.....My recent trip to Alaska was such a trip, a long one. Having traveled across Canada Last year my appetite was ripe for more big travels.
I had been invited to do Alaska by my old High school buddy, Doug. I apparently wore my other high school buddy, Arnold, out last year in Canada. He wanted no part of camping in the cold and rain. Go figure that.
Actually, Doug invited me, but I took it more as a challenge. After all we chased the same girls way back when, and although I snapped the first bra, he beat me to 'the wild thing', and I have been behind ever since. so I wasn't going to get further behind by letting him go to Alaska without me. We made plans for at least 8 months. Bill Warner got wind of the trip, and wanted to see Alaska also, so he was in.
The three of us planned in our own ways, and made some email contact. I was the real connection between Doug and Bill. Doug and I live near each other in San Diego, Ca, and Bill lives in Salinas some 400 miles away. We attempted to get together on a weekend camp out at a midpoint one weekend to mesh our riding plan. That never happened cause it rained that weekend. Would you believe rain in Ca, scheesh?
I thought much about the trip, and in particular how three people with the personalities involved would get along. Were we mature enough to indulge each other's peculiarities......and if not, how old would we have to be for that to happen, for heaven sakes.
I reasoned we would just have to make do. The security that comes with several riders made the risks of going together worth it. Incidentally, we were all taking our V65 Sabres. Bill has a new FJR 1300, and Doug has a newish ST1100, but we agreed that that, if we are apt to be throwing our bikes on the ground from time to time, our Sabres were the best choice for that purpose. In other words, their value was in their expendability. We also knew how to work on those bikes as we'd had them for a long time. That counted for something in our decision.
So anyway the time passed slowly. We changed dates several times for one reason or another. We took Alaskan probable climate estimates into account, and eventually decided to leave the 9th of June. Our trip was to last up to 30 days, more or less. June is supposed to be drier than July, and it hasn't heated up yet for the mosquitos and black flies to be in full bloom. Whatever....that was our decision
Bill is in his Late fifties and Doug and I are 64 & 5. It was cute of Bill to be worried about being away from his wife for so long. The longest that he had ever been away before was 4 or 5 days in the past. So 30 days would be a stretch for him and 30 days would no doubt be all that Doug or I wanted as well.
I teased Bill about his neighbor 'Sancho' enjoying his absence. It turns out that Bill's wife, Sherry, worries about the mythical 'Yolanda' sharing Bill's sleeping bag, when Bill is out of town. We had a good time with that.
So as the trip nears to 2 month, Doug reaches 65 and retires. Our trip is to celebrate that event. Doug has worked his ass off his whole life. It seems from day one of retirement Doug has a cold, and then the flue. A couple weeks later Doug calls and says his stomach has been bothering him and his docter is sending him in for an MRI. Two days later I find out that he is having an appendectomy which turns out to include a piece of his bowels.
Whoa....that's serious!!! All went well with the operation, but we find that we better postpone the trip for three weeks. That really screws Bill up as he has given lucretive business away for the June nineth date.
A couple weeks go by and Zim (a friend) has asked his wife Linda (Long time executive Nurse) how long does it take to recover from Bowel surgery. She says 4 to six months. Well with some pointed inquiry it turns out that Doug isn't going to be ready to do Alaska, and we step the departure date back up to June 12th as the 9th has already passed.
Doing the old daily countdown was killing both Bill and I, and to do it again for a date three more weeks away was brutal. It was sheer sympathy by the powers to have the date returned to a couple days away. I scrambled to pack my bike and depart on the morning of the 12th.
It was sad to be going without Doug, but that was overshadowed by finally getting on the road, and I thanked my lucky stars that Bill had signed on so that I wasn't going alone......And remember, I was getting a leg up on Doug as he had been ahead of me in that other catagory for so many years. Remember also, that is a catagory where you can never catch up.
I leave home, and have to make a stop in LA to pick up a freshly mounted like new ribbed (goodyear) front tire. I had that tire ready the week before on another Sabre rim, and I needed to mount a new ME880 for the rear. So when I say I left on new tires I mean it.
Somewhere it says that you shouldn't work on your bike before you start a trip. Well, it applies here as well. As I was leaving LA I noticed that my bicycle speedo wasn't working. Turned out that I didn't have a magnet on the new rim. Well, not new, but you know what I mean.
I found a Radio Shack in Paso Robles where I could get another magnet for the speedo. I had lunch and parted ways. Thanks, Deacon. I only had a little over a 100 miles to do to get to Bill's for the night.
We spent a quiet night and planed to be on the road in the morning by 8:30. We had a 700 mile day planned so I warned Bill about early morning fooling around. He seemed a little tired that morning on the road.....hummm. Those things are hard to tell.
Alaska: part 2......
Finally being on the road was a wonderful thing. I don't know why that is, but hitting the open road is an uplifting experience every time I do it. I could tell Bill felt the release as well.
I had canvassed all the riders that I knew between San Diego and Alaska for their contact information, and pleaded for couch or tent space to spend our nights while traveling. I was overwhelmed by the response. We couldn't possible use them all, but we were very happy to have multiple choices to create the feeling of not being alone out there in the big world.
We Left Bill's and made a beeline for I-5 (the major North south corridor on the west coast). Bill's goal was to get to the Arctic Ocean at Prudhoe Bay, AK, also known as Deadhorse, Ak.
This trip was by far the most ambitious trip that Bill had ever made, and he wanted to get to our ultimate goal first. We could always sight see on the way back. I had no problem with that.
Once on I-5 we turned up the wick a little to a balance between being a curiosity for the authorities, and getting the hell north into some elevation to escape the heat of the Sacramento Valley. Temps were hovering in the 100 degree range, which is not too bad for the area. It would take us 5 hours to reach the mountains just the other side of Redding, Ca. We couldn't wait.
Finally we had Redding in sight. That was the official start of eye candy. We rode into the higher elevations where the temps dropped 15 degrees, and we were rewarded by great views, of which 14000+ foot Mt Shasta was the most Spectacular. When we entered those mountains our world transformed to a brilliant green for the duration of our trip. Mind you I like the earth colors of our desert Southwest, but green is nice too.
As we motored along I had time to think about stuff. Right near the top of the list was my faithful Sabre underneath me. It purred as only a Honda V4 does. It pulled strong at any command from me. It was ready to give it's all, if that was what I wanted. I had been on some good trips with this bike since I bought it in 1993. It had run nearly trouble free for the 130000 miles of roadway that it had traveled. There was no complaining either, about this trip, when I asked it to haul my ass all over Alaska and back. Heart, it's all about heart. There was no doubt that my bike had a big one.
We were worried that we would run into rain as we neared Oregon. That was not the case. Clear skies and a natural high were the order of the day. Our goal was to get to the home of Jim Hiler in Albaney, Or. He was to be the first victim of our trip. We arrived in Albany at around 8pm. We noticed that with a mere 700 miles of northward travel that we gained noticeable daylight. Anyway, I had a mapquest map to Jim's house that made absolutely no sense to me, when I tried to find his place. I called him, and before I got too far he said that his whole family was down with colds, and were we sure that we wanted to stay with him.
I always feel invincible to those things, and said yes, we did, please come and get us. He showed up on his new, shiny FJR1300, and led us the 2 to 3 miles to his house. He put us up in his motorhome, and after an hour or so of BSing he let us go to bed.
Jim's hospitality was most appreciated. We left Jim's at around 8AM. After finding our way back to the freeway we again preceded north. I wanted to stop at Brian Diver's on the way through Everett, Wa. I called him and said that we would be there around 1pm. We got through the Tacoma/Seattle traffic and found Brian's house with little problem. We had been warned about the traffic there, and were worried, but either, we hit Seattle at the right time of Day, or our usual SD/LA/SF traffic had Bill and I well conditioned to road sharing with millions of cars. We did miss lane splitting though. How you guys get along without splitting is beyond me.
Brian gave us a short tour of some waterfront, and showed us the Boeing building that had doors that actually were the size of Football Fields. He also called Jeff Farnsworth who came down to a local Seafood takeout cafe where we all had a visit and watched the local ferry doing it's thing. There are lots of ferries doing their things in Puget sound.
Bill had dropped his new flip up helmet and broken the flip up mechanism. Jeff untiringly made mobil phone calls during lunch to local bike shops, and actually located one. A quick trip to that shop had Bill in face to face conversation with the loveliest Parts girl I have ever seen. Whoa, Baby, the trip almost ended right there, but being the dedicated bikers that we are and some serious nos to any of our suggestions from the parts nymph/model had us back on the road to Alaska before long....with a like new helmet for Bill. Much thanks to Jeff and Brian.
Alaska: Part 3....
We chose Art's trail, and got off I-5 at Sedro Woolley, Wa and traveled north to the border on the delightful hwy 9. As we were 100 yards from the border, Bill got pulled over by a sheriff. Bill had stood up to stretch his legs and shake loose his package (while riding), and the cop informed him that there is no standing up while riding Motorcycles allowed in the state of Wa. Well, ok, whatever. It was only a warning. Nothing could dampen our spirits. We had finally made it to Canada.
