Written by Elissa Ebersold on July 22, 2019

Toe-tally Fun!

Road Trip . Travel

Tuesday July 2nd 2019
Excitement isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe this day of travel. Nothing terribly exciting happened. There were no planned stops on the itinerary for this leg of the journey, only our day’s end destination of Fort Nelson. Well, okay, that’s not entirely true. Our only planned stop was a sign in Dawson Creek, BC, the official start of the Alaska Highway.

The first sign, although not the one I was looking for, greeted us about an hour after we left Grand Prairie at the regional airport. The one I had been actually looking for, conveniently placed in central Dawson Creek, was a much better photo. The sky was clear, and the sun was shining down on our shoulders with a comforting warmth. A kind couple from Wisconsin, on a similar adventure as Niki and myself, were kind enough to take a photo of the two of us.

The day offered us nothing more than sunshine, warmth, and time to continue working on whichever audiobook we had been on at that time. (It was either Sleeping Beauties or Under the Dome, both by Stephen King).

It was lunchtime when we reached Fort St. John, and I knew immediately where to go for lunch. Cameron and I had visited this place called Browns Crafthouse last year, and they had aaaammaaaazinnnnggg poutine. I knew what I was getting for an appetizer! The crisp fries! The gravy! The squeaky chewy creamy cheese curds! But when it appeared, my heart sank. Shredded cheese?! Fool me twice, right? Strike two.

Around mile 136, we stopped at a gas station to stretch our legs, fill the tanks and empty the bladders. It was here, I believe though I am in no way 100% sure, that we met two cool dudes. Having “barely” started their long journey on the backs of motorcycles, Niki and I met Brad and Matt, a father-son duo, respectively. The two were on their way to (many places in) Alaska from Boise, Idaho. We chatted briefly about the beauty of Banff and Jasper, and the about the weather we experienced. These are the two that confirmed the snow the day before as they followed our trail through the Alberta National Parks. They spoke of being pelted with snow, confirming my aforementioned suspicions. We wished the two luck on their journey, and we carried on with ours, expecting to never see them again.

At a quarter of six, we arrived in Fort Nelson. Bellies rumbling, but eyes tired, we checked into our hotel and caught a power nap before grabbing food across the street at Dan’s neighborhood pub. We were seated at a table, enjoyed good food and watched as a band set up. We ended up staying for a while, chatting with the people at the table next to us. They gave us a hot tip: check out the Liard Hot Springs! Hot springs? I’d driven the same road last year and must have missed them, but I figured we could spare an hour to relax in some hot springs. We added it to the agenda. The night carried on, and the band began to play.

It was a family act, The Lack Family, and they pulled us in with some phenomenal covers of Eagles music. Those harmonies. They had me singing along, and I even bought a drink. We stayed for several hours until we knew the time had come to retire. I dropped a $20 in their tip jar, grabbed a “Free CD” from the table, and slept soundly.

Day 6 Mileage: 368 miles

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Wednesday July 3rd 2019
This is another day where I wouldn’t use the word “excitement” as a descriptor. Jubilant might be a better substitute, because even though it was a long, long day of driving, we saw many beautiful things. We were gassed up and on the road by 7am, grabbing a to-go breakfast at the A&W across the street, sans rootbeer float this time. Surprisingly, I don’t remember it (meaning breakfast) being half bad. Anyway, the wilderness surrounded us before long as we left Fort Nelson in our dust.

The Alaska Highway, with its winding roads and removal from much of society, offers so many exciting things to see in the way of wildlife. I remember this stretch of road from last year, and it did not disappoint. As a matter of fact, it allowed us to see not only some of the same animals, but also different ones. Sure, we saw the longhorn sheep and the bison and a moose, but we also saw foxes, and an abundance of bears! As a matter of fact, I think we saw eight bears. The first one I saw, I actually felt comfortable enough to get out of the car and get just a smidge closer so I could get a better photo. I made sure to remain calm and talk to the bear as I took my picture. I kept a comfortable distance for both of us, moved slowly, and it was definitely not threatened by me, which is always a good thing. We made eye contact, and it went on foraging.

