10 – 25 August 2012
Shirley: As if we aren’t dirty enough from the ride up here, an idiot thinks it would be fun to spray us from head to toe with even more sticky mud by driving straight into a puddle next to us. Bastard!
The ride out of town is worse than yesterday. It’s colder, it’s still raining and the road is very sloppy. The surface is really like porridge now and Brian’s doing a great job making it as comfortable as possible.
Mind you, it’s going to be hard to make either of us have a bad day today. We’ve achieved something incredibly special. We’ve ridden a motorcycle from the bottom of South America to the top of North America. That’s one hell of a ride. Now we just have to get home to Australia.
And that’s a bit of an issue. I’d like to head home right now, shipping the bike from Canada or the US. Brian would like to ride home through Africa. There’s going to be lots of discussion about this.
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It’s 5.00 pm before we stop for a very late lunch on the side of the road after being battered by the icy wind since we left Deadhorse. The hot noodle soup Nic and Christian whip up never tasted better.
Atigun Pass is still clear and it’s even more beautiful heading south. Now we’re not concentrating on getting to Prudhoe Bay we can enjoy the scenery. The mountains and the barren tundra of the north give way to some trees. They’re scrawny fir trees and only grow a few millimetres a year because of the harsh conditions. It’s amazing anything grows here at all.
There’s a herd of caribou on the side of the road. The truck ahead of us stops to let a couple pass then moves off. We’ve got all the time in the world to enjoy this. The trucker probably sees them every day. For us, it’s a wonderful sight to watch the herd of about 20 including young ones gambol across the road.
Over the last two days we’ve seen lots of hunters wearing their camouflage gear. This love of hunting is all still a mystery to me. Some of them are family groups with kids shooting animals in this wide, open environment. We’ve seen a couple of small helicopters that seem to herd the animals towards the hunters. Now, that’s just not fair.
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Moving south we head back to the Marion Creek campground. It’s party time tonight, celebrating David’s 59th birthday. He seems very impressed with the cookie complete with candle that appears as we all sing ‘Happy Birthday’. We crack out the wine and whiskey and talk the night away.
The most I can say about David’s birthday party is we were all overexcited about making it to the top of the world. What happens in the campground stays in the campground. It’s still light when we go to bed, but that could be anytime, really.
It’s a very late start in the morning.
Brian: We’re all a little second-hand after last night. Breakfast at the Coldfoot camp is just the hangover cure we need. There’s a table of hunters in the corner of the café. Shirl gives them a wide berth, but we get talking. Seems they’ve shot their quota of caribou and are on their way home. They’re not taking their full quota home, though. After they’d killed and cut the animals up, a grizzly appeared at their campsite. Grizzlies are protected in Alaska so the hunters had to stand back and watch as the bear helped itself to a hindquarter of caribou and then loped away. Their pickup had become a takeaway store for the bear. When I tell Shirl she thinks it’s poetic justice.
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We all feel much better after something to eat, ready to take on the 400-kilometre ride back to Fairbanks. The weather’s just about perfect. The sun’s shining and the road isn’t too bad. There’re a couple of patches of road works with one really long stretch under pilot car where we have to take it slowly through the mud. The road works are just part of summer life this far north.
Back at Go North Jens and Kati are our welcoming committee. We’re all very proud of our achievement. We’ve made it from Ushuaia in the south to Deadhorse and then Prudhoe Bay in the north. Some days have been hard, but really it hasn’t been as hard as we expected.
The last four days have been brilliant, made even better by sharing the experience with David, John, Nicole and Christian. They’re good travelling companions but it’s time for us all to go our separate ways. We need to head to the lower 48 and decide about getting back to Australia — by plane or by road!
Shirley: First things first: we need to get all the mud off our gear. The only cleanish clothes we have are the ones we’re standing up in. At the laundromat a local asks if I have any change. I offer him a couple of quarters and he points out they’re Alaskan ones. I didn’t realise that some quarters incorporate state symbols. Brian probably won’t be delighted with my new plan to collect a quarter for every state we visit.
We leave a huge mud bog at the bottom of the carwash bay when we finally get the mud off the bike. At $1.00 per minute we spent more than US $15.00 washing and scrubbing the mud away.
Back at Go North I have to use old-fashioned elbow grease to get the mud off our waterproofs and the luggage. Scrubbing away I hear some squawking and look up to see a flock of Canada geese in formation, flying south for the winter. Seems we made it to Alaska just in time.
David brings his Fairbanks’ Match.com date to see our camp. He knows my aversion to hunters so his introduction to the young lady is prefaced with a warning look. They’ve been out to the hunting store so she could buy a pair of camouflage boots to go with her camouflage hunting outfit. Always prepared for action, she carries a crossbow in her car, just in case she spots a moose on the way to work. David didn’t need to worry about me saying something he’d regret. I’m speechless.