The border crossing was easy. I had my passport, but I had so many pockets on my travel gear that I didn't know where it was. You say how can that be. Well when You see a picture of my gear it will become more clear. I had bolted on (for saddlebags) a couple Wall mart rolling flight bags. They were tall with many pockets and to that I added many more pockets from a fishing vest that I'd sewed half of on the ront side of on both bags. This setup was to be my undoing for the rest of the trip. I never could find what I wanted. Luckily the passport wasn't required on the way into Canada.
Anyway with only a few question and a showing of our licenses we were in Canada, yipee. We proceeded to the Fraiser River and hwy 7 where we traveled some forty miles in traffic from one traffic light to the next. It wasn't really that bad but those 40 miles did take us 2 hours, and Bill discovered that his Sabre's fan wasn't coming on so he was running hotter than he should have been when we would come to a bunch of traffic lights. Bill cursed those light and slow traffic all the way to hwy 99 where the road opened up.
I imagine it was 8pm by the time we got to the coast in West Vancouver. We intended to do a lot of camping on this trip. maybe 75 percent Camping, and 25 percent split between moteling and abusing our friends who made the mistake of saying, "Call me when you get to town".
I have been abusing my friends for nearly half a century, what with all the help I've had while racing the Baja and off road circuit for 25 years. Now with the motorcycle travel, I have no trouble calling someone who has said "Call me". Some times I have to remind them of just who I am, and why I'm calling. No, really, it is with the help of our motorcycle community that I am able to make these trip, and I am forever grateful for the camaraderie of all you helpful guys (in the genderless meaning of the word).
We had just completed 1200 miles and spent some good time with Jim, Brian, and Jeff (and don't forget the parts girl), but Bill and I both knew that our Great White Northwestern trip started that evening when we arrived at the beginning of hwy 99.
We started north on 99 enjoying the 2 lane hwy along Horseshoe Bay. It was beautiful, of course, with snow covered mountains just across the water. The Mtns were 4 to 5 thousand feet with only the lowest couple thousand being free of snow. Our northward travel had increased the daylight to about 10:30pm, so seeing the beauty of what we were driving through was easy.
So Bill and I traveled north having no idea what lay ahead. It was very pleasant, more than pleasant, it was adventure in a land of the unknown. We soon came upon our first road delay. 10 minute wait and, once underway, 6 miles of dirt road behind a pilot car over a graveled road. That, it turns out, is how it is usually done in Canada and Alaska....no big deal. We traveled on to Squamish, and Bill and I were ready to call it a day. Squamish is at the head of horseshoe bay and a gateway to a hundred miles of area to the northwest, or in the northeast direction with much mtn sports of all types. Whistler's up there for instance.
June 15th, 16th and 17th
Bill and I slept well. Well, I slept well. I always do, and Bill slept adequately. Bill isn't the best sleeper, and with my snoring he is to be commended that I woke up at all, or didn't wake up with a pillow in my mouth.
But having said that we got a good start in the morning, what with not having to break camp. I liked that part. We left Squamish after we talked to a big Canadian who was about my age. He said that he had a Honda V4 in his garage at home. He also said that there was another V-4 rider, a blond hair guy that wore his hair in a pony tail, there in town, but he recently moved to Vancouver island. That rung a bell...the blagard was talking about Art Reitsma for heaven sakes. It felt like old home week for a bit there that morning. Art had spent an overnight on my couch in San Diego just a few months before. Small world, eh.
So we are having a nice ride toward Whistler, BC. I've heard of Whistler before, but I never knew where it was (I don't ski), now in a little bit I was going to be there. The road was delightful. Just full of twisties and not many towns of any consequence and no traffic. That is the difference north of the continental US, no people. Its like a breath of fresh air. Where there are no people their are no cops. What a concept. Just take care of your own self, damnit. It was under this atmosphere that Bill, in the lead, and I scampered and froliced north.
We were crossing great streams and careening off the well banked two lane road as we wound our way toward Hwy 97 in almost total abandonment. At one point, we had come up behind a semi gravel truck pulling doubles, and he had held us up for a few minutes. Bill made his move to pass, and just when he was committed a car came around the corner in the other direction. Bill almost soiled his pants as he was just able to complete his pass in time.
I got a chuckle out of that. It is funny how mentally you have an idea of how much space you should have to clear the oncoming traffic by. If it's any less than that, you get scared, or maybe actually embarrassed, is more like it. He still had 50 feet or so...what's the big deal. It only gets ugly if you don't have enough space.
But that is my philosophy. I don't like to be wrong about my judgment, but it happens from time to time. If you do enough of that kind of passing you get good at it. Once you are good then you don't need the luck anymore. I do hate to let another vehicle spoil my view of the world. Now if they are going fast enough, which happens sometimes, I don't have to pass them. Anyway even with our Sabre's loads they were capable of dispatching most of the opposition quite nicely.
Alaska: Part 4....
This area had everything. Lillooet had everything. The actual town was off the main road of only 50 or so small building, and as we crossed the river (missing the town becase we couldn't see it). Across the river where we could see the town I soon realized that there were dirt roads that went out of town toward the north. I longed to know where those roads went, but we had a mission and weren't to be waylaid by dirt roads....just yet.
Soon we arrived at the intersection of Hwy 97. Somewhere around 100 mile house we stopped for breakfast....er... I guess it was really lunch time. We had had so much fun that food hadn't become an interest yet. That almost never happens. I'm a good eater.
While lunching at a small cafe with a sassy waitress (but big), we had time to collect our thoughts. This waitress was ready to chuck it all and come away with us....But the pretty, slim one who relieved her for the next shift didn't act the same way. Go figure. Fat ones will go at the drop of a hat, but the slim pretty one always seem to be looking for a better deal. LOL
We finished, paid up, and went across the street to gas up. There was a Beemer rider there who turned out to be from Calgary and had been out for a couple days ride. I mentioned that we were headed to the Arctic Ocean. He grumbled that we had better have plenty of tires. From that I gathered that the Dalton Hwy was no piece of cake. Well we would soon know for sure, I thought to myself.
Hwy 97 would take us Through Williams lake, Known for the Prestwich girls, Mike Prestwich, a good riding friend, lives there and has a fine collection of daughters. It wasn't time to rest so we pressed on after leaving my friend Mike a message on his cell phone about seeing him on the return trip.
Williams Lake is also known for Hwy 20 which goes past the Nimpo Lake Resort (owned by another riding acquaintance), and on to Bella Colla on the Pacific. As we rode on toward Prince George, I made a note to revisit Williams Lake .
Camp was made for the night about 60 miles short of Prince George, at a spot on the highway called Woodpecker. We camped in the style of the blue burrito that night as it still hadn't rained on us. The blue Burrito is a Blue plastic tarp that half is under your sleeping bag and the other half is folded over the top of you in case of rain. Still no rain, so with the bug repellent to keep mosquitos at bay, we had a good nights sleep next to another great river for a very nice scenic setting.
We had been making good time. so far it had been 700 mile the first day and then two 500 mile days. And still no rain. We were beginning to think that rain up there was a myth. Folks assured us that it wasn't and to just wait a little longer.
Prince George is a substantial town. I'm guessing a hundred thousand or so, but it had no lure for us so in the morning it was on toward Dawson Creek for us. We were learning to drive in Post school year, summer Motor home traffic, and combined that with learning about what frost heave can do to a road.
Actually the traffic wasn't bad. there was more traffic heading north with the closing of schools for summer, but it wasn't much trouble because there wasn't much traffic coming south to hinder passing. We were able to maintain 70 to 75 (actual). That was pretty safe from a police point of view, and a frost heave point of view as well.
We had been riding together for three days, and a system was developing. When we left Bill's house he said that he would follow me in deference to my more experience, I reckon. But I found that if I was in front, I was constantly wondering where he was. I would make passes that Bill thought were too risky. Bill would take more time waiting for 'a better time' to pass, then I didn't know where he was, or he would just drop back from lack of attention or something, and I would wonder if he was having some sort of bike trouble.
There is no problem with that, especially, in BC and Alaska, because you can hardly get lost up there, but if the trail rider has a problem of any sort it could be a long time before the leader figures it out. It really is quite frustrating to make a pass in an overall effort to be making good time, and then have to wait excessively (in my opinion) for your riding partner.
I eventually found out that if I let Bill lead I had none of those problem, and another advantage was that Bill knew Alaska as he'd been reading and lusting about this trip for years. It is all just a matter of opinion, As to how to ride or when to pass. It's no big deal, but it can drive you mad if you are constantly irritated by your riding companion's riding style.
Many an experience rider have finally concluded that they can't ride with another, but I preferfed to adapt to my riding companion. Bill is too nice of a person to allow riding style to get in the way.