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Our day brought us to the spot recommended by the couple from the night before. The Liard Hot Springs Provincial Park. It was directly off the highway, and the only thing it took was a bathing suit, a few dollars, and a short walk through the woods (don’t worry, it’s basically a board walk. I did it in my bare feet).

I wouldn’t call it a serene or peaceful place. It’s alive with the conversation of chatting tourists, in all sorts of languages, and giggling children clinging to the floating logs in the “children’s section.” They’ve even installed benches and seats in the hot springs for your convenience, so all evidence of what was actually natural there has been far removed. But it was definitely relaxing, beautiful, and it was definitely hot. I went as far as I could into the section where the source was, and backed off when I felt the skin on my thighs tighten and broil as I started to cook. They were bright red when I jumped out. I think the experience would have been slightly better were the weather not already hot—Northwestern Canada and Alaska were experiencing a heat wave.

An hour is all you need here, unless you view passing out from heat stroke as a favorable pastime. You’ll enjoy the hot water, the view, and the walk, and the break from the confines of your vehicle.

On the way back to the car, we ran into some familiar faces on the boardwalk…Matt and Brad, our motorcycle friends. We talked about the animals we had passed, and showed him some of the photos I had taken. He loved the one with the bear, and he liked one Niki had taken of the fox. He pointed out that he had actually been the guy on the motorcycle in the one of the fox that I had taken. He asked if we could text him these photos, and that’s what started a text chain that continues to this day.

Back by the car, we met a group of people about our age making a similar trek. We goofed around for a little while, talking about things I don’t remember and feigning death threats for whatever reason. It was a fun time. We even found out we’d supposedly be on the same flight home. I cannot for the life of me remember their names. We played games of tag in our cars, passing and catching, as one group or another would stop to take a photo of an animal. I’m fairly certain it was this section that we spotted our first Bison and at least two bears.

It was past lunchtime when we left, and our bellies were rumbling. We agreed to stop at the next place we saw that offered food since Watson Lake was still a ways off. That place was this little cafe/RV park. There were not a ton of options on the menu to choose from, but it wouldn’t have mattered…they had Bison burgers.

Now, with much disappointment, there was absolutely nothing remarkable about these burgers. But the thing I’ll always remember is how the owner/cook lady was super offended when Niki asked for some ketchup on her burger. She actually said she was offended when people asked for ketchup, as if ketchup on a burger was some radical thing that dramatically changed the way a thing tasted to make it good when it was bad. The lady, not without making a big huff about it all, placed ketchup on the counter and there it sat, the woman watching her from behind the kitchen window. It was a challenge to Niki…who decided not to put it on her burger after all. A wise decision. Perhaps putting ketchup on a burger out here in the wilderness was a surefire way to sacrifice yourself to a wendigo or something.

An hour and a half later, we arrived at our second (planned) stop of the day…the Watson Lake Sign Post Forest. Now this time it was more for Niki, since I had already been there. I wanted to bring a sign to contribute, but I didn’t have anything worth schlepping across the continent (or that I would be able to put up with ease). We wandered for a while trying to find Niki a little taste of home…be it Brooklyn or Long Island, or another NYC borough, but we still only found the one remnant of my home city…Rensselaer.

We weren’t at the sign forest for too long. We saw that the group of like-aged individuals had stopped as well. We took photos for them, they took photos for us, and we watched them help nail someone’s sign atop a tall post. But after that, we gassed up, grabbed some snacks, and made haste for Whitehorse (YT).

