Into Alaska

When last I wrote, I was in Dawson City. That was over two weeks ago! I’ve been (happily) short on time and internet access recently. Now oh man, I’ve got a bit of typing to do!

Leaving Dawson City is every bit as fun as getting there. The west-bound trip starts with a short ferry ride across the Yukon River; the ferry delivers its passengers to the beginning of the Top of the World Highway. “Top of the World” is a fitting phrase, as the road often follows mountain ridgelines. The upshot to this of course is the opportunity of great views everywhere. And although other roads are constructed similarly (Skyline Drive, for example), the Top of the World Highway is often through tundra or above tree line, so little can block the excellent views, save clouds or darkness. Fortunately the clouds were at bay that day and the sun was working around the clock that month.

A couple hours of riding delivered me to the Alaska border, where I showed my passport, set my watch back one hour and prepared for the road to turn from tidy to challenging. On the Canada side, the road is mostly chip-sealed with a few gravel sections. On the US side, gravel, dirt and potholes prevail. What fun! At least on a monster dirt bike.

I passed through Chicken Alaska, a town that seems to pride itself on having just about the lowest possible year-round population (single digits). I wonder how voting works out in that town. . .

After another couple hours of heading southwest, I met up again with the Alaska Highway and headed northwest to Fairbanks, where a large regional Harley Davidson rally was wrapping up. At my hotel, I met a bunch of nice H-D riders, including brothers John and Tom who I would see again off and on for the next several days.

The next day I started off from Fairbanks at about 10AM and headed north for the Dalton Highway. I had initially planned to ride the entire road to its end at Deadhorse, just shy of the Artic Sea’s Prudhoe Bay. But as with the Dempster Highway two days prior, once I was actually at the right spot, I wasn’t inspired to ride to the edge of the earth. I’m not sure why. Maybe I want to look forward to that for another day. Maybe I don’t want to ever see it, just in case it really is made of cheese. Maybe I’m too wound up and don’t want to take the time. Lots of maybes. I respect the ride and those who make it; it just isn’t for me (now).

But I did spend a few hours on the Dalton, just to take a look. I had planned to ride as far as the artic circle but while stopped at a construction site (with a wait time of at least half hour – both ways), I noticed some menacing clouds gathering. My understanding of the Dalton (and the Dempster and other ‘highways’) is that they become amazingly sloppy when wet. I turned back south.

At the bottom of the Dalton Highway, I stopped to top up the air in my tires and chat with a couple other motorcyclists. And after a moment, two people on bicycles came down of the Dalton. The bicyclists were at the beginning of a two year trip that will take them from the top of North America to South America’s Tierra Del Fuego. TWO YEARS! . . .and to start their trip, they rode from Fairbanks up to Deadhorse, just so they could officially cover the western hemisphere nose to tail. In speaking with these people, I was absolutely humbled. I most definitely didn’t share my “what’s the point?” perspective on riding to the top of the Dalton highway (that’s something that I’m sharing only with you and only in private, so shhhhh).

I looked to the sky again and quickly jumped on my bike. Still about an hour and a half out of Fairbanks I got dumped on harder than ever before while on a motorcycle. The Super 8 looked pretty darn super when I saw it.

I cleaned myself up a bit, then ran into John and Tom. They too had been caught in the rain. In fact they encountered hail. And since John was enjoying the no-helmet-law aspect of Alaska, he could quite vividly recount the size and frequency of the hail that hit him in the head. Ouch!

Over dinner, the three of us decided to head south together the following morning. They wanted to make it to Anchorage the next day and I was happy to be on my way south.

We left as planned and decided to stop briefly at Denali National Park. We rode in for the fifteen miles accessible to public vehicles, then returned to the highway. I wasn’t in much of a hurry so I decided to poke around the area a bit more while my new friends headed south.

I did end up making it to Anchorage that evening, in part because I couldn’t find appealing overnight options to the north. And when I recalled learning that the Anchorage Harley Davidson dealership allows for motorcyclists to camp on their property, I decided to head on down.

Anchorage’s House of Harley shares a parking lot with the Alaska Rider bike tour & rental company. Although the Harley shop was closed for night when I arrived, a few folks were still at the Alaska Rider shop. I knew for sure that I was in good hands when I pulled up and the first thing they did was offer me a “nice local beer.” Yes. Yes!

