Sunday, July 12, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Saturday July 11
Yesterday I had planned to end up at a campsite just south of Watson Lake. However, late in the day, I was admiring a beautiful, long lake to my right. When I saw a campground sign for the Teslin Lake Provincial Campground, I decided to check it out. The lake is about 70 miles long by two to five miles wide. Lakeside sites were available for $12, so I decided to spend the night there instead of pushing myself to Watson Lake. I would still have time to make it to Hyder the next day.
After a refreshing swim in the cold glacier-fed lake, I slept very well. No rain this time and I was able to stay dry. I was apprehensive about taking the Cassiar-Stewart highway, because I had read that it was mostly gravel, and there were very few services on the road. If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell? OK, the Cassiar Highway is one of the best kept secrets in the world. Hardly the forgotten backwoods gravel pit of doom, it was one of the most beautiful roads I have ever ridden. I had originally planned to make some time today, leaving the camera in my saddlebag, but after only a few miles out came the camera and it remained hung around my neck for the whole day. Many shots were taken that I only hope come close to recording the natural beauty I saw with my eyes all day long.,
The Cassiar-Stewart Highway (also known as rte 37) runs north-south in the valley between the Coastal Mountains to the east and the Cassiar Mountains to the west. I used to think that nothing in North America was equal to the power and beauty of the Rockies. Believe me, the Coast mountains on my right, and the Cassiars to my left competed for my attention all day long. Around each bend in the road was a new surprise. It was almost like two jealous siblings competing for attention "Hey look at what I can do". "That's nothing, watch this!" and on and on it went.
It is a bit unfair to compare the Yukon and British Columbia"s offerings to those of Alaska, considering the amount of smoke afloat in the air all week in Alaska. Alaska had the combined beauty of the steep sloping mountains plunging steeply into the bays and inlets in places like Homer, Valdez, Seward, and many others that I didn't get a chance to see. One thing that I did notice that is worth a mention is that the trees in Alaska weren't nearly as big as the same species found in BC. This is probably due to the very short growing season in Alaska, but for whatever the reason, the black spruce in BC are towering giants, that seem especially large when they are seen close to the road. Some of the black spruce in BC grew hundreds of feet with trunks as big as r . Even the Aspens were huge. If we are keeping score, I'd give Alaska the edge in the placement of the mountains close to the coastal waters, but BC wins hands down in how well the mountains are framed by huge trees, greener pastures, and enormous inland lakes and rivers. If I had one road that I want to revisit soon, it is the Cassiar Highway in British Columbia. Sorry Alaska, I love you too, but...
Oh I was so caught up in the trees, lakes, and mountains, that I almost forgot the biggest surprise that I almost ran into (literally) coming around one corner today. I was in the middle of a high-speed sweeper to the right, when I noticed a brown object in the middle of the road. It was moving slowly from left to right and was at about the center line of the road. Fortunately I had my camera around my neck and another one mounted and ready behind my windshield. Now, I'm no expert on judging the weight of animals, but I;d guess it was about a 600-700 pound Grizzle just out for a stroll. I stopped the bike at the side of the road and took about 8 pictures. By now, other people had also stopped, so emboldened by the strength of numbers behind me, I followed on foot to the edge of the road and parallel to ti as he turned left and walked along the side of the road, looking over his shoulder as if to say "hey, you looking at me?" He took a right and disappeared into the underbrush . Finally, I had my first grizzly! Somehow I don't think the excitement of the meeting was mutual.
A nice older couple I was chatting with at a rest stop suggested I might want to try the Meziadin Lake Provincial Campground about 40 miles before Stewart and Hyder. They have a small convenience store, internet, services, and it is on a lake, all for only $12. I ccan still be in Hyder early tomorrow and on the road out of there soon after. That wa sit then. Another 150 miles or so and I'll be done for the day. The last 150 miles of the Cassiar was even better that I had seen up top that point. Most of the way, the road felt like my private road. I saw nobody else going my way and only a half dozen or so coming in the other direction. With the setting sun flickering through the huge aspen trees and glinting off the white caps of the Bell Irving River to my right that seemed to be racing me to Meziadin Lake Campground, I checked in and set up camp. As a bonus, I still had time to make use of the free internet connection to make this post.
Today has been a great day!