Today we expected to reach Fort Nelson, and after two days three nights we still wouldn't be out of BC, Damn that is a big province. We rode, and we rode, and we rode. We bypassed Dawson Creek by going through Hudson's Hope, and hitting the Alaskan Hwy near Fort St John.
On and on through the vast BC we traveled. The days riding was uneventful. We arrived in Ft Nelson by 7pm. The campground was full, but they found a spot for us. There were tons of mosquitos, but again the Deet was their master. We complained about our camp space, but in the end we stayed up till I looked at my watch and discovered that it was 9:30. Holy bat dung! It was time to go to bed, but it didn't look like it from a light standpoint. It wouldn't be dark until midnight or so, and at that it was only dim, not dark. That 'light thing' was a curiosity to us, but it didn't seem to affect my sleeping.
What with the heated grips and grip protection by my National cycle wind shield, I was able to run with summer gloves all through the Alaskan northwest.
It was 300 miles to Watson Lake. We arrived there in the early afternoon. There was a short Mtn Range at Muncho Lake, to spice up the scenery, where we gassed up. I was getting only about 30 mpg with my Sabre. When Bill and I would gas up he would take a gallon less. Even with my fuel cell I was only good for 250 miles safely. Bill could get 220 out of his stock tank. He has the faired Sabre, Don't you know. I still haven't figured out the cause of my poor mileage. At the speeds we ran I would have expected 38mpg. The gas prices were 4+ dollars Cn at Muncho Lake. I hated paying 30 dollars a fill up for 8 gallons of fuel.
We cruised into Watson Lake and gassed again. The home style gas station had a table and chairs in the convenience store part of the station. I sat down there for a small rest. Bill joined me as did the owner of the place. I immediately like the guy from his first crusty words. We got to talking of the remoteness of the area. I stated my quote, that, "All the good stuff is somewhere at the end of a Dirt road."
Alaska: part 5....
Watson Lake is the home of the most stolen property in the world, I think. There is a 5 acre field next to this gas station with thousands of stolen street signs from all over the world. It is world famous, and truly amazing. We went over there for pictures.
We had been at that station for a long half hour. As we were taking pictures a dark cloud could be seen in the background.....hummmm. Almost before I could finish that thought, it was raining....and hailing too. We ran for cover. Ten minutes later it was gone. How about that?
We went down the road for lunch, and then continued on toward White Horse (the capital of the Yukon Territory, and maybe the home of Sargeant Preston of the northwest Royal Mounted Police). Or maybe not I can't remember. Who remembers the old Radio weekly serial with Sargeant Preston in the '50s, or was it a daily?
Anyway the road took us through a beautiful, 60 miles stretch of the mountains. Bill and I again enjoyed vast scenes of mountain beauty as well as sharing some caribou and 50 to 100 Mtn Goats lazing around on the road for hand out, no doubt. Even as beggars, they were facinating to see.
June 17th and 18th
Remember that rain that I thought was a myth. well,Rain came with the new day. It had atarted raining before we got up, and it was still raining. We decided that we didn't want to stay in Whitehorse another day, so there was nothing to do but ride in the stuff. It wasn't a heavy rain, but it was damned sure enough to keep things wet. It also wasn't thundershowers, It was the whole darned Yukon, and, as we found out, it went nearly as far as Fairbanks.
Somewhere along there we passed into Alaska. That was a big moment. We stoped for what Bill called 'the Money Shot'.
we forced ourselves to get back out in the cold and wet to grind out the last of the 100 miles to Fairbanks. The rain slacked as we rode into town. Bill knew all the roads by heart, since he had studied so much about Ak. He pulled us into Motel 8 for a good nights warm up. I didn't complain much, even though my budget was suffering.
There were other bikes there. One fellow with a Valkyrie, from Georgia, was pulling a trailer. He was by himself, and quite a friendly type. He had already been on the "over the top' hwy from Dawson City. We would run into him a couple more times in the next couple days.
It worried me some, but I knew it couldn't be fixed if the problem was intermittent to rarely happening. Intermittent problems can hardly ever be fixed if they won't show the symptom when you are looking. The good news was that if the bike would quit altogether, I would probably be able to find out what was wrong. The bad news was that we could be somewhere out on the North slope when that electrical gremlin should go permanent. Help, out there, is rare.
That was an uncomfortable scenario, given that out next goal was the 400+ mile Haul Road known as the Dalton Hwy. That is the, mostly dirt and all bad, road to the furthest northern destination of Deadhorse in Ak. Its as far north as you can drive in the western Hemisphere. The road went all the way to the Arctic Ocean, some 300 miles north of the Arctic circle. Deadhorse or Prudhoe Bay is, at the start of the Alaskan Pipeline which goes all the way to Valdez on the Pacific some 1000 miles away.
A funny thing: I always just assumed that the pipeline went to Texas or somewhere down here in the continental states. Now I didn't have to admit that. They say that a million dollars worth of oil goes through that pipeline every hour. Hummmm....I don't know if I'm ready to swallow that one just yet. I hope I have that statistic right....
Alaska: Part 6......
We were able to laugh about about the cold rainy ride into Fairbanks as we spend the night indoors nice warm and toastie.
It cleared some the next day. We were able to move to a state campground, and assess the situation. Bill/we didn't relish doing the Haul road if it was raining. There were too many stories of disaster out there on muddy roads. Technically all dirt roads used for commercial transport are called Haul Roads. This Haul road is actually the Dalton Hwy, but in this area it is also called the 'Haul Road' as well. Or summat like that.
We figured one day up and one day back. we would pay our rent at the campground for three days, and leave most of our loads there at camp. Tomorrow we would do the unknown. All the BS that we had heard over the years About the road to Prudhoe Bay would out itself beginning tomorrow morning. Anticipation mounted...oh, baby.
June 19, 20, & 21
We were greeted with a nice morning. That means no rain. As we left Fairbanks on the Elliot hwy our thoughts were full of anticipation. If things got too rough we could just go as far as the Arctic Circle, take pictures and bail out. Or maybe just go another 60 miles to Coldfoot, the sorta halfway point. Coldfoot was so named because it was where a lot of men went, and then backed out...got coldfeet.
The Elliot hwy was a great snake like secondary road with mega views, and good surface. It went out to Manley Hot springs, but at Livengood, about 75 miles from Manley, the 'Dalton' took off to the north. Now remember the Dalton Hwy supplies the oil fields at Prudhoe, so it has to be two trucks wide and in pretty damned good shape, but the trick is, that something in good shape for trucks isn't necessarily good for a motorcycle.
The road was always 3 trucks wide, The surface was always good except for the bumps and the loose stuff. Notice how I minimized the word bumps. And there was 90 miles of pavement on the first half to Coldfoot, and 30 miles of pavement on the second half after Coldfoot.
We in the continental USA are brainwashed into thinking that on a freeway we can always go freeway speeds (except for traffic), or on a secondary road that is generally a 50 mph road that we can maintain 50 mph plus + or - a few mph. In other words there will be no places where the mph must drop to 5mph for a few feet. Well that is what you have on the Dalton. A road that you can travel 70 mph on, but every few miles you must drop down to 10 or 15 in order to tell if you need to drop down to 5mph for a particular bump that you see coming at you.
Bill and I had talked of this extensively. I knew it from traveling in Mexico (Baja), but, to Bill, it was not emblazoned on his mind from having gone through the terror of having been caught by a big bump when going way too fast. Still, Bill is an intelligent guy, and pretty much understood the situation. 'Caution' was the word of the day.
So north on the 'Dalton' we went. We had no significant surprises, until we came to a section of new pavement in stead of the Dirt that we'd been on. What's this? I couldn't see any reason for it to be there, some 30 miles into the ride. The road was almost manicured, for Alaskan standards, it had white lines on the edge of the traffic lanes and 4 ft of pavement outside that line. Go figure, but alas it only went for about 3 miles, then back to your normal programing. We could easily maintain 40 or 50 mph on the dirt again.
It is not prudent to ride at the speed that you can easily maintain, mind you. We rode on for some 60 miles. At that point we crossed the Yukon River. The Yukon river is an impressive river, but you get used to that up there, because another 10 miles up the road there may be another impressive river, or maybe its the same river. They are all over the place up there. Anyway, just across the river was a convenience store/cafe with modularly constructed motel, and most importantly gas. We didn't need gas, but thought that passing any gas station was probably a bad idea.
Back on the road. Another 40 miles and we come to the pavement that we heard was up there. Good pavement, no really, except for the gigantic pot holes and pavement breaks. A pavement break is a pot hole that has taken over the pavement from edge to edge and could be anywhere fron 20ft to a 100yds long. It has been there long enough to get its own official highway warning sigh. It is no doubt on somebody's list of places to repair, and will be repaired when they repave the road.
