16 to 18 July Kms
travelled – 31,021
I made it! I really did it! As my skin was tingling with the icy wind, my
body was infused with a genuinely warming glow as I mentally punched the sky
and silently whooped and hollered – not that there was anyone around to frown
or tut even if I had vented my feelings externally. For I
had just crossed the mightily chilly and most northerly of border crossing in
the whole of the Americas, and quickly caught sight of the most fantastic of
signs. A sign of appropriate proportion
to help celebrate and bring home to me that I had successfully completed my sixth
and final ´must do´ of Pat Around the Americas.
I had traversed the
Top of the World Highway and was feeling on top of the world myself as the
camera clicked away to evidence the achievement. I was in Alaska... after 117 days of travel and crossing some
20,000 miles of hard worn road... I was
here. I had taken Idris (or had Idris
taken me?) from pretty much the bottom of the world, right up to pretty much
the top. I had a tear in my eye as relief
stripped from me in waves, leaving me somewhat numbed but happy... oh so happy.
But I am getting
ahead of myself here. When we left the last
episode I was fretting about pretty much everything that crossed my mind as I
counted down to my departure from Dawson City. That departure came early the next morning as I was
unable to sleep through the whole of the light night. 7 am and I was sat on Indris´ back waiting
for the non-stop free ferry to work its way across the fast flowing Yukon river.
A smile and a wave from the ferry staff, and
we were away with engines running full tilt and nose pointing upstream as the
boat slid sideways across the watery gap.
The off-load was
uneventful, as was the climb up the mountainside (past one of the local
campsites) towards the Top of the World Highway. An interesting name for a road, and one which
I was given to believe not only stemmed from the fact that we were now in the
extreme north of the country, but also from the fact that the road had been
built right along the top ridges of the surrounding hills. A fact that was confirmed as soon as we had
arrived at the top of the mountain and started heading west.
I had also been told
that the road had been built this way to keep costs down and increase the speed
of construction, as it had been put in place by the US army (yep, we were still
in Canada) who were concerned about alternative supply routes should Alaska be
attacked by the Japanese during the Second World War. Unfortunately while the road was originally
sealed, it has not been maintained for many years (aside from the run uphill from
the river) and now was rapidly reverting back into dirt and stone. In fact the patches of road that had already
succumbed to time and weather were easier to ride than the ad-hoc patches of
crumbling pot-holed tarmac. If it wasn´t
for the cold wind, low cloud and rain, you could have placed this run somewhere
between Ecuador and Guatemala. What a
shame I was unable to sample the sights offered by riding a road along mountain
tops, but I was pretty much alone on this ride and I was determined not to go
crazy and blow the project at the final hurdle.
Needless to say that
the weather got worse, colder, wetter, cloudier, as the ride progressed... and when I finally (and somewhat suddenly)
arrived at the simple US border post I really was ready for a break and a
chance to have a warm. But nope! Perhaps being stuck out in the middle of
nowhere with a cold wind and no view is some sort of punishment for the customs
officials – and this chap was taking it personally! This grumpy sort insisted I stand next to the
bike in full blast of the mountain top wind (rather than 3 feet to the left in
the shade of the building) while I
handed him my paperwork – and then wait there while he went inside
to take 20 minutes processing it! He
even came back out to move me back into the cold, as I had inched into a bit of
shelter while waiting! Sorry fella, but
there might be a reason you were posted to one of the most remote borders
around!
But as you will have
noted earlier, I did cross over after confirmation that I was not carrying any
guns... or firewood! Perhaps it is something about my personality,
but a distinct chill seems to rapidly sap away any charitable feelings I may
usually have. On being asked whether I
was carrying any firewood, I quipped about how cold it was waiting outside, and
agreed how nice it would be to get a good fire going.
My comments were met with a blank stare,
then a wave on my way (plus a warning about the quality of the road ahead, in
fairness). Hey ho!
And while the cloudy
mountainside harboured no change, the fact we were now in a different country was
immediately noticeable through the road surface. The road to Chicken (yep, Chicken) was
maintained, but unsealed. In the dry
this would be a fantastic surface to ride.
Some light dust, but generally smooth hard packed dirt and stones. But it wasn´t dry, and Idris and I resigned
ourselves to picking through a road surfaced with an inch or two of orange
gravel porridge, with a poorly tread front tyre! Though as we descended through rolling hills
the weather improved a bit, the road dried a bit, and we relaxed into the ride
a bit satisfied that despite a couple of front wheel slides we had held it
together and were still going.
Imagine my surprise,
given that we had ridden pretty much out of sight of anyone else for the first
half of the morning, when arriving in Chicken to a great crowd of ABRs rolling
up within minutes. In fact, within half
an hour (during which the BMW boys from the last episode had also rolled up)
there must have been around 40 bikes and bikers chewing the fat and swigging
the free coffee. And the good news was, from
the Harley riders who had come east, we were back to tarmac again in less than
2 miles!
I took my time in
Chicken, and enjoyed chatting to many like minded folk, but I was not going to
stop here the night. I was heading for
Tok, where I planned to stop at Youngs Motel, next to Fast Eddy´s restaurant –
a famed must stop place for bikers. This
would not have amounted to a great total distance this day but, as I had found in South America, poor weather
and emotional moments seemed to impact on how much I could comfortably move in
one day. And I had heard the weather was
closing in again, so we rolled out of Chicken to the sight of many waves and
congrats on the achievement from a great, though diverse bunch of people.
