1 – 10 August 2012
Shirley: The internet is a fantastic thing. Online we’ve arranged to meet up with Ken and Carol and Dave and Mike, two brash young Aussies doing a charity ride to raise money for disadvantaged kids they’ve called ‘Adelaide to Anchorage’. We’re getting together at Thompson’s Eagle Claw Motorcycle Campground, a rustic motorcycle-only campground in the small township of Tok, Alaska.
There’s no power, no showers, not even running water, but it’s not just somewhere to pitch a tent. The owners have put up two cabins, a tepee, a hard-sided tent and an old ambulance if you’d rather something more solid than your tent. It’s a beautiful, quiet spot set among the trees. It’s got amazingly clean drop toilets, huge containers of drinking water, a gas burner and masses of firewood. There’s a solitary power point at the end of a lead dangling from the power pole at the edge of the property.
Mike and Dave left Australia a little after we left Melbourne, and while we’ve been corresponding on the email we’ve never met. Dave’s already here when we arrive, sitting outside one of the cabins enjoying the sunshine. He encountered the same officious guard at the border as us and was interrogated for more than an hour, mainly because at 30, he‘s too young to be travelling without having to work. Even with his tourist visa and a ticket out of the US back to Australia the official was reluctant to let him into Alaska. I guess there are advantages to being older.
Ken, Carol and Mike are still on the road from the border. Somehow, over the past week, we’ve got ahead of them on the road. Mike’s been held up further south waiting for parts for his motorcycle so Dave rode on ahead, taking his time, while Mike has put in some long days to catch up.
Six Aussies together — it’s going to be a big night. Just like any BBQ at home there’s cold beers, meat and salad. By the time Ken, Carol and Mike arrive we have to head out to get more beer. It’s a raucous night, sitting around the fire talking and laughing. Around 11.30 it gets a little dark — the moon rises and moves a tiny way across the sky and disappears. There’s not much darkness up here, even though we’re past the 24 hours of daylight.
Ken and Carol bumped into David and John in Whitehorse so it wasn’t them involved in the bear incident. That’s good news.
We toss up staying another night here but we’re itching to get to Prudhoe Bay.
Brian: It’s a much quieter campground this morning with lots of shabby people. I’m not the first up, someone’s thrown a couple of logs on the fire. One by one we all surface and cook up bacon, eggs and toast on the open fire. All that’s missing is a shower.
We move on to Fairbanks. During the summer university break you can rent rooms at the Fairbanks University for just US $71 per night and that’s pretty cheap up here.
On the ride up we spot a moose on the side of the road. We’ve been told they’re extremely dangerous and can turn over a small car if riled. I hate to think what they’d do to a motorcycle.
On the outskirts of Fairbanks there’s a road sign to Santa Claus Lane. We can’t resist it and have to investigate. It turns out we’re in North Pole, Alaska.
Shirley: I love Christmas, so a visit to Santa Claus House is just about compulsory for me. Santa’s in residence so we get a couple in the queue to take a photo of us with the jolly gent. Just as you would expect, Santa’s very nice. We think he’s suffering from beard envy, though. Brian’s beard is much longer than Santa’s.
This store is a blast. There’s Christmas stuff everywhere and you can even ask Santa to write a letter to little ones at home.
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The uni accommodation is fine. The room has two beds, two desks, two cupboards and 20 power points. You could power the world here! The wifi is free. The laundry is free and there’s a kitchen somewhere.
Rather than cook we’ll eat out. Brian heads out to find somewhere nearby for dinner and he’s gone for ages. He’s been chatting. David and John have just arrived and we meet them at the uni pub for a drink. We talk travel, of course. David and John would like to come to Prudhoe Bay with us. This is going to be one hell of a trip.
An SMS comes through from Nicole and Christian. They’re at the Go North Hostel in town with Jens and Kati. There’s some synchronicity in meeting them at the top of the world after spending Christmas with them at the bottom of the world.
It’s wonderful to see them again and the hostel is a great location. There’s a grassed area where we can camp so we’ll move in here tomorrow, Friday. It’s the perfect starting off point for our assault on the Arctic Ocean.
Kati’s hurt her neck and the chiropractor’s ordered her off the bike for three days, so if all goes well we’ll be on the road to the Arctic Circle on Tuesday.
They’re an interesting bunch at the hostel: there’s Ollie, a rather dapper British architect who’s backpacking around Alaska; there’s Tony from southern USA who claims to kill squirrels and boil them up for his dinner — certainly whatever he cooks in his pot looks most unappetising; there’s Kon, an Aussie who’s just bought a bike and plans to ride around the US and South America for the next three years; and there’s us.
The local Safeway is the place to bump into travellers. There’s free wifi and everyone congregates here. We bump into the Brits we met at Hyder. Two of them fell off on the road to Prudhoe Bay, moving from one muddy wheel rut in the road to another. It sounds like a slippery version of Ruta 40 in Argentina.