After a refreshing swim in the cold glacier-fed lake, I slept very well. No rain this time and I was able to stay dry. I was apprehensive about taking the Cassiar-Stewart highway, because I had read that it was mostly gravel, and there were very few services on the road. If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell? OK, the Cassiar Highway is one of the best kept secrets in the world. Hardly the forgotten backwoods gravel pit of doom, it was one of the most beautiful roads I have ever ridden. I had originally planned to make some time today, leaving the camera in my saddlebag, but after only a few miles out came the camera and it remained hung around my neck for the whole day. Many shots were taken that I only hope come close to recording the natural beauty I saw with my eyes all day long.,
The Cassiar-Stewart Highway (also known as rte 37) runs north-south in the valley between the Coastal Mountains to the east and the Cassiar Mountains to the west. I used to think that nothing in North America was equal to the power and beauty of the Rockies. Believe me, the Coast mountains on my right, and the Cassiars to my left competed for my attention all day long. Around each bend in the road was a new surprise. It was almost like two jealous siblings competing for attention "Hey look at what I can do". "That's nothing, watch this!" and on and on it went.
It is a bit unfair to compare the Yukon and British Columbia"s offerings to those of Alaska, considering the amount of smoke afloat in the air all week in Alaska. Alaska had the combined beauty of the steep sloping mountains plunging steeply into the bays and inlets in places like Homer, Valdez, Seward, and many others that I didn't get a chance to see. One thing that I did notice that is worth a mention is that the trees in Alaska weren't nearly as big as the same species found in BC. This is probably due to the very short growing season in Alaska, but for whatever the reason, the black spruce in BC are towering giants, that seem especially large when they are seen close to the road. Some of the black spruce in BC grew hundreds of feet with trunks as big as r . Even the Aspens were huge. If we are keeping score, I'd give Alaska the edge in the placement of the mountains close to the coastal waters, but BC wins hands down in how well the mountains are framed by huge trees, greener pastures, and enormous inland lakes and rivers. If I had one road that I want to revisit soon, it is the Cassiar Highway in British Columbia. Sorry Alaska, I love you too, but...
Oh I was so caught up in the trees, lakes, and mountains, that I almost forgot the biggest surprise that I almost ran into (literally) coming around one corner today. I was in the middle of a high-speed sweeper to the right, when I noticed a brown object in the middle of the road. It was moving slowly from left to right and was at about the center line of the road. Fortunately I had my camera around my neck and another one mounted and ready behind my windshield. Now, I'm no expert on judging the weight of animals, but I;d guess it was about a 600-700 pound Grizzle just out for a stroll. I stopped the bike at the side of the road and took about 8 pictures. By now, other people had also stopped, so emboldened by the strength of numbers behind me, I followed on foot to the edge of the road and parallel to ti as he turned left and walked along the side of the road, looking over his shoulder as if to say "hey, you looking at me?" He took a right and disappeared into the underbrush . Finally, I had my first grizzly! Somehow I don't think the excitement of the meeting was mutual.
A nice older couple I was chatting with at a rest stop suggested I might want to try the Meziadin Lake Provincial Campground about 40 miles before Stewart and Hyder. They have a small convenience store, internet, services, and it is on a lake, all for only $12. I ccan still be in Hyder early tomorrow and on the road out of there soon after. That wa sit then. Another 150 miles or so and I'll be done for the day. The last 150 miles of the Cassiar was even better that I had seen up top that point. Most of the way, the road felt like my private road. I saw nobody else going my way and only a half dozen or so coming in the other direction. With the setting sun flickering through the huge aspen trees and glinting off the white caps of the Bell Irving River to my right that seemed to be racing me to Meziadin Lake Campground, I checked in and set up camp. As a bonus, I still had time to make use of the free internet connection to make this post.
Today has been a great day!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Friday July 10
This will be a quick one. I'm at a laundromat in Whitehorse, Yukon. I expect to end today at a campsite near Watson Lake. Internet will be almost nil after I leave Whitehorse.
Last night I stayed at a provincial campground at a place called Lake Creek a short distance into Canada after border crossing. I hadn't had a shower for a couple of days and needed water. Well the name is Lake Creek for a reason. It sits on a large creek fed by runoff from the high mountains. This means that the water was very cold, but refreshing. Nobody else was around, the camp ground was nearly empty and it was midnight, so what the heck. BRRRRRR.
