6 Wheels North: Grand Slam Lodge

 

When I got closer to the second tree sign for our pre-arranged lodging, I saw that it did, in fact, include a tiny right-pointing arrow.  We wouldn't have to flip a coin to decide whether to take the left fork or the right.

A minute later, we finally rolled up to the primary structure of the Grand Slam Lodge, Kinoosao, Saskatchewan, Canada.  It does exist!  We'd ridden four full days from my home in South Dakota, 300+ miles and 11 hours since breakfast, and 60 miles and four hours of rock, dirt, and mud since leaving the pavement's edge--for the second time that day.  It had been quite the trip!

"You must be Floyd," I presumed, when our host (whom I recognized from his website photo) showed up almost immediately--must have heard us coming.  "We made it!"

"You're Troy?" he assumed, since I'd called him several times over the last few weeks--and we were doubtless the only cyclists he was expecting.  "Welcome to Reindeer Lake!  Dinner is on the table.  I was about to put it away when my granddaughter suggested we give you a few more minutes.  You'll be in that first cabin there, and you can wash up inside either of those side doors of the main house.  Just come into the front room when you're ready to eat."

"Sounds great!  We'll be quick," I promised.

Dan and I moved the trikes across the dirt and sand clearing and parked in front of our one-room hand-built house.  The setting was even more ideal than I had imagined.

Floyd began construction way back in 1983--and had added buildings as the growth of the business necessitated them, and as time and funds allowed.  His technique was likely a combination of traditions from his Scandinavian ancestors (his grandfather had emigrated from Norway as a fur trader) and those he'd picked up by living his entire life in northern Canada.  When I first talked with Floyd on the phone (while making our earliest plans for this trip) he'd told me just enough of his story that I knew I had to come and meet him!

Three more identical cabins were lined up alongside ours, but the place was not busy.  Visitors had been scarcer, Floyd said, since the road was completely washed out years ago--and it had taken years to make it passable again.  Obviously, it still could use some help.

As soon as we'd unpacked enough to change out of our riding boots, we walked back over to the lodge.

Stepping onto the front porch, the lake came into view!  We could see where a wildfire had surely come too close for comfort, but Floyd said he has insurance, so he wasn't worried.

In the dining room, we met Floyd's granddaughter (who'd helped cook the meal) and a cousin of hers--nice kids.  The five of us filled our plates with lightly breaded and fried walleye fish (caught right in the lake), a shrimp dish, mashed potatoes, and three different vegetables.  And it was all delicious!

After we thanked our hosts/cooks repeatedly and helped them clean up a bit, we walked back to the trikes.  Dan had noticed that some bolts on his luggage rack were loose, and I decided I should check all of mine as well.  Sure enough, we both found fasteners that needed attention after that terrible road--and got everything tightened up again for the return trip in the morning.

Once we'd wiped all the mud off our lights and mirrors, we took a stroll down to the water's edge.  There we found Floyd's own house and multiple docks.

Sometimes he takes his boat 70 miles all the way to Southend (on the south end of the lake) for supplies or to access the rest of the country.  It's the only other town on Reindeer Lake with summer road access.  And it's probably quicker and more comfortable than the route we'd taken.

I didn't think to ask if all these boats are his, or if he invites others in the community to use his marina.

If we weren't so exhausted, we'd have chartered a pleasure cruise of some sort.  As I write this (two months later), I kind of wish we had.  It was a perfect evening for it.

This is Blue.  "He's blond," the girl had said.  He doesn't look like a bear dog, so the property must not have much of a problem with that.

Before taking a shower and turning in, I found another lake access point--on the other end of the row of cabins.  I took off my sandals and waded a few feet into the cool, clear water.  After skipping the road to Kinoosao on my return trip from Churchill, it had taken me 11 years to return and complete the quest.  I was glad I hadn't given up on the idea.

Our cabin had a set of bunk beds and a single, here under the window.  A lone light bulb hung in the center of the ceiling, and a hand-washing sink had been installed near the door.  The toilets and showers were in the building where we'd eaten dinner.  It had been hot inside when we first arrived, but with the back screened window open, it was cooling off nicely.

The truck next door belonged to another member of Floyd's family.  Originally, he'd had a big reunion planned for that weekend, but between the fires and the floods, most had cancelled on him.  Hopefully they'd all been able to reschedule before the end of the season.

As expected, there was no cell service, so I'd have to check in with my wife at some point the following day.  She'd been following the "breadcrumbs" my GPS was leaving, though.  So, she'd know we'd arrived at the lodge.

