24 | Canada Eh?

After a long time on the road in the western U.S., it was exciting to know we'd be hitting Canada this day.

Jasper National Park had been our goal as the northernmost point before turning south for Central and South America, but we decided to cut short some of our explorations in Wyoming and Montana and try to squeeze in as much of Alaska as the weather would allow.

It was chilly when we finally got the gear on the bikes and headed out under the overcast sky. The trip so far has been almost completely in sunshine, a miracle as far as motorcycling goes, but I told Kim we'd probably be in chilly weather and rain from now on.

We wove up road 17 after leaving St. Mary for the small border crossing at Chief Mountain in the very corner of Glacier National Park. The skies were gloomy and finally tossed enough rain drops to make us don rain gear just as we reached the border crossing.

Several cars arrived and formed a line ahead of us before we could get back on the bikes and a small wait ensued - mainly due to paving construction right under the checkpoint.

Kim and I rolled up together to the border guard, a courteous and stern man who told me I needed to sign my passport, rattled off several questions to which I answered "no" except for bear spray and sent us on our way. Joy bubbled up in Kim's voice as we rolled away from the booth and we both started laughing. She was really pumped to be riding in Canada!

The "Welcome to Alberta" sign was blocked by road construction crews but we cut across the fresh hot asphalt and lines to squeeze under it for selfies. To the west it was gloomy and misty but the mountains were beautiful.

As we goofed around, a road worker came over to talk and we discussed weather, Alaska and life in Canada for a bit. He wished us well and we headed off.

We wound north, Waterton National Park to our left along beautiful roads, with threatening black clouds and eventually beautiful lush green rolling pastures to our right. My GPS showed weather warnings and I knew there were major storms up in Banff and Jasper from checking weather online, but it was black ahead. To save time I'd planned to go straight up to Canmore and over to Banff, but the weather warnings were severe so we decided to cross back west for Cranbrook on Hwy 3.

Stopping at Pincher Creek for coffee, wifi, gas and the info center to buy a Canada map we had a chance to meet a few locals, all very friendly and excited to hear about our journey. The time spent was worth it as the skies cleared to our west and we got going for Cranbrook. Hwy 3 was a nice ride with a couple of stops for layering up and down, as well as finding a cell signal to search for campgrounds ahead. When we pulled over at Frankslide, an amazing spot where a massive rockslide had roared down the mountain and left a lunar landscape surrounding the highway, a large black box truck quickly wheeled in next to Kim and two men got out, walking over and talking to her. They were very interested in seeing her on the roadside and wanted to find out the story. On the side of the truck I saw "Hutterian Brotherhood" and realized they were attached to the Hutterite communities, whom I'd seen a documentary about on Nat Geo.

Having made sure she was okay, they went on, as did we for Crowsnest, Sparwood and Fernie, the latter being a beautiful small town with ski area. We eventually made the turn north on 93 for Fort Steele but missed the turn and ended up in Cranbrook instead. At a Wendy's for a dollar burger our gas ran out and we decided to grab a motel across the street for the night.

The next morning was overcast but not raining and we needed to find some chain lube, walking down the street to a small Harley shop to find a can. The weather forecast still showed rain in Banff as we excitedly headed north. At Radium Springs we stopped to top off and were immediately engulfed in conversations with other travelers from Canada, California and other places. As one conversation ended, another person would wander over and talk to us. We spent probably 45 minutes or longer trying to get out of the gas station, but that's also part of the fun of travel. Being from Texas it seemed we were somewhat of an oddity.

The road from Radium was stunning as we moved into the park and as the immense mountains came into view the tops were shrouded in majestic billowing clouds. The sun came and went, as did the heavy showers that we skirted through in bouts of heavy rain for a few minutes. At the Junction of Hwy 1 we turned south for Banff and the heavy tourist crowds. The weather was threatening but we enjoyed Banff for a while as well as the international crowd there.

It was time to look for a camping spot, but we were told the tent campgrounds had been closed due to wolf and bear incidents. A quick search for hotels was futile as everything was booked, and a trip to the library and visitor center gave us differing versions of the wolf and bear stories. Finally, a guy said that the reservation system had failed, and the wolf issue had been taken care of and the Two Jacks campground north of town was open for tenters.

The ranger at the entrance said that indeed there had been issues with a wolf pack but it had "been taken care of" as well as the bear problems. I inquired about bear boxes as we'd been told there weren't any, but he assured us they were there. A bit more comforting when tent camping in grizzly country.

We got set up in the wet campground and I filled my panniers with wet firewood at the wood pile, finally getting a nice fire going after a sudden rain killed my first attempt. Late in the evening we wandered up to the cooking cabin, to see a backpacking French couple camped inside, 4 bottles of wine, some bread and cheese on the tables as she washed his hair in the sink.

It was a wet morning as we packed up, trading ride time for dry time as we waited for the tent fly and tarp to dry as much as possible. While we waited, a camper came over from the next site to ask if we wanted waterproof matches and a propane canister since he and his son couldn't carry them on the plane home. We were happy to accept and talked with the two for a while, getting a pic with the bikes and his son Nouewen who appeared about 14 or so. They were very nice and we enjoyed the chat.

Hunger drove us to Banff for breakfast on the packed bikes, our budget breakfast at McDonald's shattered when we found they didn't serve breakfast, but a coffee shop around the corner saved the day with hot bagel sandwiches and coffee.

It was raining as we gassed up and headed north for Lake Louise and Moraine Lake on the way to Jasper. The scenery continued to stun, the milky turquoise rivers and streams looking false as we sped past between massive mountains. I warned The Butterfly that the crowds ahead would be thick, but the lake views were worth it. Indeed the traffic was heavy but the great thing about bikes is that you can squeeze in anywhere and we got spots right near the lake.

The breathtaking view of the water and glacial ice was not dulled by the throngs of people there, and the color and view seems entirely false and difficult to take in. We watched the endless selfies, each trying to find a spot free of people. We did our best to get our own and in the process met a family of Indian descent who talked to us in length about our trip. The son told me his desire was to ride a Royal Enfield in the Himalayas and I told him our paths would cross there one day.

From Lake Louise we rode up to Lake Moraine and were blown away at the sight of the water - an even more intense aqua color than Louise. It really can't be described or captured but we took it in as we ate a sandwich on the lakeside.

From Moraine we headed north for Jasper, the road tightening and the views becoming even more breathtaking. Somewhere along the way we missed the turn for Jasper and had gone about 20 miles west towards Golden before I realized it. Even though we lost a good 45 minutes in a sidetrack, there were no complaints since the road was awesome.

Once on the proper road again, our communicator chatter consisted of ever increasing "Wow. Unbelievable. Amazing." and so on. At the Columbia Ice Fields, minds were blown. Stopping to try and capture the images and immensity of views was an act of frustration. It simply can't be captured or conveyed in images but I half heartedly tried, content with capturing the images in my mind.

At a gas stop for a quick snack I read the guide for the area and saw that National Geographic had described the highway as one of the top roads in the world. Easy to see why.

As we headed for Jasper in the fading light and threatening skies I began to stress about finding a camp spot ahead. Each of the few had “full” signs as we passed and it was nearing dark as we exited the park at Jasper. I spun around and went back to the entry booth to ask the attendant if he had any suggestions for camping. He said all campgrounds were full in the area but then got on the phone and found there was a spot left at the Wabasso campground. He asked the girls there to hold it for us.

I was greeted by "Bonjour!" at the Wabasso entrance booth, to which my Texas accent version of "Bonjour" brought a smile. The two girls were intrigued to see Texans at the campground and even more so that my last name was French. We set up camp and got a small fire going before the fatigue of the day caught up.

We both had reached saturation points as to the beauty of the ride - much as when you've laughed so much at a comedian that you can no longer laugh - and the thought of trying to talk of what we'd seen was overwhelming.

25 | Alaska Atlasta!

It was an overcast morning as we packed the bikes and headed from the campground into Jasper for gas before hitting the road. The two gas stations were slammed with RV's and cars and it seemed to take forever to get gassed up. We ended up eating breakfast at a restaurant after fueling and the waitstaff were pretty rude, as were the cashiers at the places we visited. Generally as we have moved northward the people have proven to be less and less friendly.

It felt good to be moving again, our destination Prince George as we had decided to go west for the Cassiar highway and Hyder, Alaska. The beautiful terrain slowly changed as we hit the McBride area for a stop to take a break at the old train station.

After a quick lunch on the outside bench we wandered over to a little community market, talking with several of the ladies selling home canned goods, knitted things and such.

As we talked over the headsets on the road west, I suddenly heard Kim shouting "Bear! Bear!" and caught a glimpse of a black and cubs eating on the roadside as we shot past. It was a surprise as we have seen almost no wildlife on this trip...

Another great couple who wanted to talk to us and make suggestions on where to go with big hugs when we left. So many roadside encounters like this...

The day passed as we rolled through rolling hills and nearby rivers until we finally hit Prince George, an industrial town that lacked personality or character but likely provided the influx of money needed n the region. We grabbed a cheap motel to get batteries charged, clothes washed and to get a massage for my frozen neck. I'd somehow pulled a muscle in my neck and the pain had been excruciating for a few days.

We left Prince George the next morning for Smithers, the terrain becoming more mountainous and beautiful along the way. Smithers proved to be an interesting town with a good vibe, especially after Prince George. We stopped at the local outdoor gear store to ask about campgrounds and the sales guy told us to hit the city park on the river. It turned out to be a great spot along the river with both tent and rv spots, as well as wifi.

The forecast had been for rain but it never came. We headed down a trail along the river and shortly were approached by an Australian woman telling us that a bear had been spotted a few moments earlier on the trail. A quick trip back to the tent for bear spray and we were on our way for a great hike before ending the day by the fire.

Our next destination was Hyder, Alaska, and the weather showed it to be 100% rain and 39º, so we debated waiting another day in Smithers or continuing on... then we headed on for Hyder in the Smithers sunshine.

Rolling westward, the terrain got more interesting and mountainous, each day in Canada bringing more beauty and scenery than ever imagined. Stopping at river crossings, salmon could be seen amidst the rapids and white foam. Fall was definitely in the air, pale yellows appearing in the trees on the mountainsides and leaves flickering down on us as we rode.

At the Petro-Canada station at the junction of 16 and 37, where we would turn north for the Cassiar and Hyder, the rain was coming in spats. While refueling I spoke with a woman who ran adventure tours in Canada who'd just returned from the Dempster Highway in Canada. She said torrential rains had wiped out a portion of the road just as she made it out and it was closed for repairs. She said the weather had been rainy her entire time in Alaska and warned us to prepare.

We crossed the Skeena River moving north and continued to Meziadin Junction where we topped off with gas, a lone Harley rider pulling in beside us. I asked where he was headed and he said "Home. I've been to Sturgis." and rode off north.

The sun had long disappeared in the gray threatening clouds and fits of rain up to Meziadin, but as we turned west on 37A for Stewart and Hyder, the rain came in earnest. The ride in was with chills and cold air, rain, mist and exclamations of wonder. The road in was between tight high mountains with billowing fog and clouds. The river along the way was swollen and muddy, roaring along the roadside and at points seeming about to come over the road. From high above, waterfalls cascaded down sheer walls, some white and others reddish brown with muddy torrents from on high.

Rounding a corner to the view of a blue and white glacier across the river was an awesome sight, causing us to peel off the road onto a gravel waiting area. It was an amazing sight for sore Texas eyes, the rain not diminishing the excitement..

We rode on in the rain, and between comments on the sights Kim told me her boots had finally leaked and her feet were soaked. I could feel a bit of clamminess in my new Formas and had the feel they were weeping slightly near the toes but it was not major, thankfully.

To the right of the roadside lay a huge pile of logs from a rolled logging truck and on the river beds lay huge piles of logs and dead trees washed down in the torrential, rain-swollen floods.

A rain soaked sign for the "Bear Festival" told us that we'd missed it by a day or so as we rolled into Stewart, Canada a quaint and interesting little town. As we arrived, the rains lifted and we could see the tidal plain and past it to the fjord, according to the guide book one of the largest in the world.

As we passed the next couple of miles into Hyder, Alaska, the rains came back heavily. It was a surprise to see no US Border checkpoint. The little town was mainly abandoned and looked even worse in the heavy rain. We rode around the few streets, finally spotting a hotel with an adventure bike parked under the stairs to shield it from the deluge. I knocked on the lobby door and an old man answered, saying the motel was full for the evening, despite the fact there were no cars in the lot. I distinctly felt he just didn't want to be bothered and stepped back into the pouring rain where Kim sat on her bike.

The man had suggested trying the Sealaska Inn, but telling me to go bang on the door of the log cabin behind the inn and try to roust the lady who owned it. As we pulled up, the hotel looked closed and derelict and we didn't bother even trying. One more stop at a building that said "B&B", "Pawn Shop" and other things proved interesting - the door opened and I eventually found a grizzled guy in the back near the guns and when I asked about the "B&B" he said nothing was available - again the sense he didn't want to be bothered and continued smoking his cigar, a bit irritated I'd come in.

Anything that looked like it offered accommodations was our target

We finally bailed on Hyder to check out Stewart, and as we rolled back up to the Canadian checkpoint, the rain ceased and a spectacular double rainbow appeared. It was very intense and both the border guards had stepped out of the building with their cell phones to capture a pic of it.

The female border guard was friendly and we passed back into Canada where I was able to capture the last bit of the rainbow from the roadside by the tidal plain. Stewart seemed like Manhattan after Hyder, and we found lodging at the Ripley Inn, a series of old buildings converted into rooms and cabins. It felt good to get out of the rain soaked gear and warm up. It also felt good to say we’d reached Alaska, albeit a tiny point on the southern end. Still, a milestone for two Texans.

26 | The Yukon Territory

The rains had cleared and there was some sun in the morning in Stewart. Gear was still clammy from the soaking rain the evening before.

The hotel clerk heard we were heading north for Watson Lake, and warned me the road had been washed out and closed due to heavy rain, and several guests had canceled their trip north as well as their room bookings in Stewart. She said to check on the net before heading that direction. I did but found nothing and then met a man and woman in the parking lot loading up their BMW G650GS/Sidecar rig and asked them about the road. He said they had just come down the day before after riding in heavy rains most of their trip in Alaska. He said the Cassiar was in bad shape and under much construction, including areas where the gravel was 4-5 inches deep. He said they didn't recommend the drive north nor heading into Alaska due to the weather.

The previous day I'd spoken with a lady at a gas station who ran an adventure travel business and she'd said she barely made it out of the Dempster before it was shut down due to flooding and washouts. She had also recommended not to go due to the weather.

Two more couples were asked and they both said the road was bad and we shouldn't try it on the bikes. I assumed it must have been epic destruction, though there wasn't mention on the net, and I began eyeing a southward route to Prince Rupert in case the rumors were true.