After towelling off and putting on my fleece sweatpants and fleece shirt which are my pajamas, I decided to build myself a nice fire, heat some soup, and a cup of tea. I told myself a few fireside stories and decided to sleep on the ground beside the fire, no tent. Sounded like a great idea until it started raining. By the time I got the tent pitched, everything including the sleeping bag was soaked. I was tired enough to sleep anyway.
Now you know the real reason I'm at the laundromat. I plan on sleeping in a dry bag tonight. I should be getting to french Creek Campground where rte 37 turns south from rte 1/97 ( the Alaska Hy) and becomes the Cassiar Stewart Highway. This route is shorter than the rte 97 that I took coming up, plus it goes to Hyder, AK which is known for great bear viewing at Bear Glacier. If the salmon are running by the time I get there, there will be plenty of hungry bears to photograph.
Not only are there very few internet services up here, but I will be on international roaming. What this means is that my NetBook will cost me about 20 bucks per megabit for uploads. I love you all, but at what cost? Unless I'm at a campground with free internet, I'll be out of touch for about three days. Also, I'll be trying to stretch my gas and my tires (excuse me, that's tyres in Canada), so I'll be travelling at grampa speeds and resting frequently until I'm home.
Later
Last night I stayed at a provincial campground at a place called Lake Creek a short distance into Canada after border crossing. I hadn't had a shower for a couple of days and needed water. Well the name is Lake Creek for a reason. It sits on a large creek fed by runoff from the high mountains. This means that the water was very cold, but refreshing. Nobody else was around, the camp ground was nearly empty and it was midnight, so what the heck. BRRRRRR.
After towelling off and putting on my fleece sweatpants and fleece shirt which are my pajamas, I decided to build myself a nice fire, heat some soup, and a cup of tea. I told myself a few fireside stories and decided to sleep on the ground beside the fire, no tent. Sounded like a great idea until it started raining. By the time I got the tent pitched, everything including the sleeping bag was soaked. I was tired enough to sleep anyway.
Now you know the real reason I'm at the laundromat. I plan on sleeping in a dry bag tonight. I should be getting to french Creek Campground where rte 37 turns south from rte 1/97 ( the Alaska Hy) and becomes the Cassiar Stewart Highway. This route is shorter than the rte 97 that I took coming up, plus it goes to Hyder, AK which is known for great bear viewing at Bear Glacier. If the salmon are running by the time I get there, there will be plenty of hungry bears to photograph.
Not only are there very few internet services up here, but I will be on international roaming. What this means is that my NetBook will cost me about 20 bucks per megabit for uploads. I love you all, but at what cost? Unless I'm at a campground with free internet, I'll be out of touch for about three days. Also, I'll be trying to stretch my gas and my tires (excuse me, that's tyres in Canada), so I'll be travelling at grampa speeds and resting frequently until I'm home.
Later
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Valdez side trip - Pictures
Uli and Sabine leaving Slana, AK during an around the world trip starting in Austria
If I was pedalling that hard, I wouldn't be smiling!
Homeward Bound - July 9
I'm sitting at the visitor Center at Tok Alaska pondering whether to stop here for the night and catch up on my posts, pictures, and general motorcycle maintenance before re-entering the huge internet dead zone known as western Canada.
I left Anchorage on Tuesday night at around 8PM. It wasn't because I was particular fond of night travel, but because I was procrastinating in the comfort and ease of camping for free in the midst of big-city conveniences. If I didn't put about a tank's worth of miles behind me soon, I would have never left Anchorage (some of you would welcome that, Others might not).
I called it a night on Tuesday night on the Glenn Highway at around mile marker 120 at the Matanuska Glacier State Park campsite. It was just around midnight, and still light when I pitched camp for the night and whipped up a batch of yummy freeze dried garlic and herb mashed potatoes. My neighbors for the night were three motorcyclists of about my age group. Two were from LA and one from N Dakota. I didn't get names, and there wasn't too much small talk. Everyone was about as tired as was I. Next morning, I took a few shots of the glacier, although the smoke mixed with the morning haze and facing into the rising sun made not much of a picture. Off to Valdez.
One thing about touring Alaska is that the operative word is "backtracking". Every significant destination is at the end of a very long road with only one way out. Valdez is no exception, over 100 miles down to Valdez and the same distance back. I got some shots of the fishing boats in the village, did the usual tourist stuff, and headed back north. Scenic shots going down and back were still occluded by the smoke and haze that ruined the view all of this week so far. I tried anyway, and will take my chances with PhotoShop.