With the help of the last natural light coming through the window, I scribbled a few things down in my journal.  By the time we turned off the electric one, it was nearly 11:00.  We were exhausted.  I doubted either of us would have much trouble sleeping.

6 Wheels North: Route 394

 

I took the lead first for the 60-mile final stretch to Reindeer Lake and the village of Kinoosao.  That's Dan in the rear position.  I was glad those dark clouds were behind us.

Right out of the proverbial gate, we began to encounter evidence of the storms that had closed the road earlier in the month.

But we knew that our host for that night, Floyd, had driven the road only days before.  Maybe this was the worst of it, down here in the southernmost region.

At least the surface was well-graded and smooth.  We were able to keep up a fairly brisk pace--when we weren't pausing for photos!  Surely it couldn't get much worse, so we didn't want to miss any opportunities to document the conditions.

But after the turnoff for Zed Lake Provincial Park (about a quarter of the way in) it got significantly worse!

Our admittedly overly optimistic estimate of a two-hour sprint was now looking like a three-hour slog--at best.

By the midpoint (about 30 miles in) the water hazards had been replaced by hard rock shiners poking up through the gravel.  They're not bad here, but much of the traveling surface was full of embedded stones that made for very rough going at best--dangerous and/or damage-causing impacts at worst.

We'd been told about this stretch for a different reason though.  The road was constructed along a narrow ridge which occasionally dropped off steeply on both sides.  The severely burned forest made the scene even more extraordinary.

As long as we didn't ride too fast, both Rykers handled it well--and seemed ready for more!

Dan and I, however, were beginning to grow weary.  It had already been a long day--and we still had a long way to go.

I think this is Vanderkerckhove Lake.  That's a mouthful!  But according to the map, McMillan and Carswell were also in the area--but there were no signs.  As I approached the bridge, it didn't look like I could straddle the middle section completely with the front wheels, so I tried it this way.

Evidently, the stream of water had done nothing to halt the blaze.  Good thing the bridge was unharmed, or maybe it had been rebuilt.  Probably shouldn't linger too long.

Guess we weren't quite done with fording large puddles yet--a new experience for both our machines.  We hoped they didn't get much deeper--or muddier.  But at least there weren't any boulders.

By the time we stopped here, however, the harsh choppy surface had returned.  It doesn't look too bad in the picture, but we were suffering.  I'd been leading, and I'd really wanted to make it till my trip meter indicated that we "only" had 10 miles left.  But this wide, level spot popped up out of nowhere, and I didn't want to pass it up.  I don't remember what the mile "marker" was, but there were less than 15 to go.

It didn't help that the clouds had cleared, and it was HOT.  Compounding matters, our speeds had been quite low, so we'd not been getting much cooling that way either.  We stepped back into the shade of the forest and shared a snack--for as long as we could stand the mosquitoes.  Once it seemed that our internal organs had risen back into their proper places, we saddled up again for the final push.

Within minutes, new challenges were introduced to the mix.  We encountered several steep hills that had been gouged up with storm run-off.  The rocks returned with a vengeance, but they were just as likely to be loose as embedded.  Most resemblance to a maintained gravel road vanished, and we were creeping along on a 4x4 trail--engine cooling fans blaring.  It was not the kind of riding our Rykers were designed for.

At least an hour later, we saw the first road sign in a very long time.  We'd made it to the Saskatchewan border!  The white sign on the bottom reads, "Welcome to Kinoosao, Sask, Home of the Grand Slam Lodge."  Then, below the caricature of a bear holding a fish, it says, "Welcome Lodgers!"

Those last dozen miles had been brutal.  If we hadn't been so exhausted--and hadn't known that Floyd was expecting us--it might have been tempting to turn around.  But now we were less than two miles away!

We didn't know it at the time, but we'd just crossed an arm of the enormous Reindeer Lake.  With a surface area of over 2,500 square miles, it's the ninth largest in Canada.

We took a bunch of pictures (of course), congratulated each other, and restarted our engines for the last time that day.

After passing through the settlement of Kinoosao, we spotted this sign at a junction, high up in a tree.  The arrow is partly covered by leaves, but it clearly points to the left.  So we followed it.

The sandy surface was sooooo nice and smooth!  I could already taste the fish dinner we'd been promised!

Then the path in the wood diverged again.  And again, there was a hand-painted sign for the lodge.  But this time, there was no arrow.