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.

6 Wheels North: Doubling Back

 

By morning, both the power and the water were out at the Grand Slam Lodge.  No matter--Dan donned his headlamp to work on something of his that needed work, and I began to pack up my things by dawn's early light.

We'd risen at 5:00 and by 6:30 were just about ready to head out.  We hadn't seen anyone else, so were glad we'd settled our bill with Floyd the evening before.  He was probably already out fishing.

I took one last stroll down to the water to say goodbye to Reindeer Lake.  There wasn't a cloud in the sky.  I'd heard some rain in the night, but it didn't seem like enough to cause too much issue with the road ahead--or rather, the road behind.  Yes, it was already time to start back.  Dan and I may have been the only visitors to stay just one night in this incredible place--that's so hard to get to!  Perhaps there will be a next time, when we can stay longer.

Returning to the trikes, we strapped on our helmets and pressed the starters.  Too bad we didn't get to say goodbye to Floyd and the kids.

But check it out!  Floyd was able to say goodbye to us.  The sign at the edge of the clearing reads, "THANK YOU!  HOPE TO SEE YOU NEXT YEAR."  I hadn't noticed it at all the previous day.

"Thank you, Floyd.  Experiencing your hospitality and discovering what you've done with your little piece of the world was well worth the journey!"

One of the ways our host had taken care of us was by picking up all the big rocks and sticks in the "driveway" before we'd arrived.  We knew this short stretch would be the smoothest part of the 60-mile ride back to the pavement in Lynn Lake!

The first building you come to after leaving the lodge is the Catholic church--still active.  Not much farther along is the school.

The name Kinoosao comes from the Cree word for "fish."  The town has less than 100 inhabitants and has struggled since the closure of its fish-processing plant in 1971.  This is the same way we entered the area the day before, but I didn't take any photos then.

Less than a mile outside of town, we again arrived at the provincial border.  The Manitoba sign is hiding there in the trees on the right.  It wasn't our final exit from Saskatchewan though.  We planned to return via a paved crossing nearly 200 miles straight south on the following day.  Of course, our route would be far from straight.

The puddles were larger this time through.  Evidently, I'd been right about hearing rain.  On the plus side, the road surface seemed to have absorbed some of the moisture--softening it a little and making for less harsh riding than we'd endured in the previous day's late afternoon sun.  The little things can make a big difference sometimes.

This photo's pretty blurry.  I clipped it out of a video Dan took of me and blew it up quite a bit--but you get the idea.  The entire road was covered with water!

That's the toe of Dan's boot.  Looks like he's successfully keeping it pointed up and out of the wet stuff--but he may be soaking his heel in the process.

But we made it to the midway point--and knew from experience that the worst was behind us!  Like the buildings in K-Town, the junction with the winter road north was another point of interest I'd neglected to photograph on our way in.  As is my custom, I'll type out most of the information on that closest sign, in case your viewing device doesn't render it in a readable fashion.

"WINTER ROAD Narrow winding roadway.  Slippery surface.  Sharp curves and hills.  Drive with extreme care!"

Sounded like a good time to me--but now was not the time.  At the bottom, the communities of Brochet, Lac Brochet, and Tadoule Lake are all listed as "CLOSED."  It is a winter only road, after all.

A bit farther, this sign reads, "NO FUEL OR LODGING AVAILABLE BETWEEN DESTINATIONS."  Good to know.

The next group of signs is at the far edge of this grassy field.  See 'em?  Well, it's a grassy field in summer.  Once it snows sufficiently, a route is graded through and compacted, and voila--winter road!

There are hundreds of miles of these in northern Canada.  And believe me--I've been tempted.  But so far, I've resisted--for all the fairly obvious reasons.

I may have taken a picture from this same bridge the previous day--very likely.  But hey, it's a striking scene and a photogenic little bridge.

When we got back to the section of road along the ridgetop, we pulled over onto a wide turnout for an extended break.  The view from this spot was the most expansive we encountered along Route 394.

In the far distance, you can just barely see two portions of Vandekerckhove Lake--one that we'd passed by earlier.  It's named for a Manitoba soldier who lost his life in World War II.

The other side of the ridge looked much the same.  Imagine what it would have been like to be here when the fire roared through!

I told you this was a long break.  Lots of time for photos!

It was much cooler than it had been our first time through, and a stiff breeze was keeping the mosquitoes at bay.  It was hard to leave, actually.

But we eventually did.

We'd noticed this wrecked and rusted-out car on our way in.  But it didn't occur to me until just now that between the wrecking and the rusting--it had been torched by the wildfire!  Sure hope any occupants had found their way to safety long before that.

This is one of the countless spots where floodwaters had gouged a trench across the roadway.  It's worse than it looks, but I think I made it through without scraping bottom.  It's all about the angle and placement of the wheels.

Shortly after that, I came upon Dan chatting with a grader operator.  If he'd made it through from Lynn Lake that morning, that was good news!  But I always get a little nervous when I see heavy equipment.  Often, the road has to be made worse before it can be made better.  On the other hand, at least we weren't completely alone in the wilderness anymore.  And yes, I do have a love/hate relationship with being completely alone in the wilderness.

One thing we knew for sure.  Much of the surface would now be different than it was.

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.