We decided to head back into Hyder for a bit more time in Alaska, especially if we were going to head back south that day. It had been some surprise the day before that there was no US border checkpoint, only the Canadian one.

We crossed into the derelict town and rode out to the bear viewing area, replete with a salmon infested stream filled with struggling, spawning and dying salmon. The smell of dead fish was in the air but there were no bears feeding that morning. The walkway with a wooden fence had a few folks waiting for bears and eyeing the salmon, but we didn't wait and rode further out along the river and mountains.

The sun was out and the mountains were shrouded in high mist, the river now no longer red from muddy torrents the evening before, its slate gray color looking like milk at times in the sunlight. Eventually we turned back, trying hard to burn the incredible beauty and scenery into our mind's eye for memories. It was very hard to take in and seemed almost surreal. We both agreed this area was by far the most amazing scenery yet and hope to return.

A final stop in Hyder brought some mild entertainment, Alaska-style, when an obnoxious tourist got a bit assy with the lady who owned the little souvenir and fudge shop. He said something to her I didn’t hear, but I did hear her tell him to "fuck off", then she burst out laughing as he left the shop. She ran over to me and said "you didn't hear that did you?" with a wink and laughed again, telling me she just didn't put up with “asshole tourists any more.” I agreed with her assessment of the man and told her I'd found him obnoxious myself. She then told me to tell the Canadian border guards she'd give them a pound of fudge each if they cavity searched the guy. We both laughed about it, but she said the guards loved her fudge so much they just might do it.

Kim had been in the Glacier Inn across the road and missed the event in the souvenir shop, but was rewarded with the sight of a black bear running across the street about 50 feet away. Above flew several eagles. Pretty cool.

Outside the shop I met more travelers telling us the Cassiar road north was bad. We’d had 100% of travelers telling us not to go and made it seem like the apocalypse lay to the north. Still, we made the decision to go for it - you only live once. Maybe the sun and blue skies lulled us, but the Cassiar Highway and the Yukon called.

Bizarre thing is we've had a lot of 3G and 4G in the most remote places in Canada but can't seem to get sh*t in towns when we need it...

As we passed back into Canada at the border crossing, we realized we hadn't gotten a pic at the Alaska sign and the guard graciously allowed us to back out of the portico and take the pictures. She sat and watched with a smile as we ran back and forth with the self timer and then waved us back up. She questioned us and checked passports, wishing us a safe journey.

Kim asked about the bulletproof vest she wore and if it was a requirement. She responded that the job was somewhat risky, especially since there was no US Border Patrol or any form of law enforcement in Hyder, and one never knew who was coming across. She said the US kept it hush-hush that Hyder was an open border and said that a "lot of folks who needed to hide" lived in Hyder.

The ride out in spotty sunshine was nice since it had been covered in rain clouds and fog the day before

At Meziadin Junction we stopped for gas and I mistakenly pulled in front of a waiting truck, the rig hidden by a flock of tourists streaming off a charter bus. After getting the bikes to the pumps and all our paraphernalia off, I saw the frustrated driver and waved an apology, pushing the bikes away and waiting for him to get filled up. As we finally got to gas up, a couple of the bus tourists came over. They were from Belgium and very friendly, asking all about the bikes and trip. The crowd grew, mostly enamored with Kim and her "adventure" bike, apparently rare to see. Before it was over the entire bus group was standing around and taking pictures. We truly enjoyed talking with them, the warmest and sweetest people we've met on the trip by far. They actually made the bus driver delay, just to watch us leave before they headed on for Stewart and some bear watching.

I didn't know what to expect as to the scenery on 37 North, since it seems most folks head for the Alcan Highway from Jasper, but we weren’t disappointed. The highway winds and snakes along the Coastal Mountains with beautiful views and glacier capped peaks. All around were beautiful trees beginning to turn yellow for fall, leaves dropping around us in the cool air.

We'd spent more time in Hyder and Stewart that morning than planned and got out later than expected so we made a short day of it and stopped at Bell 2 Lodge. Not being able to get much info about what is available on the Cassiar, Kim booked a room at what we thought would be a motel near Dease Lake but as we shot past the Bell 2 Lodge, I saw a motorcycle gassing up so we did a u-turn to ask him about the road ahead. His name was Mike, a fuel truck driver who ran the roads to the Yukon on his work route. He was on vacation, riding his motorcycle south to Hyder and then back north. He laughed about the roads and the rumors, saying that there was only some minor construction on the Cassiar, although the Dempster had been closed for a short period due to washouts. It was a relief to finally get some real info on road conditions.

As it turned out, it was a very good thing we stopped. Out of curiosity we checked with the front desk at the lodge, only to discover that Kim had actually booked the room at this lodge and not in Dease Lake. On the booking app, when searching a remote area we’ve found that often results come up from “nearby” areas and it’s easy to accidentally book something in the region rather than your destination - especially so the way the app changes parameters when you click back and more so on a spotty cell phone on the side of the road. It was a major relief to realize we’d have arrived at Dease Lake which lay 4 hours further ahead about dark, only to find no motel and our non-refundable payment for a hotel 4 hours behind us.

We had a very long conversation with Mike while sitting outside eating our late lunch, and he told us to call him when we came through Whitehorse on our way back south from Alaska. We said our goodbyes and went back to eating as he rode off, only to hear a loud crash. I jumped up to see him laying on his side in the gravel exit onto the blacktop road. We raced over to make sure he was okay and lifted his Kawasaki sport tourer off the ground. He was a very experienced rider but had tried to toss a cookie remnant to a bird just as he hit the gravel slope at an angle, his front wheel washing out just at the moment he let go of the bars with his left hand to make the toss.

Other than scratches on paint and a cracked mirror, it was mainly his pride that was hurt. He had been riding a very long time that day, having left Whitehorse early and he was a bit sleep deprived from several marathon days of riding.

We seemed to be a bit of an oddity or curiosity, as one by one we'd finish a conversation to find another person or couple anxious to talk to us. As much as we enjoy it, it was time to head for a room, sleep, and sadly no internet to upload the burden of keeping the ride report updated.

The next morning we hit the road for Watson Lake, again in sunshine and blue skies - this trip has been miraculous in that we've ridden in almost no rain. The distances yet to make are beginning to stretch, with far less communities along the way and much larger distances between them as we move further into the northern area.

The process of topping off anytime we see gas is beginning, to get in the groove for some stretches in Alaska and also for the fact that fuel stops are far less available. Folks keep telling us to get it when you see it as it is harder to find and sometimes stations are out of gas in the farther spots. We’ve also been told that since we’re late in the season, many of the more remote stations begin closing down for the long winter.

Along the way the trees had shades of yellow and gold, the cool temperatures telling us fall was in the air. The next week or two should be quite stunning as the colors start to change.

We rumbled into Jade City and stopped for a butt break and free coffee at the store. There were signs that “documentary filming” was in progress but there was no production crew around. Damn! Missed yet another chance to be a star.

Jade Mountain is more than just a tourist trap and gas stop, apparently being a working jade mine or quarry and it was interesting seeing how large rocks and boulders were sliced to reveal the jade.

In our travels north we leapfrog the same folks, seeing them here and there and this time was no different. An older couple from Vancouver Island pulled in in their camper and we had a good conversation with them, as we'd done a couple other places back on the road. They were going to hike an old abandoned pipeline right of way (can't remember the name) with another couple and were to meet them in a day. I really enjoy seeing older folks continuing to be adventurous and it gives me hope that when I'm old my death may come from falling off a cliff or something, rather than choking on a Cheetoh in my recliner watching TV. Anyways, Dave and Shan invited us to stay at their home on Vancouver Island when we headed back down there. It was really a nice surprise and we look forward to staying with them!

Another couple of guys traveling south in a camper suggested we take the road to Skagway. I checked the map and realized it wasn't far from Whitehorse so we added it to the plan.

The Cassiar Highway was beautiful and in good shape, with a few spots of construction. The skies threatened and rain clouds rolled in as we neared the Yukon border. As well there was a forest fire burning to the west and the road eventually got very dense with smoke as the rain came. Can't say I've ever ridden in forest fire smoke and rain simultaneously!

Putting on rain gear and a neckerchief over the mouth for the smoke ahead

When we hit the Yukon border the rains had stopped, the temps had dropped and we rode the bikes up the embankment to to sign for a selfie. The Alcan Highway came up soon after and it felt good to know we were getting closer to our goal.

Watson Lake was a few miles ride back to the east and offered a room for the night, a grocery store and a chance to dry off a bit. Kim has been fighting an ear canal infection for a couple of weeks that just won't quit and she was hurting badly, so rather than camp in the cold we got a room in an old motel. We’re on a tight budget and have stayed in more motels lately than the entire previous section of the trip, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do...

27 | Whitehorse

The sounds of a winding up helicopter across the road accompanied our packing the bikes, leaving the Cedar Lodge Motel on the edge of Watson Lake with Whitehorse our goal for the day, a solid 6 hour ride ahead.

At the morning stop for gas, Kim came quickly out of the bathroom and said there was an official sign on the wall saying not to drink the water in town or brush your teeth as it was contaminated.

The gas station clerk confirmed the bad water and said his friend was vomiting and very sick that day. Our motel manager had said nothing to us about water issues and of course we'd drank the water and brushed our teeth with it.

The Butterfly wanted to return and burn down the motel, but I wanted to get to Whitehorse ASAP and get another room in case we'd have to be holed up doing the technicolor yodel for a couple of days.

On the way out of town we said a prayer and hoped the motel had been on well water and not town water...

A stop at the "Sign Forest" outside Watson Lake was well worth the time... what a cool place that was! 61,000+ signs...

I found a sharpie on the ground, which seemed to be a sign from God we needed to leave our mark. Scrounged a piece of plastic and made a sign...

The rain began a few miles out of Watson Lake and continued for the next couple of hours. The Butterfly's boots continued to leak, though the plastic bags we'd put her feet in helped somewhat. It was fun and almost surreal to be riding on the "Alcan" after hearing about it all my life.

After a long time in the rain we reached Teslin and the long bridge across the Yukon with metal grating was quite the uncomfortable crossing, the wet grates moving the bikes around and knowledge of how slick wet metal was. At the gas station we decided to get coffee and warm up. The coffee was hot and good, topped with a piece of pie for comfort, I mean our “effort”. Several folks talked with us about weather, routes and their adventures in Alaska and the Yukon.

Finally, we had to get back in our wet gear for the stretch to Whitehorse. I fueled up both bikes in the rain and watched the RCMP cruise the parking lot. We've seen almost no law enforcement, so it was interesting to see them questioning a guy in a camper.

The road to Whitehorse was in great shape and the views were great as has been the entire region.

Upon arriving in Whitehorse the rain stopped, as did we, at a Yamaha shop on the edge of town to search for waterproof boots for Kim and a can of chain lube for her 700. The lube we'd bought a week earlier at a Harley shop looked to be nothing but rebranded WD40 and we wanted something substantial.

Before getting into a motel we hit a couple more stores to look for boots but had no luck. My stomach was beginning to feel rumbly and odd so we gave up on the gear search and headed back to the motel.

The lights went out with my weird feeling stomach and I waited for the midnight wakeup call from Ralph...

28 | Skagway, Haines & The Czech Republic

I woke up to light streaming through the window, waiting to see if I was nauseated, to the realization we'd avoided getting sick from the water. Twas a great way to start the day.

We'd decided to head south from Whitehorse for Skagway since it was only about 100 miles or so and we could ferry across to Haines and loop back up. I'd had cell signal and googled the ferry from Skagway to Haines, finding that it was leaving at 3:30 pm and the next would be 4 days later. We hurriedly hit a sporting goods store which had waterproof socks for the Butterfly as well as some other things we'd not been able to find, stopping at a McDonald's for a quick meal before racing south in the rain for the fjords around Skagway.

The McDonalds manager had come over to talk bikes, telling us the loop from Whitehorse to Skagway to Haines and back around was a beautiful ride, as he and buddies did it on long day trips to get out. He rode a Ducati MultiStrada and said the roads were great and to have a safe trip. A rattle had developed at the rear of Kim's bike and we stopped a few blocks from the Mickey D's, pulling into a Honda dealership that sold both bikes and cars.

In the parking lot I found a missing bolt on the chain guard and while Kim ran in to find a replacement I adjusted and lubed the chain. One of the shop guys came out to see if we needed help and also to check out a wreck that had just occurred in the nearby intersection.

By the time we got back on the road we'd lost a good amount of time and needed to get to Skagway quicker than I wanted.

The road was really good and the area approaching the Alaska border was amazing - a barren area of rock formations covered with lichen and so different than the forests we'd been in.

We happened to time our arrival to coincide with a steam train and it's billowing clouds of white in the landscape.

Heading down into Skagway, the road was absolutely awesome, twisting along a canyon with views of water and clouds on the mountains.

At the border crossing the guard said we were lucky today as the weather had been terrible for weeks. The road from the border was really nice, winding down along a sheer canyon with glimpses of the Pacific ahead.

As we rolled down the mountain slope, in the distance there were two cruise ships visible in the harbor

It was about 3:15 by the time we arrived, going straight to the Ferry Terminal and having to bypass the little downtown section which looked nice, but we could see wandering tourists from the ships eating ice cream and carrying shopping bags. The attendant in the terminal said we'd have to go standby since the ferry was full, but that generally motorcycles never were left behind. We paid $148 and put the "HNS" tags on the windshield and headed for Lane 8 immediately, as he directed.

We clambered off the bikes and ahead saw a couple waiting as well, their heavily laden R1150GS on it's side stand and covered with gear.

They were from the Czech Republic and spoke excellent English, a young couple who'd ridden across Russia, Mongolia and Kazahkstan, then having shipped their bike to San Francisco and ridden up the west coast. It turns out we'd been camping and staying in the same towns for a couple or three days simultaneously but had not seen each other.

The lady organizing and checking tickets came out so we went back to our bikes. She told us not to worry as she'd always been able to squeeze bikes on board and directed us to move up to the front with the Czech couple.

As we pulled up in line behind them, the winds came up off the bay and in my headset I heard Kim struggling, looking back to see her and the bike fall over. She yelled that something had happened to the steering when she'd turned and it had frozen, just as the wind hit her. She wasn't hurt but as we lifted the bike a I saw a broken USB plug fall to the ground. In trying to figure out what had happened it looked as if the USB dongle on her power cord had somehow slipped down between the yoke and tank, preventing the bars from turning.

The USB plug housing was toast, but we had a spare and I was glad to find it was not a more serious issue. I was also glad it happened at a stop and not while on the road where she could have had a serious accident. Lesson learned and after some judicious rerouting of the wire, we talked with "Frank and Kate" and discovered our routes and plans were much the same - north to Alaska, then south to Mexico, Central and South America.

