We’d asked for just coffee but got complimentary cakes as well. Left from dinner last night, explained Amanda. She was originally from the north of England, but had grown up in Ireland and had a soft Irish accent. I was curious as to how she’d ended up running a campground in Canada’s Yukon Province. She’d found the place whilst on holiday, she explained. Had fallen in love with it.
I thought her quite charming, welcoming. An absolute delight to chat with. It was a shame to leave and return to the road, but necessary none the less. In truth, I’d been intrigued about stopping there. One hardened ride, a chiseled chap called Craig, had encouraged us to stop by. Others were absolute in their conviction that the owners hated cyclists. I’d very much doubted this.
So we’d popped in. "Your reputation proceeds you!" I’d said jovially. If Mike had winced at this, I’d not noticed as he was behind me. Discovering, a bit later, that if you do go around insisting that the provision of free drinking water is your human right, chances are, you won’t get such a warm welcome. Which seemed to go quite a long way to explaining the very differing views on stopping there.
Tags: White River, Yukon
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