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It’s our last supper together before heading our different ways. The experience we’ve shared has forged a lifelong bond.
Brian: I’m not sure how far to go today so we just hit the road. We’re on our way to the Kenai Peninsula, a couple of days ride south.
We get so close to Anchorage I keep going to the Harley Davidson shop’s free campground. It’s a really good set up with a large grassy area for the tents and a bathroom with a hot shower and toilet. There’re even the all-important power points to charge up our batteries.
The first person we see is David putting up his tent. We didn’t get far without bumping into him again.
There are also three bikers from the lower 48, Steve, his wife, Linda, and their buddy Bobbo. They’re all riding Harleys and are dressed for the part wearing jeans and chaps; another thing we don’t understand, chaps. They’re not youngsters and the boys have long white beards. We look like brothers.
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I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when Shirl wakes me to tell me it’s dark. She’s been up to the bathroom and wanted to share the darkness with me. I don’t really need to know this, even though it’s the first time we’ve seen darkness for weeks.
Shirley: I think I’m up to my limit when it comes to camping. A room soon would be nice. We’re not even going to get one on the ferry through the Inside Passage from Skagway, Alaska to Prince Rupert in British Columbia.
Brian’s booked deck class where you can sleep on the sun lounges in the open-air lounge at the back of the ferry, in your sleeping bags. They don’t even mind if you pitch your tent on the deck. It’ll be an experience.
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We bump into Nicole and Christian in town, on their way to Seward on the Kenai Peninsula. Back at the campground, John’s arrived. It’s like old home week. The three of us will head to Seward together tomorrow and maybe catch up with Nicole and Christian down there.
Heading south we’re surrounded by mountains and water. Clouds hang over the mountains and the sun shines through a break, like a torch light on the grey sand and dark water.
Then we hit the Kenai Peninsula and the scenery is out of this world — snow-capped mountains, rivers, trees. It’s so beautiful, but it’s cold. The 200 kilometres seem to take forever. We pass Nicole and Christian, heading north now. They didn’t last long at Seward.
We’re running low on fuel and it’s touch and go if we’ll make it to Seward. Peering over Brian’s shoulder I see the warning lights flashing.
This gives me something to worry about rather than thinking about how cold I am. At the service station the bike takes 34 litres, which is all the tank holds. Yep, we were on vapours.
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The boys agree it’s too cold to camp so we get a room in town. It’s warm. It’s got a bed. It’s magnificent to stretch out. And there’s a TV. Woo hoo!
•
One of the locals tells us that summer is ending soon and they’re expecting the termination dust any time now. This is the first dusting of snow on the mountain-tops. This, with the end of the fireweed, means summer has gone and the long winter is here.
It’s not so bad down here at Seward. They have daylight from about 10.30 am until 3.00 pm at the height of winter. Up north the sun sets in October or November and doesn’t come back for 90 days. Add to that a temperature of –50°C and you have a harsh environment. Down here they break out the shorts and flip-flops when the temperature gets to 4°C.
In summer the daylight just goes on and on. We laugh about parents in Australia complaining about how hard it is to get kids to bed when daylight saving starts. How do they manage to get kids to bed up here?
Brian: We ride into some of the worst weather leaving Seward and heading to the Portage Glacier on our way back to Anchorage. It’s raining heavily and the icebergs floating by the glacier’s visitor centre makes us realise just how cold it is. We won’t see anything, so a ride to the glacier is pointless, but John wants to take us to the town of Whittier while we’re in the area.
Built on the other side of the mountain during World War II, the only way to it is through the rail tunnel — on the bikes. It’s only one train track wide and 4.2 kilometres long. They open the tunnel up to the town on the half hour and back on the hour.
While we wait for the tunnel to open Shirl reads the safety leaflet. She’s a good worrier so this gives her something to worry about. John and I don’t bother. She’ll tell me if I do something wrong.
It’s narrow, slippery and slow, but it’s an amazing experience. I take the track between the rail lines, riding cautiously. A sudden rush of air gives me a hell of a fright and moves the bike around. It’s the air duct pumping fresh air into the tunnel. I wonder if they’re mentioned in the safety brochure. This is a real one-off experience. You don’t get to ride a railway track every day.
We make it through to the quaint town of Whittier unscathed. There are a few shops and cafés on the waterfront but it’s pretty quiet in town today. The harbour’s still open and there’s the tunnel, but the tourists have stopped coming. Next month Whittier becomes a virtual ghost town. A local tells us, ‘We roll up the pavements in September and all head back to Anchorage.’
We do that too, head back to Anchorage. The weather’s lifting and we get glimpses of a rather beautiful glacier and some impressive waterfalls.
