Inuvik (NWT) 08:30 – Eagle Plains (YK) 17:30 | 366 km
The most difficult and dangerous day of the trip.
The night turns out to be cold, and I barely sleep. At the start of the journey, I decided to travel light, which meant making compromises on camping gear—specifically the sleeping bag. To save space, I took an ultra-compact model rated for summer temperatures (+7°C). I realize my mistake now: the nights are miserable, and the cold prevents me from recovering.
I wake up exhausted, with no idea what lies ahead. It rained lightly yesterday and likely all through the night. I initially welcome this moisture, thinking it will keep the dust down from the passing trucks. I leave Inuvik heading south. I admit I’ve had enough of the cold and wind; I’m starting to dream of warmth and comfort.
From the start, I remain cautious. The road seems manageable at first, but everything falls apart after 100 km.
After Fort McPherson, the surface becomes extremely slippery. On the second ferry, an attendant warns me that the road is badly deteriorated further south. I naively tell myself it can’t be worse than what I’ve already crossed. Wrong answer.
The mixture of gravel, rain, and cold creates a viscous, sticky mud. It’s like riding on slush with a 400 kg machine equipped with summer tires. The inevitable happens: a fall.
Fortunately, I was moving slowly. But I find myself covered in thick mud. Righting the bike is a colossal physical feat because the ground is slick and unstable. I have to unload all my luggage into the mud to lighten the load. I feel terribly alone in the world. By some miracle, I manage to set off again, very slowly.
Discouragement sets in. Should I turn back? No, I want to get out of this hell as quickly as possible, and I know the road improves in the Yukon. I push on, but 500 meters later, I lose concentration while passing a car and fall again. This time, it’s impossible to lift it alone. I am too exhausted.
After an hour of waiting in the rain, a car stops. The passengers help me get the bike back upright in seconds. I thank them, feeling embarrassed to see their clean shoes now ruined by the mud. I reload everything and set off… only to fall a third time 200 meters later.
Morale is at its lowest. There is nowhere to sit; everything is soaked and soft. The presence of grizzlies in the area makes camping on the spot out of the question. My goal is now clear: reach Eagle Plains, 160 km away, without falling again.
The technique is simple: as soon as the color of the road changes, I slow to less than 5 km/h, feet on the ground to stabilize the machine. I bless my BMW for its very short “Enduro” first gear and my TKC80 tires that bite into the molasses.
I don’t pass a single other motorcycle. That is a telltale sign.
Around 17:30, I finally spot the refuge at Eagle Plains. What a relief! Upon arrival, a group of American bikers welcomes me: the motorists who helped me had alerted them to my presence. The guys at the garage hose me and the bike down to remove the worst of the muddy crust. The mud had baked so much on the exhaust pipes that the chrome turned orange.
I take a room for $125. In survival mode, the price no longer matters. A hot shower, a quick call to Nadine to reassure her without scaring her, and I join the other travelers at the bar.
I learn that the five bikers on GS models arrived the day before on a government truck: they couldn’t make it through by road. One of them even ended up 4 meters down in the tundra. These are experts over 50 years old, and they are unanimous: these are the worst conditions they have seen in their lives. And I came through after them, with an extra day of rain.
Tomorrow, I will have to decide whether to continue south. This day will remain etched in my memory, even if I would have gladly done without it.