Travelling north from Valdez to Glenellen on rte 4 and on the Tok Cutoff toward Tok, I decided to call it a night at a place in Slana, AK called Midway Services. Tent camping is free there, and they have a grocery store, however, the store was closed for the night and I was chatting with two brothers Ryan and Alex from Boulder, CO who were bicycling from Anchorage to Panama. They were four days into the trip and were pretty tired, hoping to stay there for the night. While we were taking, the woman who owned the place and lived above the store came down and opened up for us. We were home. After setting up camp, two other bicyclists pulled in, Uli and Sabine, a couple from Austria (he) and Germany (she). They had already ridden 17000 miles across Europe through Asia and had flown from Thailand to Anchorage to continue around the world. Suddenly my little motorcycle trip didn't seem so big. I'll never be able to complain about riding in the rain or cold again! It was a great night of story telling. Alex was driving most of the conversation with his questions and funny wise-cracks, keeping us all engaged. It struck me that I wasn't talking to two young brothers from Colorado, and a couple from Gemany and Austria, but just five people sharing a common experience. I wondered out loud about what it was that drew us to such a grueling experience, and we all agreed that it wasn't about destinations or accomplishments, or even bragging rights. It was about the trip itself - the road and the people on that that attracted us. If more people would put down the TV remotes and get of their sofas and just travel, the world wouldn't be about Americans, Europeans, young, old, Christian, Muslim, liberal, or conservative. We would become just so many people enjoying the shared experience as people.
OK, off the soap box and back to the saddle. Time to figure out where to stay tonight. In any case, the reports over the next few days will be sparse. Once I leave Tok and head east into the dead zone, communication will be sparse. I'll do my best.
I left Anchorage on Tuesday night at around 8PM. It wasn't because I was particular fond of night travel, but because I was procrastinating in the comfort and ease of camping for free in the midst of big-city conveniences. If I didn't put about a tank's worth of miles behind me soon, I would have never left Anchorage (some of you would welcome that, Others might not).
I called it a night on Tuesday night on the Glenn Highway at around mile marker 120 at the Matanuska Glacier State Park campsite. It was just around midnight, and still light when I pitched camp for the night and whipped up a batch of yummy freeze dried garlic and herb mashed potatoes. My neighbors for the night were three motorcyclists of about my age group. Two were from LA and one from N Dakota. I didn't get names, and there wasn't too much small talk. Everyone was about as tired as was I. Next morning, I took a few shots of the glacier, although the smoke mixed with the morning haze and facing into the rising sun made not much of a picture. Off to Valdez.
One thing about touring Alaska is that the operative word is "backtracking". Every significant destination is at the end of a very long road with only one way out. Valdez is no exception, over 100 miles down to Valdez and the same distance back. I got some shots of the fishing boats in the village, did the usual tourist stuff, and headed back north. Scenic shots going down and back were still occluded by the smoke and haze that ruined the view all of this week so far. I tried anyway, and will take my chances with PhotoShop.
Travelling north from Valdez to Glenellen on rte 4 and on the Tok Cutoff toward Tok, I decided to call it a night at a place in Slana, AK called Midway Services. Tent camping is free there, and they have a grocery store, however, the store was closed for the night and I was chatting with two brothers Ryan and Alex from Boulder, CO who were bicycling from Anchorage to Panama. They were four days into the trip and were pretty tired, hoping to stay there for the night. While we were taking, the woman who owned the place and lived above the store came down and opened up for us. We were home. After setting up camp, two other bicyclists pulled in, Uli and Sabine, a couple from Austria (he) and Germany (she). They had already ridden 17000 miles across Europe through Asia and had flown from Thailand to Anchorage to continue around the world. Suddenly my little motorcycle trip didn't seem so big. I'll never be able to complain about riding in the rain or cold again! It was a great night of story telling. Alex was driving most of the conversation with his questions and funny wise-cracks, keeping us all engaged. It struck me that I wasn't talking to two young brothers from Colorado, and a couple from Gemany and Austria, but just five people sharing a common experience. I wondered out loud about what it was that drew us to such a grueling experience, and we all agreed that it wasn't about destinations or accomplishments, or even bragging rights. It was about the trip itself - the road and the people on that that attracted us. If more people would put down the TV remotes and get of their sofas and just travel, the world wouldn't be about Americans, Europeans, young, old, Christian, Muslim, liberal, or conservative. We would become just so many people enjoying the shared experience as people.