I’m not sure how much to talk up the Harley shop. My first impulse is to tell you all how friendly the people there are. And how they don’t care about what you ride, only that you ride. And that you can camp for free. And that as a camper you have 24 hour access to a secure bathroom and a hot shower. But if I were to tell you all those things, then maybe we’d overcrowd the place and a good thing would become over utilized. So I’ll just say that if you are visiting Anchorage by motorcycle, you should definitely stop by the Harley shop and have a cup of coffee and some good conversation. (oops, did I just tell you that they have free coffee?). And when you are there, be sure to talk to their finance manager Bob, who’s quite possibly reading this as he is a dual sport/BMW motorcycle forum type of guy. (In other words, thanks again Bob!).

I spent the next full day based out of the Harley shop’s camping area, as did a few other motorcyclists. It seems that several of us had been traveling for a while and welcomed a warm sunny day when we could tinker with our bikes, making repairs and adjustments. I visited Alaska Leather, where I picked up a sheep skin seat cover for the bike. The covers reportedly provide a huge upgrade to the comfort of any seat – I agree that it’s an improvement.

I slept in a bit the next morning and opened my tent flap to discover that I had been abandoned. All six other campers had hit the road. I had one more day to kill in town, so I got back to the business of running. I ran for maybe 10 miles (RME quantity pending) and when I returned to the Harley shop, I was greeted by John and Tom. “We found your bike, so then we started looking for you.” Small world!

Later that afternoon I headed over to a B&B where Anna had made a reservation for us to stay. I had a lot of work to do to clean my bike, my clothes and myself before her flight arrived late that night.

Dawson City and the Dempster Highway

Leaving Whitehorse (on my new bumpy tire), I turned north off the Alaska Highway in the direction of Dawson City, a place that I visited five years ago and would like to return to from time to time.

I was recently asked why I like Dawson. And I was recently asked to tell the ran-out-of-gas story from 2002. These items go well together. After fueling up my beloved “The Chief” (my old camper) in Whitehorse, I refueled once along the way, but then passed by another gas station, faithfully anticipating that The Chief’s fuel capacity (never truly tested before, and there was no reliable gas gauge to assist with such things) would deliver Griffin and I to the next town, Dawson. With maps and road signs to help judge distances, I figured that I was roughly twenty miles south of town when The Chief began to sputter. Although there were few placed to pull off the road, luck delivered a The Chief-sized road-side gravel patch where I parked my home, walked Griff, gave him some food, put on my running shoes, grabbed my (empty – grrrrr) gas can and set out for a little evening jog.

Not fifty feet from The Chief, a car approached from the south. I held up the (empty – booooo) gas can and made some sort of gesture that identified me as a helpless tourist. The driver stopped and offered me a ride to town, and since she was on her way to drop her daughter off and was then to return, she offered me a ride back to the camper. Not only did she have the consideration to take me to the most reasonably-priced station in town, but she gave me a tour of the place, which she was quite qualified to do as she worked at the town’s information center.

I’ve not forgotten the hospitality that greeted me to Dawson City. And that same spirit seems to persist among most everyone in town, year-round residents, summer-time workers and tourists alike. Add the facts that the town is at the confluence of the Klondike and Yukon Rivers, that it is seated among rolling green mountains and that it presents a top-notch restoration of its gold-mining past – and I am sold. This is a great place (at least in the summer).

When in town the last time, I stayed in an in-town campground, which made sense since I was in an RV. But I recall visiting a pub named Bombay Peggy’s. It was in a restored (and relocated) house that also serves as an inn. The building has had a number of uses in the past but it seems to be celebrated most for the time that it served as a brothel. In 2002, I decided that if I were to return to Dawson, I would stay at Bombay Peggy’s. And so I have. This is my third and last night here. I’ve enjoyed the inn and the pub, but I have not even inquired about other services which have most likely been discontinued.

I’ve enjoyed my stay in Dawson. Again, the town is hospitable and charming. Highlights have been going on several runs including one to the top of Dawson’s Midnight Dome, where people flock to celebrate the 24-hour sunshine on the summer solstice, just a few days away!

Earlier today I took a ride about 75 miles up the Dempster Highway, where the word “highway” translates best to “gravel road.” The ride north on the Dempster shows the transition from forested land to tundra. TUNDRA! . . .where the latitude is sufficient that the tree line drops below the ground level. To continue on the Dempster would deliver one to the artic circle and then eventually to Inuvik. I did not go so far as either of these. I’ve got a couple reasons for that, but I’m very happy that I went as far as I did. To the top perhaps on another day.

To complete the ran-out-of-gas story, I should mention that my (empty – argghhh!) gas can held only two gallons. The Chief did well to get ten miles to the gallon. There was no assurance that I would make it to town even with the spare gas! Turns out that we were closer to fifteen miles out of town, but still pulled in on little more than fumes.

On this trip I know my vehicle’s range and I don’t pass gas stations without knowing I can make it to the next. My GPS helps!