Early morning repair of blisters cured my foot problems at least for a while. I walked hard and fast all day. The sun, breeze, and the magically silent woods created the near perfect day.

My thigh muscles began to ache before noon. A blister on the ball of my right foot throbbed and stung with each stride. Then the most important milestone of the journey came into view. It was the junction of the Yukon Route 37. After walking nearly 800 miles along the Alaska Highway I could now head south along 37 into British Columbia. About 1200 miles away would be the U.S. border at Washington State.

The bikers had reminded me that Route 37 is a desolate, lonely road. The first food stop is 100 miles south. A small motel, if open, would be 150 miles away. Yielding to my sore hip I headed back to Whitehorse and a plane ride to New York.

Of course I will return!

This was a slow day. Even with my new shoes nagging blisters came up on my toes. I pushed on. The sun came up. Tired after 25 kilometers of walking I moved my support vehicle to a safe spot along the road, parked and opened to door. A large grizzly bear jumped out of a ditch, stopped, gave me a toothy, angry, grin then calmly walked across the road.

I started walking when my sixth sense spoke. “No Tom, there is a Grizz right there”

The Alaska Highway crosses the continental divide at one of its lowest points at the confluence of the Swift and Rancheria rivers. There is only a small hill to traverse which is quite a difference from climbing the high peaks of the Brooks Range where I last crossed the divide in northern Alaska.

As I stood in the sand day dreaming of all the places where these river waters would next visit I was reminded of this curious aspect of the design of the North American continent. Float a leaf in the Rancheria and it would pass through the Laird River near Watson Lake, continue on to the Mackenzie in Canada’s Northwest Territories, and finally reach the Beauford Sea part of the sprawling Arctic Ocean some 2650 miles away.

The same little leaf, however, if left in the Swift would find its way back to Teslin Lake. The Teslin River would spirit it into the mighty Yukon River and clear across Alaska where it would reach the Bearing Sea part of the Pacific Ocean. This journey would be 2300 miles.

I had planned to walk half the day and then drive 150 miles back to Whitehorse. On August 3rd I had planned to enter the 26 mile Whitehorse marathon. Given foot pain general fatigue a marathon through the mountains seemed beyond my capability. Rather, I plodded forward on y “epic” race walk.

I sat on the porch of a large modern log cabin. Behind me Teslin Lake sparkled in the late afternoon sun and weaved and bobbed in the gentle wind. This was the home of a first nation native family. The amicable spouse was blonde and light skin. “We’ve been married 21 years. Sometimes visitor mistake me for a tourist”.

The spouse had run up to me while I was walking. “I am out for a jog” she said. “Why don’t you come by our house for some coffee. There is a big grizzly bear around here. Be careful” Just then the coffee seemed very appealing.

“Each family in the tribe is entitled to a track of tribal land. We can live in the beautiful spot but the land always belongs to the tribe. The council is pretty powerful”

The wonderful hostess calmly served me cookies as she told the story. “Last winter the giant grizzly broke down my garage door. When he stood on those back legs he was taller than the garage. My husband and son were out hunting so I was all alone.

I sat on the porch of a large modern log cabin. Behind me Teslin Lake sparkled in the late afternoon sun and weaved and bobbed in the gentle wind. This was the home of a first nation native family. The amicable spouse was blonde and light skin. “We’ve been married 21 years. Sometimes visitor mistake me for a tourist”.

The spouse had run up to me while I was walking. “I am out for a jog” she said. “Why don’t you come by our house for some coffee. There is a big grizzly bear around here. Be careful” Just then the coffee seemed very appealing.

“Each family in the tribe is entitled to a track of tribal land. We can live in the beautiful spot but the land always belongs to the tribe. The council is pretty powerful”

The wonderful hostess calmly served me cookies as she told the story. “Last winter the giant grizzly broke down my garage door. When he stood on those back legs he was taller than the garage. My husband and son were out hunting so I was all alone.

The dogs kept barking and woke me up otherwise he would have been in kitchen. The bear didn’t even move when I fired the shotgun into the air. He must have been real hungry.
He was old though and didn’t have any teeth so huntin was hard for him. They shot him a few weeks later when he came into town.”

I had just finished breakfast at Jake’s Corners and had been walking down a steep hill. I saw him first, a small black bear. Then the bear looked up from the side f the hill where he was munching on a small tree and stared at me. I stopped and fortunately the little bear, just 50 yards from me, backed away. Instinct reminded me that there must be other members of this little guy’s family near.

