19 to 22 July Kms
travelled – 32,106
I welcomed in my 120th
day on the road with a leisurely stroll out of the bar in McCarthy, Alaska,
across the river footbridge and down to my chosen hostel for the night. I had really enjoyed my evening at the bar;
good food, good drink, and good company is always the best recipe. Surprisingly lively given the size of the
town, the bar sported a mix of locals, seasonal workers (who seemed the most up
for a relaxed party), and tourists. I
guess I fell into the latter category but I did, in fact, feel rather at
home. A strange place McCarthy, but one
that was capable of very quickly getting under your skin; I could spend some
real time here.
And it was also a
strange walk back to my bed too.
Although in the wee hours, there was still plenty of light to see the
way, and even try to take a few artistic photos (such are the effects of a good
drink – I suddenly found myself thinking I knew what I was doing with a camera
– oh how I laughed the following morning).
I was sharing a bunkroom with Tomas, a Czech chap who was in town for
the wondrous wandering that an Alaskan summer can offer – doing his own thing
but on two feet, not two wheels. I hope
I didn´t disturb him.
Indeed it was on two
feet that I spent much of the next day exploring the town, its history, and its
people (past and present). One of the
tiniest of places, having shrunk back into near nothingness following the
closure of the copper mines so many years back, it was curiously difficult to
wander down the dirt covered main street; I think it took me over an hour in
all to make that walk. I have rarely
been in a place that was so friendly, open and where people seemed to have such
a genuine interest in your story. I
can´t recall how many times I was stopped and engaged in conversation, most
definitely more often than I am in my home town. Was the word out that there was another
McCarthy in town, and that he was humbly following the footsteps of the late,
great writer Pete McCarthy? I don´t
think so... I´d like to think that
everyone encounters the same experience on arrival here.
But time eventually
ran out, and I had to make the walk back out of town, over the footbridge (bikes
and quads can cross it – but not cars) to the car park at the end of the
McCarthy road, ready to be collected and transported back to Idris in
Chitina. I was sad to say goodbye to
McCarthy – and realistically it was truly a goodbye. I was unlikely to journey this way
again. While I was already planning a
return to Alaska and the Yukon – I was simply having to leave too many things
undone here – but that would likely be a couple of weeks on a hire bike
focussed on places yet to see, rather than things already done. But who knows... never say never I guess.
The journey along the
McCarthy Road by minibus took around 3 hours, and it was well into the evening
by the time my cramped legs stretched down onto Idris´ all too familiar
footpegs. It was nice to be reunited,
even for the short run to find a bed for the night. But the journey along the McCarthy Road was
not without its highlights. There were
still some parts of the original rail bridges available to view, and a
reasonable dash of impressive wildlife too, including a most grand lady moose.
My views on the road
itself mirrored those of my KLR friend of a few days before. A whole lot of loose gravel, huge amounts of
dust, and lots of road works – plus punctures galore. We passed a few 4 wheelers doing the required
tyre changes, plus our own vehicle had had a puncture earlier that day on its
way out. While the driver insisted this
was nevertheless the best condition he had seen the road for years (as now the
potholes and washouts had been more or less filled), I would imagine that next
year (2013) would be a far better time to tackle the road on two wheels – once
a summer´s worth of traffic and a winter´s worth of snow and ice had compacted down
this relative gravel pit.
The next morning saw me
rise and on the road in good time for the trouble free and pleasant ride back
up to Tok. Which we simply rode past
this time as we headed east down a stretch of the Alaskan Highway that was both
new to us, having arrived in Alaska via a more northerly route, and in fact new
to everyone in places. There were quite
a lot of long patches of road works right through to the border with Canada and
beyond, leaving a real mix (again) of road surfaces to navigate. I guess they only get a short window each
year to make the necessary repairs.
