Whitehorse May 27–28

The night stop overlooking Whitehorse was quiet, though not particularly level. Temperatures dipped below 40°F, but the 12-volt heated blanket made for a comfortable sleep.

May 27

Baked Café & Bakery

Morning started at Baked Café & Bakery. The online reviews had set the bar high, and the place delivered. Good coffee, flaky croissants, and the kind of atmosphere that makes it easy to linger. A book, a coffee, and two hours of people-watching turned into one of those mornings where the conversations around the room became part of the entertainment. Some people speak so loudly it almost feels like an invitation to listen.

The ongoing hunt for someone near Haines, Alaska, willing to replace the failed glycol pump in the van continued. One name kept appearing in every search, but he was still in Alberta and wouldn't return until mid-June. Emails went unanswered. Phone calls disappeared into voicemail. The plan eventually became simple: pick up the replacement pump and figure out the installation somewhere farther down the road.

Lunch came from Burnt Toast Café on 2nd Avenue. The soup of the day was yama and carrot soup, served alongside a toasted club sandwich that supposedly featured Gruyère cheese. The soup was excellent. The cheese, however, seemed more like a mild Swiss or Emmental that had somehow misplaced its personality.

A local library turned out to be open until 8 p.m. Unlike many libraries these days, this one seemed determined to remain a library first. Security stood at the entrance, and shortly after I arrived a woman was escorted out after apparently spending several days sleeping there. Once that excitement ended, the library settled into what it was meant to be: a quiet place to work.

The afternoon disappeared into photo editing, emails, and blog work. By early evening I was ready for a break and wandered toward Gather restaurant across the street.

Before reaching the entrance, I noticed people blowing glass next to Gather at Lumel Studios Glass Blowing. I had to check it out. Inside, the Canadian National Association of Land Surveyors was holding a convention and had booked a glassblowing event as part of its program. Roughly 20 participants rotated through several workstations while four staff members guided them through the process.

The furnaces, tools, glowing glass, and concentrated expressions made it surprisingly entertaining to watch. Every finished piece seemed different from the last, and before leaving I had taken about 40 photographs.

When I finally checked on dinner, I discovered Gather was closed for the same convention event. Instead, I spent some time talking with several of the surveyors. It turned out to be a far more interesting evening than simply sitting down for a meal.

The evening eventually led back to Woodcutter's Blanket Bar & Brewery. The bartender greeted me with a cheerful, "Welcome back!"

I settled into a small table near the bar, ordered a Moscow Mule, and spent some time cleaning up photographs and wrestling with Lightroom. There was no Wi-Fi, which was probably doing me a favor.

As I left, the bartender asked, "Will we see you tomorrow night?"

I told her I expected to be heading north.

"Enjoy the journey," she replied.

Later, while looking for a place to spend the night, I found references to a quiet street near a park and cemetery. It was nearly 10 p.m. when I arrived. The light still hanging in the sky felt strange. I still haven't adjusted to how late the sun lingers this far north.

May 28

As I started the van on the street, a woman walking a pit bull crossed in front. The dog had discovered something fascinating in the roadway and wasn't interested in moving. She waved. I waved back. The dog received a gentle tug and reluctantly continued on.

Baked Café & Bakery

The day began with another pilgrimage to Baked Café & Bakery. The bakery was packed. Outside temperatures remained in the low 40s, but sunshine pouring through the windows made the place feel warm and inviting.

An opening appeared at a large communal table occupied by five women who seemed to know everyone in Whitehorse. "Congratulations on the baby!" "Are you coming Friday?" Every few minutes another greeting flew across the room toward someone entering the café. It felt less like breakfast and more like a community gathering.

Later, a quieter table opened up. A few minutes after moving, a man who looked as though he had assembled his wardrobe from several different decades sat down beside me. He worked in network support and could do his job from anywhere with an internet connection. For the next 40 minutes, I unintentionally received a master class in remote IT troubleshooting.

The strange noise coming from the right rear wheel of the van was still nagging at me, so a visit to the Ford dealership seemed prudent. Appointments were booked nearly three weeks out, but I left my number and hoped someone might find time to look at it.

