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.