Brian: This is a test for man, woman and tent. It’s cold and it’s raining, yet we’re warm in the sleeping bags and the tent doesn’t leak. Even Shirl has praise for our camping gear. There are no mozzies, but maybe that’s because it’s raining.
Ken and Carol won’t be here for another day. Jens and Kati can’t ride for another couple of days. Sick and tired of waiting, we decide to head south to Denali National Park with John, David, Nicole and Christian. It’s in the opposite direction to the one we’ll take to the Arctic, but we’ll go stir crazy if we sit around Fairbanks any longer.
It’s stopped raining when we hit the road for Clear Sky where the local saloon’s bar has the catchy name ‘I’ll only have one more … I swear’. There’s no one inside except the ladies of the local sewing circle. Shirl gets talking to them about the craftwork she does. They present her with a piece of Alaskan material, decorated with local animals, to make into something when we get home. It’s a lovely gesture, but something else to pack onto the bike.
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There are more road works on the way to Denali. The stop/go girl points out the spot on the horizon where Mt McKinley, the highest mountain in North America, should be. It’s shrouded in cloud. Of course, she tells us, you could see it this morning.
Shirley: Riding in Denali National Park we see caribou with huge racks, as the locals call their antlers. You can see them bobbing above the long grass while they’re eating. They’re protected here but in other parts of Alaska they’re hunted for their racks, even though they shed them every year. I just don’t get hunting animals for sport. No one will ever be able to explain to me why it’s fun or challenging. I just don’t get hunting — full stop.
We don’t see any bears but we know they’re here. A photographer was killed by a bear a couple of weeks ago; when they found his camera they discovered he’d been walking towards the bear taking photos rather than keeping his distance. It seems like he asked for it, but the bear had to be killed.
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Coming out of the National Park John signals that he’s going into the park office and will catch us up.
Further down the highway there are a few cars pulled over. Two moose are feeding in the shallows of a stream, dunking their heads deep into the water. The mother and young male don’t pay the slightest bit of attention to everyone watching them and taking pictures. People hunt moose here. It must be like shooting cows, they’re such easy targets. I still don’t get it.
There’s no sign of John but we can’t wait any longer. We need to find somewhere to camp for the night and end up at the remote Denali North View Campground. We’re the only ones here. There’s still no sign of John and no sign of Mt McKinley. He’s on the road somewhere, and it’s still hiding in the clouds.
We’re all a bit worried about John except David who says he’ll be fine, assuring us he’s used to travelling on his own. Nicole’s so thoughtful she makes up a handwritten sign and puts it on the campground gate for John, just in case he passes by.
The bugs are bad and no amount of repellent deters them. Then the rain comes. Nicole and Christian set up a tarp on the back of their Land Rover, making a cosy shelter. The boys get the fire going and we cook up some chilli for dinner. A glass of red, good company — it doesn’t get much better than this. When we turn in there’s still no sign of John.
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The rain’s stopped overnight but still no sign of Mt McKinley or John. Rather than taking the highway back to Fairbanks we take a dirt road past the snow-capped mountains. The sky is the purest blue with wispy clouds dancing across it. There are a couple of glaciers on the way. Yet again, it’s the most incredible scenery.
Even though it’s worth the ride, it’s not an easy one. There are real waves in the road surface and the suspension bottoms out a few times. Brian has to take his time.
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Back at Go North we finally catch up with John. He has an incredible tale to tell. He missed our sign and camped about 10 kilometres up the highway in the woods on the side of the road. During the night he was woken by the sound of his helmet crashing off the bike onto the ground. When he looked out of the tent he saw a bear knocking it around the clearing. He chased it off with his torch. Bloody hell! Little wonder he reckons he didn’t get much sleep after that.
Brian: It’s all doom and gloom at Go North. It’s been raining today and Ken’s heard that it’s snowing at Atigun Pass in the Brooks Range. He reckons there’s six inches of snow up there and we have to ride through the pass to get to the Arctic Circle and Prudhoe Bay.
Ken and Carol have decided against making the trek north and he’s trying to convince us not to go. I can feel myself getting frustrated. We’ve come this far and we’re not going to be daunted by some bloody snow. If we can’t get through the pass, then so be it. But we’re going to give it our best shot.
We spent days in Smithers worrying that the weather would be against us getting to Prudhoe Bay and it may well be, but I want to see it for myself.
Jens and Kati don’t want to risk it either. The dirt roads might be too difficult for Kati with her bad neck.
So it’ll just be the six of us again. And we’re up for it!
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Wednesday, August 8 — an auspicious day. Today we’re beginning our ride to the top. It’s raining and miserable, of course. We bid farewell to Ken, Carol, Jens and Kati and hit the road — a convoy of three BMWs and the Land Rover.