Pitching up at a
roadside motel just before the border, I decided to stop for the day. I had made pretty good time, and the place
looked clean and well run. It also
turned out to be reasonably priced (for Alaska) and friendly too. Having settled in and had my meal for the
day, I spent the late afternoon and evening sat on the porch chatting with
travellers as they made their way through (it was also a fuel stop). It was here I met Michael from Ireland (originally)
and for the second half of his life, from Sydney. He was on his own round the world experience
(GS800) starting the Americas section at the top and heading down. Hopefully this blog will prove of some use to
him as he heads south. We also found that
we were booked on the same ferry to Bellingham, Seattle in a few days, so
plenty of time to catch up then. We also
spent a while chatting to Ignacio from the Canary Islands in Spain (Fazer), who
seemed quite buzzed to be able to chew the fat with someone in Spanish for a
while. Happy to oblige and buen viaje
tio!
The Alaskan Highway
on the Canadian side got a bit bumpy. It
was not so much pot holes that were causing the issue, but the regular and
often deep undulations that had my heart racing and wheels airborne at
times. I resigned myself to a slower and
more steady pace, not least as the compressive effect of bouncing up and down
on Idris´ well worked suspension was causing my long forgotten South American
back issue to flare up. Better get that
checked out when I get home... just in case.
The wind was also starting to pick up...
curious that this becomes more of a factor at the more extreme ends of
the earth.
This slower speed,
coupled with one stupid driver who insisted in driving right on my tail for
miles irrespective of the poor and changing road surface and local wildlife
which seemed to prefer the tarmac, meant that I started leaving all waiting
traffic pass me by at each enforced stop for road works. This happily left me with more time to chat
away to the people working the road stop signs.
It was at one of these signs, before a 2 km stretch of dirt road, that
the young chap shared a story of a bear and a bike.
Some two weeks earlier, during the wet
weather that had been plaguing the area throughout June, a solo rider on a
GS1200 had passed through the road works riding relatively slowly due to the
poor (dirt) road conditions, when a large grizzly leaped from the roadside and
paw-swiped him from his machine. Rider
and bike went down pretty hard. The bear
went down even harder, as the construction crew on seeing the incident drew
their weapons and killed the freaked animal lest it go for the injured
ABR. It was reported that the bike was a
wreck, but the rider survived with a few bumps and bruises only. I was waved on with a warning to watch the
roadsides, just in case. And this
thought gave rise to another as the question came to mind: Do bears, you know, do their business in the
woods? It seems, from my Alaskan Highway
experience, that they don´t – but in fact undertake the majority of their
ablutions at the side of the road! This
did nothing more than reinforce my view that I should not stay long in the land
of the bear... well, at least not
without a rapid means of escape. I must
confess, they still scare me.
But as thoughts
wandered in and out of my busy mind, miles rolled by, and it wasn´t long before
I was struggling to a halt around Destination Bay (which seemed more like a
lake to me, but what do I know). That
northerly wind had continued to rise in strength, and after crossing the plains
of a wide river valley a few times, my muscles were starting to feel the
strain. As I pulled into the fuel stop,
filled up and rolled on to a more sheltered parking spot, I noted that I was
not the only two wheeler feeling the same.
Bikes were rolling in and parking up every few minutes, including a
lovely German couple (GS800s) on their round the world epic, who spent much
time complaining about the quality of BMW dealership mechanics. It seems that after over 18 months on the
road so far, the only mechanical issues they had encountered were the result of
sloppy workmanship by BMW. Needless to
say, they were now doing all their own maintenance. And then Michael rolled in too – so much coffee
was drunk and chatting undertaken, before we decided that the wind had eased
sufficiently to move on.
I left Michael find
his own pace, and settled back into my mile munching rhythm. It was not long
before Haines Junction came into sight, and after consulting a local about
alternative overnight stops, I decided to pitch up at a friendly motel with a
Chinese restaurant. Sat outside supping
a local beer it was curious to see the sky showing the hazy reddish signs of
the wildfire raging in Siberia!
I awoke and packed
really early for the run down to Haines – along the famed Haines Highway – a
National Scenic Highway (I wasn´t exactly sure what that meant, but it sounded
impressive).
A number of ABRs I had met along
my travels from as far south as Argentina had highlighted this road as
something to be done. But I was
strangely nervous as I headed out of town for the first 10 miles or so of dirt
road (roadworks again). This would be
the last ´real´ road I would be riding as part of this adventure. I was getting those end of the journey jitters,
worrying about doing something silly and missing the boat, then missing my
flight, then missing my wedding anniversary – something I promised both my long
suffering wife, and myself, that I would not do no matter what.