But in the meantime the road department fills them with gravel nicely. In fact we passed a crew that was doing just that. A freshly graveled pot hole could be traversed almost with out notice. This paved section was 90 miles long, and the trick was to know how long ago was the repair made. You see the current depth of said pot hole depended on timing. When did they repair it last.
We found that the pot holed sections might average a half mile from one to the next. It was enough time to get used to good road. We would see them up front and slow down to 40 and make a decision as to where was the best place to hit them. Usually the center of the road was best,.....but you couldn't be sure, not really sure. Sometimes you were going a little fast for the bump and sometimes you could have gone faster. Most of the time that was no big deal.
But you see it only takes one big deal to spoil your day. Bill found the mother of all pot holes while doing some 50 mph. Although I was behind I must only have seen the aftermath of his lapse of judgment. Bill said the the bike jump up and went sideways for a bit before he gathered control once again. So actually that was no big deal either, but Bill talked about it again and again. You see, Bill had had his life flash before his eyes in that moment.
There was no damage so we rode on with a new respect. About 10 miles later we came to the campground at the Arctic Circle. It has a nice Arctic Circle sign to take a picture in front of. Very cool. The Valkyrie rider with his trailer had camped there last night, and he was getting ready to leave. From looking at the, new since the night before, extra straps that he had tying his trailer together he may have hit Bill's pothole as well. He had had enough. The Arctic Circle was far enough for him.
We got our pictures and set out for the north once more.
Same deal here as at the Yukon River. Gas pumps, cafe/store, and modular motel. There was a house in the trees nearby that looked like a kinda repair facility. It was bigger than the Yukon river camp, but not much. The town of Wiseman was up the road a couple miles. There were a few people who lived there as well.
Bill was investigating the possibility of spending the night here. In fact Bill was sure that we were spending the night here. The loose surface that we had been on had Bill all tensed up. I think he had a death grip on the handle bars for the last three hours. He was ready to rest. That was cool with me. Of course, I acted like I could go on.
So we had a good afternoon with a little, nap and then some BS with the tour bus folks. They run tours up that road. Folks either bused up to Prudhoe, and then flew back, or flew up, and took the empty bus back. Pretty smart. That is a 700 dollar tour.
I even got to talk with one of the year round resident there. He's a manager or something there. He's about 35 years old and actually runs a dog sled team around there in the winter. He said that he had 35 dogs, and that was how things got done come the permanent night time. You see there is 85 days of total daylight and 65 days of total darkness. When it's dark, there is a lot of snow on the ground.
He was wearing an actual wolve's tooth necklace. He said the wolf had gotten into his dog pen, and had one of his dogs by the throat when he shot him. It was a good story. I ate it up. He said that dog survived, and is one of his lead dogs. See there is justice out there.
The four wheel traffic of which you see one every 1/4 to 1/2 hour or so. Half of that is Semi truck traffic. These vehicle leave the gravel road hard in the tire tracks, but pile the loose stuff, where the tires don't run, in between. That loose stuff is 1" to 2" rocks piled 3 inches deep that go all the way to Deadhorse.
If you get in that stuff the outcome is uncertain. Again, usually, you survive it with nothing more than a quickened heart beat. The other thing that gets you is the small gravel that is being slung along with the traffic as you meet it. That gravel is as big as an 1" and going as much as 50mph. Couple that with your speed and it might be coming at you at a 100mph. It is a good idea to be as far to the right, on the road, as you can get to avoid that gravel, .....but on the side of the road, that is loose stuff and the edge of the road is over there as well....and to boot there is a crown to the road and near the edge it slope away from the center So a fine balance of where you should ride is an ever present problem.
So there we were about 40 miles north of Coldfoot running side by side (to avoid the dust) when Bill began to slow. Hummm.....what's this? Bill pulled completely over as his engine died.
That was disheartening, but some inspection under the seat showed the problem immediately. WTF, where was the lower inner fender? It seems that that gigantic pot hole from the evening before had snatched that inner fender right out of there when the tire went to the top....or something. Anyway it was gone. When the fender left it had pulled an electrical connection apart that eventually had caused the battery to drain and Bill's bike had just run out of Battery.
Alaska: Part 7
The Brooks Mtn range had to be crossed. It was up ahead, and Antigun pass, elevation 4752 ft, was the place. It was an awesome view from the top, but the road was so good as to make it anticlimactic. That didn't make us unhappy.
It was 10 miles the other side of Antigun Pass where the gravel size got bigger, and that made the road rougher. And that made that loose Berm even more troublesome. Still we were managing quite well. Whoa, what's this, more pavement? It was thirty more miles of pavement. That was welcome even if it had more pavement breaks. We had learned to slow down for holes. More slowing was required as a 30 mph side wind had crop up and was blowing us into that loose gravel between the hard tracks
We finished the pavement and had done another thirty miles of gravel when, some 20 miles from Prudhoe, they had watered the road. That went on for 10 miles. Bill was pretty concerned with the slipperiness what with the added wind, but when the road again dried out and we started seeing herds of caribou our thought turn to more pleasant things. Like finally getting to Prudhoe, and getting off our bikes.
We enjoyed steak dinners the night before and in the morning we ate big ate the buffet breakfast bar. It had been 29 degrees when Bill checked on the bikes when he first got up. We were dragging our feet about departing for the ride back. My bike didn't start on it's own due to the cold....but a jump from Bill was successful.
Bill again had cold hands upon arrival last evening and he was bound and determined to get some additional protection from the general hardware/everything store up there. He looked and nothing was big enough to go over his winter gloves. We got on the road by 11 am. It was then 35 degrees.
We had cleared the section with the caribou. There were easily a couple hundred in packs of 10 to 25. Occasional they would race us, and then cut across the road in front of us, to only stand and look at us from the other side. They are obviously much more complicated mentally than I had ever imagined.
The pave section passed under us. Now the rough gravel road section was being done. We only had another 10 miles to start the climb to Antigun Pass. Again we are traveling side by side to defend our riding from the other's dust. I see Bill do a little Handle bar wiggle. It is what happens, most times, if you wander into that loose stuff. No big deal, but this time I soon hear Bill honking at me.
I stop. Bill pulls up, and says that his oil light has just come on. Oh shit, that can't be good. We get off the road at a small pull out. A visual inspection showed a crack in his oil pan with an 1/8' gap, and the gap goes up around the right side of the oil pan. You can't see much from all the mud, and then the exhaust pipe is there in the way, as well.
The news is devastating. This is the worst possible failure. We think for a while kinda in a daze.....nothing much comes to mind. I go into, fix it mode, thought. Of course it isn't my bike, so the decisions aren't mine to make.
I'm thinking that with a open crack that goes up to the engine, the pan will have to come off. Bill don't see how we can fix it, even if we get it off. I know that getting the pan off will be big trouble, because the exhaust has to come off first. There is nothing good about this situation. Bill doesn't want to ride double for any reason. I don't blame him for that, but under the circumstances...... Still, all final decisions are his.
There was no help there, we were back to 'what to do'. We took the Sabres because they were both only worth a couple of grand each at the most. The expendability factor was now at work. We were nearly 400 miles from Fairbanks, and any real help.
Getting the bike commercially hauled out of there was expensive, and the squalling that Bill had heard made a repair of the bike iffy. Over nights in that land cost 150 dollars per night if you get to Coldfoot. Quickly adding up costs made a bike rescue a push. Bill decided to take his bags with what ever he could haul and hitch his way back to Fairbanks.
As we stood there, in what seems like a far and hostile land, we both wanted to cry. I t wasn't how we wanted to end this trip. Bill found in that moment, that beyond the monetary side of this deal, he really had emotional attachments to that pretty blue strip Sabre. It was probably kinda like riding your horse into the ground and then having to shoot it.
We decide that Bill would go out to the road and hitch a ride, and that there was no use in me hanging around. I should just get underway and head south. That seemed like abandonment of an old friend, but common sense said that I needed to make tracks if I was to get out of there before it got cold.
I was riding alone now, and should have been more careful what with Bill trouble and all, but I soon cleared the larger gravel rough road, began to pick up the pace a bit. I was familiar with the road so there would be no big surprises. I foolishly started to let it hang out a bit. Now letting it hang out on a dirt road is not anything like you street rider are used to. You still can't get caught going too fast for a corner, because you can't get slowed down. But none the less, I wasn't figuring on spending a night at Coldfoot.
Now for the 90 miles of pavement with all the pot holes. It was amazing how well that went. One day of learning had me doing the right thing almost every time. When we had come through here on the way north there had been some smoke from left over forest fires in the area. Note, I didn't mention them.
Well on the way back they were real forest fires again. There was lots of smoke in the air, and in one place I had to slow to a crawl in order to see. a 20 ft wall of fire was only 25 or 30 ft off to the left. Once through that It was clear sailing. I ticked off the end of Pavement, and then put the Yukon river store behind me. I knocked off the last 60 miles of dirt in record time (that's my own record), and arrived at Livengood in just 3 hours time. I was back in camp an hour later in Fairbanks.