The signal came to board, so we agreed to talk more on the ferry and got the bikes in line for the loading process. Since we were the last aboard, I watched as the last truck and camper combo turned around and backed in, wondering why. We rolled over the ramp into the ship and got the bikes parked in front of all the vehicles, then headed upstairs for coffee and the 12 mile trip to Haines.

The ferry ride was a lot of fun and the scenery was great. We enjoyed sitting on the top deck enjoying the cold breeze and scenery. Frank and Kate had stayed up front to nap a bit.

The dock in Haines came up an hour later and we watched as the ship docked, hanging back to let the crowd of folks go below to get in the vehicles. We dawdled, knowing we'd be the last off the ferry, finally going below only to realize that the entire ferry was waiting for us to get our bikes off. There were glowering faces from the campers and crew. While waiting to load the ferry, we’d been in discussion with Frank and Kate and I hadn’t paid attention to the loading, only seeing the last vehicle backing in, which I thought odd since every ferry I’d ever been on had loaded from the rear and driven off the front. In brilliant fashion and a hurry to get up to the top deck, I’d also failed to notice that all the vehicles in the hold were facing our direction when we parked. Embarrassed, we hurriedly got saddled up and moving.

Once safely off the boat, Frank and Kate (aka Fanda and Katchka) and weeun's discussed camping together and continuing the next day to Tok. We found a roadside campground on the water, where a camp spot was available according to the liquored-up owners, but Frank wanted to check out the state park further down the road. We continued on and as we entered the park saw "No Tent Camping" on the dirty sign. Continuing in a ways, we reached a white stripe on the road with signs warning us that bears were ahead and no cyclist or hikers should proceed if bears were visible. Bears weren't visible, however piles of fresh fish guts were strewn on the road and a couple of guys with telephotos and tripods were sitting near the line.

I asked the guys what was up and they said a grizzly with two cubs had just been eating on the road and not to proceed. That was good enough for me and we decided the previous campground would be fine. We returned to our first stop, setting up tents in the chilly air. The rain had stopped earlier and though it was threatening we got none.

Frank and Kate had been on the road a long time and were about to crack their thousandth can of beans when I insisted we hit town for a good meal of fresh fish. We finally found the spot recommended by the camp host and after a very long wait had some fantastic fresh halibut. Since they were on a shoestring budget, we treated them and Kachka was in heaven, having a fresh cooked meal of fish and more.

[IMG]https://photos.smugmug.com/Galleries/The-Trip-August-2016/i-zvfHDcz/0/L/P1030002-L.jpg[/IMG]

The camp host had warned us that bears wandered through the camp area but not to worry as they had never bothered campers. We got a good fire going and I strapped on my vest with rows of bear spray cans - similar to a suicide bomber with sticks of dynamite - and all wired to explode simultaneously in case I saw a grizzly.

Well, that's not exactly true but I did keep a can of bear spray in my pocket. Kaschka and Fanda said they'd not been able to find any bear spray in Canada and had actually had to use a motorcycle disc brake alarm one night to scare a bear who'd come around their tent. When they’d entered Canada, folks had told them loud sounds often scared bears away, so Fanda had decided to take his disc brake alarm off the bike and keep it in the tent at night just in case. He'd figured how to trigger it, and sure enough they'd actually had to use it one evening and it worked. He said it was terrifying hearing the bear near the tent and it's deep guttural growl. He'd hit the alarm and the high pitched squeal had scared it away. They shared the story with us as we sat around the campfire.

Kashcka was a singer/songwriter and said the beauty of Canada and Alaska had inspired her to write many songs as she rode on the back of the bike. I was finally able to coax one from her, a beautiful, heart wrenching song in her native language that brought a tear to my eye.

We finally crawled off to sleep after I drug our cases off the bikes and about 50 feet from the tent just in case a bear smelled the food within them.

29 | Bears, Wolves & Destruction Bay

I woke early as usual, climbing out on my hands and knees into the wet grass and standing to see a white cloud above the water.

We'd had no bears, or at least hadn't known of it, and that was good. I walked down the road and to the waters edge, surveying the early morning sight.

Kaschka and Fanda were stirring and shortly after were out of the tent, Fanda retrieving his drone from the big rear case on their bike. I watched as he flew it out and back and remarked that I'd wanted to bring one sometime but could never justify the hassle.

We'd agreed to ride together to Haines Junction but Kim wanted to head back to the bear watching area we'd almost ridden into the night before.

On the way out we headed back to the state park. Kim was in front and as we reached the stop line, she mistakenly thought we were riding through and rode slowly out to center of the bear crossing area and then stopped, waiting for us. I yelled at her to turn around quickly or go on to the other side, since she stopped right at the pile of fish guts on the road where the grizzlies had been eating. She slowly maneuvered the bike around and rode back while I was freaked out about it. We got off the bikes and about 5 minutes later the grizzly sow and two cubs walked into the road directly where she’d stopped. Thank God she hadn't been there when they came out.

We watched as the mother and cubs stood in the road, eyeing the observers at each end for a bit before wandering out to the river and the foot bridge where park rangers counted salmon. The sow jumped in and began catching fish, tearing off the heads and passing them to the cubs who ate a bite or two and waited for another.

It was finally time to move on, but fascinating seeing our first grizzly on the trip. Can't say I saw them as cute and fuzzy.

We hadn't eaten breakfast and were out of food so a stop at the IGA grocery in Haines was our priority, devouring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the sidewalk after shopping.

The eventual crossing back into Canada took a very long time, which was surprising.

Our goal for the day was to make Destruction Bay and camping for the night. The road north to Haines Junction was another scenic joyride. At one point in the scenery we saw a white van pulled off to the left and as Fanda and Kim rode past they were looking left at the van. I happened to look to the right at the same moment and saw a grizzly standing on it's hind legs, turning it's head to watch each bike pass. It was such an odd thing for my Texas brain, it took a moment to realize it was indeed a big grizzly watching us go by. It just didn’t compute for some reason, again most likely my Texas mental wiring, but obviously the van on the left had stopped to observe the bear. I’ll never forget watching the bears head following each bike like he was observing a tennis match.

We stopped at a pullout for Kluane Park for a snack and butt break, as well as scampering into the brush to get some water from the stream to filter for our water bottles.

Kluane Lake on the way to Destruction Bay was stunning. The light was getting low and the colors were popping as we rode along the lakeside.

The Congdon Campground came up, our goal for the night but there were signs saying no tent camping due to bear danger. Fanda saw a free campsite listed on an app on his phone in Burwash Landing about 30 miles further so we continued on along the lake.

The day was getting late when we arrived in Burwash Landing, but could find no sign of the camping area. As we sat on the roadside a pickup pulled up out of the little airport and stopped. Kim asked the driver if he knew of a free place to camp and he said there was an abandoned campground nearby, but he didn't know where. A phone call later, he shouted to us to follow him and we rode back into an area with some rundown houses, eventually ending up at a junkyard of sorts. We all looked at each other as the truck drove away. We weren't really interested in sleeping in a junkyard.

A moment later the truck came backing up and we realized we were still supposed to be following him. Eventually he turned onto a deep gravel road and it wound down into, yes, an abandoned campground replete with tables, bear proof trash cans, fire rings and outhouses, all empty and overgrown with weeds and brush. It was actually creepy and Kim wondered out loud why it had been abandoned... having seen the previous warning signs of no tent camping at the earlier park, of course I assumed it was due to bears.

The driver piled out and I asked if bears were an issue, to which he replied that indeed there were bears but whether they'd have an issue with us was the real question. He was a bush pilot and said he'd never been to the campground before, having heard it existed only.

We walked down a road to the lake, absolutely wide open and beautiful in a 360 degree pan. There was a large open area several acres wide down to the water. We walked back up from the lake and picked a spot to set up tents. The pilot left us with a hard sell to come fly with him the next day for $250 each per hour… ain’t gonna happen.

Once the truck was gone, the silence and loneliness fell, all of us feeling a bit uncomfortable but smiling anyway. A fire was the priority and we were out of water as well, so I climbed on the bike and rode down to the lake alone to get water for the filter.

Standing alone on the lakeside was quite an experience.

After soaking the silence and the view in a bit, I filled the water bag and rode back to the campsite, Fanda having walked down until he could see me to make sure I was okay. The gravity water filter bag filled and filtering, we started looking for firewood in earnest. as the light faded. There was a creepiness about the abandoned place as we explored. I finally found some long wood poles and brought one back, Fanda grabbing another. Everyone laughed at the sight, but I produced a wire saw from my survival kit and we took turns cutting logs for the fire until it finally snapped from fatigue.

Mongo want fire. Mongo find wood.

Dinner consisted of ramen noodles mixed with canned crab meat and a can of beans we all shared. Kaschka said she'd found a pile of poo nearby and wanted to see if we could identify it. It was indeed large but we decided it was moose and not bear as it was large and consisted mainly of vegetation. After the meal Fanda wanted to go fishing with his collapsible pole and I pulled out mine, all of them bursting out with laughter at the size of the tiny cheap chinese one I'd bought for $7 on eBay. We rode the bikes back down and did some casting for fun. The light was beautiful and the scenery astounding.

Oddly enough in the dead silence Kim's phone rang, scaring us and we found out we had 4G in the middle of nowhere. Crazy!

We returned to the campsite and stuck the 4 foot long poles vertically into the fire pit, while Fanda got the fire going. As we sat in the darkness around the fire, Fanda and Kaschka asked about bears and we all got a chill at the lonely spot we were in. I suggested standing another 16 foot pole vertically in the fire so that it would burn all night.

In the darkness, the fire burned slowly down until we crawled into our tents for the night. About 15 minutes passed until suddenly there was the unbelievably loud and blood curdling howl of a wolf... and it couldn't have been more than 30 or 40 yards away.

I've never heard a wolf in the wild, only the distant call in movies, and never expected to hear one so close. It was terrifying at a visceral level and so loud and powerful it was shocking. In the dark I could hear Kaschka loudly whispering to Fanda in their tent. We lay there for a few moments, me expecting to hear snarls and ripping of tents at any time by a pack of wolves responding to the call. I could hear Kim breathing next to me in the long, focused silence.

Time passed and no further sounds or howls came. Kim fell asleep but I could not, as tense as a board, the adrenaline leaving me wide awake for much of the night listening to every sound, real and imagined. That sound and power of the wolf’s howl so close will never leave me, touching a deep part of my humanity never known before. As I’ve discovered in my travels, the closer you are to danger, perceived or real, the more alive one feels.

As the night passed, I heard the sound of heavy waves on the beach and wondered if the winds had changed and a storm was brewing…

30 | Deadman Lake to The North Pole

It was nice to wake up not dead, and, sporting all my studly appendages. No wolves attacked despite the call to the pack. No bears chewed our heads as we slept and the morning air was cold with blue skies and sunshine.

After a quick breakfast we rolled out with Fanda and Katchka for Deadman Lake. Hmmm, Destruction Bay to Deadman Lake... They had said they would enjoy traveling together since we had the same basic itinerary. We had a great time together camping and it sounded good to us. Besides, having two additional folks when camping with bears increases the likelihood of survival by at least 50% the way I figure it, even more when I tie their shoelaces together unbeknownst to them.

The terrain going north was far less dramatic than previous days so we stopped less for photos. At a gas stop we found showers behind the store and after a snack lunch we all cleaned up and showered. The cool weather has been great and we've been chasing blue each day. The rainy weather that has been plaguing the state seems to have broken and we've been a day behind the rain, riding through wet patches occasionally but generally in sunshine with blue skies.

The fall colors and cool air have made riding a real pleasure, though the nights have been pretty dang cold. So cold, in fact, that The Iron Butterfly picked up a heavier sleeping bag and I've doubled up in the two 35º bags at night. But I digress.

After washing up, we burned it for a campground somewhere around Deadman Lake. After the wolf incident, I think none of us were really ready for another night of the same, and though unspoken, the mindset was to find a spot a little less edgy. As the day began its end, we saw a sign for a campground on the lake, but pulled in to find a large "No Tents" warning sign screwed over the main sign. I read the fine print that said the area was heavy with bears due to a concentration of soap berries so tent camping was not allowed.

We motored on and found another site on a different lake, but it was uninhabited and we felt some unease and motored on for Tok. A mile or two before town we spotted another campground along the river and pulled in, this one having a few campers, water and some good sites. We rode the bikes into the bushes and got tents and a rain fly hung for the night.

It was interesting watching a few campers roll in, all paling in measure to a huge German expedition vehicle that parked across the road from us. After a while the driver walked over to share our fire and we got acquainted. He and his wife were from Germany, having just retired as CEO of a meat company. They were circumnavigating the globe and heading south from Alaska to Ushuaia. He was very nice and fun to talk with.

We'd run low for water and had seen a hand pump in the campground, but Kim and a stranger had not been able to get water from it. I went back up and finally got some water out but it was cloudy and dirty looking. I filled a couple bottles anyway but saw a man and wife walking past. They warned me the camp host had said not to drink the water as it was contaminated. Dambit! No warning sign posted and I'd just contaminated our drinking bottles.

I got the MSR gravity filter out to save the day again, but was beginning to wonder if any of the water in the state wasn't contaminated. Sheesh. Kim had been battling an ongoing ear infection from wearing plugs all day for weeks now and oral antibiotics haven't kicked it, so Kascka suggested cloves in vodka, allowing the cloves to saturate the alcohol and using it as an antibiotic as they do in the Czech Republic. I rode to Tok to beat the grocery store closing hour and found some cloves in the seasoning section, then returned and we filled a small bottle with alcohol and cloves. Though weak in solution she tried it in her ear and it seemed to help. After a good meal and campfire we all slept well.

The next morning we had no rain again and after breakfast we saw the German couple outside the panzer wagon. He invited us to come inside and check it out. His wife was very sweet and tolerated our peering around inside. She said they'd had many camper vans but this one she loved and felt safe in anywhere. I was envious. Fanda was envious. Kim was envious. Kascka was even envious.

The owner had told us the beast used about 22 liters per 100 km which is a little over 10 mpg. Not bad. Better yet he said the tank range was 3000 km... dude that's 2000 miles! As Fanda said, they could cross the Sahara in it.

The Butterfly said as cool as it was, it still looked like a garbage truck and she wouldn't want to be seen in it. I’d have no problem wearing a set of garbage man coveralls if I owned it. We exchanged info and web addresses, his wife saying they would follow us and we could meet for a beer in Argentina since we were all doing the same route.

They watched and waved as we rode out for Fairbanks and further adventures north.

Lots of conversations with flaggers on this trip

It seemed to be a long day on the road, though it was only a couple hundred miles or so. We were highly entertained by the North Pole community on the way. Stoopid selfies by the sign of course...