Cautiously, some might say stupidly, I continued walking very aware of the woods and hills surrounding the road. There she was a large black bear. Clearly she scented me first. Her oversized head tracked me as I tightly clasped the bear spray. Yet I knew in the strong head wind the bear cold be inches from my unshaven face before the spray might work. Using my best backwards race walking style I retreated, praying all the way.

Three hours later, still walking, I compute that I am just a few yards from completing my goal of 23 miles for the day. I was tired. It was drizzling. I continued walking.”Do a little more” an inner voice told me Finally, I yielded to fatigue and stopped for the day.

Less than a kilometer later as I drove my car looking for nighttime shelter a large grizzly bear, looked angrily, growled, and ran across the road directly in front of me. I was saved once again.

Pfizer on the Road

I am not fond of salmon but could not resist stopping at another road side cabin this one advertising a salmon bake. The aroma of freshly grilled fish mingled with smoldering charcoal enticed me further to the dimly lit eatery. Tourists, obviously the owners of the four large RV’s, parked in front devoured the salmon which had recently been plucked from the Teslin lake just meters behind the smoldering grill.

I was sipping coffee when I overheard one of the visitors said. “I just retired from Pfizer pharmaceuticals” I was startled. I too had just retired from Pfizer after a 34 year career.
I had been walking all morning. My shorts were soiled. My hair was long. I hadn’t shaved in three days and had recently cut the sides off of my shoes to reduce the rubbing on my toes. I short I looked like a lost bum.

Unfazed, although the speaker and his wife must have been startled, I introduced m self to Steve and Susan Day. Steve had recently retired from Pfizer research. The couple had driven their RV all the way from Rhode Island. “We are doing this trip to celebrate our 40th anniversary. Steve got sick last year so we had to delay our dream adventure for a year” We exchanged cards before I wobbled again down the long road in an indeed small world.

The Royal Canadian Mounted Police {RCM} police cruiser passed me, abruptly stopped and headed back toward me. I stayed calm thinking of the dude who joked that I needed a walking permit.

When they rolled down the window I noticed that both officers, one a female, were protected by bullet proof vests. Their uniforms were neatly pressed. Large pistols adorned their hips. They just looked at me so I spoke first. “I’m fine. I’m just walking to Florida.” “Is that your car a few miles u the road?, they inquired. When we saw your walking we wanted to make sure you were OK.” As the prepared to leave the woman cautioned “Watch out for the bears”

It was 5 AM Sunday. I only remembered the day a camper driver filling his gas tank had reminded me. Once again it was drizzling, cold and overcast. The tiny hotel’s restaurant at Johnsons Crossing didn’t open until 7 AM.

Fatigued, I started walking up a big hill. I was now traveling east to cover a stretch of road I hadn’t yet walked. Strangely I felt better as I climbed and disappeared into the fog.
The heavy mist hid the trees packed thickly in the surrounding woods.

Being armed with bear spar seemed useless. There would be no time to react if a grizzly stealthy attacked. Fearfully, I pushed on another hour thinking only of hot coffee and breakfast which I hoped would greet me somewhere up to road. Finally, hungry and now fully awake, I returned to my vehicle and drove to shack like food stop called Jake’s Corner.

I ordered eggs with bacon and headed for a quick stop in the restroom. This was s mistake. When I too quickly bent down to pick up a piece a paper, a piercing pain raced up my leg and stabbed my spine. I could not stand up straight and walked with a pronounced limp. I remembered then the council of my walking coaches “stretch, stretch, stretch!” I had foolishly let the aroma of greasy bacon neglect this cardinal rule of long distance walkers. Now I was really injured.

Eating, while standing, and bent over like an arthritic old man, I contemplated my options. Quitting was out of the question. “Rest”, that was the answer. Thinking I might be bedridden for days I decided to drive to the nearest town on the map Teslin some 60 miles west.

Driving too was painful. In an hour I had found a hotel and soaked in a hot bath while my back throbbed and my mind reminded me how nice it was to go home to New York.

The warm water was soothing but my conscientious bothered me. If I was not walking, I should go to church to give thanks to God for allowing me to have walked 800 miles since I began my adventure two years earlier. Determined I limped a mile to the small church only because it was less painful than driving.