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On the Dempster Highway, the 732km dirt road, we went 4 days without seeing a building of any kind - meaning that we camped in the dirt, rode in the dirt, gravel, and rocks. Drank, ‘washed’ and did laundry in creeks and streams. It was cool, because for a bit I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it.
So I woke up, and was the slowest to get rolling in the morning - surprise. When we’d asked at the tourism office, they had said if we dropped a food box off with them, they’d confirmed that we could leave boxes of food with our names on it and they would arrange for moto-tourists to drop it off ahead of us. So I rolled back into town, and got my food boxes on. Then punched it back to the ‘home of the muskox burger’ and start of the Dempster highway.

At the turn off there was a moose mommy, an two calves dad spotted a wolverine - and 30km later, a warning for grizzly bear sightings. We were off to a good start.

The tombstone mountain range, our 5th continental divide crossing, is spectacular, and dad and I spent the morning of our second day hiking up one of it’s peaks - and the rest of the day riding full gas to get to the next ‘campground’.

It was 4 days of bushes, sometimes ‘campgrounds’ which were a picnic table, ‘water not potable‘ stream & outhouse before we reached Eagle Planes lodge (hard-fought sprint won by dad). Which for us was a sanctuary. Within minutes of arriving it started to pour rain. Of course we’d arrived, slightly low on food… ahem, really low on food (6h of riding and I ate only 3/4 c of oatmeal. Either I didn’t bonk, or was already too bonked to know). They had hot coffee, and the usual diner fare. We got a hanger to dry, unpack and re-sort, and fix our gear. The cook brings us left over dinners free (score) with a side of fries. As the rain hasn’t abided while dad sleeps in the tent, Jen and I opt for the drier (pun ha ha) laundry room floor.

The rain seems to have stopped, so after more coffees we are on our way… just as a sprinkle starts. With the early bird head start dad is gloating at the Arctic circle crossing where we have lunch. Oh upgrade that to rain. And the dirt road, lets call that muck, or goop, or quick setting concrete. At first we are able to hack it out of brakes, and fenders with sticks, but after stopping every 1/2 km this gets old, and the fenders come off. OK, now it’s on. But we make our campground, ‘bear in the area’, German tourists with chocolate, wash the bikes, cook the food, set the tent. Dry? no. Sleep? yes.

Everyone has been telling us (since we started) about how bad this road was, and how many tires we would go through. Cars and RV’s report having 2 flats a day, and rocks & potholes as big as anything you can possibly imagine.

The NWT has spent a lot less time fixing their roads, and there is a fair amount of loose gravel - which helps us drift an float around. So we slow down on descents, and climbs alike.

Inuvik.

Which is kind of a depressing place (cue passed out drunken Natives passed out on the sidewalk). Otherwise the Native here have the advantages of more dollars per student spent on them by the feds, than any public else in the continent. Of course money doesn’t get the kids to attend their classes. Of the 6 graduating students in Ft. McPhearson none showed up to write the final. The friendly newfie teacher told us after 1/2 a day he tracked down 3 students - sitting at home - and got them to write the finals. This is a vast improvement from when he got up here 3 years ago… Residential school sure ain’t the solution because that’s what everyone is blaming this problem on - a generation of kids grew up without parents

In 1928, a government official predicted Canada would end its “Indian problem” within two generations. Church-run, government-funded residential schools for native children were supposed to prepare them for life in white society. But the aims of assimilation meant devastation for those who were subjected to physical, sexual and emotional abuse. Decades later, aboriginal people began to share their stories and demand acknowledgement of — and compensation for — their stolen childhoods.

Yeah. Go stuff your head in the sand