Riding out of Fairbanks the cloud’s low and it looks like we’re going to have a rotten ride up. Maybe Ken was right. Then, a few kilometres out of town, the sun breaks through and it’s a glorious day.
The road follows the Alaska Oil Pipeline much of the way. It hugs the road and sometimes disappears into the hill and appears again on the other side. It’s close and then it’s far away. The pipeline carries crude oil from the oilfields at Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, 1,200 kilometres to the south, an incredible feat of engineering. There’s a sign along the way warning that the FBI investigates all damage to the pipeline.
The Dalton Highway, also known as the haul road, was made famous by the Ice Truckers TV series. These drivers take on the road in all conditions, not just the summer months like the tourists. The highway crosses the mighty Yukon River. It’s massive, bigger than the Mississippi.
There’s not much civilisation out here, just work camps. During the summer months the road gangs repair the damage done to the road by the ice truckers during the long, dark winter. The Yukon camp is the last fuel before Coldfoot, about 200 kilometres away. They make a good burger and have an impressive range of ‘I crossed the Arctic Circle’ t-shirts.
By the time we get to the Arctic Circle — 66° 33’ — the sun’s shining and it’s the most amazing day. There’s an incredible sense of achievement when we see the pointer sign telling us we’re about to cross the Arctic Circle. We turn into a clearing where there’s a marker sign for this major circle of latitude. Ken and Carol don’t know what they’re missing.
David’s waiting when we arrive for the essential photos. He’s holding a yellow dry bag strap. It seems his tent bag slipped out of the straps and hung behind the bike over the exhaust pipe. A fire followed and he’s lost his tent and cot. He’s taking it very well.
We get together for a group photo. We’re like kids on a school outing. There’s lots of laughter and it feels so good. This is quite an achievement. We didn’t quite make it to the Antarctic Circle because of pack ice. But we’ve made it here, to the Arctic Circle.
Shirley: It’s getting late but we’re in no fear of running out of light. When we get to Coldfoot, our scheduled stop for the night, Nicole and Christian check out the work camp campground. The rooms are $199 so they’re out of the question. The campground is right near the fuel pumps and it’s a fair bet the trucks coming and going all night will make for an ordinary night’s sleep, so that’s out of the question. We push on another 10 kilometres to the Marion Creek Campground.
It’s off the road and should be quiet. We can fit the tents and the Landy on one $8 site, especially as there are only two tents now David’s is somewhere along the road. We get the fire going, cook some more chilli and have a fun night. We haven’t known them for long, but John, David, Nic and Christian are great travelling companions.
When it comes time for bed, David takes a tarp, his sleeping bag, a mosquito net and our bike cover up the hill to find a sheltered spot in some heather for the night.
Nicole has some bear spray, which isn’t illegal here, and thinks David should have it seeing he’s sleeping in the open. He’s only been gone about 10 minutes so we don’t expect him to be asleep when she finds his hiding place in the woods.
All we can hear are curses coming from the hillside. It seems he was asleep and thought Nic was a bear coming to attack him. Nic has tears of laughter streaming down her face when she reappears. The laughs just keep on coming.
We’ve ridden just over 400 kilometres today and another 395 tomorrow to Prudhoe Bay, the end of the road. Almost there.
Brian: We wake to ice on the tents and the bikes. It’s bloody cold and a hot shower would be great, but there isn’t one out here in the wilderness. Instead we stoke up the fire and try to get warm. The campsite’s in the shade so the tents have to be packed up wet.
David appears out of the woods unscathed. He’s still laughing about the tent going missing and Nicole’s late night visit. Just as well we didn’t lose our tent. Shirl wouldn’t take it nearly as well.
We hit the road and it’s like riding on porridge. The surface isn’t quite mud and it’s not sealed. They can’t tar the roads up here because it will thaw the permafrost and create an even more hazardous surface. It’s an unusual experience, but it’s surprisingly easy to ride this surface with our new tyres. They’re perfect.
Less than 10 kilometres from Coldfoot we are stopped for more road works. We get talking to the stop/go girl and she tells us that Obama was born in Kenya and shouldn’t be president. We’re clearly in Sarah Palin territory.
Shirl walks away, and as it turns out it’s a good thing. The stop/go girl goes on to tell us about a couple being airlifted off the road yesterday after a bad motorcycle crash. Shirl doesn’t need to hear that. She’ll just worry.
The pilot car leads us through the dirty, dusty and muddy road works. The tanker’s watering the surface making it even more hazardous for us. The trucks gouge out deep ruts and any false move could throw us off.
Up here the truckers have right of way and they drive like lunatics. Looking in my mirrors you can see them coming, a cloud of dust on the horizon. The only thing to do is pull over as far as you can and let them pass. We’re travelling up to 120 kph and the trucks regularly pass us doing over 130 kph.
