It was the 6th of July, and we set out on a beautiful day to drive over to Dawson City via the Taylor and Top-of-the-World highways. After loading the camper, we made a quick stop at the store for gas and hit the road with deli sandwiches for lunch. It was an easy drive to Tok, where we gassed up again before arriving at Tetlin Junction and heading north toward Chicken. Up there in the high country, past Mount Fairplay and back below treeline, it began raining. We pulled over to camp in a gravel pit and relaxed for the evening.

In the night I heard both Swainson’s and Gray-cheeked thrushes singing. Next morning was another gorgeous day. After a good cup of coffee we moseyed down the road to Chicken. There we stopped and split a gigantic cinnamon roll and got another one to take along.

The Yukon/Alaska (Canada/U.S.) border and its lonely station

After Chicken the road is rather poor and slow, but with spectacular views. Both the views and the road got better as we approached the border. Crossing into Canada was as easy as could be: inspection of passports, asking and answering a few questions, and we were on our way into the grand Yukon.

But wait! Someone ahead is flagging us down. Four people are standing beside a car on the right side of the road at a small pullout, facing our way. They are a group of Chinese-speaking tourists, one of whom speaks good English. Apparently one of the group cannot enter the U.S. due to a visa or passport problem. Can we give him a lift back to Dawson City? That’s where we’re headed, and it’s only 65 miles away, so we say sure, we can do that.

His name is Mr. Li, and the woman who dropped him with us said that he speaks no English. So she left him with a note with about five lines. The last one was “I cannot speak English.” The penultimate one was “How much money?” The earlier lines were that he needed to be taken to a hotel in Dawson City, then to the airport the next morning, then he needed to fly to Vancouver, British Columbia. We agreed to the first, and he piled into the back seat with his luggage. It turns out that he did speak two words of English: “Thank you.”

We moseyed along those 65 miles (105 km), admiring the scenery of the Top-of-the-World Highway, occasionally taking pictures, and once stopping for a break at a wayside outhouse. There was very little traffic, which was nice.

The Yukon River crossing at Dawson City, with the ferry approaching

With almost no words from Mr. Li, we made it to the ferry landing on the bank of the Yukon River and waited. The ferry came across and picked up everyone but us! We’d arrived first, so this was a little irksome, but the configuration was better without us (a huge 18-wheeler had pulled up) and we’re on vacation. So we waited another cycle and were over soon enough.

We brought Mr. Li to the visitors’ center and after awhile had a hotel destination—the El Dorado. This was not as smooth a process as it might have been. The first person we spoke to was with Parks Canada. He listened to the whole story, then went over to the information woman, Suzanne, and repeated what he could remember. We thanked him as he returned to his desk and then filled in the details for Suzanne.

Dawson City

And now another odd twist to this tale began: Mr. Li would call someone, I think in Vancouver, who spoke Chinese and some English. She was a sort of translator, only a bad one. We passed the phone around a lot, but with seemingly very little gained. Eventually Suzanne had Mr. Li a reservation at the El Dorado and we had a map. We bundled Mr. Li and his suitcase back into the truck and drove the six blocks or so to the hotel.

As Mr. Li and I entered, the receptionist held up a hand to ask us to wait a moment while she answered the ringing phone. She gave her name, Carla, as she began her conversation. Gradually, a rather puzzled look came over her face as she looked first at Mr. Li, then at me. I nodded, guessing who was on the phone. I was right. We spent about 20 minutes getting Mr. Li figured out. Mr. Li and the phone woman spoke again, and I talked a little with Carla, who is from Cape Town, South Africa. Upon hearing that Mr. Li’s friends had dropped him at the border with us, she said one word: “Brutal.”

It was unclear to Carla and me how Mr. Li was going to fly out, and the phone lady did not help clarify this. I left Mr. Li and Carla trying to get wifi working on his smart phone and popped back out into a beautiful sunny day. Rose and I went to find a late lunch and had some fabulous fish and chips before walking around town. Although we expected to encounter Mr. Li at any corner, we did not see him again.

After walking around town for awhile, we headed inland and then up the Dempster Highway to find a place to camp for the night. Swainson’s Thrushes sung us to sleep. The next day we goofed off in town and attended a plant seminar at the Native Center. A very knowledgeable Gwichin woman, Fran, gave a good presentation of plant, medicinal, and spiritual lore. She poured and droppered out a number of samples as she went along. There were some tasty teas and concoctions.

We set back out for home that evening, taking our time. We camped just this side of the border after perhaps the easiest crossing into the U.S. I’ve ever had. In a light rain at 2:00 am, I heard an Alder Flycatcher singing at the highest rate I’ve ever heard.

The next morning we poked along the road to Chicken. It had rained lightly all night but was starting to break up. The road twists and winds a lot and is not very good north of Chicken. As we came around one sharp corner, a woman came toward us in a white pickup, right the middle of the road, with both hands locked at the 10 and 2 positions on the wheel, looking veritably terrified. A little earlier, I’d pulled as far over to the steep outside edge as I felt safe and let two 18-wheelers roar by. The road is a little narrow for big vehicles to easily pass each other, but this lady seemed to be exhibiting severe overcaution.

As we continued on around the next bend, though, there was an Alaska Department of Transportation pickup parked along the outside edge with its roof-bar lights flashing. As we drove slowly by, we could just barely see why they were there: a huge RV had gone over the edge! It looked like it had been caught by trees and so had only gone over onto its side rather than rolling farther down the steep slope. Wow. A sight like that makes everyone a cautious driver.

We got some gas in Chicken and looked through the huge chicken-themed store. I asked the woman who pumped the gas whether the people in the accident of the RV that had gone off the road were alright. She got a curious look on her face and said “That was two weeks ago.”

Obviously, word hadn’t gotten here yet. They probably weren’t badly hurt or a medical evacuation would have caused a noticeable stir. But to think that events like that can happen every two weeks near Chicken. Drive safely.

And if you should run into Mr. Li, from Harbin, China, tell him hello from his friends in Alaska.