  But can you really trust that?  I didn't know.

I pushed it until this nice shady spot appeared on a side road.  I think we were only five miles from town, but I couldn't take it anymore.  I knew that bad things could happen if you let your engine completely run out of gas.

Dan wasn't worried.  It wasn't the first time he'd run his Ryker on fumes.  In that regard, he had more faith in his machine than I had in mine.  He wanted to empty his can that had given him trouble previously, so he offered it to me--and I poured the contents into my tank.

Minutes later, we both filled up completely at the La Ronge CO-OP.  Now I know my Ryker can go 200 miles on a tank--at least when 60 of it is relatively low-speed gravel.  I'm sure that 200 miles of high-speed interstate would be too much to ask.

The original plan had been to check into our motel, unload some luggage, then head 50 miles farther north to the village of Stanley Mission--returning before dark for dinner.  But it was barely noon.  We decided to stick with the program and go find the motel--hoping that we'd be allowed to check in early.

"Never hurts to ask," they say.

 

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.