OK, off the soap box and back to the saddle. Time to figure out where to stay tonight. In any case, the reports over the next few days will be sparse. Once I leave Tok and head east into the dead zone, communication will be sparse. I'll do my best.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Side Trip to Homer - Pictures
Monday July 6
Yesterday (Sunday) was another rest day. I needed every bit of it after the punishment handed to me by the Dalton Highway. I was also a tiny bit depressed about falling short of my plans of reaching Prudhoe Bay, so I needed to do the one thing that cures the blues for me. I needed to ride some more.
Today, I took my time getting ready to leave the campground at Anchorage. I left my camping gear behind and travelled light, carrying only my camera and emergency essentials such as tool kit, phone, laptop, and only half of my wits. Today was going to be a leisurely ride to Homer at the tip of the Kenai Peninsula.
The ride starts south from Anchorage on the Seward Highway. After leaving Anchorage, the road runs for many miles along the east bank of the Cooke Inlet. The Kenai peninsula could be seen across the inlet, and the view of the white capped mountains of the peninsula is absolutely spectacular. You'll have to trust me on this or look at a postcard or something, because there was so much smoke and fog over the inlet that any pictures would be rather sucky. I took a few anyway, but they are washed out and disappointing. It didn't matter. The view I had of the mountains and the way the road twisted to follow the shoreline was exactly enough to pick me back up. I guess I'll have to make a return trip when the weather gets better. The source of the visibility problems stem from the fact that there are several forest fires burning in the interior of the state and the winds have been from the north pushing the smoke south. The forecast is for more of the same for several more days.
Since Homer is known for its fishing industry, I stopped for the obligatory plate of fish and chips before heading back to Anchorage where my tent and sleeping bag awaited me. I got back at about 11:00 and will be asleep withing minutes of logging off this computer.
Tomorrow, I'll be shipping home a few more unessential items, and will start on the road home. I'll continue to file daily reports.
Today, I took my time getting ready to leave the campground at Anchorage. I left my camping gear behind and travelled light, carrying only my camera and emergency essentials such as tool kit, phone, laptop, and only half of my wits. Today was going to be a leisurely ride to Homer at the tip of the Kenai Peninsula.
The ride starts south from Anchorage on the Seward Highway. After leaving Anchorage, the road runs for many miles along the east bank of the Cooke Inlet. The Kenai peninsula could be seen across the inlet, and the view of the white capped mountains of the peninsula is absolutely spectacular. You'll have to trust me on this or look at a postcard or something, because there was so much smoke and fog over the inlet that any pictures would be rather sucky. I took a few anyway, but they are washed out and disappointing. It didn't matter. The view I had of the mountains and the way the road twisted to follow the shoreline was exactly enough to pick me back up. I guess I'll have to make a return trip when the weather gets better. The source of the visibility problems stem from the fact that there are several forest fires burning in the interior of the state and the winds have been from the north pushing the smoke south. The forecast is for more of the same for several more days.
Since Homer is known for its fishing industry, I stopped for the obligatory plate of fish and chips before heading back to Anchorage where my tent and sleeping bag awaited me. I got back at about 11:00 and will be asleep withing minutes of logging off this computer.
Tomorrow, I'll be shipping home a few more unessential items, and will start on the road home. I'll continue to file daily reports.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Thurs thru Sat - Fairbanks and beyond
OK, so it seems I've been missing in action. I haven't. The truth is that there are no services for Internet or cell north of Fairbanbks, even though I expected some at Coldfoot. So let's catch up on things.
Thursday later morning I decided that I was spending too much time pussyfooting around and getting spoiled by the creature comforts in Anchorage. I set out to travel north to Fairbanks as planned. The fact is that as we go even further north, the daylight gets longer. Even when the sun sets, it never gets darker than a cloudy day at noon. It's tough on the circadian rhythms.
