He’d a plot somewhere in the bush but didn’t say where. And equally coy about just how much he made from it, other than to admit it was a good living, day-to-day operations leased to a small gold mining company. Dale struck me as careful with his money, every penny hard-earned, and if he was a bit more flush these days, he deserved it.
I’d met him by chance. Ever worsening nausea had forced me to abandon riding the final thirty or so miles that day with Mike. And Dale had been the first passing pick-up driver I’d put my thumb out for. He’d carried out a short distance, screeched to a halt, and then reversed back up the empty highway.
We’d soon got trusty steed Emma stowed in the back of the pick-up and were on our way to Rick’s cabin. I’d directions but he didn’t need them. Knew Rick well. Ordinarily Mike and I would have just stopped and wild camped, catching up on the mileage the next day. But we’d arranged to stay with Rick, close to the small Yukon town of Haines Junction, and didn’t have a telephone number to call and let him know what’d happened. Worried that if we didn’t arrive, there’d be search parties. So, one way or the other, we had to get there.
Mike was keen to press on as he felt fine. I’d agreed. After all, I was used to travelling solo, and if I found myself feeling much worse, I’d all the kit to go safely to ground. Tent up, get into my sleeping bag. Besides, I was pretty confident I’d be able to get a lift. And, if not, Mike promised to return with Rick and come and find me. We soon passed Mike on the highway, slowing down as we overtook so I could let him know I was safe.
