Dawson City and the Dempster Highway

Leaving Whitehorse (on my new bumpy tire), I turned north off the Alaska Highway in the direction of Dawson City, a place that I visited five years ago and would like to return to from time to time.

I was recently asked why I like Dawson. And I was recently asked to tell the ran-out-of-gas story from 2002. These items go well together. After fueling up my beloved “The Chief” (my old camper) in Whitehorse, I refueled once along the way, but then passed by another gas station, faithfully anticipating that The Chief’s fuel capacity (never truly tested before, and there was no reliable gas gauge to assist with such things) would deliver Griffin and I to the next town, Dawson. With maps and road signs to help judge distances, I figured that I was roughly twenty miles south of town when The Chief began to sputter. Although there were few placed to pull off the road, luck delivered a The Chief-sized road-side gravel patch where I parked my home, walked Griff, gave him some food, put on my running shoes, grabbed my (empty – grrrrr) gas can and set out for a little evening jog.

Not fifty feet from The Chief, a car approached from the south. I held up the (empty – booooo) gas can and made some sort of gesture that identified me as a helpless tourist. The driver stopped and offered me a ride to town, and since she was on her way to drop her daughter off and was then to return, she offered me a ride back to the camper. Not only did she have the consideration to take me to the most reasonably-priced station in town, but she gave me a tour of the place, which she was quite qualified to do as she worked at the town’s information center.

I’ve not forgotten the hospitality that greeted me to Dawson City. And that same spirit seems to persist among most everyone in town, year-round residents, summer-time workers and tourists alike. Add the facts that the town is at the confluence of the Klondike and Yukon Rivers, that it is seated among rolling green mountains and that it presents a top-notch restoration of its gold-mining past – and I am sold. This is a great place (at least in the summer).

When in town the last time, I stayed in an in-town campground, which made sense since I was in an RV. But I recall visiting a pub named Bombay Peggy’s. It was in a restored (and relocated) house that also serves as an inn. The building has had a number of uses in the past but it seems to be celebrated most for the time that it served as a brothel. In 2002, I decided that if I were to return to Dawson, I would stay at Bombay Peggy’s. And so I have. This is my third and last night here. I’ve enjoyed the inn and the pub, but I have not even inquired about other services which have most likely been discontinued.

I’ve enjoyed my stay in Dawson. Again, the town is hospitable and charming. Highlights have been going on several runs including one to the top of Dawson’s Midnight Dome, where people flock to celebrate the 24-hour sunshine on the summer solstice, just a few days away!

Earlier today I took a ride about 75 miles up the Dempster Highway, where the word “highway” translates best to “gravel road.” The ride north on the Dempster shows the transition from forested land to tundra. TUNDRA! . . .where the latitude is sufficient that the tree line drops below the ground level. To continue on the Dempster would deliver one to the artic circle and then eventually to Inuvik. I did not go so far as either of these. I’ve got a couple reasons for that, but I’m very happy that I went as far as I did. To the top perhaps on another day.

To complete the ran-out-of-gas story, I should mention that my (empty – argghhh!) gas can held only two gallons. The Chief did well to get ten miles to the gallon. There was no assurance that I would make it to town even with the spare gas! Turns out that we were closer to fifteen miles out of town, but still pulled in on little more than fumes.

On this trip I know my vehicle’s range and I don’t pass gas stations without knowing I can make it to the next. My GPS helps!