![]() ![]() When I reach a set of picnic benches and barbecue grates, I stop and turn back towards town. I know that polar bears show up in Sylvia Grinnell Territorial Park, on the far side of town, now and then. As the emptiness around me settles in, I catch myself straining to spot anything out of place in the landscape: a large blotch of yellowed-white, vanilla ice cream fur, say. I pass the shattered plywood remains of an old cabin, spot campfire smoke on the shore of a distant lake. Soon, the Road to Nowhere turns a corner, and the capital vanishes-now I see nothing but Baffin Island’s green-brown hills, their valleys dotted with lakes and shallow streams that run down toward the bay. ![]() I quickly leave Iqaluit’s colourful apartment blocks behind, following the road’s pale gravel. I pull on yoga pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and trail runners, and head out around 9:30 a.m. An isolated stretch on the Road to Nowhere? Perfect. On my screen, a waypoint pops up: “End of Road to Nowhere.” That’s it.Īs someone who’s just getting into running, I’m still shy about lacing up and going for a jog in front of people. On the screen, the Road to Nowhere snakes deeper inland, leaving the town and carrying on for a few kilometres before abruptly turning to blank space: open tundra. My search registers a hit, just as I’d hoped it would: a thin white line that breaks off from Niaqunngusiariaq, the busy road that loops above the territorial capital’s waterfront downtown and leads to the college, the hospital, the high school, and a major apartment-cum-hotel complex. ![]()
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