On the way north out of Anchorage, I started getting the "nods" at about 11:00 AM. I didn't sleep well last night. My body and my rhythms have been shuffled up by all the changes, and we know it isn't nice to fool Mother Nature, so I pulled over to take a nap on the ground on the shady side of the bike. The trick here is that it is enough shade to fall asleep, but when the sun shifts, it's wake-up time. About an hour and a half and I was good to go.
Stopping for gas in Fairbanks, I noticed something missing. Hmmm... where'd my tent go? I guess I didn't secure it enough at the last stop. I found a great place called Sportsmen's Warehouse. OMG, a toy store for hunters, hikers, etc. Picked up a nice little one man hiker's tent and a few extra supplies I might need on the North Slope. Double-checked my load this time and headed out, planning to spend the night at the Yukon River crossing just north of Fairbanks. It was so light out, I was feeling great. There were no cell or web services at the Yukon River anyway, so I decided to press on. I could catch up with the details at Coldfoot.
Not too far further north of Fairbanks, I had been travelling on great asphalt road surfaces all the way. I saw the sign marking the start of the Dalton Highway (a.k.a. the Haul Road). I thought" could this really be it? Am I finally on the road that has haunted my dreams, taunted my fears, and challenged my senses of responsibility for years? Before I could waste even a small portion of my consciousness waxing philosophical, I was shaken by by the stark reality of the situation before me. Almost instantly after passing the zero mile marker, at about 65 mph (that's all I'll admit to anyway), the road became deep gravel. I'm not talking about chip-seal, hard-packed gravel, or anything closely resembling civilized road surface. I'm talking about deep, loose, uneven gravel that seemed to have been freshly dropped there waiting for the 18-wheeled "haulers" to finish the job of compacting the stuff. I only have two wheels and they don't have much of a contact patch compared to even a small car.
My front wheel started oscillating when it first hit the new stuff at highway speed. I thought I was going down. Damn my inattention! All this planning, dreaming, and hoping was going to be wasted because my euphoria and adrenalin was pushing me? I needed to react and quickly. First of all, I got my weight transferred to my floorboards for better weight control; got a better grip on the bars to offset the front-end wallowing, and let the bike slow down on its own. Absolutely no brakes were employed. Good; still vertical, down to third gear at 35 mph, still with a handful of handlebars and weight on feet. Maybe this is just a freshly repaired section. Surely this can't last for the 200 or so miles to Coldfoot!
Now it's about 10:30 PM and no sign of change in the surface. No problem staying awake here, but I needed to turn my attention up a notch or two. I used one of my old tricks. I talked to myself out loud to involve more of my senses in the process. The conversation went something like this:
Fascinating how the deep-purple wildflowers in the fields beside the road at a flat angle made the fields look almost painted. The low angled side lighting of the setting sun gave the petals a luminescent glow. Got to take some pictures of this on the way back tomorrow.
And so the conversation went on under my helmet between myself and I for about three hours, and more than 100 miles. My quads were burning from bearing my weight, my eyes were burning from staring into the setting midnight sun for hours until I stopped at Arctic Circle for a photo and to camp for the rest of the night.
While pitching camp at the Arctic Circle camp site, I became aware that my wallet was missing from its usual pocket. Maybe I filed it somewhere else on my bike because I was wearing my outer rain pants. Sometimes the pocket of my jeans is difficult to get to with the rain pants on, so I've been known to put the wallet in one of the pockets of the motorcycle luggage. I checked everywhere to no avail. This is serious stuff now. The wallet had all my credit cards and a small amount of cash in it. I'm at the Arctic Circle, about 230 miles from the nearest gas stop to the south. I only had about 1/2 tank of fuel and the spare fuel jugs I was carrying had already been transferred into the bike's fuel tank. Turning south was no option. I needed to get to Coldfoot, 71 miles north of my location. Checking my side pockets yielded $20.00 in loose bills, enough to fill the tank and almost fill the two spare jugs at Coldfoot. While there, I could contact credit card companies, etc.
At Coldfoot, I was able to fill the containers and the tank. Based on the condition of the roads and the information passed to me by other riders (including a phone call earlier in the day from my friend Canyon Evans who had reached Prudhoe on his dual-sport bike), the chance of reaching Prudhoe on my heavyweight cruiser was a long shot at best. The only prudent thing to do was to cut my losses, be glad to have reached the Arctic Circle, and return to Fairbanks, so I could call to have cash wired to me. With mixed emotions - relief that the torture will soon be over, and disappointment that I had to cut back on my goal - I pointed my front wheel south and headed to Fairbanks.