The road to Tok would
have been a great rolling ride on a calm day, but that bad weather had indeed
closed in and the surrounding hills were channelling the capricious wind into
storm-force gusts. Arrival at Fast
Eddy´s couldn´t have come soon enough, and after settling in to my room, I
found myself sharing a beer and later dinner with those great (BMW) guys from
Edelweiss / Motoquest Tours. They were
doing a 2 week tour starting in Anchorage, riding out into the Yukon, around
the pan-handle, through Whitehorse (where I had first seen them), up to Dawson,
across the Top of the World, through to Fairbanks, then up the Dawson Highway
into the arctic circle and Prudhoe Bay, before finishing back at Alaska´s
capital. And what a capital tour that
sounded.
Me, I treated myself
to a lay-in and a rest day in Tok. I had
to make a decision. I had completed my
last ´must do´ but I had enough time remaining to do only one of my ´would
really like to do´ tasks in Alaska. Ride
the Dawson Highway into the Arctic Circle, or take the Road to McCarthy. Hmmm, I needed to think more on this. I could not afford to return the bike from
Alaska, so that meant either a ride to Seattle or the 4 day ferry down. The latter was a little more costly, but
saved time, and as that was now also at a premium, I needed to book myself a place
on the boat – which leaves the Alaskan pan-handle towns of Haines and Skagway
only once a week. Having made that
booking, and also sorting my own flight home, I then counted back how many days
I had left.
3 days only to ride
around Alaska! How part of me envied the BMW guys, and how part of me was so
glad to be going home! Was it to be the arctic
circle or McCarthy? I only had the time
for one, and I couldn´t decide... so I
tossed a coin. No, I really did... threw it up in the air and everything. Left to the lap of the
gods, I found myself sitting in Fast Eddy´s ordering dinner and planning the
Road to McCarthy. And just then an anniversary edition BMW GS1200 Adventure pulled up
outside, right next to my window seat. I
know that bike, I thought, and as the rider pulled off his helmet and waved, I
know that guy too I thought. Back in the
midst of northern Chile´s desert, I met Guiermo from Argentina at a shady
watering hole. We had different travel
plans and differing timetables, but here he was rolling into Tok the same time as me months and
continents later! Needless to say much
catching up was done over dinner – what a lovely chap... what a great encounter! If you are interested in what he´s been upto, take a look at the link on the right to his website: la respuesta esta en el camino (the answer´s in the journey). Wise words.
An unremarkable start
the following morning led to an unremarkable ride out from Tok. I had some distance to do today, Alaska being
pretty big and all that, with not that many roads crossing it, I just had to
dig in a go. But it I was not going
long, before I was stopping again. An
hour or two out of Tok and I was standing by the side of the road enjoying the
most wonderful sight of a male moose having his morning feed – what an incredible
animal – the sight of which set my mood up for the day.
A couple of hours
later I was stopping at a general store, where I was instructed to help myself
to coffee, take a seat, and join in with the local banter. Alaskan folk certainly enjoy a good joke, and
seem generally well humoured – but there again, perhaps you have to be of a
positive disposition when it drops to some minus 60 outside? The roads were, well, of mixed quality. Nowhere near the sort of standards you see in
the lower 48 states, but there they don´t have the extremes of weather and low population
density. But they were OK, and providing
you were not in too much of a hurry, you can eat into the miles at a steady
pace once you get into the zone!
It was, therefore,
somewhat a bit of a jolt from my ´riding zone´ to come across a loaded KLR 650
on the side of the road, with an ABR wielding tools. We were not far from the start of
the famed McCarthy Road – built with dirt and gravel atop an old copper mine
rail line. A lovely Alaskan chap,
retired and veteran ABR, was simply doing a routine chain adjustment having
completed the run to McCarthy. But his
advice and description of the road ahead gave me pause.
It seemed the entire road was
in the process of being graded - where road workers dump fresh dirt and gravel
onto the surface in a bid to even out pot holes and bumps. A good thing you might think, but when you only
have 2 wheels the freely moving new surface provides for more excitement on a long
ride than this ABR was looking for this day.
Indeed, it had taken Mr KLR over 3 hours to do the 65 mile stretch, with
all the roadworks etc involved. And he
was not that impressed with the sights along the way either (seemed that much
of the road was closed in by trees on both sides, so few moments to enjoy the
views). If you are only going to
McCarthy the once, he suggested, then you should fly and take in the glaciers
on the way... so I did!
Recommendations from
the flight company saw me getting a cheap place to stay in McCarthy. And with Idris parked up safe and sound at
the airport, and $130 lighter, I was in the air for the most spectacular 30
minutes of air travel I have ever encountered... really!
If you find yourself in this area, take a trip with Wrangel Mountain Air;
you won´t be disappointed. Only seconds
into the sky in the small 6 seater craft, and I could see that Mr KLR knew what
he was talking about. And after coming
into land, finding my bed at ´Brad´s´ place, and walking into McCarthy´s Bar – I
finally felt I had come to the end of my journey.
Thought for the day
It was curious that
despite my elation at reaching Alaska, I didn´t feel that sense of completion
until I had arrived in McCarthy. And it
was also curious that my final arrival in town was not on the back of Idris, but
through the wing of a plane. It made
sense though. The 20,000 mile solo run
on the bike from Tierra del Fuego to Alaska was very much a bike challenge –
but my arrival in McCarthy seemed more by way of completion of my mental journey.
The late, great Pete McCarthy´s outstanding
book The Road to McCarthy was one of my key inspirations for reaching up from
South America towards Alaska – and I felt it was fitting that fate dictated I
make my stop and turn around here, in a town of my name, rather than at a
signpost by the side of the road. It also helped that the town´s bar was jumping, stocked a most excellent McCarthy´s
whiskey, and the people there didn´t so much as bat an eyelid as I flamed up the
Cuban cigar I had been smuggling across borders since Colombia.
My trip was complete... I felt it in my bones, muscles, heart and
mind. It was time to go home.