The sun was out as we entered Fairbanks, F&K peeling off to locate their couch surfing host while we looked for a cheap motel. We hadn't signed up for surfing and hadn't had time to locate someone. Looking for a coffee shop and wifi to search for accommodations we stumbled across Big Daddy's BBQ and chowed down on the best BBQ outside of Texas we've found. A small motel was located and we crashed for the night. The next day I needed to get Kim's bike serviced, brake shoes and some issues checked out.

31 | Fairbanks to the Arctic Ocean

Kim's bike needed service and Trail's End BMW was accommodating in squeezing us in for oil and fluid changes, as well as valve adjustments since both bikes had hit their service intervals and we still had a long ways to go. Kim's chain was requiring adjustment more frequently than usual so I asked them to check it out and replace if needed - especially as we were planning to do the Dalton Highway to Prudhoe Bay.

Unfortunately we had to wait much longer than expected, including a panic when the tech misidentified something as a top-end failure and were there most of the day. The Iron B sat on a lowered 1200 Adventure Water (conundrum?) and fell in love immediately. As we waited another couple, a bit worn from the road were perusing the 800's and the girl was waiting to test ride a lowered F800GS.

While we were snoozing in the back, the couple came around and introduced themselves. Dave and Heather had ridden South America and were now on their Alaska loop. Heather's single cylinder F650GS had been giving them problems for months and they finally decided to just get another bike - the lowered 800 on the showroom floor. Turns out Heather's bike was not running and Dave's brake pads were gone, so they were walking around town, luckily staying close enough to the dealer to walk a couple miles.

The dealer was out of stock on brake pads for a few days, so we offered them a ride home, letting them double up on Kim's bike and following them to their friend's house. Kim decided to let them use her bike for a couple of days until their deal on the F800 went through. They were appreciative and we agreed to have dinner or a beer with Fanda and Kaschka that evening. Heather and Dave wanted to glean info about Mongolia since they were eventually going there. BBQ was the order once again.

That night Kim's ear infection hit with a vengeance and we spent a few hours at a late night clinic and then an unsuccessful attempt to get the ear medicine - all pharmacies were closed and the emergency room pharmacist telling us that none of that medicine was available in town at the moment. Kim suffered through the night until the next day when a pharmacist finally substituted eye medicine - warning that it was very dangerous if there was a ruptured ear drum.

The next day was spent washing clothes, editing pics and Kim resting as much as possible. That evening we got a text from Dave and Heather that they'd bought the 800, so we ran over and picked up Kim's bike in the dark. We were planning to do the Dalton to Prudhoe Bay the next day, and Fanda wanted to ride it as well, but had concerns about being two up with Kaschka, His TKC80 was a bit thin and the road was rough and muddy from reports we'd heard. The 1000 mile round trip might push the tire over it's limit with all the weight they carried. Kaschka decided to stay in Fairbanks to rest and work on the blog so that Fanda could go solo. Their couch surfing host was Evan, a young guy who worked at a gold mine and rode an 800GS. He said it would be fine of we wanted to leave some gear at his house to lighten the load for the Dalton, which we happily did. It was late when we finally got to bed, but I was glad the bikes were prepped for the road.

Up early for the long day on the Dalton, I checked Kim's chain in the rain in front of the hotel, a bit pissed to discover it slack. The dealer had "adjusted it" the day before when doing the service, saying it was fine and didn't need replacement, but it was very loose only a day later. Hmmm. In the rush of leaving and loaning the bike to Dave and Heather I hadn't checked it at the stealership.

The highway from Fairbanks to Prudhoe on the Dalton is 497 official miles so the round trip of 1000 with a weakening chain made me a bit nervous. There is only one habitated stop on the 500 mile road, the little gas station/restaurant at Coldfoot which lies almost exactly at the 250 mile midpoint between Fairbanks and Prudhoe Bay on the Arctic Ocean. Not a good place to break down, and foolishly I hadn’t picked up a spare chain on our travels, having intended to do so the entire time. The previous day’s dealer trip had assuaged my concerns as they said it had checked out fine and had adjusted it. The loose condition told me otherwise…

We rolled into the driveway of the couch surfer home where F&K were staying, dropping even more extra gear to lighten our loads for the mud that lay ahead. We'd left all our gear, except for tools, food, tent and basic cook kit and took no extra clothes, figuring we could do 4 days in the same outfits easily.

It was beginning to rain as we left Fairbanks, catching gas on the edge of town. While I waited outside the convenience store for Kim and Fanda to come out, a bearded old character came up to check out the bike and when he found out we planned to camp on the Dalton, immediately asked me if I had a big gun with me. I responded no, having had to leave my Ulralight 44 mag back in the states since Canada wouldn’t let me cross with it. He then recounted how a bear had torn into his tent one night and he had to shoot it with his pistol, killing it half inside his tent. He then said “If I were you I wouldn’t go up there without a gun.” and walked away. Just what I needed to hear before heading into the wilderness, as if I weren’t paranoid enough about bears already.

As we continued north the rain increased and a bit of trepidation as well. The forecast for Prudhoe Bay had said “light rain mixed with sun” for the next 3 days or so, but after hearing the horror stories of the road construction and mud ahead, we had hoped to catch some sunshine and the rain we were in was not comforting.

About the time the blacktop ended and we hit the Dalton dirt, the clouds had come so low we rode in zero visibility for a few miles in the mountains, finally clearing the fog before dropping down to Livengood. We took the side road for Livengood a mile or so to check it out, but the mud was getting deep so we turned back for the Dalton.

I stopped at the road department building at the junction and asked some folks who were working on soil core samples if they had any idea of the road status ahead. They didn't, so we motored on.

The road varied from dirt and mud to loose gravel and asphalt, all wet and muddy. The scenery changed from forest to sweeping landscapes as we dodged potholes, mudholes and piles of river rock dumped randomly on the surfaces. It required constant concentration and doing scenery checks had to be fast.

A wrecked truck off the embankment to the left reminded us of the road, followed by a rolled car a few miles further. The appearance of the Alaska pipeline was fascinating to see after a lifetime of hearing about it. It was fun to ride along side it, somewhat astonishing at the engineering feat it represented as it wound around and under the road and hills for 500 miles through wilderness land and extreme weather.

As we came into the region near Finger Rocks, the sun came out and blue sky lay ahead. It perked our spirits for sure. As the miles rolled by with absolutely no signs of civilization it sank in how far we were going and just how remote and uninhabited a land this place was. The feeling was inspiring and cautioning at the same time.

At a stop for a butt break, a pickup with mud covered snowmobile trailer pulled in and the man and woman came over to talk to us. They'd been bowhunting for caribou and warned us of really bad sections of road ahead, laughing a bit at our adventure to come. The driver warned us that Atigun Pass was very slick and muddy and that we might have real trouble getting over it, as they had much difficulty in their pickup truck. He said there had been six days of solid rain previous and we were heading into a quagmire. It was soooooooo good to hear and I could see Kim's face as we listened, her eyes glancing to me at times. The couple also told us we could camp anywhere along the pipeline, especially at the pull out roads, as long as we didn't set up either blocking the access road or directly under the pipeline.

Frank’s Franks and Beans Break

Finger Rocks protrudes above the plain

Riding on with the warnings in our minds, the sign for "The Arctic Circle" was exciting to see and a milestone marker for us two Texans, pulling in to get the obligatory shots for our memories. As Fanda pulled his bike over to the sign for his turn, he popped the side stand down and leaned the bike over, but the bike kept going and we both grabbed it. I looked down to find a loose rock to put under the stand, but then saw that the side stand itself had broken about an inch below the pivot.

We got the bike on the center stand to survey the situation but it was beyond repair. Fanda decided to wire it up and go on, using the center stand only for the rest of the trip up. We finished our pics and talked to a couple of BLM guys there who were giving away Arctic Circle Certificates, about any camping spots along the way north. They suggested two, or just doing dispersed camping along the road.

Approaching Coldfoot, the only gas stop at the midway point of the Dalton, supposedly named as the spot where people got "cold feet" about going further north, our blue skies turned grey again. As we neared a river crossing, there happened to be an old red and yellow VW bus parked off the side with 4 folks standing around it. Fanda chopped the throttle and pulled off, recognizing one of the couples as Russians who'd stayed at the same couch surfer's home with them. They had decided to go to Prudhoe Bay by car and ended up riding with the VW couple.

Turns out the bus had developed a problem which was soon diagnosed as a bad CV joint. The owners of "Big Emma" had brought a spare and the decision was made to replace it on the roadside rather than continue on to Coldfoot. I had a long conversation with the Russian couple whose plans mirrored all of ours in heading to Ushuaia.

At another butt break on the road side a blue pickup pulled in, two guys from Serbia and Croatia conversing with us about our bikes and trip.

Our goal for the day, Coldfoot, which is almost exactly 250 miles from Fairbanks and roughly the same from Prudhoe Bay further north, was in reach as the weather deteriorated into rain again. Kim's bike had a known range of 235-240 miles based on experience, and I had planned to siphon some gas from my tank in case she didn't quite make it. Turns out Fanda had an extra 3 liter fuel bottle so we'd decided to use his if needed and had raced north as quickly as the roads allowed, which turned out to be closer to 40 mph in average. As I looked at the GPS and told Kim we were about 4 miles from Coldfoot, she simultaneously shouted she'd just run out of gas. My GPS showed it 3.8 miles away. Fanda pulled up and we dumped the 3 liter bottle in, then continued on. Her bike had made it about 245 miles or so.

We gassed up at the combo gas stop and restaurant to a crowd of Australian tourists who were about to board their bus. They were anxious to take pics and talk to us, one lady getting a shot of herself sitting on my bike. She was thrilled to send it to her son.

In the store I bought a couple of stickers, some peanut M&M's and a Coke to share, as well as each of us downing a big cup of coffee while we watched the rain shower through the windows.

We'd not seen a place to camp and since it didn't get dark until 10:30 at night we made the caffeine fueled decision to go on for Galbraith Lake on the northern side of the Brooks Range by way of Atigun Pass.

The cash register girl had suggested a couple of roadside pullouts about 10 miles up the road from Coldfoot but we passed them in the rain with no desire to stop.

Random short stretches of blacktop appeared in the middle of nowhere only to end shortly after

Nearing Atigun Pass, the rain stopped but the temps had dropped to 48 or so. The pass began the climb into the mountains, the road wet and spongy, the front end wandering as the smooth dirt sunk an inch or two into mud beneath. It had appeared to have been freshly graded and was deceptively smooth, hiding it's depth and softness well. It seemed the road crews had just dumped and smoothed fresh dirt on top of the mud, disguising it well.

Tension was thick as we motored up, feeling the bikes wandering as the throttle pushed the front wheel on, never feeling secure and not knowing if the mud would suddenly deepen. I kept asking the Butterfly how she was doing to hear a tense "Okay".

Hitting the top to spectacular views of sun spots amidst the cloud shadows was breathtaking, but as we began the descent I could see deeper mud and deep ruts from semi truck tires. It got very bad just as a turn came up, tire tracks cutting deep trenches in the 8” deep mud where a semi had slid sideways.

Simultaneously in my rear view mirror I could see Kim, Fanda and the pickup truck with the Serbian guys all coming behind me. Incredulously I saw the truck pass Fanda and come up right behind Kim just as we hit the deepest mud. I began doing the butt clench tango as the bike wobbled in the deep ruts and heard Kim shouting in my ears as she suddenly went completely sideways just as the jerks in the pickup truck tried to pass her in the deep mud. Incredibly she didn't go down, and as I stopped she wore the paint off the truck with a withering streak of language. I was so pissed at the idiots myself I shook my fist at them as they passed.

Kim was shaking heavily, having just avoided going down in the mud and then being run over by the truck. We'd had not a single vehicle near us on the entire ride until the worst part of the road, and of course an idiot driver decides to blast past as her bike was wavering side to side. As she got her nerves back we got the bike turned downhill and she continued the slithering down for another mile or so to the base.

After settling down a bit we passed the truck again and later at a butt break miles up the road the driver pulled in to apologize to both of us. Thankfully Kim had calmed down a bit so I was relieved we wouldn't have to burn the bodies and push their truck off the cliff when she finished with them. To say the road and views that day were epic was an understatement. The skies, terrain, loneliness, expanses and weather are truly amazing and one tires of trying to describe it or photograph it. It must be experienced.

North of Atigun Pass, there are no trees as there are on the southern side. Instead, only tundra which lay in red, purple and gold patterns like a shag carpet covering the landscape. The contrast between landscapes only a few miles apart was stunning, and the tundra was beautiful in a completely different way, something I’d never seen before.

The fall coloration of the tundra was beautiful

As the light faded we began to wonder if we'd missed the turn for the campground, and when we saw a pump station off the road side I swung in to ask about fuel or camping. The guard in the shack freaked out when he saw my helmet cam and demanded to know if it was on or not. I assured him it wasn't and he calmed a bit, explaining that the camp area was still a few miles ahead.

As we rolled on, we saw the sign for Galbraith and the side road went past a small airstrip, eventually dead-ending into the brushy camp area. A bear box was both a good sign and a bad sign, but at least we had a spot for our food after dinner. If I’d been smaller I would’ve attempted to sleep in the bear box for the night.

Fanda used his new miniature camp hatchet to get some small wood and a fire going, while I scavenged a couple of burnt logs from another fire ring and Kim got boiling water going on the propane stove.

Our meal was a share of instant Thai curry rice and a can of baked beans from Fanda, the cold eventually driving us into our tents where I lay awake late wondering if we had inadvertently pitched our tent directly on the bear path to the bear proof trash cans.

32 | Deadhorse & Da Bears

I awoke to the sound of rain on the tent and decided to just stay curled in my sleeping bag despite the need to get up and going for Prudhoe Bay. Kim was asleep and I heard no sound from Fanda's tent so I dozed a bit longer. We’d been up far too late the night before, the long daylight fooling us only to realize it was 1 am and not 11 pm as we had guessed.

The rain stopped and I peered out at wet bikes, mud and gear and had to make myself head out into the damp cold. I heard the zipper on Fanda's tent and Kim beginning to stir as I fiddled with the bikes, again having to adjust Kim's chain which was slack.

We ate some cold food - maybe beans or something - and got the wet tents stuffed in the duffle. Eventually we were loaded and the sun appeared while we dodged potholes on the road from the camp out to the Haul Road.

Fanda had asked if we'd heard anything that night, as he'd heard sniffing near his tent and wondered if it was a bear. We hadn't, but searching around the tents we were unable to spot any tracks due to the gravel.