When I got to Fairbanks, I called Rosie to let her know the situation, and within an hour, the clerk at the Western Union outlet was counting out cold, hard cash into my hand. I bought a new wallet, promising to keep better track of this one and continued south back to Anchorage. Rosie, I owe you big time! What can I do to make it up to you when I get back? Need a new addition on the house? A new kitchen? Whatever it is, just add it to my honey-do list.
I'm now camped out at the free motorcycles-only campground provided as a courtesy be Anchorage House of Harley, pondering my plans for tomorrow. When I know, you'll know. Right now, it is 1AM Alaska time, and sleep sounds like a great idea.
Thursday later morning I decided that I was spending too much time pussyfooting around and getting spoiled by the creature comforts in Anchorage. I set out to travel north to Fairbanks as planned. The fact is that as we go even further north, the daylight gets longer. Even when the sun sets, it never gets darker than a cloudy day at noon. It's tough on the circadian rhythms.
On the way north out of Anchorage, I started getting the "nods" at about 11:00 AM. I didn't sleep well last night. My body and my rhythms have been shuffled up by all the changes, and we know it isn't nice to fool Mother Nature, so I pulled over to take a nap on the ground on the shady side of the bike. The trick here is that it is enough shade to fall asleep, but when the sun shifts, it's wake-up time. About an hour and a half and I was good to go.
Stopping for gas in Fairbanks, I noticed something missing. Hmmm... where'd my tent go? I guess I didn't secure it enough at the last stop. I found a great place called Sportsmen's Warehouse. OMG, a toy store for hunters, hikers, etc. Picked up a nice little one man hiker's tent and a few extra supplies I might need on the North Slope. Double-checked my load this time and headed out, planning to spend the night at the Yukon River crossing just north of Fairbanks. It was so light out, I was feeling great. There were no cell or web services at the Yukon River anyway, so I decided to press on. I could catch up with the details at Coldfoot.
Not too far further north of Fairbanks, I had been travelling on great asphalt road surfaces all the way. I saw the sign marking the start of the Dalton Highway (a.k.a. the Haul Road). I thought" could this really be it? Am I finally on the road that has haunted my dreams, taunted my fears, and challenged my senses of responsibility for years? Before I could waste even a small portion of my consciousness waxing philosophical, I was shaken by by the stark reality of the situation before me. Almost instantly after passing the zero mile marker, at about 65 mph (that's all I'll admit to anyway), the road became deep gravel. I'm not talking about chip-seal, hard-packed gravel, or anything closely resembling civilized road surface. I'm talking about deep, loose, uneven gravel that seemed to have been freshly dropped there waiting for the 18-wheeled "haulers" to finish the job of compacting the stuff. I only have two wheels and they don't have much of a contact patch compared to even a small car.
My front wheel started oscillating when it first hit the new stuff at highway speed. I thought I was going down. Damn my inattention! All this planning, dreaming, and hoping was going to be wasted because my euphoria and adrenalin was pushing me? I needed to react and quickly. First of all, I got my weight transferred to my floorboards for better weight control; got a better grip on the bars to offset the front-end wallowing, and let the bike slow down on its own. Absolutely no brakes were employed. Good; still vertical, down to third gear at 35 mph, still with a handful of handlebars and weight on feet. Maybe this is just a freshly repaired section. Surely this can't last for the 200 or so miles to Coldfoot!
Now it's about 10:30 PM and no sign of change in the surface. No problem staying awake here, but I needed to turn my attention up a notch or two. I used one of my old tricks. I talked to myself out loud to involve more of my senses in the process. The conversation went something like this:
OK Dave, hill coming up... need a few more miles per hour so you won't need too
much throttle on the climb... don't want to spin your tires here... Come on! get
off your ass, weight on feet, concentrate. Give me about 40 MPH at bottom of
hill... C'mon not 35, I need more... That's it, now control the bike to the top, minimal throttle inputs... make the crest at 30 MPH... great job! Keep it up. Crap, now we have a steep decent, and twisties! Third gear, let engine do some of the
braking, but not all of it. Drag front brake ever-so-gently. Maintain 30 mph
through this. You can do it! What's this, pavement? Great, we made it! Wait,
what's up with the road ahead? Different color, not pavement, not sure, better
slow it up. Wham, back in the deep gravel! OK that was a trap. Five miles or so
of nice road just to set me off guard. The setting sun in my eyes isn't helping.
