Dogsledding in the Tombstones Part Four

Sunday morning could not have been more beautiful, with warm sun, no wind, a crystal blue sky.  Did we really have to leave?

Reluctantly we pack up and head for the highway.  This being a fine spring weekend, recreational snowmobilers have been all over the valley, making quite a mess of the track.  The sleds sink in soft muck and the dogs flounder, but we now have the skills to deal with difficult conditions.

Looking back on our track from a difficult corner.

Susan topping out on the difficult corner.

Susan looking like a pro.

Not the best mushing, but I’m sorry to see it end.  I don’t know if I will manage to get back here again – certainly not for 2 or 3 years, and by then I may really be too old.

We drive back to Dawson City where Chris has booked us into Bombay Peggy’s, an historic old building once used as a brothel, now lovingly restored and offering 9 guest rooms, each exquisitely decorated.

My room at Bombay Peggy’s

Yes, the hot shower felt good in the old-fashioned tub on 4 legs.  The toilet flushed and the firm bed faced a flat-screen TV.  Sherry and port were set out in the sitting room off the entrance.  Paintings by a pretty talented local artist hung on every wall.  I wished I was back in the Tombstones in my tent.

At 6:30 p.m. Chris led us to Jack London’s Bar and Grill.  Not much doing on a Sunday night in Dawson, with at least half the town closed for the season, but Chris had a “treat” planned: the “Sour Toe Cocktail”.    In a wooden chest the bar keeps a real, pickled human toe.

You gotta be kidding, right?

The thing is quite disgusting.  You order a drink, the toe is dropped into it, and the rules are read to you: the toe must touch your lips for it to count.  Our 3 guides take the challenge, Chris having done it several times before, while Melissa backed out the year before, and Paul is new to the crew but is game for just about anything.

Melissa, trying to work up her courage, and The Toe

None of the other guests are interested, but spurred on perhaps by a second glass of port at the hotel, I also take the challenge.  I don’t know which was worse – the toe or the damn vodka I had it in (vodka in preparation for Mongolia).  Anyway, I now have a certificate numbered 39,743.  The world is full of idiots.

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