From the north side of Atigun Pass, we saw no more trees and the tundra lay across huge expanses and rolling terrain. Our timing for the fall colors was great, as the carpet was a blend of yellows, oranges, deep maroons and reds. Truly beautiful and so different than what we'd ever seen. You certainly know that you are in a remote area of the world and the feel is wonderful.

Having heard from so many folks about the poor road quality and bad construction sections, it was both with apprehension and excitement that we raced north, the roads still wet and gravel covered. It was a mix of freshly graded dirt, with some deep wheel swallowing patches, followed by hard dirt and potholes, random stretches of blacktop and hard packed gravel. There were many areas of unmarked road repair and construction patches that one would suddenly come upon over a rise, where 60 mph stretches came screeching down to 15 for slick mud sections.

The 158 miles we had to travel to the industrial community of Deadhorse outside the oil facility of Prudhoe Bay came slowly, the concentration required making each mile seem like ten instead. We passed through a couple of construction zones, the wheels wobbling and wavering in mud and deep gravel. The smooth looking, freshly graded sections were often the worst, because they spread fresh soft dirt approximately 2-3 inches deep and wet it down, then run a grader over it. The smooth surface is just a thin sheet of dried dirt with mud beneath which catches you by surprise.

As we finally reached the last 36 miles, where we'd been warned the serious construction began, we tightened up and readied ourselves. At one stop, the native American flagger talked with me about what lay ahead, not to mention the grizzly bear and musk ox that had wandered by earlier, and life in Alaska in general. Looking at the tundra around, I had thought it might be free of bears since there seemed to be no cover and little food. Wrong.

Shortly after, the pilot car arrived and we began the slow trek ahead, replete with earth movers, gravel loaded semi side-dumps and a plethora of heavy equipment. The mud varied, but the worst was the 4" deep soft dirt that had been graded smooth and water dumped on the top... that is until the pilot car led us straight into a stretch of deep, wet river gravel.

Fanda was in front of me and his front wheel hit a 12” deep section of gravel, digging in enough to completely stop his bike. I was coming up to him so quickly that I could barely get stopped, hearing Kim yelling in the headset that she was going to hit me. I cringed, felt a hard bump but didn't go down, then saw Kim off her bike and rolling in the mud to my right. I struggled to get my bike to stay upright in the gravel since I couldn’t get the kickstand down to get off and help. I turned only to see a truck driver who'd been behind her running to her side, as well as a dump truck driver bailing out to help lift the bike.

I finally got off the bike and could see where her front tire had kissed the bottom of my pannier and amazingly her bike had no body damage or anything broken. Luckily she was unhurt but shaken as we got the bike righted with the help of the two drivers. We all were pissed at the driver who’d led us into the deep gravel instead of the smoother compacted section just adjacent to us. Fanda said he could see her eating chips and listening to her headset instead of paying attention to the road. The problem with the pilot cars is that you are forced to stay close behind them, typically with a semi or two on your tail and have absolutely no idea what lies ahead until it appears under the rear bumper of the car and suddenly under your front wheel. This was no exception.

We continued on, covered in mud and sliding here and there until a few smooth areas appeared. Eventually we reached another stop and the flagman told us we had timed the ride perfectly because... "Two more weeks and this will be a different world up here". They'd had snow a couple of days before amidst 7 days of rain and the temps had hit 30 or so. It was little comfort for the next 20 miles of teeth gritting moments of slip-sliding away.

Finally, the community of Deadhorse was on the horizon and I wondered if Kim's bike would make the 242 miles or run out of gas, but the 700 purred into the industrial buildings of Deadhorse with no problem. We eventually found the Prudhoe Bay Hotel while searching for gas, and a truck driver pointed me down to the fuel tanks a block away. We were starving and celebrated our arrival with a cold can of beans in the parking lot, not having to worry about bears with all the heavy equipment running around. We eventually headed inside the hotel, donning the required booties to keep our muddy feet off the carpet.

I decided that VanCamp's needs to have athletes on their labels like Wheaties, and Fanda should be the first cover boy...

Coffee was complimentary in the hotel and we downed a bunch of it while resting in the cafeteria area. The manager warned us of a grizzly seen in the parking lot where the bikes were, much to my disbelief. It was hard to comprehend with nothing but massive oil field trucks and industrial buildings all around. But indeed she a had a good photo of it - fat and fluffy - on her cell phone. I told her we’d relaxed for the first time in weeks out in the lot to which she laughed. She then said that if the grizzly had shown itself, we could have jumped into any of the vehicles. I asked how and she said it was illegal to lock your car for that very reason. I was happy to hear that bit of information, but still wonder if it’s true.

After resting a bit and psyching up for the return, we filled up with gas at the funky fuel tanks and found the Prudhoe Bay General Store/NAPA Auto Parts building for some road snacks and a picture. The cashier told me to watch out for the road as the construction was some of the worst they'd had and the locals were a bit miffed at it. She said there had been word that a rider "had gone down on it today" and I told her it was one of us. She said it was worse than normal and to be safe.

In the parking lot I again checked the 700's chain and it was very loose. I tightened it again but was seriously concerned about the next 500 miles it had to go. For it to suddenly decide to end it's life on this remote road was not something we needed.

It was a sobering thought that our destination lay another 500 miles back down the road we’d come

That said, we geared up and rode south without incident, other than some near death moments, until we hit a major patch of mud and in my sudden moment of dog paddling heard Kim shouting she was down. I got stopped to find she’d gotten sideways in the slop and laid the bike down. Again she wasn't hurt but frustrated at dropping the bike again. Riding in mud for 2 days and nearly 500 miles takes a toll.

The miles continued through the construction zone until we hit the 36 mile marker and felt some relief as the roads improved... to a degree, again the sudden moments of tension when you'd hit an unmarked patch of mud. It honestly seemed that the road crews were trying to dump bikers for fun the way they screwed the road up at random moments.

At this point you may be thinking it was just trouble and strife on the ride, but the epic scenes of beauty outweighed all the trouble with the roads. One clearly remembers the hairy moments more than the easy stretches, but, you can NEVER relax during the 500 miles up, or the 500 miles back. There will always be a dangerous pothole in a beautiful stretch of asphalt, a sudden 12" deep soft patch of dirt on a hard pack road, a pile of random egg sized gravel in the least expected place, or a semi coming around a curve in your lane... all guaranteed to happen the moment you look away to enjoy the view. At least we were very lucky and didn’t have rain all the way as many riders do.

One badass Butterfly

The landscape changed as did the light, becoming crisp and sunny as we got closer and closer to Galbraith Lake. The colors of the tundra were really rich and beautiful and we commented on it constantly. We three had spaced out from each other as we each stopped for photos here and there. As I crested a ridge and the Sena's reconnected, Kim said there were two Caribou on the roadside. As I pulled up they were angling across in front of us and crossed the road, disappearing behind the pipeline and trotting away.

Eventually the Brooks Range reappeared and then Galbraith Lake, the campground, and time to set up tents. The day before we had expected to make it back to Coldfoot this day but the fatigue and time lost in the road construction wore us down and we didn't have the extra 100 miles left in us.

Back to Galbraith Campground

It was clear and chilly as we set up camp, Fanda hacking a few pieces of wet shrubbery for the fire while I scrounged some foam rubber sheets from a discarded archery target to use as fire starter for the wet wood and simultaneously poison us with the fumes.

We shared canned beans and canned ham for supper by the fire, discussing the next day's 360+ miles to Fairbanks then crawled off into the tents.

As I lay in the dark tent thinking about the day... and bears... or wolves, I heard a dull metallic thumping sound coming from Fanda's nearby tent. I realized something was up and called his name. He shouted "bear" and I grabbed my can of bear spray and pocket knife, trying to make some noise banging them together but only getting a pathetically dull "clunk clunk clunk." I yelled Fanda's name again and then yanked the tent zipper down, my headlamp illuminating him just as he emerged from his tent, the can of bear spray we'd lent him in one hand and his tiny camp hatchet in the other.

He looked around wildly and said he'd been awakened by loud sniffing on the tent wall, followed by something pushing against the fabric and shaking the tent right next to his head.

As Fanda wildly flashed his light about, he could see no bear nearby but was definitely upset. His “disc brake bear alarm” had not worked and the sound I’d heard had been Fanda hitting the alarm trying to get it’s siren to go off as it had in their first bear encounter. I told him to grab his steel cook pot and put some rocks in it to bang and shake if the bear returned. An ex-Viet Nam military sniper I'd met who lived in Alaska had told me the only thing that had scared grizzlies away from his cabin were rocks in a coffee can, not even gun shots.

It felt a bit thin and stupid to suggest rattling rocks, but I asked him to grab an extra pot lid from his sidecase that I could use as a noisemaker in our tent. He did both and then got back in his tent. I zipped up ours, completely awake and listening to every sound and heartbeat for another hour or two, determined to stay awake all night. Kim had been deep in sleep and only grumbled incoherently during the whole escapade. I fought the sleep as long as possible until I finally passed out sometime in the wee hours of the morning. It’s odd that you can indeed become so tired you really don’t care if something kills you.

What a wild, difficult and amazing day it was.

Views from our campsite that evening…

33 | A Moment In The Sun

I woke up very early to see bright light on the tent and crawled out while the Butterfly slept.

It was a stunning sunrise over the mountains that captured me. I walked down to the creek nearby, surrounded by glowing light on golden vegetation and was captured in a divine moment of life. It so engulfed me I simply could do nothing but thank God for what overcame my senses. Can say that I've never, ever felt what I felt that morning.

After just absorbing as much as I could, I wandered back to the sleepers and checked the bike thermometer. It read 34 in the sunshine, with a hard frost on the bikes and gear. It likely had gotten close to 30 during the night, however the sun felt great despite my stinging fingers hoping for a hot mug of coffee to warm up on. Fanda had gotten up and we talked about the night’s bear incident for awhile. Kim was awake, deflating mattresses and rolling up gear in the tent. I pulled the soaking wet fly off and draped it over a bush in the sun, then we slowly disassembled camp.

Breakfast was a 34º can of beans, since we only had oatmeal and the thought of cooking and cleaning up sounded worse. Again I checked Kim's chain to find it very slack and now had real concerns that it might not make it to Fairbanks. I tightened it up and we rolled out into the warm sun and cold shadows of the mountains, Coldfoot and fuel lay about 109 miles ahead of us, followed by 250 more to Fairbanks.

Ahead also lay Atigun Pass and the mud we'd slithered through a couple of days before. When we arrived it had been graded smooth and was far better than previously, however only dry dirt had been applied over the mud and the ride was a bit squirmy. Still the views and sunlight were breathtaking.

The south side of Atigun led us back into brilliant yellow trees and myriad colors of vegetation on the mountainside. The river along the road was the cloudy aqua seen in high places and the road was better, but still unable to relax as potholes and patches were abundant.

A masterpiece of color…

As we neared Coldfoot and gas, Kim shouted in my headset she'd run out of fuel and I glanced down - 3.6 miles from Coldfoot! She'd run out 3.8 miles from Coldfoot on the way up. Fanda rescued her with petrol for the last 3 miles to the pumps.

We went inside and saw a group of Swiss folks eating a hot breakfast and we broke... the ice cold beans having worn off with a vengeance. Fanda went for a bowl of chili, I went for biscuits and gravy and The Iron Butterfly had an egg sammich. It was hog heaven for 30 minutes.

Kim added her number to the list on the walls...

Outside we packed up and I readjusted Kim's chain - at the end of it's adjustability - and psyched up mentally for the final 250 miles.

About 15 miles out of Coldfoot, to my left down off the road, I saw a semi tractor and trailer in the ditch, having gone off a 45º embankment and sitting down in the mud. I was sort of shocked and before I realized it had passed on down the road a ways before thinking to swing back to check on the driver. We zipped back up the road a few hundred yards and scrambled off the bikes.

Kim was honking her horn while I got down the embankment to the open driver's window. I could see two feet sticking out from the sleeping compartment and shouted in. I heard mumbling and then the driver emerged saying he was fine. I asked him what we could do, did he need a ride, did he need us to take him to Coldfoot and myriad other questions. He answered that he'd driven for 28 years and never had an issue until last night when he suddenly was off the road on a clear night. He said he was fine and another driver had stopped and was taking a message to Coldfoot for him. I told him it was a miracle he hadn't rolled the truck and he agreed.

We later went up the road to see his tracks and how he went off a road on a 45º slope at the angle he did and didn't roll it was unbelievable.

Kim kept asking me in my headset to ask him this and that but he said he was fine. In jest I said "How about some cheap vodka? He perked up and said "Hell yes I could use a shot after all that". Kim produced the bottle we'd all shared at the campsite and Fanda delivered it as well as a huge chocolate chip cookie we'd bought for the road. The driver was happy and genuinely thankful.

It felt weird leaving someone down in a ditch, but as we got back to the bikes another semi pulled up and the driver jumped out, shouting "Hell of a place to park dude!" then scrambled down the hill to the truck.

We continued on, dodging potholes for a while until we came across the same red and yellow VW bus - Big Emma - we'd seen a couple days before. We stopped and the same two couples piled out, letting us know they'd bailed on the idea of making to Deadhorse and had turned back at Coldfoot. Guess they got cold feet... nyuk nyuk

They drove on as we were saddling up to go and I looked back to see a semi coming down the road behind us. Kim was in back and a bit in the road so I told her to move over since the truck was coming. She pulled forward to get in front of us, but Fanda saw her moving and thought we were leaving so he accelerated out right behind her. He was committed and she couldn't hit her brakes, so she accelerated out as fast as possible. I nailed the throttle to get with them, but we were damn close to the truck and I'm sure he had to get on the brakes hard. We felt like crap knowing what had happened and sped on quickly, commenting on how we'd probably pissed him off and he'd chase us now. Kim laughed, but then a few miles down the road we saw a huge dust cloud behind us and glaring headlights. The truck was going seriously fast to catch us so we raced as fast as possible despite the road conditions until a few miles further when we took a fast pull out just over the crest of a hill. The truck rocketed past in a huge dust cloud and didn't see us. It was a bit crazy and creepy. Fanda was not connected to our headsets so I'm not sure he knew what was going on. We waited a while and saw the truck a mile away on a hillside climbing the road with a massive cloud of dust behind.

A few miles down the road we passed a rolled and destroyed car that had been pulled up on the roadside and a mile or two further spotted another wrecked pickup off the roadside.

We finally neared Fairbanks as the skies filled with rain ahead, stopping to suit up and then riding in a downpour for the last 40 miles. Kim was exhausted and nervous about running out of gas, so after missing the first roadside station we found another, filling the thirsty 700 in heavy rain. We followed Fanda to his house and surprised Kachka who'd been busy updating the blog. We'd initially figured the ride may take 4 days if the roads were really bad but we'd made it in 3. She was happy to see her Fanda again.