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John’s got problems with his rear shock and his rear tyre is shot after running with little air to Prudhoe Bay and back. This gave him better grip from his road tyres up there but he’s paying for it now. There’s a rental bike business next door to Harley that fits every hire bike with brand new tyres. For US $20 and a six-pack of beer they give John a second hand tyre, that’s barely been used. It’s certainly a good buy.
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There’s no direct road from Anchorage to Valdez, so we head cross-country and then south again. There are plenty of areas in Alaska that are completely inaccessible, pristine wilderness, and we hope it stays that way.
The weather’s cleared up and it’s a great day for a ride. The run down to Valdez on the Richardson Highway is simply spectacular, even though the road’s broken up by the permafrost thawing and ever-present road works. It starts out a little flat and boring, but then climbs up the Chugach Mountains near Valdez. The road is a continuous line of long sweeping bends. Around one turn there’s the Worthington Glacier glistening in the afternoon sun, brilliant white and blue hues — and right there beside the road.
The temperature drops dramatically but we don’t care, the view’s worth it.
Then begins the long run down into Valdez where the Alaska Pipeline from Prudhoe Bay ends. We can see the oil tanks on the other side of the harbour, surrounded by ditches big enough to hold all their oil in case of an accident.
Shirley: We rise early for a cooked breakfast, thinking we’ll have the restaurant to ourselves. But no, it’s packed with people wearing gumboots and waders. Salmon fisherpeople are keen to get out early.
We stop for a break at Glenallen ‘gas’ station and the army’s here, fuelling up a convoy of at least 20 trucks, little tanks and jeeps. Inside there’s a queue at the cash register because the person at the head of the line has a credit card that’s not working. Peering over the people in front of us we see it’s a soldier. The army’s credit card keeps getting rejected. Their fuel bill must be enormous. Everyone thinks it’s a great joke, except the soldier with the credit card. We leave them to it.
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There’s no road from Valdez to Skagway, so to get the ferry to Canada we need to ride back into Canada. We head back to Tok and take the Top of the World Highway to Dawson City in the Yukon. The road’s deserted and it’s wonderful to ride through the foothills without seeing another car, truck or motorcycle.
The first town we come to is Chicken, Alaska. There’s quite a tale to Chicken. The settlers wanted to name the town Ptarmigan to honour the local bird that flourishes in the area. Unfortunately no one was really sure how to spell it and they didn’t want to appear stupid, so they named the town Chicken. At least they could all spell it.
Eight people live in Chicken today. What was once a bustling gold mining community is now an interesting tourist stop and a good place to refuel before we get to the Canadian border.
Brian: From here the Top of the World Highway lives up to its name, following the top of a mountain ridge that certainly gives the impression we’re on the top of the world.
At the Alaska/Canada border we get a passport stamp of a man panning for gold. We don’t have to stamp it in ourselves, either, as we did at the Hyder border post. The Canadians know how to welcome tourists.
The dirt road continues along the ridgeline. It’s wide and easy to sit on 80, 90 and sometimes even 110 kph. These new tyres are great in this sort of stuff. Before we know it we’re overtaking cars and winding our way down to a ferry crossing of the mighty Yukon River. Across the river the wooden buildings of Dawson city look like a Hollywood wild west film set.
This fast flowing river is about 100 metres wide and the little car ferry struggles across against the current. It only holds six cars and battles against the swirling waters. The motor is almost at full throttle to hold the ferry against the bank so we can ride off.
It’s hard to believe that this massive river actually freezes in winter and locals drive across it. I wouldn’t want to be the first person to go across, testing the thickness of the ice, or the last person to cross when it starts to break up in spring.
Shirley: Accommodation is very expensive here so we pitch the tent in the RV campground on the edge of town. Like most campgrounds the tent area is right at the back, with the huge RVs parked closest to the facilities. This is ridiculous when you consider they all have their own bathrooms. We’ve been told it costs US $1.00 a mile to drive these houses on wheels, they’re so big and thirsty for fuel.
Setting up camp we get talking to a couple from New Zealand. They ask if we know the Australians Ken and Carol who they met a couple of days ago. Of course we do. It seems like everyone does.
It’s 1.30 am and I have to get up to go to the loo. It’s a long walk past the RVs to get to the toilet block so I have a quiet grizzle to myself. I’m still silently grumbling on my way back when it dawns on me that it’s dark again. Apart from an overcast night in Anchorage, it’s the first time I’ve been up after dark. I look up to see if there are stars in the sky and there they are, the Northern Lights.
Wow, it’s surreal. Green lights streak across the sky. It’s breathtaking. I don’t want to wake up the entire campsite but I do want to wake Brian, so I use my best stage whisper and get him out of the tent. The green flash is fading but we watch until it disappears. Breathtaking!