A few hours at the library were followed by a visit to the MacBride Museum of Yukon History. The museum does an excellent job telling the story of the Yukon. First Nations history, transportation, mining, railways, sternwheelers, the Gold Rush, and modern life all come together to explain how this territory developed into what it is today. At the entrance, hangnig from the ceiling is an installation consisting of long glass tubes. A volunteer explained it is called Northern Lights and was made by artists from Lumel Studios where I visited last night. I was also fascinated by various theories of how Alaska and the Yukon were initially inhabited. I guess there are several theories.

Around 3 p.m., Ford called. A technician had found the problem almost immediately. One lug nut was completely missing and three others were barely holding on. The wheel had been removed during 50,000 mile service in Kirkland before the trip north and apparently had never been torqued properly. I had the technician check every wheel on the van, he tightened everything, and sent me photos and videos of everything they had found.

The thought of losing a wheel somewhere between Whitehorse and Alaska was not particularly comforting.

Back at the museum, I spent more time exploring the old telegraph building. The exhibits traced the evolution of communications across Western Canada, from telegraph lines and radio networks to television broadcasting. The collection of historic equipment alone made the visit worthwhile. Remember BetaMax?

That evening naturally led back to Woodcutter's Blanket. By now the bartender seemed genuinely amused to see me. "You're back! There's room at the bar or one of these tables." Then she paused. "Are you having a Moscow Mule again?" I was.

I pulled out the menu and read some history of the building:

Woodcutter's Blanket is housed in a piece of Yukon history. At Second Avenue and Strickland Street in Whitehorse, the small log building is registered as the Widdershin Cabin and is often called "The Moose," referring to the faux animals that adorn its exterior. The building dates back to the 1930s.

Built in 1938 by prospector Jack Acheson, the iconic log house was originally used as a family residence at Fourth Avenue and Strickland Street. In 1978, Widdershin Ltd., a Whitehorse development company, moved the cabin to its current location. In 1995, the one-storey log structure was entered into the Whitehorse Heritage Buildings Register.

Over the decades, it has served as office space, a taxidermy business, a retail storefront, and now a classic cocktail bar. While the exact date is unknown, the two moose mounted above the main entrance were added when the building housed the taxidermy business. They have since helped make it one of Whitehorse's most photographed buildings.

At a neighboring table sat two women deep in conversation. "I got some sun today. It actually felt hot." "I'm not from here," I replied, "but I don't think there's anything hot about this place." Both burst out laughing. "That's fair," one of them said.

The conversation drifted toward travel and life in the Yukon. One woman was originally from Nova Scotia and had spent several years working as a traveling nurse before settling in Whitehorse. The other had just graduated from Yukon University with a degree in social work and already had a job waiting for her. Throughout the evening, friends stopped by their table to chat. It seemed everyone knew everyone.

To my left sat a man who ordered the same dish I had enjoyed on an earlier visit. "Good choice," I told him. That simple comment launched a conversation that lasted the rest of the evening. Originally from Quebec, he described himself as retired, though not entirely retired. Every so often he returned to work driving enormous haul trucks at an iron ore operation north of Whitehorse. He showed me a photograph of one. It looked more like an apartment building than a vehicle.

At one point, the bartender delivered the bill to the two women and had written, "Congratulations, this is on me." Only then did I realize they were friends and that dinner was her graduation gift. The three shared a hug before heading out.

Meanwhile, my conversation continued. Like many people I meet on the road, he loved movement and adventure—travel, backpacking, motorcycles, bicycles, cigars, and anything else that provided an excuse to go somewhere new.

Much of the conversation centered on his daughter, who had built a life around working just enough to fund her travels. Australia, Vietnam, South America, and now Morocco. She was currently living near the coast, helping at a small resort in exchange for room and board while spending her days windsurfing.

Back in Alberta, he owned a cabin equipped with cameras and remote monitoring that alerted him whenever someone approached. For now, though, he was living out of a Class C motorhome and traveling. In a few days he planned to fly back to Alberta to retrieve his motorcycle for the summer. I told him I wasn't entirely convinced the Yukon actually had a summer. That earned another laugh.

Eventually the bartender announced last call. Only then did either of us realize several hours had disappeared. We exchanged contact information, and he shared a few local places to park for the night.

In the end, I returned to the same quiet street near the park and cemetery. By then, it was beginning to feel familiar.