We arrived at our accommodations in Whitehorse at a little before 9. I hadn’t known that where I picked was a B&B (thanks, Priceline), so this was the first place we had to share a bed…and a bathroom. The place itself was fine, and I’d recommend it to any couple (not pair of friends!) who need a place to stay in Whitehorse. The actual problem for us was the heatwave and lack of A/C, but I can’t fault the owners for that. Why would you need AC in the Yukon? That, and I snore, which bothered Niki during the night. Sorry, Niki.

We asked the B&B owner for a dinner rec, and he sent us to this Italian restaurant. We took one look at the prices on the menu and nope’d right out of there and across the street to a sushi restaurant.

The food was not memorable, but to me, it was fine. Fine enough to make a fool of myself slurping up the vinegar broth of the noodles I had eating, before I realized it was literally just vinegar and lemon juice.

Me: Can I drink the broth?
Waitress: Sure…
Me: Do people often drink the broth?
Waitress: LOL NO.

Making a fool of myself since July 4th, 1991.

Day 7 Mileage: 554 miles

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Thursday July 4th 2019
For me to explain the start of this day, I have to rewind all the way to the first weekend of May. I was in Burlington, VT for my Rotary District Conference. It was a Saturday night, and the attendees of the conference were gathered in the main hall for the Guest of Honor: Ramesh Ferris.

Ramesh is a badass. He was born in India and contracted polio. His birth mother gave him up for adoption and was adopted by a couple from The Yukon, and in doing so this allowed him the opportunity to overcome many of polio’s obstacles. Ramesh is a survivor, and has spent his life advocating for the eradication of the terrible virus and the inoculation against it. This includes cycling across Canada on a handbike to raise money for the cause.

His first impression was powerful. To give us an honest, dramatic entrance and show us what many less fortunate polio victims from his birth country have to go through, Ramesh entered the hall by dragging himself slowly across the room on his hands to demonstrate the atrophying effect that polio has. Not to intentionally use a banal turn of phrase, but you could have heard a pin drop. The room was in stunned silence, and the more ground he gained, the more people you could hear sniffling away the tears that had begun to well up in their eyes. I am speaking from my own experience.

After his speech, I approached Ramesh. I had my own questions about how he overcame the psychological barriers that the disease had on him, not just the physical ones. He offered some great advice, but that conversation quickly turned to how I had been to his home turf of Whitehorse, been to a delicious restaurant he knew of, and was likely travelling through Yukon again later in the summer. We agreed to meet.

Fast-forward to the morning of July 4th, and while not exactly the most glamorous, or timely of places to meet (it was a work day in Canada, after all), we met up at the local McDonald’s for an all-too-brief meeting. Niki got to hear the story that I paraphrased above from Ramesh’s own mouth, and we enjoyed each other’s company for a little under an hour. I told Ramesh of our plans for the day, and finally revealed to Niki the secret cocktail I’d been alluding to since before we departed on the trip. Ramesh offered stops and tricks and tips for along the way, particularly words of caution for when we reached the Dempster Highway.

As we bid our farewells, it was only fair and fitting to snap a photo with his vanity plate proclamation of his fight to end polio. If you want to learn more about how to end polio, visit endpolio.org and/or join your local Rotary Club. Vaccines work!

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Courtesy of the McCafe I’d had with my breakfast sandwich, about two hours down the road in Carmacks we had to stop for a pee break. This pee break was also a welcome break from staring at the back of a bus with a wrap with an uncanny “shameful” bear.

Across the street from where we stopped to use the restroom was a little food truck/trailer thing. Niki and I grabbed a milkshake, but I noticed that they sold poutine. With cautious curiosity, I asked if it was made with cheese curds. The fry cook looked at me as if I had insulted him, and confirmed that it was. Not a third strike! I ordered it! Now the poutine wasn’t top notch, but at least it was with cheese curds and I could say I’d had some authentic poutine.

Carrying on farther north on Highway 2, the thick scent of smoke began to waft into our nostrils, and it wasn’t long before we started seeing the source. The enormous columns of billowing black smoke with purple and orange underbellies swallowed the hills alongside us. We were not only close enough to see the smoke clouds (rather than the haze) but we were close enough to see the whorls drifting up from the all-consuming fires themselves. It is truly humbling, and beautiful, to witness such devastation.

