OK, be warned … in this article I will be talking about drinking.
Please don’t judge me and, if offended, simply turn the page. It’s just I felt the need to not applaud but shine light on the select group of Yukoners that seem to be invincible to the hangover.
While many, myself included, find themselves praying to the porcelain gods after a hard night of alcohol consumption, these certain individuals deal with debauchery’s aftermath a little differently.
Instead of craving the sweet nectar that is greasy bacon and eggs and drip coffee, these human robots if you will, choose alternative methods of coping with their nausea and guilt.
Case in point, the annual Dawson City Music Festival.
For anyone that has attended, they can surely attest to the rambunctious wildness that surrounds the Friday night portion of the weekend.
Fuelled by equal parts excitement and adrenalin for not only being at arguably the best music festival in the country, but being in the Klondike to boot … well, let’s just say some Yukoners tend to go a little bit overboard.
Now I can’t speak for everyone as I’m sure there are many that withhold from alcohol and simply enjoy the musical pleasures that are being offered under the big tent.
However, all one needs to do is peek out to the beer garden to comprehend what I’m talking about.
For example, it is not every day one can see, not one, but two grown men, donning kilts and wrestling in the mud.
We are talking body slams, leg drops and sup flexes.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not meaning to single out any certain individuals for their alcohol consumptual antics.
After all, we’ve all had those nights where the alcohol takes over, resulting in less than stellar performances at the karaoke bar or equally poor meal choices after the bar closes, etc, etc.
No, that is not the focus of this column.
You see, the Saturday morning of this year’s festival, as many beer garden goers were still nestled in bed — drool caked against their cheeks and the stale aroma of Big Rock escaping from their tents — the kilt-wearing mud wrestlers were ascending the Dome Road as part of the annual Dome Run.
The Dome Run is a long-standing tradition that takes place every Saturday morning of the festival.¬
Beginning at 10 a.m., runners line up outside the Palace Grande and then, on command, sprint up the Dome Road.
Personally, I’m lucky if I can catch the ferry and make it to Klondike Kate’s before they stop serving breakfast, let alone fathom running eight kilometres straight up a mountain … for the fun of it.
And the harder to comprehend aspects of the Dome Run is that a good portion of the more than 100 participants were the same people in the beer garden the night before speaking louder than necessary while enjoying last call.
“How can they do that?” I ask myself over and over again.
And the Dome Run is just one of the many examples.
Marsh Lake Loppet, Hash House Harriers … the list goes on.
Is there a secret pre-bed concoction they consume prior to passing out?
Is it simply good diet and hydration?
Or is it simply the fact they are Yukoners?
I don’t know, but it mystifies me each time I witness it.
“Drink Hard and Play Hard” I guess.
By the way … one of the men in kilts ended up winning this year’s race and, coincidently, I made it to Kate’s for my bacon and eggs. Yeah, same planet, different world.