Day 10
Prince Rupert to Hyder, Alaska
Distance travelled: 484.2 km
Accumulated distance: 2968 km
Maximum speed at the moment of incarceration: 114 kph (90 km zone)
Moving average: 90 kph
Overall average: 67 kph
Moving time: 5:22
Total time: 7:11
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| Pulling out of bike parking at the Crest in Rupert. |
People keep telling us we are hitting exceptionally good weather. Almost every day, someone remarks how lucky we are, with sunny skies and temperatures in the low 30s.
It has been a real treat to have two nights in one place, so we are a little sad to be leaving Prince Rupert. Plus, it means we are leaving the ocean, which is also sad for us.
We know today is going to be one of our longer days but that is o.k., we are not in too big a hurry to get going. The bike starts fine and we are on the road by about 10:45. We make a stop at the Northern Pacific Cannery which is at Port Edward, 15 km down the road out of Prince Rupert. The cannery is no longer operational having ceased operations in 1980 but is celebrating its 125th anniversary next year, now as a National Historic Site. When the cannery shut down, much of the equipment was left behind as well as many artifacts that we part of the operation, including machinery, boat, motors, office equipment, homes, boardwalks, loading equipment, canning equipment, cooking stuff, cans, lids, fishing gear and junk. Or at least, its junk now.
A boardwalk runs the length of the once proud operation with homes on the shore side and offices on piles on the water side. Residences were provided because of the cannery's isolation; 15 km from Prince Rupert might not sound like much but 125 years ago, that was a long way. Residences were segregated by race: First Nations, Japanese, Russian, and WASP. However, the cannery suffered a labour shortage during the second world war as the Japanese workers were shipped to internment camps as they were deemed to be a security risk. A lot of the gap was made up by First Nations people.
Notwithstanding improvements in technology, the cannery had been slow to adopt and as well, as transportation methods improved, it because impractical to operate a cannery in its location as it became no longer necessary to provide housing for staff or to keep up the outdated equipment and the cannery was shut down. Fortunately, there were good records maintained including ample photographs and it makes for a worthwhile visit if in Prince Rupert.
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| Labels of salmon products produced by the cannery. Many of the lables I recognize from my youth. |
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| "Supplies" store at the cannery. |
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| The office, including payroll. |
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Pushing on from the cannery, it is a pleasant ride to Terrace. Highway 16 snakes along the Skeena River all the way to Terrace and we see many people camping along the side of the river or on sandbars in the river; we think they are fishing and our guess is for salmon. The river is wide and for a long time we are not sure if it is a river or an inlet from the ocean but recognize it is probably both, and it is but it would be easy for the salmon to be swimming upstream.
We have a rest at a provincial campground just outside of Terrace as it is hot and we need to cool down, aside from just wanting to get off the bike. I soak my shirt and bandana in the river because I can't quite convince Nan we should go for a swim. It proves a great way to keep cool.
About 80 km from Terrace, Highway 37 to Stewart branches off from Highway 16 at a spot called Kitwanga. I want to get gas here even though we have over a half tank because we don't know where we will be able to get gas along the way. We are also hungry because it has been a long time since breakfast however, Kitwanga is not exactly a bustling metropolis of activity. In fact, there is exactly one gas station with one restaurant attached.
Now, I don't want to appear prejudiced in any way shape of form however, lets face it: First Nations people have been largely screwed over ever since Europeans came to the New World and every time a white guy goes into a Native-owned restaurant, I figure they are thinking "pay back", and who can blame them? The tables in the restaurant are all painted north Native themed and they are really quite beautiful however, it's not the cleanest palce I've seen. The menu is pretty much gas station fare and there is not a lot of choice. Our waitress, who is probably about 16, is actually very sweet and she proudly tells us that they make the hamburger themselves so we take her word for it and get burgers and, to our amazement, are pretty good. I have fries for the first time in who knows how long but certainly in 2013. I like them.
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| Our rest spot outside of Terrace. |
We don't feel poisoned and we will never know if they gratuitiously spit in each burger patty as they make it so we press on. Going north on 37, we really feel like we are getting in the boonies. The road is very quiet, it twists and snakes it's way through the valley and Nan comments that she wouldn't be surprised to see a bear. That took about 10 more minutes and we inadvertantly scare one away from the side of the road.
It is a great ride and we are feeling good; our visors open and taking in the heat and beauty of the countryside. We are clipping along nicely
AT 114 KPH and pass some guy in a pick up dawdling along, round a corner and, to our amazement
OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, police vehicles on either side of the road pulling people over. Me included.