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As large as the wildfire was, it eventually disappeared out of sight. Instead, the highway wound us past forests formerly ravaged by wildfires, and they were labeled with the years the fires had taken them. There was quite a history of destruction here, but the miles upon miles of arctic spruces showed a large range of renaissance and growth, whether they were the charred skeletons or with their needles fanning out and proudly on display in lush green groves.

The hours crept by, and both of us started getting nervous as we watched the fuel gauge dip below 1/4 tank for the first time since we began this journey. It was also the first time I wasn’t confident there was a gas station ahead. I didn’t know where the next one was. I knew we weren’t too far from our end destination for the day, Dawson City, but I also knew that grabbing fuel there first was not optimal since our next stop was not really on the way. We were headed to Tombstone National Park, a place that Google Maps doesn’t even know how to get to if you ask it to navigate there. You have to just follow the signs. About 70 km outside of Dawson City, at the beginning of the Dempster Highway, a huge sigh of relief escaped us as we were greeted by a fuel station.

The Dempster Highway was a place that Ramesh had warned us about. He warned of gravel and shale roads that were notorious for eating tires. I had a couple spares, but I was a little worried going in all the same. But the road ultimately ended up being relatively easy to traverse, and since we were not going all the way up to Inuvik or Tuktoyaktuk (unlike my parents) and only to Tombstone Territorial Park, I wasn’t too worried.

Upon arriving at the entrance of the park, I pulled out my guide to Tombstone. We had the milepost (km post?) of the trail we wanted to walk. However, Tombstone is not an easy park to navigate, even if the mileposts for the trails are marked for you, there are so many other trails and pull-offs it’s so hard to know where to begin. We drove back and forth along a stretch of the highway searching for this trail head. We eventually discovered the trail head was inside a campground.

We began our walk, quickly learning that we were very unprepared for the walk. Not because we were dressed inappropriately or wearing the wrong shoes or because our skill levels were overestimated….but rather because we had neglected to purchase any bug spray and we (or at least I) were getting swarmed and eaten alive by insects…especially in the wooded areas near the babbling river. Out in the open it wasn’t as bad, and out in the open we got to see the sprawling jagged mountain vistas that greeted us on the drive in. The ground was coated in an off-white fungus or moss, with the occasional spout of color from pockets of magenta fireweed that bloomed around us. We left Tombstone at just about the right time, as a misty rain began to fall down on our shoulders.

The mist had cleared as we once again approached civilization. We were greeted by the cutest welcome sign I’ve ever seen! Dawson City was a hub of activity during the Gold Rush, and they play that history up. But it truly is one of the cutest towns I’ve ever set foot in. Never mind that it was a thousand degrees because of the heat wave, but that blanket of heat contributed to the feeling that I straight up stepped back into the wild west. There weren’t any horses or sheriffs walking around challenging outlaws to a quick draw, but the architecture, typographical, and stylistic choices of the city all together took me back in time.

We parked the car at our lodgings for the night, a place that was very much like a hostel. Two single beds in a tiny room, shared co-ed bathrooms and showers (they locked, don’t worry), minimalist wood frames and decor, and unfortunately (although, only because it was an atypical heat wave) no AC. The woman at the front desk was super kind and told us all the good places to eat and the must-sees. She also told us she was from Brussels and had hitch-hiked herself through Canada. Wow! That’s something I could never do.

We took about a half hour to rest, freshen up, and gather ourselves. Our first stop was dinner, as recommended by the woman at the front desk. I remember nothing about dinner, except that I once again ordered poutine. And this was the poutine I had been searching for! Happy birthday to me! (Oh, yeah, did I mention July 4th is my birthday?). Squeaky, gooey melty cheese curds, crispy seasoned fries, and delicious gravy!