To my surprise, Bill was in Camp when I awoke in the morning.........
Alaska: Part 8.....
Goodbye to a friend, June 27th
Bill and I started the day in a let down condition. We had breakfast, and he brought me up to date about his escape with the boys from Arkansas. They were good old boys for sure, and quite a story in their own right. Granddad rode in the small camper in back lying down and breathing from his oxygen set up, while Bill sat for 11 hours in a jump seat of an extra cab pickup. Bill is a 'smoker to the max', and he was forced to limit that due to the old guy on oxygen. Happy as Bill was, to have a ride, it still was hell in that jumpseat, not being able to smoke, until they dropped him off at the campground.
But aside from our story telling, we still weren't quite ready to give up on retrieving Bill's bike. We got a taxi, and investigated rental trucks. They were too expensive, and not allowed on a trips like that. Bill plays by the rules so that was out.
Bill had made contact with a chase truck with a BMW motorcycle touring company (who operated out of Anchorage), while he and the Arkansas trio were in Coldfoot the evening before. Bill eventually made a deal with that company to pick the bike up when they could. It took a couple days to actually get this guy on the phone to make that arrangement. In the mean time we were spinning our wheels in a rental car. I didn't mind, the resting up was welcome. Bill eventually got on an airplane in the wee hours of the morning on Sunday. We said our good-byes the night before as he had to start packing up camp at 3:30 am in order to make his flight.
We had had a good run. Bill looked at it as "by damn, we made it to the Arctic ocean, anymore than that, would just be icing on the cake". I had to agree that he had done what he came for.
Bill called my cell phone that evening. He and the lovely Sherry were driving home from the airport near Salinas, Ca. As we talked, I thought that I could faintly smell her perfume....or maybe not.
So by the time I had got Bill's call with the perfume and all, I was already in Denali Natl Park. I had packed up that morning leisurely and was out of there by a little after noon. I was having trouble making decisions, since Bill wasn't there to play ideas off of. I already missed him.
The Campground check out time forced my hand. All I really knew was that according to the map there was still a bunch of Alaska yet to be seen. This was truly the first day of the rest of my life, and I made the decision to go take a look at Mt Mckinley if I could find some clear, un smoky air.
Of course, the couple hundred mile ride down there from Fairbanks was pretty. It was a blustery day but no rain, and the road changed elevation to the tune of a 1000 ft or so. I rode next to great rivers, and explored a small town on the way. I didn't even get pissed by the several const road delays just south of Fairbanks. The Nanana River, picked up just outside of town, was a fast running river at least a football field across. Then much nearer Denali Natl Park I rode into a canyon and next to a whitewater river. It was a rafters delight, and the rafters were out in force.
I arrived at the park before the visitor's center closed at 7 pm. There was one seat on the bus left that went the 95 miles into the park to a place called Kantishna. I bought it. The ticket cost 35 dollars plus a 10 dollar entrance fee to the park, and 14 bucks to camp in their tenting camp area. I got the campsite for half price and free entrance to the park with my Natl Gezzer card, so the 13 hour bus trip, and camping was 42 bucks. I can do that once in a while. No really.
But I'm sorry folks, or maybe I was expecting more. We spent a whole long day on that bus, and we did see great scenery, and I did see 10 grizzly bears (from a great distance), a half dozen Caribou, 50 white specks (Dahl Sheep) on a distant mountain, a family of Partridges, and two prairie dogs, but there is a much bigger show in Yellowstone or in the Rocky Mountain National park outside of Denver.
Speaking of Mt Mckinley, three ladies that were on our bus had, the day before, gone for a ski plane ride up to walk on one of Mckinley's glaciers ($160 each). They raved about it. These same ladies got off the bus out at the end, Kantishna, and took another sight seeing plane ride back to the park entrance. These gals were up for anything I think, that cost them another hun.
We got back at around 8:30 that night. I called it a day and pulled my blue burrito in over my head for a second night of rainless sleep. The new day brought more adventure.
Alaska: Part 9.....
I was away from the park early. Bill had mentioned Hatcher's Pass. I saw the dirt road on the map, and it was on the way to Anchorage, which was where I was going. I couldn't resist. It probably only added 10 miles to the trip, but it added at least 3 or four hours. I took the turn off at about 10am. The road went behind and between a range of Mtns that were between Denali and Anchorage.
It's original purpose was gold mining, but now it is just a nice ride with a lot of folks having summer homes out there (good dirt road).
Right next to that Mining camp there was a bladed flat spot off to the right. I stopped for some reflections (and pictures) about the beautiful MTN scenery. The mtns around there were 5000 ft high. The peaks and down their sides for a 1000 feet or so were still covered with last winter's snow. It was breathtaking.
That van turned out to be this fellow's rolling studio. He had been in that spot for about 3 weeks. He was an artist, and he had been commissioned to do three mountain scene paintings in oil. He showed me his digs as well as a fine 3' x 4' painting.
He said that he was getting ready to leave there, where we were, in and hour or so. And that he had been trying to decide whether to cook himself breakfast or not, but if I would join him he would cook us up the last of his potatoes and eggs for breakfast. I couldn't accept fast enough.
Spence told me that the pass was only a couple miles further, and that that day was the first day that it had been unlocked. You see, "Luck Beats Good". We exchanged addresses, and I now have a new, good old buddy. We parted ways and I road over the hill and on into Anchorage.
Now do you remember that intermittent electrical problem that I had before getting to Fairbanks, well, it moved into the ignition switch. I had to hold the key just so for the last several days now, in order to get the dash to stay lit. As I turned the key on, if it had had time to cool down, like 10 minute, It would require some fiddling with the key. Sometimes I had to fiddle for 30 seconds before it would stay on, but once it would stay on enough to start I didn't have any trouble with it.
Well, when I went to leave Spence, the ignition gave me a fit, but it eventually did light up. Ok, I left for the mountain top and was surprised to find that they had cut a place to drive in a 10 ft deep snow drift not long ago, to open that pass, and the pass was only at 4000 ft.
Homer is out on the Kenai peninsula. There is Homer proper (a town of several thousand), and then there is Homer Spit which is a spit of sand a 1/4 mile thick that protects some of the mouth of the bay at Homer.
Alaska: Part 10....
It is a great ride down off Hatcher, but once on the flatland below there isn't much to see until you are west of Anchorage. Once through the Anchorage traffic (which I hit at quitting time) You soon approach Cooks Inlet, a 50 mile long bay. The road makes a grand sweep along the waterfront for 20 miles around Turnagain Bay. It is just beautiful again, and there are glaciers flowing down out of all the mountains around there.
Once around to the west side of Turnagain Bay you start picking op Kenai and the Russian rivers. These are fantastic rivers for fishing for salmon from either small boats or float tubes or waders. Of course the sight seeing through there is awesome. But it is still a 150 miles or more to Homer. I arrived at the coast some 30 miles north of Homer.
It took me three days to get to Homer, Seward, and Valdez, and I had only traveled a couple hundred miles south as a crow flies.
Those three towns are just a few thousand residents each. I don't know which was the nicest. The Homer spit Started out being where the harbor business is conducted, but the spit seems to be, being taken over by the spring break crowd (I suppose that is really the summer break crowd). Campgrounds, RV parks, and Bars and restaurants seem to be prevalent there now.
I didn't get into Homer proper till after dark, and it had been raining for the last 50 miles. That was a good night to get a 75$ motel. I got cleaned up and a good rest.
I drove into Seward under advisement from the three glacier flying ladies from the Denali bus. I went out to the coast past tow, There's a great campground out there. I think I spent the night there...CRS, can't remember.
I have an interest in old school buses. His was not tall enough for an adult. It made it hell for the hired help. He said that he packed up that bus and got there a couple months after the Valdez oil spill to serve the rush of folks that were there to make a killing, and had been there ever since. I don't know why he didn't go to Valdez instead.
Alaska: Part 11....
When I left Seward I took the 4 mile side trip over to Exit Glacier. As I rode over there I hit a depression in the road at about 60 mph (I didn't see it coming because I was looking around at the sites. I bottomed out the center stand hard both as I went into this hole and again when I came out. I though that I had done permanent damage to both the bike and my back. But there was no real damage after I'd got my bearing back. I continued over to the glacier and was astounded. Glaciers are cool. I was able to hike on it a bit. It was only 5 miles out of the way.
As I came back into Anchorage, off the Kenai Peninsula, and was intent on going to Valdez yet that afternoon, I stopped at a supermarket to get some things. When I returned to the bike, as I turned the key, the bike wouldn't talk to me. No amount of fiddling would bring it back this time.
There was nothing to do but tear the igniton switch out of there. I've been espousing how I would prefer to ride a bike that I can fix, than ride a bike that I can't fix,.... but probably won't have to. It was time to see if I could fix my bike.
