Chickening out on Chicken

Sunday September 13th

Tok to Destruction Bay: 426.8 km

Cumulative distance: 2551 km

Maximum speed: 101 km/h

Moving average: 68 km/h

7:00 a.m., in Tok.

Before we leave Tok, I had a look around the Westward Hotel, which was near our quaint and sweet cabin, the Burnt Paw. The Westward is closed and for sale but this is neither a broken promise or failed dream. This was a hotel that had been opened by the Princess cruise line, even though it was hundreds of kilometres from the port and then abandoned, now for sale, literally a turn-key operation. The rooms were filled with furniture, bedding, linens, lamps, pictures, just waiting for somebody to come in and dust and make the beds. However, there aren’t too many tears being shed here in Tok or, for that matter, any other place that the cruise lines operate in Alaska. We have heard several times from different Alaskans that the cruise lines operate in a very heavy-handed manner here. Let me premise these comments by saying that I have not checked or substantiated these comments, that I am repeating other’s remarks, which pretty much makes this gossip. Apparently, the cruise lines will bring tourists to a town and then dictate to the town how they will operate their businesses. In one instance, the cruise line told the town of Wrangell they wanted to buy all the businesses in the town or they would stop bringing the cruise guests. When the town people refused to sell their businesses, the cruise line stopped coming to the town. In another instance, a cruise operator told a hotel operator they would bring guests to Chicken if the operator built a bigger hotel, then reneged after the hotel was built. So, I realize these are rumours but we heard disparaging comments about the cruise lines in Anchorage, Ketchikan and Tok. I did do a cursory look on the interweb for confirmation of this but without success. Anyway, it was weird for me seeing a future “ghost hotel”. Even though it already looked haunted, it was not yet dilapidated, as I would expect a haunted place to be. In fact, it had apparently been closed for two years and there was no vandalism at all. There were two ice machines outside and they looked like they would run if they were just plugged in and turned on.

Looking in through the window. It had sat like this for two years.

Speaking of Chicken, we had talked about making the trip up to Chicken this morning. We had talked about it the prior day but we arrived to Tok too late to really give it consideration. It was about 130 MILES round trip from Tok but that means probably four hours on the bikes so we could not possibly do it after arriving at Tok. Since we didn’t have a HUGE day planned after Tok, there was some discussion about doing an add-on before heading out to Destruction Bay. However, our resident fun-haters, not saying who they are but let’s just say it was not me, Nan or Stan, decided they would rather lay around the Burnt Paw doing exciting stuff like reading while the rest of the group rode to Chicken. How could you NOT want to ride to a “town” with a name like “Chicken”? As it happens, we heard from the owner of the Burnt Paw at breakfast that there was a lot of construction on the road to Destruction Bay. 80 miles of construction, she told us. Well, that much construction would seriously hamper our progress. We decided that the non-fun-haters in the group, the ones that really want to get out and ride, would ride the road to Chicken part way and have a look at the country side that direction, so Stan, Nan and I rode out around 8:20 a.m. with a view to being back at the Burnt Paw at 9:20 a.m. No matter how beautiful or how much fun we were having, we were going to turn around after a half hour and come back. In the mean time, Niels says to Stanandnobodyelse that they will meet us part way, at the Chicken turn off. When we are halfway to Chicken, I learn this news. However, thinking the plan was to go back to Tok, Nan and I left stuff there because we thought we would want to, well, you know, tinkle.

I don't think they were open.

May have fallen asleep.

So, we ride back to Tok, but first I have to cut Stan off when we spot two moose on the side of the rode and we slam on the brakes for a photo op. At the Burnt Paw, Niels and John are still hanging about like they aren’t going anywhere because, SURPRISE!, they aren’t going anywhere. Niels’ battery is a pancake and Stan and I are the ones with jumper cables. With Stan’s cables, Niels’ bike is running in no time and has been flawless since. Since now he shuts his heated hand grips off at night.

On the road soon after. It is another glorious morning and today, the sun is shining and the sky is pretty clear. The ride is uneventful and as we approach the Canada U.S. border, we encounter, for the first time on this trip despite having been warned dozens of times, snow. Not a lot of snow but snow that is is in the shadows and in the trees all around us. The roads are clear and dry so it is not a big deal at all but still, it is a novelty for us. We pass by two pieces of heavy equipment on the side of the road and both have a generous layer of snow on them.

Apparently, a fair amount of snow fell but had mostly melted by the time we showed up.

Since it has been about six hours since breakfast, we are all pretty hungry and there is a gas bar/hotel/eating establishment a few miles from the border. It is so desolate that we can’t even tell if the place is open or not. It looks like yet another broken promise and failed dream but there are a few lights on over the gas pumps and, even though I’m sure when we pulled into the parking lot I saw a neon “open” sign lit in red in the window, I distinctly saw it go dark as we sat in the parking lot discussing our strategy. I’m guessing that they spotted us from inside and children and men-folk hid under their missus’s petticoats and prayed we didn’t set foot in their place. It’s too bad because we don’t mean to be intimidating. We are benevolent bikers. But we push on.

