Day 37
   
   6/3/01
   Mile 3409
   Muncho Lake, BC
   
   I had expected it still be raining in the morning, and was quite
   surprised to find...sun?  What's that doing here?  It was 7:30am, and
   sun was shining into my log cabin.  The owner, Mike Lamb (the Willie Nelson
   lookalike) had said it had rained more or less continuously for 12
   days, so this was amazing.
   
   The other biker left before me, having had a full rest day and dry
   clothes already packed away.  As for me, I had stuff laying
   everywhere, trying to dry out.  It took a while to pack.  I also decided
   to get a cupful of gasoline at the pump and degrease my chain with a little
   wire brush I carry.
   
   At 9am I started the climb up to Summit Pass, feeling pretty good.
   And it just kept getting better.  The scenery became an exhibition of
   splendor as I biked over the pass and started down the other side.
   Breathtaking - the sharp-peaked mountains shone in their fresh
   covering of yesterday's snow, which draped everything except the road I 
   was biking on.  It was utterly majestic, joyous, and full of contrast.
   It is hard to imagine how the agony of yesterday could be any more at odds 
   with the richness I was now experiencing.  The difference between night and 
   day was, well...night and day.
   
   I saw several Stone sheep near the pass, and stopped for a few photos.
   Also there clicking away was Heidi Posner, the photo editor of Travel
   and Leisure Magazine, along with her friend Margaret.  She had a very
   nice (and large) Pentax, a 4x5 I suppose, and was getting some great
   closeups of the wildlife.  Oddly, she had just been in Galveston a few
   weeks ago, close to the same time I had left.
   
   I looked back at the Tetsa river area where I'd just come from; rain 
   clouds had again covered it up.  Luckily, the other biker and I had 
   launched our tiny craft and were off and away before the area was socked 
   in again.
   
   I continued my descent to the Toad River.  The bridges here frequently
   use steel grating for the deck, and if you are riding a bike you can
   look straight down clear to the river as you go whizzing by.  It makes
   for an interesting glass-bottom-boat effect, but also a bit dizzying.
   
   This area and the mountains themselves remind me of Banff and the
   surrounding parks of southern Alberta.  The character of the Rockies
   remains much the same even this far north.
   
   On a Sunday night the Alcan is practically dead.  Sometimes a half
   hour goes by without a single car, and I wonder if I somehow missed a
   turnoff and will end up in Inuvik or some other remote locale due to
   inattention.  I practically have the road to myself.
   
   I caught up with the other biker at a campground, but didn't talk long
   because he had met up with some friends travelling in a motorhome.
   So, like so many other nights, I set up the tent and crawled into my bag.
   To sleep, perchance to dream.

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