First the headlight had to come off then, the horns and instruments, the fuse box and the fuse holder. Then see if I can break loose the two bolts that have been holding that switch in there for 30 years. Just when I thought I would break the wrench the bolts broke loose. Scheesh, that was close. Then get the switch apart and clean up the contacts and massage some melted plastic.
What happen with this vintage Honda switch is that the contacts become corroded and heat builds up with the added resistance and that melts the nylon that they are housed in. Then you turn off the switch and the now cooled plastic hold the contact away from the opposing contact. I was able to reshape that plastic with a hot screwdriver.
A couple hours later I was able to turn the key with joy. I had dash lights and the engine was again using fuel like a kid with a new license. I was a couple hours behind, but I wasn't out of the race to valdez, yet. I would just be a little late.
I went to Valdez, Down through beautiful Keyhole Canyon. Now that was a special ride. Hell, they are all beautiful rides. Valdez was the same as the others, only different, even better than the others. I had mexican food there at a mexican place once I got to town. Can you believe, they were out of beans. It was good except for that.
I thought about staying an extra day in Valdez, but when I woke up it was raining, I'd just as soon be riding if it's raining So I broke down my camp gear and saddled up. Toddy and I had talked about riding up to the Kennecott and McCarthy copper mines when we left Valdez....
I thought about taking a ferry out of Seward to Valdez....
Oh, while I think of it, let me say that, although I was tempted, I didn't take any ferries anywhere. It turned out that the dotted lines on my AAA maps that indicate ferry routes are very misleading up there. Lots of Ferris only leave once a week, and many don't go where you want to go, others are discontinued. And none are puddle jumpers that just skip up or down the coast. Since there was no convenient ferry out of Valdez, I decided to go see the old Kennecott Copper mine on the road back inland from Valdez....kinda.
Alaska: Part 12....
Toddy had manage to outsmart me, and was nowhere to be found when I left camp. I figured that since he traveled slower than I did on the paved roads, I would catch up to him somewhere up ahead on the way to those mines. It turns out that Toddy was looking over the several block of town, and I got out of town before him. You see how smart those Kiwis are?
The ride back out of town though Keyhole Canyon was just as good as on the way in. Out behind that angry sky was my destination. I passed the oil pipeline termination plant some 10 miles out of town. Valdez is completely unspoiled by the shipping industry. I never saw that part of the port. It is some 12 miles or so south of town.
I climbed the road up and over the mtn that shields the coast from Alaska's interior. Need I tell you again just how spectacular all this was? Well it was. The rain had stopped, and the 90 miles to the turn off into the Wrangells national Park passed in no time. It would be another 90 miles out to the mines and 30 miles of pavement to a small town called Chitina. I didn't know if Chitina had gas so I fueled up at the junction there on the Richardson Hwy.
There is talk of making this Natl park commercial like Denali. Entry fee, bus rides and complete control of their visitors, and why not, business is business. They have a 16000 ft mtn to brag about, and easily as many interesting things to see. No doubt, it will come in time. That is the progress that Spence and I talked about. But in the meantime, I really appreciated being able to ride in there on my own, at my own pace, to look at the things that interested me.
I went through the primarily First Nation town of Chitina. The road immediately turned to a good gravel road. Eye candy was every where. A few miles brought the Copper river beneath me as I passed over a grand bridge. The view from the bridge showed folks running what I though was small gold dredge equipment along the river banks. That equipment turned out to be Salmon wheels. Here is a salmon wheel explanation that I found on the net:
So this gravel road wound up and down through 60 miles of wonders. There were float planes sitting on remote lakes out there. There may have been 50 or so summer residences out there. In another instance a large tired Bush plane was sitting on a grass strip by the side of the road.
The plant easily took up 5 acres including the company quarters that has been redone and is now a posh lodge with restaurant. There is also an airport over the hill somewhere for fly ins.
I worried about getting a place, but this was a private fish camp and the old scoundrel wasn't going to lose the $15 dollars. I think he would have put me under an RV if he would have had to. Actually the owner was a nice guy. I hung around the office for a while and listen to the goings on. It was quite busy. They talked of fishing. They used swift river jet boat there to do their fishing. The fish camp across the river, easily within sight, was busy getting pictures and such of a 60 lb salmon that had been brought in that evening. It was the biggest of the season so far. I was impressed.
I ate a can of corn and a cup-o-soup for dinner, and then went to bed. I had had a big day. Tomorrow I was going to do the (mostly gravel) Top of the world Hwy from TOK through Chicken and into Dawson City. I was really looking forward to that.
Alaska: Part 13.....
Have I told you guys lately how much I am enjoying my 30 year old Honda Sabre? The bike has performed flawlessly for the 6500 miles (and the 130000 before this trip) that I've ridden on this trip. Even the ignition switch in the supermarket incident wasn't too bad. I had one shopper after another wanting to know what my problems were. I could have snagged anyone of those ladies.......if I hadn't been able to fix it.
All seriousness aside, the bike was a dream. I had overloaded it with at least 75 lbs of crap that I won't take on the next ride, but even at that the suspension was up to the task. By the time I was finished with the last dirt road the bike had logged 1000 miles of potholes and such.
I wouldn't have been far behind the best of them on that run south from where Bill bit the bullet. I have no complaints with the old Sabre as a touring bike. I've said it once if I said it a thousand times, I don't know what I would buy if I were going to buy a new bike. I think I would spend the money on new Sabre parts instead....well maybe not.
Anyway when I got up, there at the Copper River, I was surprised to find that it hadn't rained at all last night. I was able to put away a dry tent for a change, but having said that, it looked as though dry wasn't going to last long. There were dark clouds in the direction that I was heading.
The north land has 2 major routes from Whitehorse. They each go a thousand or so miles north, ending up at the Arctic ocean, one near Dawson city and ending at Inuvik, and the other through Anchorage, or Fairbanks and eventually Prudhoe Bay.
Some 300 miles north of Whitehorse, at Dawson City the two roads are only about a hundred miles apart, so someone decided to connect the roads by building the "Top of the World Hwy". Actually there was gold in those hills between the two roads and folks needed access from both side, hence a through road came to be.
I was going to ride the 'Top of the World Hwy' to Dawson City that morning. I got to GlennAllen early. I gassed up at a station that was in BFE somewhere. I must mention that it was run by a movie star. A 25 year old blond who was a double for Marilyn Monroe only a little better looking and more stuff in the right places. I was still stepping on my tongue as I rode off. Miraculously, I did remember to gas up. Where do those girls come from????
Back to the yarn, I decided to take the Tok Cut Off that would put me on the Alkan Hwy at TOK and then it was just 20 miles or so to my road across the top to Dawson City. The TOK cut Off had been rumored to have a lot of road repair/delays on it. I went anyway, and as it turned out the Sabre's soft suspension was able to maintain 50 mph on the repair sections. I could see how motor homes would hate it though.
The first 25 miles of the Top of the World Hwy was paved, then as it worked its way up in elevation toward Chicken Ak it turned to dirt. Again it was good dirt. Much of the traffic was 30 ft motor homes pulling an SUV, so that will tell you how good the road was. Still it was a nice ride. Again the scenery was inspiring.
In the north land because of the cold (short growing season, and permafrost) there aren't all that many trees. Once you get up to a couple thousand feet of altitude there is a tree line. Above that you can see forever. You get the same effect as in the southwest. There are no trees in the way of what you want to see. The difference is that it is green up there unlike the southwest. I enjoy being able to see for miles.
Further on, there was another dredge just left on the edge of the nearby stream where they quit using it in about 1920. In fact that is the dredge that Tony form TV's 'Gold Rush' reconditioned and moved out of there over the last couple years.
Up there even further, there is a junction of another dirt road that will take you 40 miles up to Eagle, a Village on the Yukon River. I skipped that and went on to Boundary, AK.
That guard station sure looked like the loneliest place on the planet. I tried to engage the guard in some conversation, but he had gone brain dead by hearing my diatribe a thousand times before.
Anyway on top of that hill in the cold, I was beaten up by rain with Hail. This time the hail was big enough to sting my hands through my light gloves, and the rain was hard enough so that I couldn't see very well. Holy Moly, I wondered what was to become of me, but in only a couple miles the squall blew over, and I was heading the last sixty miles down the mountain toward Dawson City.
Alaska: Part 14....
The Dawson City ferry was my reward for finishing the 'Top of the World Hwy'. The Yukon river was between me and town. With a lot of forethought the city fathers had installed a ferry at that point to take me across the river. Well it wasn't there just for me, others used it as well. ....and the good part, It was free, my favorite kind.
Dawson City is a beautiful town. Easily my favorite, but I regret that I didn't stay longer to look around. I beat it out of town, and rode the 300 miles to whitehorse. I passed over the Yukon river nearly half a dozen times on the way, and at each crossing there was a neat small town. Each of those seemed to be the place where I could have been happy for the rest of my life.