At the border, starving, I’m sure we look like skeletons. We haven’t eaten in hours. Six hours. Except for the Eatmores. And toasted almonds. We get Gagne, the border guard from Quebec or New Brunswick, judging by his accent. I know it’s risky trying to be friendly with border guards; their job is to intimidate Americans into acknowledging that they are carrying hand guns in their luggage. I always find the question amusing: “Are you carrying any weapons?” Just because we are coming from the U.S. does that automatically mean that we would be carrying weapons? They assume everybody is packing heat.

Gagne is cheerful so I don’t mind asking him for his lunch recommendation. Beaver Creek is just a few kilometres inside the border and I have seen on the GPS that there are two or three places to eat. Well, he can’t give us a recommendation because he is a government employee and has to be impartial. However, I sense he sees that we are like refugees, practically starving, so I ask, “where was the last place you ate?”. He smirks and, hesitating only for a second, tells us Buckshot Betty’s.

We roll into Beaver Creek and spot the restaurant. There is a big, dirt parking lot, soaking wet and I have visions of all of us slip-sliding and going down and getting very muddy. And probably mad. At me. However, nobody falls and we park and go inside. I’ll have to say that we have had quite a run of better-than-expected food and Betty’s was no exception. Not like we are getting linen napkins and moist towelettes at every place but let’s face it: we are out in the middle of nowhere and it is a long way to the next place that doesn’t even rate a listing on the map, there would be a relatively small and I’m guessing not particularly discerning clientele, (I realize as I write that is sounds terribly prejudiced) and it would be easy to pass off every meal as made in the deep fryer. I am happy to report that Betty’s is no slouch, as we have found consistently. All of the breads are made in-house including the hamburgler buns. The soup is home made. The fries are hand cut. There is a wealth of baking in the display case, all made there. So often, I have avoided ordering soup because I assumed it would be out of a can but invariably, it is home made. I concluded that it must be because transportation is so expensive that it would be cheaper to ship raw goods rather than canned goods. Or maybe these places just figured out that making good food might get people talking about them. So here goes: “I implore you, go eat at Buckshot Betty’s!” The roadside diner food we have had on this trip has far exceeded the food commonly served in places like Edmonton.

Get gas after lunch and then ride to Destruction Bay. On the way, we encounter the aforementioned road construction. The first section, we are obliged to stop and wait for the leader vehicle that we will follow to the far end of the busy part of construction. We don’t wait long before a pickup comes screaming up to us and the truck is coming in kind of hot. I’m thinking, that guy should slow down. Anyways, it’s a gal and she is SMOKIN’. Smokin’ mad, that is. She runs up to the flag girl and say something to the effect of, well, there were so many explicatives that I don’t know what she said but it was something about the guy won’t have to wait till tomorrow. She quit on the spot. She jumps back in the company truck and turns it around in a big hurry and peels away from the waiting traffic. Stan and Niels don't hear the flag girl say "stay put" and start out in a rush to keep up with the soon to be speeding pick up truck. The flag girl loses her mind yelling at the guys to not go so John and I are honking like crazy to get their attention, and this they hear.

That meant that we had to wait for another driver but it really wasn’t that bad. We waited about ten minutes, maybe fifteen and we had the company of the small black flies that buzzed around our faces. We had heard that the flies hadn’t been bad this year however, for several days in a row, we were finding them a bother. Twice I have had the little things in my helmet as I put it on and find their way into my ear, where they do bite.

The construction is a total of about 65 kilometres, in stretches of a few kilometres to twenty. Not 80 miles as we had heard a couple of times. It was gravel but really not that bad, other than one small stretch of mud that gave me the willies. I did a little fish tailing but Nan didn’t even say anything, like “HOWI!!!“

Other than the construction, it’s a great ride because we are in the Kluane park area and it is spectacular with mountains and the Kluane Lake. We are staying at the Talbot Arms Hotel, according to TripAdvisor, “the number one ranked hotel of one hotel in Destruction Bay”. Now, that is one claim to fame. Believe me, this hotel BARELY made number one. The walls are cracked at virtually all the drywall seams, which go horizontal, by the way, the floors are lino (that’s o.k. with us) and there are strands from the mop left behind. The walkway to all the room fronts is on stilts and it is clear that there are some major renos or repairs being made to the foundation. However, the shower produces a virtual tidal wave of hot water and for Nan and me, that is a real treat since we are always somewhat limited at home, being on a cistern. It’s o.k. for one night and as Niels says, it is the biggest room they have had on the entire trip.