So, I’m famous in Whitehorse.
I know, I’m as shocked as you are.
You would think I would know about this, not just hear it on the mean streets of the largest city in northern Canada.
Eh, you say?
I know!
No Canadian is asking me to sign a bag of ketchup-flavored potato chips at Super A Foods on Centennial Street, nor at the Real Canadian Superstore on 2nd Avenue.
And my real fans know ketchup is one of my favorite ultra-running-distance snacks.
The staff at Icycle Sports on Waterfront Place sure didn’t ask me to pose for a photo to be hung on their wall next to a $6,000 “For Sale” Trek gravel bike…especially after I said, “My shifter thingy is acting weird, it doesn’t allow my sparkly chain link thingy to make me go zoom zoom!”
They did not even ask me to sign the two ICYCLE SPORTS Camelbak insulated coffee mugs I embarrassingly bought as the bike service took just 10 minutes.
Ten minutes is the amount of time it took me to unload the bike, walk it inside, touch the shifters, take it out back and bring it back in…and you know what? They are gods! It worked!
I should note that Cadence Cycle on Steele Street was equally not impressed with my bike knowledge.
The lads at ICYCLE were more impressed that my buddy had cycled from Haines to Whitehorse and would cycle down to Skagway than my tale of crashing on the way up.
Back story: My plan, since I had a running injury and could not compete in the Klondike Road Relay, was to be a support driver as my buddy did the “Golden Circle.” I would drive ahead, cycle back a bit on a lender from a professional, cycle to the SUV with said buddy, repeat.
I am so unnoticed in Canada that on my second strap into the pedals — I asked the professional for cage pedals as I can’t afford cycle shoes and with cages I can wear my running shoes or maybe put on Xtratufs if weather dictated the need — so on that second strap-in, an overly friendly white pickup took half my bike lane and put me into the wonderful Canadian wilderness — sans moose — along the highway.
Being terrifically athletic, I managed to pirouette in midair to protect my wheels — in reality the cages didn’t allow my feet to release in time so the second option was gravity using my back to slide along the newly cut saplings.
Why was I okay with this landing?
Well, the borrowed bike is worth more than my life insurance policy payout.
It was, and still is, a French manufactured high-modulus carbon fiber Motobécane with “a lot of scientific names for parts that my spell check keeps messing up.”
I know all this because I Googled it. To me it was just a “really light black bike that hurt my butt.”
To every Whitehorse bike pro, and some casual Whitehorsers, it was “OMG! A Motobécane!!!”
To which I looked in the nearest shop window reflection to see what strange secretion my touristy face was emitting or what ingredient of beavertail was uncleansed upon it.
Disclosure: Beavertail is a Canadian pastry resembling a beaver’s tail.
Meanwhile…
“Oh, we heard of him!” the cycle shop folks said of my buddy. “Aren’t there a group of Juneau riders who cycle down to Skagway after the Klondike? Did you cycle also?”
So evidently no notoriety here for me.
My face wasn’t even on the toonie (Canadian two-dollar coin) that came my way in change.
And to circle back to the Klondike Road Relay…Well there are numerous Juneau relay teams that have accomplished much over the years.
They have been praised and chirped (Canadian trash-talking) in running shops, breweries and restaurants for decades.
This year one team, “On Call,” composed of Juneau doctors and nurses were called in to assist a pre-race accident on the Klondike Highway before the race.
That alone demands some serious recognition.
And Juneau youth hockey and soccer teams have battled across the border for years. They should be recognized for that.
As for me, I keep struggling past the border because I drive too far, too fast and I overdress a bit in outings there.
For you Swedish folks out there: 95 kilometers is roughly 59 miles per hour and Celsius (them) is generally hotter than Fahrenheit (us).
And yet…I am famous?
I learned of this sitting in the housing my buddy had secured for us for a second year.
I was sipping some coffee with whitener and icing sugar — common! Cream and sugar!
The owner was yakking on her mobile phone (cell to you and me) with an acquaintance in Florida — yes, Canadians like our weirdly proportioned Mouse and his roller coasters.
“Eh (as in agreement),” she said. “The sports reporter from Juneau.”
Soon after came a call from her neighbor who must have glimpsed us as she was shooing a moose out of her garden filled with luxuries — yes, Canadian soil is pretty, pretty, pretty darn good for crops.
“Oh, eh,” our host said. “The sports reporter from Juneau eh (to keep the narrative flowing).”
So there it was…Ahhhhhhhhh (long ketchup chip-satiated sigh).
I am famous in Whitehorse, the capital of the Yukon.
• Contact Klas Stolpe at klas.stolpe@juneauempire.com.