But as the road
rolled by, and the scenery opened up, I lost track of all my worries. This road had started with dirt, but was now
paved with the most wonderful of blackstuff.
Quick and rolling bends brought us each time to new vistas that took the
breath away. Each turn of the head, as
we rose steadily towards the mountain pass, what like a photo shot. You could spend days here capturing the
wonder of snow capped mountains, green grass and tree filled valleys, bubbling
mountain streams bursting over polished rock, with herds of horses prancing
behind. Amazing. Then glaciers. Then jagged, ragged rocks jutting in to the
sky. Then more open plains setting out
the winding road before us.
And then a
grizzly bear... what! Yep, a grizzly with two young... right by the side of the road. I rode on.
I stopped. With one hand I
pointed the camera behind and started snapping away, trying to get a good shot,
while covering the bikes controls ready for a speedy departure. A wonderful sight, and I am so grateful to
Canada for permitting me to experience that before I left its shores.
Then the ride pushed
downwards, through narrowing tree-lined valleys. Through the border once more into Alaska, and
then we were rolling left and right along a wonderful road which matched the
wide river bed´s track through the fiord-like mountains. I must confess I turned around and re-sampled
this 10 mile stretch a second (and third) time. It was a perfect day, no traffic, wonderful road and incredible
scenery. Even Idris´ dodgy front tyre
didn´t hold back the fun as we came again to the side of the eagle reserve
where, in autumn, thousands of these incredible creatures compete with the
bears in feeding on the last salmon runs of the year. Ah, I thought, that´s what a National Scenic
Highway is – and what an understatement!
And then it was
Haines and, as I rolled into town, I reflected on how good I felt. I noted I was sporting the widest of grins; a
smile that I probably couldn´t shake even if I tried (which I didn´t). My aches, pains, worries and woes had all
been blasted away on the Haines Highway.
It was probably one of the best roads I have ever ridden, certainly one
of the best riding experiences of my life.
It is hard to get across to non-bikers how something like this
feels. Petrol therapy – to the max!
Thought for the day
It was during the evening
that I stayed in the motel near the Alaskan / Canadian border that the news of
the multiple shooting at the Dark Knight film premier in Aurora, Montana, came
through. Some crazy had gone... just
that! And after stockpiling munitions
for months, had unleashed his anger on an unsuspecting movie crowd of young and
old alike. The young student couple who
were working at the motel for the summer were from Montana, and the horrific
events became the topic of discussion for the evening.
Not surprisingly the
subject came back around to rights verses regulation. I can see both sides, and I´ve noted our
friends in the US are generally more protective of their civil liberties than
people I have encountered in Europe. And
generally they don´t respond well to big government telling them what they can
and can´t do. That said, just because
you have the right to carry arms, does that mean that you should? Is it true that a vast majority of weapons
used in criminal activity in the USA are, in fact, stolen from legitimate gun
owners? If there were less legitimate
guns sitting around, would less people be able to use them for criminal purposes?
Also, I subscribe to
the view that government, and in many respects society in general, is there to
protect the weak. It is this capacity to
look after those who are less able clearly separates us from most other animals
(which, on the whole, tend to discard their weak). I am supporting UNICEF´s work because they do
just that – they protect and support kids around the world who are under
threat. Taking the point a step further,
if government/organised society is there to protect, then consequently laws and
cultural dictates should principally focus on protection of those who may be at
risk. If there is no risk to others,
then no law should be imposed – leaving instead personal choice. Violent aggression within society is considered
illegal. It is illegal to protect and
prevent violence against those less able to defend themselves. If, however, everyone is armed then you could
argue that everyone is able to defend themselves to a reasonable degree and,
therefore, societal interventions are unnecessary. Sounds a bit like the wild-west, doesn´t it?
The still hotly
contested question remains in the US about the balance between what you can do
and what you should. I pondered this
question as I rode the miles – and could only come to the conclusion that
greater regulation was necessary. More
detailed checks, linked databases, and waiting periods would not remove the
right to own guns (well, not for law abiding citizens), but it could only help
flag up when a possible nutter was stockpiling fully automatic munitions! Curious what you think about when you have
time with yourself.
These were my
thoughts.
