the circadian rhythm that makes you crowd surf

Well, that's what the Dawson City Music Festival does. The sun doesn't set, and remarkably, neither do you.

So you start the day with a seven kilometer run straight uphill, pick raspberries by the side of the road, come back to the campground, shower, and then (according to tradition) go straight to the Snake Pit (a smokey gold-rush bar with crooked floors and yellowed photos on the walls) to slam a beer.

Follow this with some ice cream down by the river, some Tuvan throat singing (mind-blowing! rent the documentary "Genghis Blues" for more info), and a brief nap in the shade. Catch some more music, pop over to Bombay Peggy's to double-fist martinis because it's time to step things up a bit (Great Lake Swimmers were terrific but a bit soporific), and head to the mainstage. By 2AM after the final act is done and you've found your missing earring on the dance floor with the help of a friendly and eagle-eyed festival volunteer, the sky is looking a little dusky but by 3 or 4 it's getting quite bright again and you're starting to think about what you'll do for breakfast in a few hours, but after you get through a few more beers, and maybe it's time to make up a gymnastics routine involving balancing on a ten-foot-long dusty board, smashing raw eggs against the back of a pickup truck, and a running-jump high-lift.

My sister and I, our stomachs aching from laughing so hard, crawled fully clothed into our tent at 7 AM on Saturday (Sunday?) only to wake three hours later to go get some Eggs Benedict at Klondike Kate's with six other pals where we debated whether a tattoo of a tear under your eye means you killed someone (our server had one).

I have some photos but I have to download them and I'm not sure if I'll do that for a while. Now that we're back in Whitehorse where the sun sets fully at midnight and rises again a little while later, I have a few minutes to catch up on sleep.