Brian: Dawson City is still a gold town. Millions of dollars worth of the precious metal is mined here every year. In its heyday they said the streets were paved with gold. That might not have been completely true, but we’re told an intriguing story about some enterprising individuals who bought an old bank and went prospecting in the dirt under the building. Most of the buildings here are all off the ground to avoid them sinking when the permafrost thaws. The story goes that there was plenty of gold dust in the dirt under the building and the raised footpath.
It’s easy to see why they build above the earth here when you see the old buildings falling into the soft earth.
At the Downtown Hotel we try the local drink of choice. It’s not a pisco sour and it’s not a caipirinha, it’s the sourtoe cocktail.
In a nip of your spirit of choice they place a blackened human toe in the bottom of the glass. The locals vow it’s real and it certainly looks real.
The catchcry is ‘You can drink it fast, you can drink it slow, but the lips must touch the toe!’ Legend has it the first toe belonged to a sly-grogger who amputated his toe to avoid gangrene setting in and kept it in a jar of his tipple. When it was found by one of the locals, the sourtoe cocktail was born as a dare.
Today you pay for the privilege to don a captain’s hat and down the drink in front of a bar full of strangers. And the toe must touch your lips!
We take up the challenge with a nip of Jack Daniels as our spirit of choice. As long as you don’t think about what’s in the bottom of the glass it’s not too bad. It looks pretty gross when Captain Dick picks up the toe from its bed of salt and drops it in the glass.
Down the hatch!
Shirley: I can’t believe I’m doing this. Not only because of the toe but because I don’t usually drink spirits, and certainly not neat.
I’ve watched Brian and he’s survived. I know Nicole drank it down when she was here. If she can do it, I can do it.
The chant begins. I take a deep breath and throw the bourbon down. The bloody toe sticks at the bottom of the glass so I have to put my head further back and shake the glass to make it fall. It hits my lips with a light thump. Yuk!
Brian: They say the ride into Skagway is awesome, but we’ll never know because the cloud base is so low today. To make it worse, for the last 10 kilometres into town we’re stuck behind a line of cars caught up behind a slow moving double semitrailer. I eventually take the bit between the teeth and scoot past.
Our ferry leaves early tomorrow morning so we just need a bed for the night. We find the Sergeant Preston Motel, that’ll do us.
Skagway is a lovely little town with a decent port that hosts the cruise ships that ply the waters of the Inside Passage. There’s one in port and walking down the main street it looks like it’s sailing straight at us. There are lots of touristy shops and jewellers trying to get you in the door to spend money. There’s also a shopfront devoted to Sarah Palin. We never forget that she could see Russia from her house. One moment the streets and shops are packed, then a siren blows and like lemmings they all head back to their ship, and Skagway becomes a ghost town.
Shirl hits the laundromat and is very sheepish when she gets back. Engrossed in a book she didn’t keep an eye on the dryer. I’m now the proud owner of a thermal T-shirt that only fits Shirl. She’s been using it as a nightie anyway, so maybe it was done deliberately. This is the second time it’s happened to me. On our last trip we stayed with friends in Islamabad and their houseboy shrank my thermal long johns. Maybe I should do my own washing.
Shirley: No comment.
Brian: It’s 4 o’clock in the morning. It’s dark and it’s drizzling — a gloomy morning to begin our ferry ride through the Inside Passage back to Canada.
Rather than the sun lounge on the back deck we opt for reclining seats in the lounge. Even though there are heaters out there it’ll be a bit too cold and uncomfortable, particularly for Shirl.
Shirley: What a view. The Inside Passage heading south winds its way down through narrow marine lanes, past islands and landfalls where people have built hunting and fishing lodges. As day breaks and the clouds lift a little the snow capped mountains become visible. The captain announces a whale sighting on the port side. We rush outside and see two humpback whales putting on a show. Water spouts every now and then and a fluke showing by one of them. Too soon we leave them to their antics.
When it comes time to sleep we get our mats and sleeping bags and stretch them out on the floor. It’s surprisingly comfortable and we sleep well.
Brian: At breakfast we’re joined by Michael and Jack, two American bikers we met in Dawson City. They were heading north when we saw them, but only got 40 kilometres along the Top of the World Highway when Jack got a puncture. He nursed the bike back to Dawson City and had to get a tyre shipped up from Whitehorse, so they’re heading back to the States.
They’re both ex-navy pilots who’ve seen war service and are obviously very close friends, yet they have very different views on the US obsession with carrying firearms. One is for it, one is against. We have a healthy discussion on Australia’s gun laws and our lack of mass shootings in comparison to the US. So many Americans find it hard to believe that we’re doing this trip without carrying a gun. It’s such a different world. I prefer ours.
At 1.15 am we arrive at Prince Rupert, British Columbia, and head to the local motel for some sleep.