-----Our alarms went off at 7:00 in the morning, and by eight we were out of our cabin and on the road to the Yukon border. The road out of Toad River led towards more epic mountain peaks, yet somehow the road felt even more desolate than yesterday. We went directly towards the mountain peak that had dominated the sunset last evening and saw ever more incredibly breathtaking vistas as we kept going.

-----We dropped down as the road went around Muncho Lake, a mile wide and seven miles across, nestled in amongst the peaks. It was still frozen mostly solid, although along the edges, cracks were forming and liquid water lapped up over the edges. Every time we'd turn a new corner, new snowcapped peaks could be seen.

-----After we came out of this gorgeousness, we encountered our first wildlife of the day: a stone sheep, standing majestically alone alongside the road. There was more greenery as we crossed rivers and watched for bison, of which there was great evidence of a herd but only males—alone or in small packs—were seen grazing on the side of the road. Not too much later, we spotted a lone black bear, minding his own business and rooting for food on the side of the road.

-----This section of the highway was either fruitful with scenery and wildlife at every turn, or barren and monotonous for scores of miles. Driving meant staying on one's toes the entire time and anticipating the craziest of the few other drivers. The worst drivers are the ones from the lower 48; Canadians were generally the nicer and more reasonable ones.

-----The geography teems with waterways, and we went around and across an uncountable number of creeks, lakes, rivers, and streams. Thankfully, few metal grates were to be found, save for the longest bridge on the entire Alaska Highway into Teslin, Yukon. (We also crossed the only suspension bridge on the highway.)

-----The most interesting thing about the highway's route is that it zigzags into the Yukon and back out a total of seven times, with the seventh its final entrance into the territory. On the fifth border crossing, the Yukon government places its sign, for the first community in the territory is Watson Lake. Its biggest tourist-y claim to fame is the Signpost Forest, which was started after a lonely GI made up a sign for his hometown and posted it. Now the Signpost Forest has around 80,000 signs, arranged on immense wooden stakes in a roughly concentric pattern, and walking around it is entirely otherworldly. No one really has the time to read every last one of them, and we did not try; we used it as an opportunity to stretch our legs and try to spot signs from places we've been. There were more than a few from North Carolina, and we also saw one from Wausau, Wisconsin—home of trip mascot Yoder the Duck.

-----We stopped at the adjoining visitor center, where the two friendliest ladies in the entire territory answered all the questions that we asked (and more than a few that we didn't). We debated lunch; though past noon, none of us were hungry (as we'd snacked in the car), so we topped off the gas tank and hit the road once again for Whitehorse.

-----For the last time, the road dipped back in to British Columbia, looping around mountains and going up and down big hills. We'd long been removed from seeing a ton of snowcapped peaks, but once again they appeared in the distance in the form of the Cassiar Mountains. One could see the road miles ahead as it lay atop the terrain, and once we entered the Yukon for good, we realized that the buffer zone that had been cleared on either side of the highway was now gone. The Yukon government works on repairing the road only, and it's a tough enough job without the extra cost of clearing an extra two highways' worth of trees and shrubbery on either side.

-----It was in the Yukon that we discovered the full joy of gravel breaks, where the blacktop dropped away to reveal either packed-in dirt (which was dusty but alright) or flat-out loose gravel (as the orange signs warned). The gravel was also only bad if there were oncoming vehicles or nutty Americans attempting to—of all things—pass. These gravel breaks did not last long, but felt like they went on for ages. Since they necessitated a slowing, most of the folks we passed seemed to be on these rough gravel breaks.

-----As we traveled further into the Yukon, the roads got rougher. Frost heaves, heretofore few and far between, are now actively sought as we scan the road for treacherousness of all sorts. The potholes are "filled" by a certain definition; since there are so many of them and so few road workers, all they do is just dump in some asphalt and call it a day, leading to half-filled potholes wherein the cure is deadlier than the disease, so to speak. It was a team effort to navigate these minefields at full speed.

-----After a pit stop for gas in Teslin, we kept on, where there were yet more gravel breaks and an increase in oncoming traffic from Whitehorse (where the locals apparently go south to various lakes on the weekends). There were also just as many lakes (such as the immense Teslin Lake) and mountains to be seen. Rain came in and out and in again, though never hard, as a steady stream of vehicles came the other way. Clearly, we were nearing Whitehorse.

-----Whitehorse is the capital of the Yukon Territory and its largest city by far, though it is spread out a good distance around the Yukon River. While a lot of the Canadians drove pleasantly on the road itself, the Yukon natives hold road courteousness right below cleanliness in the hierarchy of virtues ... and their vehicles are incredibly filthy. (To be fair, so is ours; spotlessness is laughable amidst the dusty patches of the Alaska Highway.)

-----After hundreds of miles and a rough day on the road, we arrived safe and sound at our hotel, which is the single weirdest mix of ultra-cheap and ultra-fancy I've ever seen. For instance, the chairs are custom-built, with the hotel logo on the back ... but the upholstery itself is lackluster. The bathroom is upscale, but a note tacked on the thermostat tells us, in so many words, not to touch because the thing doesn't do what you program it to do anyway. But it's clean and functional and the Internet access isn't a dog and pony show, so there's a lot to be said ... even if the modular structure manifests itself in slanted hallways and doors.

-----We ate dinner—our first proper meal of the day—at an Asian fusion restaurant. The Yukon is a place one expects ... well, I don't know what kind of food, but Asian fusion isn't the first guess I'd venture. We were hungry enough for the food to be extra-good; after a starting course of miso soup and small salad (with ginger dressing), we all had Udon noodles with varying meats atop. They came out on piping hot iron skillets, a bit like a noodle stir-fry crossbred with a fajita, though all the flavors were distinctly Asian. My chicken was extremely tender and tempura-battered, and the sauce was rich and somewhat spicy. Though appearing to be very little at first, it seemed to multiply on our plates the more we ate, which was a welcome sight to our famished selves.

-----My dad and I both got a chocolate mousse for dessert, and it was delicious—although one generally thinks of mousse as light and this one was absolutely frozen solid. You could build a lickable igloo out of the things if you had enough. The tiny, almost baby-size spoons did almost nothing; they could cut through the minuscule topmost layer of chocolate, but not the three layers underneath. I warmed my spoon up in my mouth before attempting to slice off some bits, but this wasn't too effective until things began to melt. My dad, fed up with the same tactic, took one of the metal chopsticks from our meal and skewered the mousse, stuffing it in with both hands and then eating it as if it was ice cream. It turned out to be a highly effective—and really the only—way to eat it.

-----Tomorrow: a day off in Whitehorse.