Two days ago the sun came out and didn’t stop shining into the clear blue Yukon sky until well after midnight. The day reached its peak around six pm and for the first time since Bella Coola, I was in shorts and sweating. I went on a long hike over the huge rock slide that looms ominously over the north end of Dawson. I sat for a meditation on what I later found out was “suicide rock” and wished I could jump. Not to commit suicide, but to fly. On such a perfect day the thermals would be smooth and gracious and you could soar for hours over the Yukon River if you had wings.

I wasn’t feeling much like I had wings, though. I was feeling heavier, like I had awakened from a spell; and I spent the entire day in and out of extreme grogginess and vivid clarity. I struggled with the last of the hooks, wanting them out so badly and hanging on for dear life, like pulling a mouthful of rotting molars without anesthetic. When it was all done I threw the carcass into the swift current far below, knowing it would only be a matter of days before the whole mess was claimed by the Bering Sea.

Now I’m feeling clear, fighting the urge to ride. Henk and I haven’t seen days like this in our entire trip. It’s almost criminal not to take advantage of this beautiful weather and turn south. But I did get an enticing piece of information today from a local rider: Henk and I can probably make it to Tombstone. Apparently the road gets nasty north of there, but I could get to the campground on Henk and spend a night or two. The colors have just started…

I’m not sure I’ll become the shrewdest poker player ever to visit the Klondike. I can’t afford the five grand it will take to really learn the game well. Nevertheless, John generously spent some time with me yesterday going over some of the finer points, and entered me in my first little tournament at Diamond Tooth Gertie’s. I wasn’t the first one out, which I thought was not bad for my first game, in fact I went out "on the bubble," but at the end of the tournament and a limit Texas Hold’em game that followed, I think I had lost about 70 of John’s real dollars. He was up almost 200 bucks for the night, so he still came out ahead even with me sucking up his chips. My only win all evening was with a pair of pocket aces and I didn’t even have to do the betting; just called and won. After that John said "Your reputation at the table is going to be that you're playing really tight. Now if you get a hand, don't scare off the money by coming out betting. Hang tight until the last round, then raise." Or something like that. It's hard to concentrate when there are ten players at the table and a woman onstage warbling about how she loves bald men...

I talked for a long time in circular hyperbole the other night with Alice the escape artist from Victoria. She’s looking for a new home and has no clue where she’ll end up. She’s not quite sure if she’s running away from something or running toward something. I think both. Running from and running toward are paradoxically intertwined.

We must’ve named every town and city in North America, then Europe, in an effort to inspire each other. What about Nelson? I asked her when she said she wanted to check out the Kootenays. “Mm, yeah, I do like it there, and I like the fact that there’s a bit of a laid back pot smoking vibe there, but mm, no, there’d be too much pot smoking there, you know?” Yeah. I know. Ok, how ‘bout Whitehorse? You’re going to Whitehorse tomorrow. “Mmm, no.” Yeah. I get it. Too redneck. “Well, it’s not that it’s redneck, it’s just that it’s mm, you know when a city has a mall and a Superstore and a Wall Mart and all that? It just reminds me of Nanaimo.” Oh, now that you say that, I agree. Ok, how ‘bout Montreal? Montreal’s Canada’s coolest city. “Mmm, no. I grew up there. I could spend a summer there, but the winters are brutal. I need a place to be intellectually stimulating, cultural, with a nice sense of community…” Ok, Toronto! “No, too big. I’ve been getting used to living in smaller places. Although I love the cultural aspects of Toronto.” Yeah. Toronto’s Canada’s great city. Especially in the summer. Vancouverites brag about rollerblading and playing tennis and skiing all on the same day, but there’s not much international flavor there. In Toronto, you can ride your bike around haphazardly and stumble into six or seven entirely different world-class events or street festivals or world music stages on a Saturday afternoon. “Yeah, no. Too big. You know what I’d love? A smaller eastern city, like Kingston, for example, but on the west coast. I gotta be near nature.” Oh, now you’re talking! Hmm, you might have to go to Oregon or Northern California. “Well, I was born in the states, so I’m actually a landed immigrant here. I don’t know how Americans live with their politics. How ‘bout you? Could you live in the states?” Hmm, I hear they have heart-stopping thunderstorms in New Mexico… And so it went for over an hour. Neither one of us came to any conclusion. Alice shrugged her shoulders. “I think I’m looking for Nirvana.” Yeah. I understand, Alice.