We were muddy, soaking wet and and exhausted when we called the motel where we'd stayed before and thankfully she had one remaining room. After getting in and drying off a bit, the best pizza Domino's ever made arrived at the room for a celebratory feast for a long day.

34 | Moe the Eskimo

The ride to Deadhorse has ultimately been our favorite ride on this trip… both for the beauty and the sensory experience, and underlined by the challenge. Standing silently in the quietest place I’ve ever been, engulfed in sunshine and solitude will forever be burned into memory.

That said, getting back to a nice room and the chance to get gear cleaned from the ride was a welcome experience. Our day was spent washing clothes, camp gear and more importantly the bikes which were caked in the brown crust of the Dalton. The crunching grit sounds as case lids opened and dirt fell into everything grated on us, and despite wanting to leave the crud on as a tattoo of the trip, we hit the local car wash to spend about $30 hosing them down.

Kim’s chain was done and there was no way in hell I’d take the bike back to the BMW dealer in Fairbanks - I’ll stop at this point, but let’s just say they get a 1-2 star internet rating for a reason. Luckily Adventure Cycle Works was happy to respond on a Sunday and had a chain, sprockets and other parts for the F800 series in stock. Dan the owner said to come on over to his house and he’d get the Butterfly’s bike fixed up.

We chatted about Alaska, bears, bikes and such as he flew through the work, discovering a bad rear wheel bearing and notchy steering head bearings in the process. He swapped in new bearings and we were on the road again quickly. Dan was quick, efficient and knew his stuff. We had a great experience with him and is a great resource.

We swung by F&K’s host home to pick up the gear we’d left behind for the run up the Dalton, cringing at the thought of adding it back onto the bikes… all the repacking and additional weight seemed hideous.

Back at the motel, as we clambered off the bikes, an older native American man was standing in the doorway of his room adjacent to ours and shouting loudly. I couldn’t understand what he was saying due to my helmet and he couldn’t hear me as I yelled back. A young native American woman was walking away from him, purposely ignoring him and waving her arms as if she wanted nothing to do with the man.

When we got our helmets off, Kim said he was shouting “Can you help me? Can you help me?” We finally got over to the old gentleman, who was stone deaf and couldn’t hear our responses to his plea until we got right up to him. He kept yelling loudly and asking if we could take his trash out for him, holding himself up in the doorway with twisted and gnarled hands. We tried to get him to understand that we needed to get our gear off and would return, but he seemed frantic and continued shouting for us.

A moment later I’d gotten the jacket off and helmet on the bed, returning to his doorway where he began to thank me profusely. Kim was right behind and as we entered the room, the stench was overwhelming. There were about 30 Walmart bags filled with trash and rotting food stacked all around his kitchenette area. He was obviously unable to carry them out and apparently had no help. Maybe the woman we’d seen walking away was a relative, who knows...

We held our breath and carried them out a few at a time, stacking them around a full garbage can outside. I hit the manager's office and scrounged a couple of trash bags so that we could bag them all up. The entire time, the old man stood watching and yelling “Thank you! Thank you! God bless you! God bless you!”

Finishing the cleanup, we were finally able to come back and talk with him a little. He kept thanking us and I shook his hand and asked his name. He responded that he was 96 years old and his name was Moe Samuelson, his mother being an Eskimo and his father a Norwegian who’d come to Alaska as an explorer.

Moe continued on, saying how God had blessed him so much in his life, his health being so good he’d never even had a headache and had no idea what one felt like. He said he’d ended up in Fairbanks after being drafted and assigned to the area during WWII.

Moe continued on, sharing his life and stopping to thank us again and again for helping him. He continued to talk of God and God’s blessings on him. Kim and I both had some moisture around the eyes hearing him talk of life. I treasure the chances to speak with old warriors of this world and to hear of their lives. The old and forgotten ones have so much to share, the only difference being that they started down this path earlier than me. I love to look in their eyes and see a lifetime of sights and events playing like a movie across the screen of the windows to their soul.

Moe continued to thank us, over and over, at his elevated volume as we walked back to our room and wished continued health and blessings over him. I wonder sometimes if my life will play in the eyes of a younger man when I am old and helpless. I wonder.

35 | Denali

The next morning we spoke with Fanda and Kaschka about staying another day in Fairbanks and they agreed, wanting to get caught up on a few things as well. Fanda was in search of a new rear tire and a welding shop to repair his side stand, neither of which came to pass, while Kim and I continued cleaning gear, shopping for food in a real supermarket... Shazam! Cans of Spam! Shazam! Shazam! Shazam!

Kim’s ear infection had not gone away and finally had driven her to the emergency clinic in town the night before, during which the long wait included a man having a heart attack coming in from a fishing trip with his buddies. By the time we'd gotten out with a prescription, both the Walgreen’s and Fred Meyers stores had closed their pharmacies, leaving us with only the hospital pharmacy open.

Kim went in while I waited outside on the bike, only for her to return empty handed. Apparently the ear drops were completely unavailable in the Alaska region at the moment and the pharmacist had no solution. Kim was in severe pain and confused, but there was no option but to return to the motel empty handed.

The next morning we called the clinic and told them about the ear medicine issue and they said a pharmacist could substitute eye medication, which we were finally able to get for her. Apparently the eye drops were more powerful but were dangerous to use if there was a perforation in the eardrum. Kim didn’t care as she needed relief and began using them.

Kim was hurting and wanted to rest in the room with the lights off, so I headed out to find an internet cafe and work on updating the report. A small coffee shop in the downtown section of Fairbanks provided the perfect place, with a mug of hot coffee and a croissant for bookends. As I worked on images in Lightroom, editing them for the upload to the report, a young lady walked past and saw them, opening a conversation about photography.

It turned out she was a new photographer and was excited to find out I’d been a professional with a studio. As the conversation ensued in depth, she interrupted me and said “I’ve prayed for God to send a professional photographer into my life, because I have so many questions about getting started and have had no one to help”. I told her that’s how God works and it seemed I was the only one available :D We had a long, in depth conversation about much of the business. She shared that her father had passed away recently, leaving her a small amount of money and she hadn’t been sure whether she should invest it in her desire to get a photo business going. She had recently rented a small space for a studio near the coffee shop and asked if I woud mind looking at it. I was happy to and walked the couple of blocks to it with her. The space was small but she had done well with it, and it was just big enough to do portrait work. It was fun seeing humble beginnings and encouraging someone to follow their dream.

Later in the day we got a message from F&K that they would need to leave the host’s home the next day since they’d been there longer than intended and felt they were bothering him. We reluctantly started the process of packing up that evening to head south for Denali.

Tuesday morning dawned bright and sunny, but Kim’s ear was still screaming. She headed back to the pharmacist to get an additional bottle of meds before leaving. When we showed up at F&K’s place they were lounging around in jammies and hadn’t realized we were leaving. Apparently they’d sent us a message that Frank was a bit sick and their host was happy for them to stay another day. We didn’t get the message and when we arrived all loaded to go, they panicked and began to throw on clothes and gear to leave, in spite of our best attempts to assure them we could stay another day easily!

After the rushed and raucous beginning, we rolled out in the clear sunshine and skies heading south for Denali National Park. As we crested a ridge just out of Fairbanks, Denali stood as a monstrous white mountain towering above the landscape, accented against a brilliant blue sky. We’d been told the mountain was so large it was visible from many areas of Alaska, but wow, could we see it that day! It was a constant companion throughout the day as we inched further south toward the park.

We were told that only 1 out of 3 visitors to Alaska actually get to see Denali due to inclement weather, so were were lucky to see it several days in a row

At the juncture of the entrance to the park, we debated whether to camp and return to take the bus ride into the park, or just continue on south for Valdez. We all had been unsure whether to visit Anchorage and then go down to Kenai, or just go straight for Valdez, which had been recommended by many folks. One might wonder why not visiting Denali would even be a consideration, but I must tell you when traveling long term, there are days when you just don’t connect. It’s hard to explain but at times you just can’t muster the will to add additional time and energy to do things. This was one of those days for all of us.

We tossed a verbal coin and decided to ride east on the Denali Road to Paxson, then go south for Valdez since the prospect of a large city like Anchorage didn’t appeal to us.

The Denali road was beautiful, but brutally covered with potholes. At a pic stop along the road, I spotted fresh oil on Kim’s front tire and was relieved to find out it was a blown fork seal rather than a brake line. The Dalton mud is notorious for eating fork seals and it seems The Butterfly’s bike was a victim. The front brake shoes were doused in the fork oil. We’d ridden in 40 miles and still had 100 to go to make Paxson. The prospect of replacing oil-soaked brake pads wasn’t a problem as I had spares, but replacing a bad seal was since I had none with me.

Fanda and Kaschka said they were about done with the potholes, especially since he was still running his worn out rear tire and they were riding two-up. We all agreed to reverse for Anchorage, as it would be the last place to get fork seals and tires for a very long time.

The world’s biggest igloo

Somewhere south of Denali we found a good campsite along the river, again being the lone campers. The camp area was small but nice with a picnic shelter for our stuff. For some reason, we were all a bit uneasy and unsure why - possibly the bear issue - but we huddled around the pitiful fire and cooked our supper. A lone Chevy Yukon suv pulled in and parked out in the lot, apparently for the night. Kaschka and Kim asked me to go ask if they were going to stay for the night but I refused, with the appropriate explanation that a huge guy with long grey hair banging on a car window at night in a remote area might bring a 45 caliber response.

We nominated Kascka to go since she was small, cute and had a big smile. She eventually returned with a lone lady who introduced herself as Ronetta. We invited her to join us for our meager dinner and she agreed, sharing that she was a wildlife photographer and had come north from Anchorage to get a shot of the northern lights over Denali since they were active for a few days. F&K had seen them the night before when their host drove them outside of Fairbanks to view them clear of the city lights.

The time around the fire was great as we shared food and stories, Ronetta’s Alaska wisdom and knowledge of animals being very educational. She drug out some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and we acted like we’d won the lottery. We wandered out into the parking lot as the temps dipped severely and caught a glimpse of the beginnings of the aurora, which never peaked. Ronetta told us to definitely get our food away from the area for the night. I told her we’d planned to put the motorcycle cases in the public bathroom since it had a locking door. She said to put them in her Yukon instead since she was afraid someone might steal them during the night. We drug the cases and dirty dishes into her car.

Ronetta returned to her Yukon to head out into the night and to higher elevations, saying she’d return early the next morning and drop the cases off. We exchanged info with her and hit our tents for the freezing cold night. It was early the next morning when I heard sounds and got out of the tent to find Ronetta carrying one of the cases to our campsite, grabbing it and then getting the others from her vehicle. We shook hands and said goodbyes, to which she produced a big bag of Reese’s and I burst out laughing. She made me promise to share and then drove off. I sat in the sun while the others still slept, trying to keep warm in the crisp air until stirrings in the tents and the long process of drying flys and gear in the sun and packing began for Anchorage.

Wee'uns saw a lot of this on the roadsides...

Ernie - another road warrior on the way to adventure

Kimberly... quite a road warrior herself

By the time we hit Anchorage, a beautiful ride from Denali (at this point, just insert “beautiful” or similar about any road in Alaska and save me a hell of a lot of typing) it was getting late in the day. Stopping at the local Mickey D’s for cheap coffee and crappy wifi found that there was camping in the Anchorage city park - Centennial being the name IIRC.

In addition, F&K found a couch surfing host that said he might host all of us, but the trip to visit him was a bust and the dude was a bit disturbing. F&K found another host while Kim and I headed for the city park.

The campground was forested and the camp host was nice, as well as having showers… but after setting up we quickly realized the campground and especially the tent area was a de facto homeless camp. People were sleeping under tarps and makeshift shelters, drug deals seemed to be in the works and a “lady” walked by in high heels, heavy makeup and short skirt, making her way down a dirt path into a wooded area.

We got in the tent early after helping guide an old man and his camper back into a spot and waited for sleep. Throughout the night, people walked out of the woods and within 3 feet of our tent, muttering and mumbling. It was a really weird experience and we were ready to get the hell out as soon as possible.

36 | A New Ride

Daybreak in the park finally came with sunshine and clear skies, as well as myriad tiny ziplock baggies on the ground throughout the area near the tent. I wandered back into the woods a bit to see where the folks had been coming from past our tent all night and saw a lone popup trailer hidden in the trees away from the camping area. I saw the “lady” I’d seen the night before in heels and short skirt walking outside the popup and realized it must be her place of business as well as a source of meth or whatever was being bought in the little baggies.

We got the tent dried and loaded asap, then headed for The Motorcycle Shop, the BMW dealer in Anchorage, for fork seals for Kim’s 700. I’d planned on replacing them with Fanda at his host’s garage but that didn’t work out. The service guy was happy to book us in for the work and as we waited for the bike to be finished, the trip through Candyland began...

First on the list was to find a pair of waterproof boots for The Iron Butterfly. Her Sidi boots were not waterproof and she’d mistakenly brought them north rather than her other ADV boots. As we hit the rains in the Yukon and Alaska we’d had to put her feet in bags until finding some waterproof socks in Whitehorse, and then had no luck finding boots at the dealership in Fairbanks. That wasn’t the case in Anchorage where they had a great selection of gear. She bought a pair of Gaerne waterproof boots and I found a new Kilimanjaro jacket in 2XL. My older Kathmandu jacket was good and waterproof but it was neither warm in the cold or cool in the heat. I was ready for something else.

Honey, does this jacket make me look fat??

We boxed up her old boots and my old jacket for UPS and then wandered back down to the sales floor. We were hanging around the new 1200 water boxers when Andrew, the sales manager, came over to ask us about our trip and such. In conversation about South America I shared that I was considering an 800 just for parts/tools compatibility with Kim’s 700 to simplify, but they were just too small for me. He mentioned a lowered 1200 for Kim and she shared how much she’d liked sitting on the lowered 1200 Adventure at the Fairbanks dealer. They had no lowered 1200’s at the shop so we were safe.

Conversation continued on various subjects until Andrew remembered he had bought a 1200GS from a Swiss guy who’d ridden some of the US on it and then sold it to them before flying back. We wandered down to the basement to look at it and it was well set up with Jesse cases, Ohlins suspension, PIAA lights, windshield, etc. Andrew returned with a custom lowered seat from one of the mechanic’s bikes so that Kim could sit on it and see how it felt. It felt good indeed, she said. The price was decent for a bike with the mileage and farkles but it needed a service and set of tires. Andrew said they’d get it cleaned up, tires put on and as much service as they could do by the next morning so that she could test ride it.

We headed out to find a place for the night, landing in a run down motel not too far from the dealer, replete with drunk, fighting folks in the parking lot. A meal of Thai food and avoiding the drunk guy who cursed us and wanted to fight ended our fun for the evening as we fell asleep in the tiny room.