On the other side of the river from Dawson City there is a Campground, and if you walk another 1/4 mile down the river past that campground there an old paddle wheel riverboat graveyard. As I remember there are 3 riverboats there decaying away. I was able to walk all over them and inside and look at the boilers and such.
I arrived in WhiteHorse sometime around 10pm. I drove through town and camped for the night. Tomorrow I would do a great deal of the Casier Hwy, and visit Hyder as well.
I need to print a retraction here. I ran into a guy at a gas station in Dawson City who was driving a real rugged old bush camper, and he said that he was there following the Canoe/kayak race that had just come up from Whitehorse. I was sure that he said Whitehorse river. It was really the Yukon River. See what a mess he caused. :)
That was the same river I crossed some 2 weeks earlier on the way to Deadhorse, how about that. That river really gets around.
The peculiar thing about this guy was that his camper/truck was nick named (written right on the side) the 'San Felipe Chollo Express' (right across the border near where I live). I should have known he would have been wrong about the river. Just kidding. The whole mistake was my fault, and I'm willing to take credit for it.
And while I'm confessing, my loose lip has me making another error. Spence Guerin has, ahem, corrected me by Email......You see apparently I don't listen so good. He says his trip started in Singapore, and he and his buddies shipped to Calcutta and started the trip from there. Still a hell of a trip in my book. That was back in 1970. The trip was written up in some magazine.......
Spence says after he read my BS story, "The four of us were: Dean Haagenson and Bob Wheeler, of Coeur d'Alene ID, Bill Rochat of Fort Lauderdale (and now, Stuart?) FL. And me (Spence). Dean wrote a story about the ride, was published in "Cycle World" (I think) in 1970, or wuz it "Bike World," whatever it was called."
So there, I feel cleansed now. Everything else is true.
So back to the story. I was more or less headed home at this stage of the journey. I had had my fill of camping. I had left Alaska. I wasn't really interested in BC. I was worried about my tire.
I'm used to a cheaper brand of tire than the Metzler that I had on the bike. My experience has been that you don't have far to go when a tire starts to go bald. I told myself that I would surely find something on the way south.
It was 200 miles of the Alcan Hwy today before I would reach the Casier Hwy. The Casier Hwy is the other, more remote, route south through BC. I looked forward to it.
I had done this section of the Alkan, when we traveled north, before . It was nice country, ,but I couldn't wait to get to the Casier. I was sorry that Bill wasn't here to enjoy it with me.
I was at the junction by noon. There is only a couple gas stations and a couple restaurants there. I pick the smallest home style cafe in which to lunch after having filled up with Gas. During lunch I wondered if the extra 100 miles that the Casier Hwy would add to my trip would be worth it. Maybe I should just head south on the Alkan for the sake of my tire. Well, who knows, maybe there's somewhere to get a tire on the 400 mile Casier Hwy.
Alaska: Part 15.....
In the end, even though the sky looked mean in that direction, I decide that if I was here, by damn, I would see as much as I could. So down the Casier I went, but that statement about seeing as much as I could is never going to make sense up there. I knew I would leave behind many unenjoyed wonderments.
Oh well, I would do what I could. It was obvious right away that this was the road less traveled, but still the pavement was passable to good. I had heard that there were 3 sections of 10 mile long road repairs. The 100 miles of road repair that I had seen before was little more than a small hiccup. I imagined this would be no worse.
I skirted many small thunderstorms In the next couple hours. I found the first of the road repairs, no problem. I again passed one pristine lake after another, as well as small towns with gas. Don't make me tell you how small these town are again. Ok, just this last time. The biggest was under 500 folks, and the smallest was microscopic.
Eventually I could no longer dodge the bullet. It started to rain lightly. It would definitely get you wet, but it didn't impede riding. It was harder to enjoy the beauty was about all the problems that it caused.
The Casier is about a 400 mile loop, and I was keeping an eye on that tire. Still there was no thread showing. As I was calculating where the next possible tire would be, I see that the road to Hyder is 50 miles up ahead.....and the tire still looks ok.
I was at the Hyder turn off by 7:30pm. I made one of those last minute decisions, and made the turn. Hyder was only 40 miles out there on the coast. It continued to rain on me the whole way. It was a beautiful ride again through a narrowish canyon Following glacier melt seeking it way to the ocean. Speaking of Glaciers, the Bear Glacier is on the other side of one of the lakes. The base of it was breaking off an falling into the water (versus many that don't reach the water). I didn't see any fall but there were small Icebergs floating. It made a cool picture. I shot a couple photos as I rode by.
I signed up for a room and got my wet Boots off, and stripped down to lounging clothes. I was ready for a beer at the bar. One of the other bike riders was there. A nice guy, from North Carolina, I think. We compared notes and had a couple beers. The alcohol made me realize how tired I was. I went to bed a happy man.
It was the fourth of July when I awoke. I lazed in bed till 8 or so. I felt great, and was ready to enjoy the holiday in the USA. Oh,.. my socks hadn't dried out over night, so I put them on the electric stove on low, and took a shower. Anyway, my socks were melted all over the burners next I noticed. I knew better. I was using two pair so I manage to put the best two back on, but they were hopeless. They tore pitifully. Oh well, they were technically socks.
Hyder was in the act of setting up a couple of booths of cold drinks and cooking barrels of chicken, and other things. I had breakfast at a booth that charge 50 cents for each item. I had 3 eggs, 4 sausages, 2 pancakes and a cup of coffee. 10 items, five dollars, way cool.
There is a Salmon Glacier some 25 miles north of town. It is a recommended site to see....but not on rainy muddy days. I skipped it. I did get to meet Jimmy though. Jimmy is retired and his whole purpose in life is to buy watermelons (from somewhere), and give them away, by the slice. He gets to meet everyone who comes to town that way. He's been there for 22 years and has been at this a long time. This is the truth....Jimmy is also a beer drinker, and lives there permanently.
So as you can imagine the local boys have a watering hole, and this one is around the corner in Stewart where they go over the same issues most days. They had been charged 4 dollars a beer right up until the revolution. Jimmy say, that they asked that maybe the bar owner could charge the local boys, through the winter, a little less for their beer, after all they were his bread and butter.
Seems that the bar owner said that they would damn well pay what he charges. Harumph....said the boys. A plan was hatched. Someone had a boat. They proceeded to take the next three days and go the 100 miles out to sea and the 70 miles north up the coast to Ketchikan and take on 500 case of various beers. Jimmy says at 6 knots that is one day up, a days loading, and a day back. Now they are getting their beer for less right there in Hyder. THe Owner in Stewart sicked the feds on them for smuggling, but the charge didn't hold up. That was such a beautiful story that I wept when I heard it.
The day was a drizzly rainy day and the Satellite antenna was all screwed up so no internet, so around 10am I slide out of town. I was going to Tennace and look for a tire. If I found one I would continue to Prince Ruport for a visit, but there was no MC tire in Tennace. That had taken me 50 miles west out of my way. I now had at least a couple hundred miles to get to the 'large' town of Prince George. I stopped at a harley shop in Smithers, no tire. I trudged on to Prince George for the night.
Alaska: Part 16.....
It started raining again as I entered town, I found shelter at small motel for 33 dollar. It was dark by then and I sure wasn't going to ride out for food, so I dug into my saddle bag and found the last of my food. This box of Macncheese had been in there since the start of the trip. It had gotten wet at least twice, and was damp now. I salvaged the parts that weren't green yet and fired up my alcohol stove. That did the job. It was adequate for the night. I would surely find a tire in the morning.......
I had a funny thing happen up there due to the mega light days. When I crossed from Alaska back into the Yukon, there was a time change back to Canadian time. I moved my watch back an hour instead of ahead an hour so I had been running two hours in error. When I thought it was 7pm it was really 9pm.
So imagine my surprise when the motel man showed up at my room at (I thought) 9 am. We made some small talk while I finished packing. He was there to clean up as I was staying slightly over checkout time, which I didn't realize.
I rode into the heart of Prince George. I asked someone for a bike shop, and got directions. In the next 1/2 hour I asked for a tire at 4 bike shops each time being disappointed. Nothing but tires for late model bikes, but at the last shop a couple helpful customers told me of another Honda shop about a hundred miles south of PG, and a Bike Salvage yard at Williams Lake, another 100 miles even further. Now we were getting somewhere.
I had been worrying about that tire for 500+ miles, and it was still just bald, no threads. I felt that I could make the 200 miles to the salvage shop, no sweat. I didn't even look for the Honda shop, I made a beeline to the Salvage yard at Williams Lake.
Did you ever see Scrooge McDuck diving around in all his money in the comic books. That is how I act at a Salvage yard. 'New Life Cycles' was the name of the place, and Dave had 3 new tires and one (like new) used tire for my bike. 140 for the new ones and 60 for the used one. He was being harried by other business, and couldn't really take care of me right away.
