Day 40
   
   6/6/01
   Mile 3790
   Swift River, Yukon
   
   It stormed most of the night, which was of little concern to me since
   I was beneath an overhang and stayed mostly dry.  That was the first
   thunder I'd heard in a long time, since it usually just drizzles here,
   or at least the time I've been here.
   
   I had more problems with my email device, on top of which, most of the
   mail I get is spam.  By the time I was done, a ridiculous 45 minutes
   had passed.  I stopped at the visitor center and talked to the people
   there about the road closure; they confirmed that the remaining
   section of the culvert that I crossed had completely collapsed, as was
   obvious it would.  I'd known the clock was ticking on it.
   
   Watson Lake has a curious attraction called a "signpost forest",
   whereby people from all over the world have stolen city limit signs
   and nailed them to posts here.  This thing is enormous, covering at least
   an acre, with many thousands of signs.  Welcome to...any place you can
   think of, and most you can't.
   
   By the time I left town, it was almost 10am, and I wondered how I
   could have chewed up so much time.
   
   Of course, it soon rained.  No day is complete without it, or so it
   would seem judging by the past week.
   
   On and on!  Thousand of miles have I gone, and still a long way to go.
   Eventually it gets hard to hold it all together, stay focused, and get
   a good day in.  Part of the reason why I write this travelog is to
   convey the stresses, both physical and mental, that accompany a
   journey like this; it's why I have tried to be frank regarding conditions of
   both.
   
   I've been noticing changes in my body.  Muscle groups on my legs have
   appeared I've never seen before.  I have a rougher appearance, and I
   purposefully haven't shaved for the entire trip to help build up some
   insulation against the cold.  Slowly, along with the "dirtied down"
   appearance of the bike, I'm developing more of a Mad Max look (except
   with none of the Mel Gibson good parts, sorry).
   
   A trip like this changes you on the inside and out.  And it should -
   pity the soulless fellow oblivious to his surroundings.
   
   This area is even more remote than the others.  It's been a long time
   since I've seen telephone poles, cows, farms, or oil wells.  Nothing
   but muskeg and forest.  I am constantly on the lookout for bears, or at
   least I try to be.  It's impossible to stay 100% focused for 40 days
   straight.  It seems I am working basically all the time, either
   pedaling, setting up or breaking camp, doing photography, doing
   maintenance, or this log.
   
   Snow-covered peaks again enter my view on the horizon as I continue
   west.  These are the Cassiar Mountains, and the marker for the
   Continental Divide.  A cold wind blows as I gain altitude, but it's no
   bother to me since it's quit raining and I'm dry.  In fact I rather like
   it; makes things more interesting.  Even though it's June, it feels more
   like a November day in the midwestern states.
   
   I stopped at a roadhouse for spaghetti, and met two gentlemen who had
   driven the long way around.  Using the Cassiar Highway, they had gone
   2500 kilometers all for the want of a 25 meter gap at the bridge.
   
   I continued on, and for the fourth time in my life I bicycled over the
   Continental Divide.  Actually it was fairly subtle here; mind you the
   hills here are endless, a continual up-down-up-down on the bike, but
   short of a marker there was no obvious way to tell where the different
   watersheds drained, to the Arctic or Pacific oceans.
   
   I biked till sunset, about 11pm.  It was a bit chilly, so I pitched
   the tent in Swift River and called it a day.

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