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Day 18

The "annex" at the hostel was a tiny concrete building with bunk beds for 8 men -- and only one little window in the door for ventilation. It stank. As bad as any locker room I've ever been in. It was around 2 AM when I went in to go to sleep so I had to find my bunk in the dark. I'm pretty comfortable working in the dark because I used to be a fireman, where most of the time you are in the dark or smoke and must be able to find your way back out. I tried to forget about the stench and go to sleep.

The next morning I awoke and sat up in my sleeping bag that was on the top bunk. Two others were still sleeping, and a little man with grayish-white hair was sitting mopedly on a couch. Why anyone would have stayed in the "annex" for any reason other than sleeping, I could not fathom, so I must have had a questioning look on my face. He spoke, and said that his wallet was missing. My heart stopped for an instant and my hand whipped over to my pants which were laying by my side on the bed-my wallet was not there! Then I remembered, I had left it in the truck the night before. I turned back to the man and began to ask him questions about the last time he had seen it, where he was, etc.-the kind of things my mom always asks me when I have lost something. She is the best finder in the world, by the way. The other two men that were asleep were awake now and began asking him the same sorts of things. He had it the night before when he went to a drink machine down the street, and he had searched the couches in both the main house and the annex where he was sitting but he could not find it. One of the two men that had just awoke started searching underneath his bottom bunk, and found something - an old wool hat. Underneath was the little man's wallet. Somehow he must have kicked it under the bunk when he came in last night. The morning's tension was over, and I began to think about my own problems.

I walked over to the main street to eat breakfast at The Sweet Tooth, which sounds like a candy store but also serves normal breakfast food. I sat at a table by the window. The sun poured in strongly and it was hot, but I put on my sunglasses and stayed, because I wanted to watch the street out the window. I ordered an omelette and watched mostly tourists go by. Occasionally a horse and buggy driven by a woman in a large poofy western dress would go by. There was a man wearing a thick overcoat, boots, a fox hat (with complete fox head on top and tail in back), and carrying a wooden staff with the carved head of a loon on top. I don't know who he was or why he was dressed this way, but he would go up to people and occasionally pose with them for a picture. My omelette came and the "large" glass of orange juice turned out to be small, as usual. The toast on the side was smothered in butter, but I was eating for survival, knowing that if I got stuck, I would need every calorie that I could get, whether fat or protein would not matter. I used up all the jelly packets as well, and ate my food quickly.

Afterwards I filled up at the gas station-jerry cans,too. Gas was $1.51 a gallon, which seemed expensive, but I knew it would be even more in Canada. I went to the grocery store and stocked up on plenty of food-mostly items that keep well without refrigeration. Even things that I normally don't buy, like powdered milk and sardines, for the unfortunate case that I might get stuck for a long period of time.

At last there was nothing left in Skagway for me to do in preparation for the trip, so I left. Immediately outside of Skagway the road begins to climb. I passed a large bus and a truck. Watching each gauge carefully, every sense was concentrating on the sound, smell, and vibrations. For a while, everything was great. The engine was running cool. The battery was charging fine. Plenty of gas.

Then I thought I started to hear something. I started to vary things to give me more clues. I varied the engine speed, with and without clutch engaged. This time the noise seemed to continue even with the gears disengaged. It seemed that the cab was a little warmer than the ambient temperature. Since I have no heater, that means either the engine or me is giving off more heat. Next, I thought I detected a slight burning smell, and I pulled over to check things out. I thought it strange that the heat and smell could have traveled from the rear axle to the cab. It would seem more like the problem was somewhere in the engine compartment. Of course, it could also be that the engine was working harder to overcome a bad rear axle bearing. I found nothing obvious, and there was nowhere else for me to go, so I continued. After a while I came to the Canadian border, and as I pulled into the border station, the guard made a comment about the burning smell. Good! At least I knew I wasn't imagining things. He decided he wanted to search the cab, so while he did that, I looked under the engine compartment. Bingo! The generator was smoking, and I knew right away that the little grinding noise I had been hearing was indeed bearings, but not the ones I had feared. The generator bearings had burned out. It sounds bad, but to me it was great, because I had a spare generator, and this was a problem I could handle.

The border guard also noticed that my gas cap was missing. I must have left it at the station in Skagway. I stuffed a rag in it to prevent dirt from entering the gas tank. After the guard finished his search and questions, I pulled on through and put on my mechanic hat to go to work. I spread out a tarp and weighted it down with rocks on the corners. After a little while I emerged with the burned out generator and took it apart on the tarp. Yep, burned bearings, or bushings, really. This one was scrap.

This was the brand new generator that I had installed in Anchorage, just 1,000 miles ago. There are several possibilities for why the bearings burned out. One, was that it was my fault, because I had been told (and believed) that the two holes at the front and rear of the generator were oil holes, and that periodically I should oil them. It turns out, these holes are meant for grease to be injected at the factory, and shouldn't require any further lubrication. So that might have caused a problem, but I doubt it, because I also oiled the old generator, and it was doing fine after about 4,000 miles. Another explanation is that the misalignment of the generator bracket might have caused abnormal wear of the bearings. However, if this were the case, I would have expected more wear on the front bearings, the bearings by the pulley. Instead, it was the rear bearings that were damaged. Finally, it may have just been a defective generator.

Whatever the reason, I regreased the old generator and installed it. I continued down the road a while, stopping every twenty minutes or so to feel the bearings on the generator. They were hot, but maybe they are supposed to be that way. I feared that perhaps I was supposed to use high-temperature grease rather than the normal green grease that I have. I have had no further problems, so I expect that it is OK.

I arrived at Carcross, and made the decision to continue the journey home. I drove late into the night, trying to get to the next town on the map, which was Teslin. I arrived around midnight to find that the only two motels in town were closed and the next one was about 80 miles away. I was tired and didn't fancy driving another two hours, so I drove just to the other side of the bridge next to town and explored a little side road for a place to camp. After dead ending at a couple of houses, I found a place next to the bridge and set up tent by the side of the river. Trucks roaring by on metal bridge made lots of noise from time to time, but I had no trouble falling asleep.

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