I am sure that he was shocked when I set up to take the tire off. I borrowed a big crescent to do the axle nut and had the tire off in no time. I also had been running some steel from the brake pads on the disk. Dave had Brake pads for my bike as well. I was forced to buy new pads cause he didn't have any good used ones. Ok, I popped the $32 dollars for the pads, $60 dollars for the tire, $15 for spooning on the tire and balance. I had a damned good relationship with Dave by the time I got out of there at 2:30 my time. Dave had the goods, and he knew what he was doing. He was certainly my hero.
I was amazed also by how thick that metzler was that I took off. It would easily have done another 500 miles. I really don't like to leave that much rubber on the table......but this case was special.
The relief I fell with the new tire was remarkable. I had new life. In fact I felt so good that I decided to make the 250 mile run over to the Pacific at Bella Colla, BC. Hwy 20 originates in and leaves Williams Lake to go past Nimpo Lake in about 150 miles, then on to Bella Colla.
I had been invited to visit the 'Nimpo Lake Resort' By Logan Suduth. I had threatened to take him up on his offer when I made this trip to Alaska, and it looked like I actually would see him tonight....if he was home.
The country quickly turned to rural, and then to primitive, although the pavement was good. I noticed that the country was for the most part more open, so that I could see everything. It was vast canyons and one range of hills after another with a river in the bottom of each.
I stopped at Hanceville for gas. Hanceville was a gas pump and a Cafe/market. There was a dirt road there that went a 100 miles or so down to Lillooet among other places. I bet a guy could spend a week down in there just having the time of his life. remarkablly this market had a bakery and an Ice cream bar. To bad I wasn't hungry.
I moved on slicing and dicing across the hills. Of course I was driving too fast, but I had no choice, the devil was making me do it. Then another 100 miles passed and the mileage signs said that Nimpo lake was right up ahead. I quit singing in my helmet, and started looking for the Nimpo Lake Resort.
Now I had thought that Logan and Mary's place was the only thing on Nimpo Lake. It turned out that there was a microscopic community and probably a dozen lodge/resorts on the lake, all using Nimpo Lake in their names. It became apparent that I didn't really know what I was looking for. I passed one resort after another and then the town/cafe, and I was clearly past most of Nimpo Lake's resort section.
I reasoned mistakenly that since it was only 6pm, that if I didn't find it soon, I would just ride on into Bella Colla for the night. But wait...there it was, a sign that Said Nimpo Lake Resort with an arrow and 3 KMs. I made the turn down the good dirt road. Way cool, it looked like I had found it.
I was soon introducing myself to Logan and Mary In the warmth of their house on the edge of beautiful Nimpo Lake. Mary invited me to get out of my gear and boots. Which I did even though I was embarrassed to show my burned socks. They got me a beer, and I shared my trip with them, and asked every question that I could think of about their life up there.
I learned that Mary moved up there thirty five year ago, and built the resort during the past 25 Year. They now have 3 rental cabins that are mostly spoken for in advance by return customers. There is also Mary and Logan's house and they are building another knew log cabin to move into. Logan has thrown Motorcycles to the wind for his new love of snowmobiles. Logan is getting his float plane license soon, as well. It never stops, those are busy folks up there.
As we talked I noticed Mary yawning. I snuck a look at my watch....hummmm only 7pm. I wondered just how early the folks went to bed around here. I asked something about time, and then was corrected about the actual time. Oh....so that was it, and no wonder I'm so tired. Mary and Logan said that I should stay in a room down stairs. Logan showed me how to turn the heating blanket on. I hadn't slept under a heated blanket since I moved to Ca in '53. Damn that bed felt good.
Seven AM showed up too soon. I had lied to Mary about being up at 6am, which is when they did get up every morning. But even being late, and the both of them having already eaten, Mary fixed me a Trout and eggs breakfast. I mean I could not have felt more welcome.
If you ever get the chance don't pass up Mary and Logan's 'Nimpo Lake Resort'. I can't guarantee that you will get a trout meal, but I can guarantee that you won't be sorry that you stopped by for a visit.
As I left that morning They warned me about the road turning to dirt and the 5000 ft drop down to the lower level where Bella Colla was located on the coast. As I recall there was 60 miles of dirt with a dirt 5000 ft hill (famous all over BC, known as 'The Hill') that switchbacked down to the bottom through a gorgeous 5 mile piece of canyon. This road, in many places, was not two cars wide as it climbed that hill. They also ran short trailered Semi truck traffic on that road. If you saw one of them coming, You looked for a wide spot to wait their passing.
I rode up the hill and on to Nimpo Lake, where I welcomed the pavement with an increase of speed and noted the following increase in enjoyment. I hadn't had lunch yet. I began to think of pie and ice cream. Lusted for, may have described it better, and the bakery at Hanceville was still to come.
The blue berry pie was excellent, together with the scoop of ice cream and coffee, $7 was fair, I would have paid more. Somehow the remoteness increased the joy of the experience.
I got to Williams Lake at around 5pm. I could call it an evening, so I rang up Mike Prestwich. He stuttered a bit before he said to come on over. I realize that I surprise him. He knew that I was in Alaska and maybe knew that I was at Nimpo lake last night. News travel fast with the internet these days, but my call was certainly a surprise. he had offered me a place to stay months earlier when we talked about this trip.
Anyway Mike said to wait for him he would meet me on his MC, and we would go get some steaks for dinner. OK, we go to the store and get steaks and beer. When I get to his house I learn that Mike has just brought his 17 year old daughter 300 miles home from surgery in Vancouver. They really don't need a house guest, but his wife and beautiful other 15 year old daughter fed me a steak dinner and after a few beers, found me an empty sofa down stairs.
It was a great evening with a really nice bunch of folks. I appreciated it to the max. This Motorcycle community is the best. Mike was gone to work when I left in the morning. I thanked his wife, and again headed south thinking that I was done with scenery and would easily make The USA and particularly the digs of Pete Naylor in Sedro Woolley, Wa.
Alaska: Part 17.....
I travel south on 97 along side of the Thompson river, and then further south through the Frasier Canyon of Hwy 1. Much of this was at elevations of 500 to a 1000 ft above the river level. It was an awesome ride, and the scenery was every bit as spectacular as any I had seen so far.
It was only 350 miles to pete's door step. I had an address, but figured to call him when I crossed the Border to give him at least a half hours warning. Pete had stayed a night with me when he rode to baja with me last January. He had offered me an overnight on this trip. I was figuing to take him up on it. I like Pete.
So anyway Pete says that he'll come pick me up. He shows up an hour later, that's cool. We take my bike up to his place, and he says that he want to show me around Puget Sound near his place. He was working on his Beemer so we went in his Miata.
I still haven't met Pete's wife. Seems as though there was no harmony with the misses at that time. Anyway we go all over hell creation down there. Pete took me out to Mt Erie which is a 1000 foot tall island where you can see forever in all directions. It was an awesome tour. We eventually get back to town and have some pizza and beer for diner in Sedro Woolley. We stretch the truth a bit about MC riding. Pete say that I have to take HWY 20 east and do a hundred mile loop around there in the morning and more........ Pete keeps me up till 11:00pm, and then he sneaks me into a spare bedroom and hides me under a pile of clean clothes that are on the bed.
I got up at 5:30 and snuck out of the house. Pete heard me at the door, and came to say goodbye till next time. I had been warm and dry all night. On a bike trip, that is always a bonus. But the rain that I left pete's house in, threatened to spoil any sight seeing that I might do today. I decided to just get on I-5 and get as far south as I could.
I wasn't early enough to beat Seattle traffic. I missed lane splitting as I spent time in slow traffic. Eventually I cleared all of Tacoma, and continued on south to below Vancouver WA where I stopped for a cup of coffee. There was a Jiffy lube that would change my oil right next door. That was 9500 miles on that oil, just a little overdue.
I ran in the rain till Just south of Portland, and then I caught a second wind. It looked like I could make Salinas tonightl with a little extra effort. Bill had said, when I called him, that I had a bed waiting, that was all the incentive that I needed.
In southern Oregon I, started to get dozy. I knew that that wouldn't get any better, unless I did something about it. I pulled off at an off ramp somewhere, and laid down in the weeds under a bush for shade for 20 minute.
I felt much better. Some six hours later, I called Bill from Stocton at 9pm to warn him. He said that I was only 2 hours away from him, and that he would wait up. I got lost in Hollister but finally arrived at his house by 11:30. We talked a bit, but I was really more interested in the bed inside. Mapquest said that I logged in a little over a thousand miles, and I felt like I had been dragged the whole distance through a knot hole.
I was really worn to a frazzle. I considered Salinas to be the end of the trip. This was my trip of a life time. I was sorry that I had to do a lot of it alone, for Bill's sake. I have a whole different appreciation of the Great White Northwest. The men that settled that land were on a different level. Get yourself up there as soon as you can. Boat, Plane, car, or cycle, you will not be disappointed.
That's all folks....I'll have pics up in a few days.
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