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A few kilometres were enough for our worst worry to materialise ; Canada was being ravaged by enormous fires to the point that the sun struggled to materialise behind a blanket of smoke that provided a science fiction colour .
At the turning point for the 500 a volunteer stopped us and told us that we could not pass . There were no alternative routes and that would mean not making the trip . We begged him , as we told him that we will only stop to refuel that we were Italians and we had come this far just to take this road . He may have seen desperation and sadness in our gaze as we seemed to move him ; he called the policemen who were monitoring the situation and explained our position to them . At the end of the call he seemed to almost want to hug us and he told us that , without stopping , we could come through . Waiting and patience are the only weapons you have to solve problems like these when travelling .
For dozens of kilometres we would breathe the acrid smell of smoke and the death of the forest would be the scenario in which we would drive . A devastating spectacle that made us fall silent and sad .
The road became our friend again after a few kilometres when its shape finally became the one we favoured . Two lanes and the double yellow stripe dividing them , an incessant up and down with wide-ranging curves and lakes and coniferous woods that lined the edge of the road .
When the asphalt ended the crescendo reached its peak , we felt like we were back on Dempster Highway , the road that led us to the Arctic in the far north west of Canada .
Lakes in which trees and sky were reflected , and rushing streams that we crossed on iron bridges that made the front of the bike vibrate as if on a bed of gravel . And then the railway created exclusively for
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