After dinner, we headed over to the thing I had been keeping secret from Niki this whole trip: The sourtoe cocktail at the Downtown Hotel. We walked in through the saloon-style doors into a hot and stuffy bustling bar. Old wood and trinkets, red walls, musicians…still not sure I hadn’t time traveled.

We got in line to buy our sourtoe cocktails. I had intentionally neglected to tell Niki what the cocktail entailed. Here’s the bit from Atlas Obscura:

Established in 1973, the Sourtoe Cocktail has become a Dawson City tradition and is exactly what is sounds like: an actual human toe that has been dehydrated and preserved in salt, used to garnish a drink of your choice.

The first toe is said to have belonged to a miner and rum runner named Louie Liken, who had his frostbitten appendage amputated in the 1920s. Liken preserved it in a jar of alcohol in his cabin for memories. Roughly 50 years later, in 1973, Yukon local Captain Dick Stevenson found the jar containing the toe while cleaning a cabin. Captain Dick brought the toe down to the Sourdough Saloon and started plunking it into the drinks of those who were brave enough. Thus, the Sourtoe Cocktail Club was formed.

Niki, despite basically having this sprung on her, jumped in with both feet. She and I both opted to drink it the classic way: with a shot of Yukon Jack. For those who don’t really know me too well, I am not a drinker. I do not enjoy the taste of alcohol. The Jack smelled of rubbing alcohol so I was not-so-thrilled to have that be the thing I had to down with a toe in it.

When the line got to me, I put on my brave face. The toe sat there on a bed of salt, black and shriveled. The “Captain” presented me the toe.“You can drink it fast, you can drink it slow—but the lips have gotta touch the toe.” I kissed the toe as instructed, and she dropped it in my glass with a satisfying PLOP! I took a breath, and down the hatch it went, and down it went with relative ease. And surprisingly, the Jack wasn’t even too bad. May have smelled of nothing but alcohol, but it tasted sweet. I (and Niki too!) made the book, and we have the certificates to prove it. It was toe-tally awesome, and if you’ve got the strong stomach, I recommend it to any tourist who makes the journey up into this part of the Klondike.

After we each had our turn it was time for the next essential stop in Dawson City: Diamond Tooth Gertie’s. DTG’s is a gambling hall, which not only acts as a casino, but it’s a performance hall. Each night there are three “can can” shows, getting progressively more risque as the night goes on. We were only able to catch the second one, but it was a fun, musical, audience-interactive experience that had us laughing and giggling.

After the show, we played some table games in the form of blackjack. This was actually my first time playing a table game (not my first time playing blackjack, just actually playing it at a casino). Now, I don’t know if it was birthday luck or beginner’s luck, but we were ultimately up by over $20 at the end of our stint. Shout out to our dealer, he was a charmer. We celebrated our wins in the game by grabbing some midnight hotdogs from a vendor outside. The mustard exploded all over Niki, so we were giggling like maniacs at that.

Finally, our “night” in Dawson City was a drive up to the top of what is known as Midnight Dome. It overlooks the Yukon River, and in the summer nights, it provides you a picture-perfect sunset in the late hours. When we were there, the sunset was at 12:58am. Dusk was at 1:55, and dawn would have been somewhere around 2:45. I was getting eaten alive trying to take pictures (and almost lost my camera down an embankment when my tripod wasn’t balanced properly), but it was a beautiful thing to experience. I am so fortunate.

It was the perfect way to spend a birthday. I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Day 8 Mileage: 474 miles

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Friday July 5th 2019
After a sit down breakfast and a savage round of UNO, we headed out on our last day of driving. Day’s end destination: Anchorage. Our route back to the United States would take us first across the Yukon River by ferry, and then via the Top of the World Highway. We pulled the car up to the ferry port in Dawson City and they were loading cars right as we arrived. Only five or so could fit. Up ahead of us I saw…wait, is that….I squinted…Motorcycle Matt and Brad! I honked and waved and called at them! They waved excitedly back. I never thought I’d see them again. When we were loaded onto the ferry, Matt came over and talked to us, and told me he really wanted me to send him the photos I had taken. I told him I would, and our conversations were brief (par for the course) before the attendant told him he needed to stand with his motorcycle. If we had been only five minutes later, or them five minutes later, we wouldn’t have seen them again. Serendipity, I say.