The next day we’d planned to ride down to the Kenai peninsula, but Kim wanted to test ride the 1200 and see how she liked it. She’d ridden my older R1100GS and enjoyed the feel but as she was just getting her feet wet riding again, I felt it would be too heavy for her and we’d gone the single cylinder F650GS route instead.

The 1200 was washed and sporting new tires when we pulled up and it wasn’t long before we were on the road. Kim was immediately comfortable on the bike and when we found a big parking lot, she had a chance to handle it standing, sitting and idling along in low gear. She said it was far easier to ride and handle than the 700 and there was no question she wanted the bike. They made us a great deal on the bike, our new riding gear, the 700 repairs and trade value. The 1200 was serviced, brakes flushed, all fluids changed, new brake shoes, filters, yada yada and by 5 pm we were transferring her gear into the new cases and I was wiring up the accessory ports and such. We found some extra stickers from previous acquisitions on the road and Kim personalized the cases a bit - sad that her old sticker collection went away with the 700.

She loves the bike and says it feels far more solid and comfortable, is easier to turn, park and handle overall. Sooooooo, the last thing I expected on this trip would be to return from Alaska with The Iron Butterfly on a 1200. She’s done exceptionally well on the 700 and I expect will do as well, if not better, on the 1200. The route from Alaska back to Texas to get it registered should be a decent test of reliability and being on the same bikes as we hit regions south will simplify some tools and parts for sure.

From the dealership we found a UPS store to ship the old boots and jacket back, then looked for another motel and finally spotted one that claimed $69 a night. When Kim called, the desk girl confirmed both the price and availability. We found the old looking motel and went in for the room. I confirmed with the desk girl that we had called and she said she had the room ready and just needed payment. I gave her my card and she handed me the receipt to sign, when I noticed she had charged me $99 for the room. I corrected her and she said the rate was only $69 when booked online and Kim reminded her that she had said they would honor the rate by phone. The girl said that she’d never said that, and that the $99 was non-refundable. Things escalated quickly and she refused to do anything, calling her manager and lying clearly over the phone to him. It got ugly fast and I called the credit card company from the lobby, who confirmed that the motel had not only charged us $99 but had charged it 3 times! I’m a nice, calm guy, but this was such obvious thievery I lost it and began yelling. It was the craziest thing I’ve been involved in in a long time, the girl lying about all of it, the manager threatening to call the police on us and swearing they would never give us money back. It was insane. I reported them as fraudulent to the credit card company while they listened, which seemed to get the manager’s attention. He then agreed to refund our money but by the time we got out of there you could have fried eggs on my forehead.

It was late and we were tired so we traveled a few blocks back to the dump we'd stayed in the night before. Anchorage had not made a good impression… except for the BMW dealer.

37 | The Kenai Peninsula

The next day was sunny and Kim was excited to ride her new 1200. We were headed for the Kenai Peninsula and Homer, both anxious to get away from the city as fast as possible. Fanda and Kaschka were ensconced in their host’s home and had decided to stay until we came back through from Homer for Valdez.

As we rode south for the peninsula, the views were awesome along the coast and as we got further south the rains came in increasing volume. In addition, the rains came in increasing volume into Kim’s new Gaerne “waterproof” boots. She was not a happy camper. My Forma boots have seeped water in every rain and they are a major disappointment, having replaced a 9 year old pair of Oxtar (TCX) Infinitys that were as comfortable as an old pair of jeans and absolutely waterproof. I too had had enough of wet feet but had not found any boots to replace them on the road. At the old fishing village of Ninilchik we spotted the old Russian church and cemetery, stopping to view the ocean and small village below. A couple in an SUV stopped to talk with us about our trip and such for a while, then we rode down into the little village itself.

The lone souvenir shop was host to a resident artist who did sculpture and jewelry from fossilized whale bone and other local materials. Kim ended up buying a heart necklace made of whale bone. It was warm and cozy with the wood stove going and quite difficult to head back out into 50 degree temps and rain.

As we sat in the rain on the bikes preparing to leave, the artist/sculptor came running out and told us a couple of places to stay and eat in Homer. He and his wife were real sweethearts...

Over the next hour or so we glimpsed the water from the high cliffs occasionally between patches of fog and rain. We eventually reached Homer and the Spit in heavy rain, riding out to the tourist boardwalk and shops in the “Halibut Fishing Capitol”. We were cold, wet and hungry and a late lunch of clam chowder and grilled halibut made everything alright.

We walked in the rain, surveying a lot of tent campers set up on the rocky beach but we just couldn’t muster the desire to set up and camp in the heavy rain, finding an old small hotel instead. The room rate was reasonable, the old lobby warm and cozy with a fireplace and we were done. The room was tiny but felt like a mansion. That evening we walked to the beach and then around the little town in the dark.

One thing about the trip that we’ve found is that every certain number of days you just wake up and can’t do anything that day. It isn’t from any obvious reason, so much as fatigue or exhaustion, but it seems the body just needs to reset itself whether you want to or not. Such was the next day. We awoke to rain and just couldn’t get going, so we decided to stay another night and act like a tourist. We wandered the beach, the tourist shops and had another fish & chips lunch. We watched otters and fisherman near the shore. We walked on the boat docks and watched halibut being offloaded. We watched an otter sleeping on his back and floating next to the walkway. We wandered the little boardwalk and watched the halibut we’d seen earlier being filleted like warm butter. We came back to the hotel and lounged in the cozy, old lobby listening to foreign tourists converse. We looked at photos of eagles and bears that the hotel manager had on his online gallery. We acted like tourists on vacation and it was wonderful.

Late that night we got a text from our friends Dave and Heather who had left Fairbanks and wanted to meet us. We agreed on Seward for the next day. Later that night we got a text from Ronetta, the photographer we’d met in Denali, asking us to come stay with her in Anchorage. Our next day was planned, Seward around 2 for coffee with Dave and Heather and then the evening with Ronetta.

38 | Seward Connection

The next morning was grey, foggy and rainy as we rode back out onto the spit for a final glimpse of Homer and the fishing fleet. It was a place we want to return, if for no other reason than to spend a few days and a few bucks going fishing. There was something we liked about it for no obvious reasons, but it called our name and we heard it clearly.

From Homer north to Seward the rain came in sheets and the ride north seemed to take forever. We arrived in Seward and found a coffee shop downtown, sheepishly walking in with water pouring from us, leaving puddles on the floor. We found an empty table and chairs in the rear on which to set our gear and hang our jackets, then sat as far away as possible in the hopes we wouldn’t be associated with the water puddles on the floor… yeah right.

A hot cup of coffee and a bagel filled us and our time, until we saw Heather and Dave pull in, park and walk over to us. They were absolutely drenched and it showed. As they removed their jackets and layers, water patterns showed on each as they came off. Dave was a bit frustrated as their Klim Jackets had also leaked, showing that nothing is truly waterproof, the water having penetrated the zippers eventually after 3 hours of rain. It’s always difficult spending money on products that are marketed well but let you down at the worst time. Dave said they’ve learned most gear is just designed for weekend warriors and fails under regular use. One point he made being a set of expensive “waterproof” soft luggage for their bikes, where he pointed out that though the material was heavy duty and waterproof, the company stitched all the pieces together, which of course penetrated the material and created weep points. Long term use exacerbates issues and poor designs or quality control, and so many riders fall victim to marketing hype. We are finding that to be true so far and Dave and Heather have far more time and experience on the road than we...

After D&H got warmer and a bit drier, we had a chance to catch up on happenings since Fairbanks. Heather had bought the lowered F800GS she test rode and was handling it well. They planned to head from Seward back through Anchorage and possibly Valdez, before going on to Haines and taking the ferry to Prince Rupert. They wanted us to ride from Terrace, BC with them south over back roads through the mountains. We knew that we’d be parting ways with Fanda and Kaschka at Watson Lake in the Yukon, then returning south on the Cassiar while they took the Alcan east for Alberta, so meeting D&H in Terrace sounded perfect.

Check out Dave and Heather's EXCELLENT blog here: http://www.ridingfullcircle.com

We had to head on for Anchorage, but they were going to find a hotel for the night as the cold and wet had taken its toll on them. As we loaded our bikes, several folks came over to talk, including an artist whose work was exhibited in the gallery we were parked in front of. She had the adventurer’s spirit and we talked a long time with her about travel, life, youth, art and age...

The road north for Anchorage was still cold, wet and rainy as we motored on, the tide having gone out from the bay along the roadside - an impressive sight indeed as it appeared to be a 30 foot tide or so.

It was nearing dark when we finally found Ronetta’s home in Anchorage, being greeted by her two fluffy black dogs, the smell of dinner being cooked and a warm dry couch for conversation. She fed us too much… halibut, reindeer sausage, dessert, and more! What an awesome woman she is and we feel like we've got a new sister.

The next morning we had to get back to the BMW dealer to return Kim’s leaking boots and meet up with Dave and Heather. They wanted to see if the BMW Comfort Seat on Kim's old 700 would fit Heather’s new 800 and possibly be a bit lower, as well as check out the Touratech windscreen she’d had on her 700.

When Ronetta heard that Dave & Heather were coming through Anchorage, she offered to let them camp out on the floor at her home as well, so we were glad to offer that to them.

By the time we made the dealership to return the boots, D&H had been there a while. All the BMW gear was on significant sale this particular day, so Kim exchanged the leaky Gaerne's for a set of BMW boots. They had a pair of BMW Gravel boots in my size and, finding online rave reviews for them being truly waterproof, I couldn’t help but grab a pair at the excellent price.

The seat and windshield didn’t work out for D&H, and they followed us to REI where I attempted to return our collapsible Sea to Summit X-Kettle. The kettle was fantastic, collapsing flat for travel but the clear plastic lid had split from the heat. As it turned out, I must have bought the kettle from another place since it wasn’t under my list of purchases and I couldn’t swap lids. Across the street lay an unsuspecting UPS store where I shipped my leaky Forma boots back to Texas and did a victory dance in my new BMW boots. We finally headed over to Ronetta’s place for Caribou spaghetti, garlic bread, dessert, and laughs. Dave was elevated to god-like status upon his producing a bottle of Pendleton. We stayed up way too late telling stories and laughing.

39 | Great Times In Anchorage

We reconnected with Fanda and Kaschka, who’d been able to get some work done and a new rear tire. They were anxious to get on the road and planning going to meet us near Ronetta’s. F&K have been trying to get some confirmation on their visa for the US for some time, but no one seems able to answer their question. Apparently their is a special visa for young folks from Czechia that allows them 3 months in the US, and having spent a month in the lower 48, then almost another month in Alaska, they were trying to find out how much time they had left in the lower 48 and no one seemed to know. One agent had said that by them leaving the US and entering Canada, the re-entry in the US might start the 3 month allotment fresh, but he wasn’t sure. Kaschka messaged that they had found a Czech Consulate listed in Anchorage and were going to stop by that morning and would meet us after.

As Kim, Dave, Heather and I got the bikes packed, Ronetta asked if she might travel with us to Valdez in her Yukon. “Hell yes!” was all our answer. She loaded her gear and dogs, while I went to find Fanda & Kaschka. They had not been able to find the consulate since the address didn’t seem to exist and were frustrated, feeling pressure about their visa. They followed me back to Ronetta’s, where she filled them with biscuits and gravy before our leaving.

Great times - Dave and Heather, Kaschka, Kim, Fanda and Ronetta

We all rolled out together and over to a storage facility to see a couple of custom buses her friend was selling before we finally got on the road for Valdez.

Much of the day had slipped away before we got on the road for Glenallen and then Valdez.

The night before, Kim had suddenly begun feeling bad with a cold. Heather had given her a dose of liquid oregano extract, which really kicked the cold up and into high gear, purposely. Kim had gone to sleep early and had woken up congested but feeling better. Heather said the extract shortened a cold extensively if you got it administered quickly and it seemed to have worked!

As the day progressed I began to feel a sore throat and cough and then began to feel really bad. Obviously I’d gotten a cold as well.

That day I saw a bumper sticker that said "Alaska. Road construction next 2000 miles" and laughed out loud. After all the construction on every road we took, it certainly came off as true.

The fall colors were stunning and it was interesting to see how the temps had changed in different valleys and areas, passing through intense colors and then areas where it was still mainly green

The rain came and went through the day as we rode, until making the turn at Glenallen. It was getting dark and we all were very tired from the long day. There were no campgrounds, so eventually we just pulled off the road into a driveway with a gate. The gate was unlocked, so Dave and I wandered in thinking it might be a pipeline road where we could camp. Instead it led to a small cabin/cottage that was very nice and seemed unoccupied, except for the firewood pile on the porch. It looked like a good camp spot but we decided not to chance it.

Instead, a 4 wheeler path along the roadside became our home for the night. We parked bikes at either end to stop any flying 4 wheelers that might come along, got the tents up and struggled to get a fire going to cook some food. About that time, a truck turned into the driveway and stopped, the driver asking if we needed anything and explaining it was his cabin down the road. He was very friendly, owning a ship tender in Valdez and living in his cabin where we were.

We invited him for dinner, he declined and went through his gate, only to immediately return. He asked about the gate and we told him we’d walked down his road thinking it was pipeline access. Obviously he’d been able to tell it had been opened despite Dave’s efforts to put it back exactly. He was not upset, just verifying it was us and then said if we had any issues to come wake him up.

Of course that brought up the idea of “issues” which we all assumed would be bear or moose. About that time there was a loud crashing and wood breaking in the brush near our tents. Never a dull moment in Alaska and never less than perfect timing. Luckily nothing roared out of the thick brush and eventually we all crawled into our tents for the evening.

I lay quietly, my little can of bear spray at the ready, secretly wishing it was the size of a fire extinguisher. I think I've become Bearanoid.

40 | Valdez

The next morning was sunny and crisp with blue skies, a hopeful sign that Valdez may have good weather.

F&K had not slept well from getting too cold and were very tired. My cough had worsened and I felt like a dead rat, but we pressed on for Valdez.

We’d heard from many people that the road to Valdez was really spectacular and it was. The fall colors were everywhere, the sights and mountains stunning.

The rain began again as did the grey skies, but we stopped occasionally for pictures. I began to feel so bad all I wanted to do was get to Valdez and get a hotel even if that was not the group plan. I felt very bad.

Yeppers... rainz a comin'

Somewhere along the way at one of our stops, Fanda and Kaschka went on, not seeing us at the turn out and continuing for Valdez. Typically we stop after a few miles but we never caught up to them on the road.

As we finally rolled into Valdez, a bit disappointed once again to be in a port city in rain, I saw F&K’s heavy GS parked at the library, probably for WiFi, and then rode on to a fish and chips place. As DHK&R went inside, I rode back to tell Fanda where we were and to come meet us for lunch. He said they’d lost us and had gotten a little worried, but we all met for fish and chips and to get warmed up.