The officer politely informs me I am going 114 in a 90 zone. This is incredible to me because I could have sworn I was doing 113 but I know that arguing rarely does anything to improve the situation when talking to the police. However, I cannot help but point out that
I was just in the process of slowing down and the officer adds, "when you saw me". Well, what can I say, he is right. I have to produce my licence and registration and I am nervous because all I can think about now is that I am going to end up as somebody's girlfriend in the Stewart Penitentiary. I know exactly where my licence is located but I have all these secret compartments in my wallet for other importatnt data and I am having a hard time locating my registration. Meanwhile, it is about 33 degrees and I am pouring sweat only in part from the heat and the pavement.
So the officer remarks that at 114, he has seen way worse that day. The poor guy is probably almost as hot as me, though I note he is not sweating, and I think he gets tired of waiting for me to find my registration. He is just going to give me a warning, written warning, by the way, and I think to myself that he is probably looking for bigger fish to fry that day. On the pavement. He goes back to his vehicle to see if there are any outstandings on me but I continue to dig for and finally find my registration. I make sure I pull it out for him mainly because I don't want to appear disrespectful.
So I get my piece of paper but as it is not a true "ticket" it is no good if we want to go to the Stewart Policeman's Ball. That is o.k. because I did not bring my tux, let alone proper shoes. Now that I am no longer worried about my masculinity being assulted in the Stewart slammer, we are feeling a little braver AND NONO ASKS IF SHE CAN TAKE HIS PICTURE. That girl has ovaries. Then we ask where is the place to get Hyderized and we learn the Glacier Hotel is the only place plus, they have awesome halibut fish and chips. We also hear about the best places to eat in Stewart and before you know it, our new best friend is the guy that came within a hair's breadth of ten minutes ago throwing me to the wolves.
Highway 37A exits off 37 and is the road to Stewart. The scenery has been pretty to this point but as soon as we turn south west, it is nothing short of spectacular. Peaks, glaciers, snow pack and waterfalls galore and because it is hot, the water is just pouring off the sides of the mountains. The whole ride to Stewart has just been made entirely worthwhile.
Part 2:
Hyderized will follow later today.
O.k. it's later. Quite a bit later.
We check in to our hotel, Ripley's Believe It or Not. Or something. The hotel is old and comprises several vintage buildings, the operative word being "vintage" from Stewart's past, which is rich, glorious and full of character, just like our hotel. As a treat, we have the only king bed in the hotel . The whole hotel is quaint and has the faint smell of old wood, not a lot like you might expect entering a vintage building. It is decorated with artifacts and appliances from the 30s and later, including many electric toasters, though these are not "pop up" toasters as we see now but the type with doors that fold down on the sides in which a piece of bread would be placed and then the door closed to brown one side at a time. I remember using these in the 60s when we would go to the lake in Sicamous. They were "vintage" then, too.
There are many other remnants from the past and it appears as though they are from Stewart's past as the town is literally littered with old mining equipment and old buildings. But this is no longer Stewart's heyday, so many of the buildings are just old and abandoned and in disrepair. An historical society has gone to the trouble of putting signs on many of the old buildings to describe their former life but it is not enough to breath life into them today. There are probably a hundred Stewarts scattered across the north and in the mountains, former mining centres that were once the lifeblood of dreams and livelihoods from decades past. Stewart does not constitute a "ghost town" but it is one step removed. Hyder, just down the street and in Alaska, sells itself as "Alaska's Friendliest Ghost Town". In fact, it is no more a ghost town than Stewart; just passed it's prime.
Once we are checked in, within about five minutes we are on a mission and it is to get to Hyder to get Hyderized. The officer who almost busted me has mentioned that there is a shuttle that carries people from Stewart to Hyder. We ask in the hotel about this but the front desk person doesn't know for sure; she has only heard of it but does not know who runs it. She is confident though, that it is not run from the Stewart side of the border.
If you think about this, it makes sense. These communities are not big enough to warrant "bus" service, so they only reason anybody would run a shuttle would be to some how bring in patrons. The term "Hyderized" is actually quite well known, even if you only heard it from me. We have told many people that we were going to get Hyderized and they knew exactly what that meant... and what kind of people we are. The receptionist phones The Glacier inn and they confess to being the operators of the shuttle but only on Fridays. Hyder is not that far from Stewart but to walk the distance would be a drag, especially if you were really drunk, so the Glacier, where getting Hyderized originated, deemed it worth enough to get more Canadians to part with their money on the U.S. side of the border by bringing them in by the bus load. I can only assume they take people back as well.
We are defnintely not going to ride the bike over there but significantly, our hotel has "courtesy bicycles" and helmets to borrow in order to get to Hyder to get Hyderized. Can't have people driving, you know. We are also warned about being on the road too late at night (after dark, which occurs about 11:30 this far north). We don't think that will be an issue for us but we are more concerned about the border crossing being closed and not being able to get back to Canada.