Bouncing over the deep corrugations left by the trucks can be jarring on the bike. You need to find the right speed. Too fast or too slow and it’s uncomfortable and a bit tricky.
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We get to Atigun Pass and the road is clear. There was no need to worry. The snow’s well above road level. This is the highest pass through the Brooks Range, about 4,700 feet. It’s a steep climb up the valley and even though it’s all dirt we manage to travel up to 100 kph. Before we know it we’re over the top and down into the tundra. The Brooks Range is like a dividing line through Alaska. Above it there’s barely a tree.
From here there’re a couple of long stretches of road works, one goes for nearly 30 kilometres, and we have to follow a pilot car. The pilots move us up behind them for safety but some of the trucks don’t understand and drive really close to us, trying to push us faster. Through the sloppy road works a false move can mean disaster and this does mean we have to travel fairly slowly.
Shirley: We’re covered in mud and dirt. The mud and dust sprays up from under the bike and coats us and everything on the bike in brown mud. In some ways it’s a badge of honour.
The pipeline has been with us most of the way again today. When we get close to Deadhorse, the oil town at the end of the road, we see a grizzly bear wandering, nonchalantly under the pipeline.
We do a U-turn to see him better which attracts his attention. He stops, looks and then keeps on walking. When we move again to get alongside the Landy, he shows at lot more interest in us. Will he run at us or away? We’re ready to move when he turns and runs off up the hill.
There are herds of caribou alongside the road and a mass of large dark brown lumps that turn out to be musk oxen.
Camping is discouraged up here because of the polar bears, so we’ve booked into Deadhorse Camp. It’s a higgledy-piggledy mass of portable buildings, nothing flash about it but we’re a captive audience. The room costs US $199, dinner is US$20 per head and breakfast US$15.
Work goes on 365 days a year here. The dark months of winter don’t hinder the workers. There are huge lamps on caterpillar tracks parked at the side of the camp, ready to light the way in winter. They also use GPS to track their way through the buildings and traffic when it’s impossible to see.
It’s David’s birthday tomorrow so Nicole and I try to get a cake from the Deadhorse General Store. They don’t have cakes but a big cookie will do the job. A loaf of frozen bread for tomorrow is $5. You know we’re a long way from civilisation.
The servo is self-serve with a difference. There are four metal boxes on the wall with the pumps inside. You fuel up and go into the office where there’s just a credit card machine. Not a soul in sight.
In the street there are structures with power cables hanging down. Apparently it gets so cold up here car engines are fitted with heaters and you have to plug your car in so the oil doesn’t freeze. I can’t imagine what it must be like living up here during the interminable days of darkness.
Brian: We’ve made it as far as the bike can go. Tomorrow we’ll get an oil company bus to Prudhoe Bay and the Arctic Ocean.
We’ve travelled 49,201 kilometres since we left home: 22,199 in South America, 6,083 in Central America and 20,919 from Texas to Deadhorse Alaska.
Our Circle to Circle ride is complete.
Shirley: Now we get the bus to the Arctic Ocean. We’ve all submitted our passport details and been approved as appropriate people to take the bus through the oil fields and on to the ocean.
On board we get the story of the oilfields, chapter and verse. There are several companies working the rigs and pumping millions of barrels of oil into the pipeline to Valdez for shipment to all points south.
The guide takes us to the local ‘forest’ which is just one cardboard tree, the oil company’s idea of a little joke. He explains that they freeze the ground under all the buildings so the permafrost doesn’t thaw, causing the buildings to collapse. This can’t be cheap, but they’re obviously making squillions from the oil.
The wildlife up here is as unusual as the environment. There are snowy owls that live and hunt on the ground because there aren’t any trees. We see a couple and you can’t tell if they have their backs to us, until they open their eyes. There are Arctic foxes and the Canada geese that will soon be heading south for the winter.
At the Arctic Ocean we’re not allowed off the bus straight away. Brandon, our guide, has been telling us that the polar bears have begun arriving from the sea ice. One arrived a few days ago and all outside work had to stop while the bear slept on the sand. Even though polar bears see man as a food group, they’re protected. The oil workers can’t disturb them.
Brendan gets off the bus with his binoculars and scours the horizon. It’s safe for us to leave. There aren’t any bears around. It’s all a bit of theatre.
The coastline is windswept and it’s cold, around 2°C, and the water temperature is even colder. A French tourist nearly died of hypothermia taking a dip in the Arctic Ocean so the oil companies banned swimming. Brian seems to be the only one who’s disappointed.
He swam in the Antarctic and now he wants to swim in the Arctic — rules or no rules. He’s worn his bathers so he strips off his bike pants, socks and shoes and wades into the water.
He’s crazy, but I love him.
We all get our photos taken with a special one of us with Christian and Nicole. We were together at the bottom of the world and now we’re together here. It’s bloody marvellous.