We made it to the port to see the official end of the Alaska pipeline... it was great to have ridden along the pipeline from the Arctic and now to see the end of it. Even if it was in the rain

After a while I began to feel a little better and decided to push on with the group rather than get a motel. My energy lasted a while but eventually faded in the rain as we rode back. Near Kenny Lake we found a good campground for the night, with hot showers, fire rings and picnic tables.

At sunset, Dave, Kim, Ronetta and I all piled into her Yukon and ran up the road to catch what we could of the spectacular sunset

41 | Tok and Chicken

We awoke to a very cold campsite and started prepping to leave for Tok.

Dave and Heather were going on to McCarthy and Kennecott, wanting us to go with them, but I wasn’t well and we decided to push on with Fanda and Kaschka. The cold weather and calendar were telling us it was time to start working south. There had been a few folks telling us the snow was a couple of days behind us, and the colder temperatures we had been experiencing were forerunners of the approaching winter.

I’d found out Ronetta’s birthday was coming up in a day or two and wanted to thank her for her generous hospitality while we were all still together. At the small general store across the lot, I found a pack of Hostess Ding Dongs and in a flash had opened the package, stacked them on top of each other like a tiny chocolate cake and stuck a match in the top for a makeshift candle.

When I got back to the campsite, everyone was hanging around the table so I called a meeting and presented Ronetta with a tiny double layer chocolate birthday cake. We all had a good laugh and sang happy birthday to her while she blew out the match. With that done, we said goodbyes to Heather and Dave, rehearsing our plan to meet them in Terrace, BC in a week or so and they took off in the cold morning air for McCarthy.

Shortly after, we 5 headed out for Tok. My bike had a lamp fault showing, though all bulbs seemed to be fine, and I had to add a few pounds of air to my rear Heidenau. It was now sporting 10,000 miles and getting a bit thin but I figured I could get a couple thousand more out of it. In my rear view I saw one of Kim’s auxiliary PIAA lights had popped a bulb as well.

The winds were high and intense as we neared Glenallen in some bitter cold, where we gassed up and did some grocery shopping. As we left, an older couple rolled in behind us on a Harley. Motorcycles have been seen substantially less in the last few weeks so it was noticeable to see a bike nearby.

A bit later we hit a roadside stop for lunch and the couple on the Harley we’d seen earlier rolled in behind us. We started talking to them and discovered they had run the N.O.L.S. School for the Pacific Northwest for many years. They were celebrating his 67th birthday by buying and riding a Harley, the last one he’d owned having been 50 years before at age 17. They were leaving Valdez, where they owned a fish tender and made extra money in the summers. They were excited to hear of our trip to South America, having ridden south America in a sidecar rig years before. They were currently planning to ride an old Vespa he’d bought around Europe.

In our talking about riding and weather, I shared about Kim’s high wind experience in Lander at the top of Red Canyon, they started laughing. It turns out they owned property at the top of the Canyon and knew exactly where we had the experience. They had run the N.O.L.S. school in Lander and loved the area. Small world indeed.

The winds towards Tok had died down a bit and the views were absolutely stunning. I felt so poorly I didn’t take the time to stop and shoot and regret it now, but the head cold was hitting me in earnest.

Rockin' her 1200

We reached Tok late just as a rain cloud was blowing in. F&K said they’d prefer a room, if possible, and I didn’t relish spending a night in low 30’s temps in a tent with a worsening cold. Kim found the Alaska Stoves campground and the owner allowed us all to share one travel trailer for $50. What a deal indeed.

It felt good to be warm, with Fanda, Kaschka, Ronetta, Kim and I, along with Ronetta's two big dogs Cedar and Starla all piled together in the little camper. The evening was fun, despite my hacking cough, until… The owner had asked us not to use the shower in the RV, which was fine. The place was cramped and Ronetta had brought in her bag of Canon pro cameras and L series lenses. To protect them from the dogs and for extra room, they were inadvertently set in the bathtub for protection...

Yep, you guessed it. About midnight Kaschka let out a shout and Kim ran in the bathroom, returning with a camera bag that was pouring out water, having been sitting under water for a while. Apparently the kitchen sink had backed up into the bathtub, the grey tank having not been drained by the campground’s caretaker. It was absolutely a devastating moment to see Kim carrying out a camera bag with water pouring out. It was dead silence and horror. We slowly lifted out body by body and lens by lens as water poured out of the lens caps. I pulled the rear caps off the L lenses and watched the water pour from inside. As a photographer I was sickened and can’t imagine how Ronetta must have felt. It was a terrible way for the day to end.

Ronetta tried to make the best of it but was in shock. I typed a list of all the gear so that we could talk to the campground owner about insurance. The evening was a bit less joyful after that, Kaschka wandered outside and spotted the Northern Lights forming. We all piled out into the freezing cold evening and stood watching a nice display through the pines. It was great to see them and sort of fitting, as we sadly knew it was time for heading south.

The next day I still felt very bad, with severe coughing and congestion and needed rest. Kim and Ronetta headed for Chicken in her Yukon and I attempted to find wifi both in the Visitor Center and Fast Eddie’s restaurant. Both sucked and the internet was so slow I was only able to upload 8% of one 900k photo in the entire day. I finally gave up.

Some pics from Chicken... where I didn't get to go :( but so glad Kim and Ronetta had some fun!

Kim and Ronetta returned from Chicken, where a party was planned later that evening for the close of the campground in the town. Fanda and Kaschka had rested and wrote for their blog much of the day as well. We were all pretty tired and fell asleep quickly that evening.

42 | Southward Sadly

The next morning was a sad one, both for Ronetta’s camera incident and the fact that we were saying goodbye to her, she now as much a family member as a friend.

Ronetta produced bags of goodies and groceries from her trunk, stuffing our panniers and pockets with jerky, chips, food and anything else she could. She insisted I take an Alpaca blanket she’d brought and though I argued with her I lost, stuffing it into my ballooning duffle bag.

It was bitter cold and I dreaded another day of inhaling cold air with my cough and cold, but we needed to push south as the snows were right on our heels. Each day we were hearing of snow ahead of us and behind us, with warnings from gas station attendants, on-lookers and just about everyone to get south now or get trapped.

Kaschka had been telling us all she was ready to get to Mexico and do absolutely nothing for a couple of weeks in a warm and sunny place, free of responsibility. I was in complete agreement and as we’d talked around the campfire about it on a cold evening a couple of nights before, the Mexican Mañana Bug had bitten me in earnest. I imagined us in Real De Catorce or San Miguel, sunglasses and shorts on, lounging and dozing on some rooftop overlooking the town.

"Responsibility? On a trip where you’ve left all responsibility behind?" I hear you ask yourself. Yes, lemme splain… Fanda and Kaschka had worked very hard for 5 years in the Czech Republic saving and planning their trip. As Fanda explained, the wages are very low there and they worked to get sponsor's help. The sponsorship route does require regular articles and updates, which Kaschka handles as they travel. For them, it adds responsibility and some pressure. For me, it’s just trying to write, download images and videos, edit and output and then try to find internet that works. It’s hours and hours of time, and that time only comes after days of riding and camping. Your “rest” time doesn’t really exist since you are busy trying to catch up after days of camping. The stress level is not like having a job, but it’s there even if self-induced. Other low grade stresses relate to the work of camping, planning, hoping to find a place 250 miles ahead as the day gets late, the constant awareness required when in bear territory, keeping up with bike maintenance in less than perfect conditions, watching your budget take hits, the physical aspect of riding heavy bikes in inclement weather for days, and the list goes on.

All of these can slowly accumulate to a point of low-grade fatigue and you find yourself just wanting to lay around somewhere a few days doing nothing. That’s hard to do when a hotel is costing you money or you are in someone’s home and feeling like a burden to them. F&K have been successfully couch surfing most of their trip including Russia and Mongolia, but sleeping on the floor and the host having 4 am work hours isn’t the easiest either.

None of what I’ve just said should be taken as complaint, sniveling or whining, as I wouldn’t trade this for the world (well, maybe) but I’m sharing as much reality for you guys as I can. You can run along for many days but you will hit a wall of fatigue occasionally. My choice to add the burden of doing a ride report and blog adds to this, but it’s who I am and what I love. I do it so that when life changes and I can no longer live freely, I can look back and read and remember what true living was. Having a plan and doing hotels would be the best way to minimize fatigue and maximize one’s time on the net for updating, but then we’d lose all the incredible camping experiences we’ve had. Besides, we ain’t rich baby...

Now where the hell was I? Oh yeah… ride report The plan was to make Haines Junction that day and then Whitehorse the next day. As we raced on in the cold temps and sunshine, we blew past a roadside pull-out and saw two GS’s parked there, only to realize it was, in fact, Dave and Heather! We all screeched to a stop and made the U turn back to see them.

It was a real surprise for all of us and we started laughing. Since we’d been in Tok longer than expected we assumed they’d gone on from McCarthy already and were long gone. We all joined up again for Haines Junction and Whitehorse. I can say it’s been a lot of fun riding along with both couples and we’ve all enjoyed the time together after being solo for much of the trip.

We rolled along until we needed a stop for coffee, but Dave and Heather had already had their butt break and wanted to keep going so we decided to reconnect at the Canadian Border Crossing a few miles ahead.

The weather was cold and grey, and the green mountains we’d passed when heading north now had fresh snow on top, obviously only a day or two old and drawing a near straight line across the mountains.

The national pastime of Alaskan summers

Kaschka and Fanda had been under some pressure as to their U.S. visas and were feeling the need to get into the U.S. as soon as possible to be able to get to Mexico if need be. They had come under a special program which allowed travelers from the Czech Republic to visit the U.S. for 90 days with no visa. Having shipped their bike from Asia to San Francisco, the clock had started ticking on arrival but they had then left the U.S. and gone into Canada then Alaska. They were unsure as to whether leaving the U.S. had qualified them to return again for an additional 90 days upon re-entry or if the clock was still running. No one, including the Czech Government, could answer the question and Kaschka was very worried they wouldn’t have any time left in the U.S. when they got back to the lower 48.

When we passed the U.S. Border Inspection station a few miles before the Canadian border, I told F&K to go on ahead and we’d ask for them. Kim and I pulled over and waited at the guard window a while until a frazzled officer finally came over. I explained their situation to him and he said that the language was written so that if a “significant” amount of time had passed with F&K out of the country it was possible to get another 90 days, however the interpretation of “significant” was entirely up to the individual officer at the border. Not much help but at least it was more than we’d known before.

When we finally made it to the Canadian crossing, the wait was short and the officer friendly, which was sort of a surprise. Pulled over to the side in the inspection area we saw Dave and Heather’s bikes parked. We pulled in next to them and waited, watching a Canadian officer spreading a grizzly bear skin on a table next to us. We hopped off to look at it and saw the pickup truck it had been removed from ahead, the two occupants standing next to it. The officer was nice and interested in both our bikes and trip and told us we could look at the bear skin. He held it up with the head and paws which were massive. Apparently the two guys were taking it back for their son who’d killed the bear and was a few hours behind them. He’d failed to give the drivers some paperwork and they were all waiting for his arrival.

Kim texted Dave to let him know we were outside. He responded not to come in, as they were being questioned about Heather’s new bike. Heather is Canadian, Dave is a US citizen and the bike was in her name with Alaska plates and they wouldn’t be allowed in. Dave said it was intense and we should move on quickly... and definitely not come in.

We took off for Haines Junction, worried for them and what they might have to do. Dave had originally considered putting the bike in his name as he has dual citizenship in the U.S. and Canada, however he felt that would cause serious issues in the other countries they were heading to in their worldwide trek.

It was cold and late when we hit Haines Junction. F&K wanted to see if we could find another RV to split rather than camp due to the cold. Kim texted Dave and Heather to find out their status and we started Googling motels in the town. Shortly after, Kim got a text from Dave that they were just rolling into Haines Junction! We were stunned, and sure enough they rolled in behind us. It turned out that the customs officer had agreed to give them 6 days to get the bike out of Canada, after a lengthy investigation of their story. The original bill of sale was attached to Heather’s old bike at the Fairbanks dealership where it was to be shipped back to Washington and they were finally able to prove purchase by showing an online bank statement of money transfer to the dealer. The officer believed them and bent the rules a bit to let them in, but at least they weren't refused entry.

However, that changed our plans to meet them in Terrace, BC and ride dirt to Vancouver. Now they had to race through Canada as fast as possible and get out, or have the new bike seized. We were all shocked at the results, as well as how fast they’d ridden to catch us that night.

No accommodations were found that were reasonable, despite the fact tourist season was over, so we headed for Pine Lake Campground a few miles away for a very cold night of camping.

43 | Hello Goodbye, Hello Goodbye

It was early in the cold morning when I rolled out of the tent (literally) and began pulling things out of the bear box provided by the campground. Dave and Heather were already busy with breakfast and making plans for their ride south for the U.S. border. Fanda and Kaschka began making noises and I could hear Kim stirring in our tent as well. It was a bit grey and chilly as we each made our breakfast and prepared mentally for the day ahead. As we got the bikes loaded for the day, we all took a group photo and said our goodbyes before Dave and Heather took off in earnest for Whitehorse and further south.

The Hole in the Head Gang (courtesy of Heather)

At the road junction out of the campground we stopped to take a pic or two and sat longer than Kim’s battery liked. She’d been checking her messages and left the key on with her PIAA blasters and headlight on. F&K had pulled out and ridden on, assuming we were behind them but Kim’s bike just did the “click, click, click” song. I got on the bike and luckily had a slight downhill slope, finally getting it bump started in 3rd gear on the last few feet of slope.

We raced after Czech twins and found them sitting by the roadside waiting, as we’ve all done on this trip. It’s been really nice being with such a cool couple. The ride to Whitehorse was uneventful, save for the cold air and fresh snows on the mountains ahead.

The F&K team had a couch surfer set for their arrival, a guy they’d stayed with previously, and Kim had texted Mike, the rider we’d met at Bell 2 Lodge on our way up through the Yukon and BC. Mike had told us to contact him when we came through as he had a place for us to stay and luckily he was in town. Mike is an avid motorcyclist, a fervent animal rights activist and drives a fuel truck between his motorcycle trips. He is a really nice guy.

He met us on his bike and led us to his cabin home that was unoccupied at the time. He got the wood stove going and after a while of conversation headed off. We appreciated his hospitality and agreed to meet up later that evening.

Mike is well known in the region - both loved and hated - but so loves wildlife and animals it was touching to hear of his efforts to save animals...

After a fantastic Chinese dinner we hit the sack, exhausted.

*** No animals were harmed in the making of this report***

(Some animals were harmed in the making of the Chinese meal however)