The bicycles and helmets are strategically hidden so we spend some time looking around the hotel for them. Remember that the Ripley is a collection of buildings rather than a single building so being told to "look between the buildings" is not all that helpful. Especially for people in town for their first time. Worry not, we
are on a mission and we locate the bikes, and the helmets in a completely different area than the bikes.
It is a 15 minute bicycle ride to the Glacier, at least on these bikes, in Hyder. Walking into the bar, we get the distinct impression that the bar exists to Hyderize people. It's not a bad shtick; who wouldn't want their bar famous all over the world for their one custom? Unfortunately, "getting Hyderized" is not the sort of thing you can sit around doing all night; you basically have one drink and if you keep it down, you have succeeded. I am sure plenty of people get Hyderized, pay for their one drink, get their "card" and then immediately leave. To throw up on the lawn outside so they don't have to buy every patron in the bar a drink. If getting Hyderized involved drinking a dozen beer or something, now then they would be on to something because who can drink a dozen beer? All kinds of people would be trying to buy TWELVE drinks, not one drink, and lots of people would fail, requiring them to buy a round for the house. Now then they would be on to a money maker, not a loss leader.
So if you don't know already, getting Hyderized involves downing a shot of Everclear, which, for the uninitiated, is 151 proof grain alcohol. And not throwing it up. And for the record, it is not a pleasant experience. It is not like downing a shot of fine scotch or even something like Grand Marnier; it is like downing a shot of gasoline. My first words after I did my shot were: "and I chose to pay for this?". My next words were: "shall we do another?" I was kidding. Then we get little cards that say we were Hyderized on July 17 and they are signed by Chip, the owner's daughter, who has served us our medicine.
By this time, we are drinking craft Alaska beer as a chaser and so we order dinner. Our favourite Stewart RCMP officer has told us that the halibut fish and chips are great so despite the fact that earlier in the day I have had my first French fries in a year, I order fish and CHIPS. Indeed, it is awesome. The fries are all cut in-house and still have the skins, the way fries should be and the fish is amazing. Nan also orders a halibut dish but it is more sensible. And good, too.
O.k. we are done getting Hyderized but not done with the chasers, so we have a few more. Then we have to ride back to Stewart. At this point I need to tell you that the bicycles are not state of the art mountain bikes, they are state of the art bicycles around the time the bicycle was invented, some time in the 20s. There is some effort required in propelling them forward and even greater effort required in keeping them upright. After being Hyderized. And now we have to pass through customs.
For the record, there is only one border patrol and it is on the Canadian side. The Americans don't worry about it because there is not much to be done on the U.S. side. You can't drive anywhere, except to Canada, and the only other way out of Hyder is by boat or the once per week mail plane, which can take up to 3 passengers. The Canadians, on the other hand, take it very seriously and the border post is manned 24 hours per day, seven days per week.
We get to the border and a border guard rushes out like a bus load of Taliban have just arrived for an explosives convention. He asks us where we have been. First of all, there is nowhere else to be but Hyder. We are on old, rickety bicycles that we can barely manage, for various reasons. Then he asks us if we are bringing anything into Canada. It's 9:00 p.m. and there hasn't been anything open in Hyder for hours, plus, we have nowhere to carry anything except in the basket on Nan's bicycle, which is empty by the way and we are wearing tank tops and shorts so not likely have anything stuffed down our pants and lastly, the only things to buy in Hyder are things to eat and drink. Aside from which, the only reason to go to Hyder at night is to get Hyderized, which we clearly have been, and he knows this. Oh, and our passports get inspected too. But not too carefully because he hands back the two passports to the wrong owner.
Once the interrogation is out of the way and the folly of asking the two "required questions" has passed, we get down to the real questions, like, "just get Hyderized?" "Is that Everclear I smell (on your breath)?"No doubt he has been Hyderized a hundred times but we are just having fun at this point. He is originally from St. Albert, so we have an immdediate kinship. He tells us that this past winter, they had a light snow fall at just 11 feet but the prior winter they had 32 feet. He has been stationed in Stewart for three years with his family and they are big time into outdoor life. Best of all, we pick up an awesome tip from him when he asks us if we have been to Salmon Glacier. He had just taken his family up there a couple of weeks ago.
We make the 15 minute ride back to the hotel. Even though we don't really feel like going to bed, it is way too late to do anything in Stewart as the streets have all been rolled up. We do ride our bikes around town for awhile and look at a few of the old buildings but that pretty much sums it up.
It is a total adrenaline rush. The entire distance I catch only two cars and they are not in the way. The curves are tight and some are true hairpins. The sun is shining on me AND my parade and I tackle each corner as fast as I am comfortable. Despite the road being clear though, I still am judicious around the corners because I cannot see around. And the truth is that I am not a lifelong motorcycle rider, so I am probably going much slower than many people I know would like to take these curves. Either way, this is a great road and a must-ride for motorcycle enthusiasts.