The ferry lasted only about five minutes before dropping us at the beginning of the Top of the World Highway. The TOTWH is a gravel two lane highway that is only open during the summer months. You are so high up, and truly feel that you are at the top of the world. At some point, Matt and his brother pulled onto the shoulder to take photos. We honked and passed them. Sadly, that was the last time we saw them. They would head farther north up towards Fairbanks and Deadhorse, whereas we were going south towards Anchorage.

TOTWH feels treacherous. There’s no guard rails, no matter how steep the drop off is. There’s a speed limit, but that speed limit is too fast. If you hit a curve going too fast (or the speed limit), you can kiss your life goodbye. Even I, who was taking it below the speed limit, fish-tailed on a curve. There were blue mountains in the distance, and for a heart-stopping second that was what I thought was going to be the last thing I’d see. Instead, we continued to see breathtaking views, and even in some places, as hot as it was, the remnants of snow that was still solid enough to support us walking on it.

There was even a point on a straightaway where I saw a van that had gone off the embankment and was sitting on its side, held up by trees. I hit the brakes, and we immediately climbed out of the car to investigate. With the amount of dust the roads kicks up, it was hard to know how recently it had happened. It could have been five minutes or five days. Niki carefully climbed down onto the van, swiping her hand on the window to see inside. Thankfully, there was no one, but it was full of stuff. We figured we’d tell someone at the next town.

A very slow 60 miles later, we came upon the northernmost border crossing in North America: Poker Creek, Population 3. We had a nice conversation with the border officer, who while taking our photo with the sign, asked if we had seen the thousands of caribou that had been grazing in the valley about an hour ago.

THOUSANDS?! Ugh, no we hadn’t. And that was the one disappointment of the day.

He stamped our passports. Yes, I got stamped returning to the US. And I’m glad I did, because it was a caribou. We had made it to Alaska!

We reached the next town, a town called Chicken. To us, it looked like a single gas station. We stopped and grabbed some food, some coffee, some gas, and some gold flake. You read that right. Chicken allows you the opportunity to pan for gold flake and gold nuggets. I didn’t have any luck, but with the help of some kind old men who were very serious about their gold panning, Niki was able to pay off some of her student loans with a piece of gold flake she found. (Maybe one cent worth, I didn’t say it was much). Another man gave us his container with some nuggets he had found.

Apparently there was a whole other section of Chicken, a “downtown” section that we didn’t see–except in some photos Motorcycle Matt has sent to me since, but I honestly don’t feel like I missed much by skipping out on that section.

We still had hours of driving left, and we had arranged to meet my parents and brother for dinner in downtown Anchorage. There was no time for lollygagging, although if you’re with me, you know damn well you’ll have to stop for photos. The skies were clear and the weather was hot, and our audio book was at the climax, so the hours went quickly. We stopped only a couple more times, because no lollygagging doesn’t mean that I can’t stop for photos like: when Mt. Wrangell & St. Elias rose around us like snow-capped picture-perfect monsters, when we saw a moose (or two), and to gaze at the glory of the meandering Matanuska Glacier at Glacier View.

Arriving at the hotel in Anchorage felt…amazing. Not because I was tired of seeing the sights or driving, although I probably was tired of driving. But because I was happy to see my family. I was happy to see my brother, that I had driven across the continent to see. And now I got to spend some time with him for the first time in a year.

The next couple of days were going to be fun. A lot of fun.

Day 8 Mileage: 506 miles

Here’s another bookmark before I get into our days actually spent in the US’ largest state. Until next time!