Almost got fooled.
Fascinating how the deep-purple wildflowers in the fields beside the road at a flat angle made the fields look almost painted. The low angled side lighting of the setting sun gave the petals a luminescent glow. Got to take some pictures of this on the way back tomorrow.
Slap! Wake up Dave! Worry about the artsy fartsy stuff later. We have a job to do here! Get back up on the balls of your feet... concentrate...
And so the conversation went on under my helmet between myself and I for about three hours, and more than 100 miles. My quads were burning from bearing my weight, my eyes were burning from staring into the setting midnight sun for hours until I stopped at Arctic Circle for a photo and to camp for the rest of the night.
While pitching camp at the Arctic Circle camp site, I became aware that my wallet was missing from its usual pocket. Maybe I filed it somewhere else on my bike because I was wearing my outer rain pants. Sometimes the pocket of my jeans is difficult to get to with the rain pants on, so I've been known to put the wallet in one of the pockets of the motorcycle luggage. I checked everywhere to no avail. This is serious stuff now. The wallet had all my credit cards and a small amount of cash in it. I'm at the Arctic Circle, about 230 miles from the nearest gas stop to the south. I only had about 1/2 tank of fuel and the spare fuel jugs I was carrying had already been transferred into the bike's fuel tank. Turning south was no option. I needed to get to Coldfoot, 71 miles north of my location. Checking my side pockets yielded $20.00 in loose bills, enough to fill the tank and almost fill the two spare jugs at Coldfoot. While there, I could contact credit card companies, etc.
At Coldfoot, I was able to fill the containers and the tank. Based on the condition of the roads and the information passed to me by other riders (including a phone call earlier in the day from my friend Canyon Evans who had reached Prudhoe on his dual-sport bike), the chance of reaching Prudhoe on my heavyweight cruiser was a long shot at best. The only prudent thing to do was to cut my losses, be glad to have reached the Arctic Circle, and return to Fairbanks, so I could call to have cash wired to me. With mixed emotions - relief that the torture will soon be over, and disappointment that I had to cut back on my goal - I pointed my front wheel south and headed to Fairbanks.
When I got to Fairbanks, I called Rosie to let her know the situation, and within an hour, the clerk at the Western Union outlet was counting out cold, hard cash into my hand. I bought a new wallet, promising to keep better track of this one and continued south back to Anchorage. Rosie, I owe you big time! What can I do to make it up to you when I get back? Need a new addition on the house? A new kitchen? Whatever it is, just add it to my honey-do list.
I'm now camped out at the free motorcycles-only campground provided as a courtesy be Anchorage House of Harley, pondering my plans for tomorrow. When I know, you'll know. Right now, it is 1AM Alaska time, and sleep sounds like a great idea.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Wed Jul 1 Report
No riding today except for local errands, shopping, etc. Still at Anchorage campsite behind Anchorage House of Harley. Tomorrow, I will start moving north through Fairbanks and in position to attack the Dalton Highway (Haul Road) to the Arctic Circle, the Brooks Range, and hopefully Prudhoe Bay.
Quick Points:
Quick Points:
- There seems to be a conspiracy of gremlins on this trip. The com system still won't let me hear the PS or MP3. I've figured out that it is a problem with the headset. I have traced power all the way to the StarCom unit and I have 12v entering the box. The pilot light on unit wont light. The unit is not on unless it senses that helmet set 1 is plugged in. It is and it still won't power up. The heated vest is still dead, but I've replaced it with a Gerbing jacket liner and related heated gloves.
- The Metzeler rear tire was scrubbed clear down to the metal cord, while the front tire is mint. I guess I should slow down on the sharp gravelly roads. The rubber doesn't handle heavy throttle on such an abrasive surface. Fact is I was riding through the night last night on steel chord. Luckily I didn't blow the tire.
- Speaking of throttle, I was stopped by an officer Monday night in Palmer on the way to Anchorage. Turns out he grew up in Unity, NH. No ticket.
- From here out, there is no agenda, and most places won't have Internet or cell service, so periods of time without a message isn't going to be cause for concern.
Going to get some more sleep and out of here early tomorrow.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Entering Alaska - Pics
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
