6 Wheels North: Stanley Mission

When we pulled into the parking lot of our motel in La Ronge, SK, there was only one other vehicle there.  We knew we were early for checking in but entered the office to assess the situation.

"If you can give me 30 minutes," a kind and accommodating woman replied to our inquiry, "I'll have your room ready."

"Not a problem at all," I responded, "especially if we can just hang out here in your air-conditioned lobby.  It's hot out there!"

Our request was granted, and the woman's time estimate was right on.  Within the hour, we'd partially moved in and had a mid-day snack.  Deciding it might be best to keep most of our gear on the trikes (for rear wheel traction and emergency supplies), we were soon riding through Lac La Ronge Provincial Park, just north of town.

The pavement for the first 20 miles or so was brand new and pristine!  Views consisted primarily of water, small islands, and shoreline vegetation--though much of that had recently burned.

At the pavement's edge, the surface turned to hard-packed, chemically treated gravel--with a scattering of loose stuff on top in places.  It was quite ideal for the Rykers and their riders!  But it only lasted for eight miles.

What followed (after a junction where we'd turned east) were the worst washboards of our entire trip!  It was better in a few places, but most of the remaining 22 miles was slow-going and/or excruciating.

Pictured above is probably the best stretch.  But you had to watch out for potholes.

Our goal was a First Nations village only 50 miles from La Ronge.  At the end of the road and the edge of the water, it was an easily justifiable destination.  But getting there would be a little tougher than I'd expected.  Shouldn't have been a surprise, right?

But we did make it to Stanley Mission!  Founded in 1851, the community was named for the English manor house of an Anglican missionary's wife.

I'd known there was some kind of lodging here (building on the left), but since I could find very little about it, I'd arranged to stay in La Ronge instead.

Neither of us needed fuel, but we pulled over at the "Gas Bar" so Dan could empty one of his jerrycans into his tank.  Its mount had become loose on the extremely rough road, and he wanted to take the weight out of it.

Soon, we were descending the final bit to the water's edge.  Notice the white structure on the far side of the Churchill River--to the left of the smaller island.  It will appear in the next three photos as well.

Down at the boat launch, we encountered a group who'd just returned from the opposite shore.  A woman holding a covered plate of food said it was for her 90-year-old relative.  She was bringing it home from "the festival," which she said we were welcome to attend.

We walked out to the end of the pier and considered it briefly.  

It would be cool to visit the Holy Trinity Anglican Church.  Completed in 1860, it's the oldest building in Saskatchewan.  One of the water taxis would take us.

But we decided against it--probably our loss.  Hard to leave our loaded machines unattended in unfamiliar territory, I suppose.  And it was hard to say how long the excursion might take.

The weather looked like it might be turning as well.  And there were still 50 miles of mostly unpaved road between us and shelter.

We rode up from the riverbank and parked in a large gravel lot between another church (above) and a grocery store (behind me).  Dan went in and found himself a snack, while I zipped up the vents in my jacket.  Looked like our return trip was going to be cooler (and maybe wetter) than our outbound one had been.

While there, an official of the town drove up and began to chat about our Can-Am trikes.  He'd never seen their kind before.  Oh, and I neglected to mention that the woman at the boat dock had said the same thing.  Like up in Kinoosao, we may have accomplished another Ryker first ascent!

As is usually the case, we rode a little faster back to the "barn."  But I still stopped for a few photo ops that I'd missed the first time.

And the clouds held onto their moisture.

Dan passed me while I was stopped here...

But I caught him again and recaptured the lead before the end of the gravel.  It wasn't a race, of course--but a race might have looked quite similar.

Despite the washboards, it had been my most enjoyable stretch of the trip.  Guess I just ignored the pain.  Hopefully, Ryker had been able to do the same.  I hadn't heard any complaints.

When Dan arrived (not much later), we did a quick inspection for dragging parts (there were none) and rolled back onto the pavement.

Twenty-some minutes later and after a short cruise through town, we dismounted in front of the Subway sandwich shop.  I know.  Fast food?

But this one has a waterfront view!  After ordering our subs, we grabbed a table at one of the unobstructed picture windows and began reviewing the day's events.  Had all that really happened in only 300 miles?!

After leaving the Subway, we cruised through a lakeside park, then stopped for gas near our motel.  While there, an upper middle-aged man on a scooter rode up to me and introduced himself as "Barefoot Mike."  He'd been living in La Ronge since the 70s, he said, and had never seen a Ryker.  Of course, Rykers have only been in existence since 2019--though their larger siblings (Spyders) have been around since 2007.  Still, the fact that ours were the first he'd encountered was somehow gratifying to know.  I gave him my card, so he might be reading this account now.  Hope you had a great summer, Barefoot Mike!

Oh, and he was wearing flip flops.

Turning off at the motel, there was a man having trouble with his SUV.  If I haven't stated it yet, Dan's handy with just about everything--and is always willing to help a stranger.  I believe the issue here was engine coolant related.  A few minutes of tinkering yielded positive results--at least positive enough so the guy could make it to a location that was more suitable for mechanic work.

When we pulled up to the Drifters Motel this time, there was much more activity.  Dan is backing into the spot in front of our room, just to the right of the office.  It was obviously an older building but had recently come under new management and received significant updates.  It made a perfect cyclers' stop-over, in fact.

After unloading, we walked to the store next door for dessert.  I had a Klondike Bar--seemed appropriate for a trip to the frozen north (even though it wasn't so frozen then).

Back at the room, we performed some light trike maintenance--tightened luggage rack bolts, checked oil levels, cleaned air intake screens and radiator grills.  I replaced my engine air filter with a new one I'd brought from home.  We weren't planning to take any more dusty roads, so I thought Ryker would enjoy the chance to breathe freely again.  The old filter wasn't terrible, but it was far from clean.

We each called home to update family on our progress, then turned out the light at 11:00.  The rains that had threatened earlier had never caught us, and wildfire smoke hadn't been an issue either--unbelievable, really.  Incredibly, the entire trip had unfolded largely as planned.  We'd made it to each of the seven lodgings I'd reserved months in advance.  At some point the next day, Dan and I would part ways and head for our respective homes.  But for me, home was still 900 miles away.  Dan had several hundred more.  Guess the adventure wasn't over yet!

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.