Day 8 7/6/18
Deadhorse, AK to Fairbanks, AK
North Slope
Atigun Pass
Chandler Pass
Coldfoot, AK
CB conversation
Home Depot
I wake before my alarm on Friday, July 6th. I check what few weather resources I have on my phone as soon as I can convince my eyes to focus. The temperature has only improved a bit, but the rain let up yesterday afternoon. I look out at overcast skies to see puddles still prevalent in the gravel parking lot. I plan to head south after a large breakfast.
I hear a lot of mulling around up and down the hallway. The local workers are getting to breakfast or to their trucks on the way to work. The heavy industrial equipment and mentality is omni-present up here. I try to stay out of their way during this rush. I use this time to pack and prepare for my return trip. I know the road will only be marginally better today. As I have everything organized, I head down to the chow hall. A plate full of eggs, sausage, hash browns, and some fruit seem to be the best plan I can muster. I grab a quick cup of coffee and a cup of water, then sit down. After eating, I take a quick picture of Colleen Lake just outside the window. It is still mostly frozen, reminding me that I should recalibrate my judgement when picking motorcycle destinations.
After breakfast, I gear up and throw everything needed on the bike. The bike is reluctant to start. After a few more attempts than normal, it fires and settles into its rhythm. GPS routes are all set and I head over to the gas station. This is a critical stop, so I try to make sure everything is in order. I go in the hut to insert my card and head back out to top off the tanks. Again, I’m just a bit over 6 gallons, so I am grateful for my auxiliary fuel tank that I added only a few months ago. After the pump stops, I go back in and fumble with directions before finding the procedure for obtaining the all-important starting receipt. With it in hand I head out to the bike. The time is off by a few hours, but on a ride timed via calendar (I have 30 days to get to Key West), I make a quick note and move on. Now I take the picture with the receipt with my bike’s odometer in the frame. Satisfied that I am now on the clock, I stow everything and start the arduous journey to Fairbanks. The next 150 miles will be the hardest road I’ll ride the rest of the trip, and likely for many years to come.
Again, the local roads are so potholed and rutted that I struggle to do 20 MPH. I putter along following the magenta line until I slowly work my way up to 30 or so. Occasionally, I have to slow back down, sometimes abruptly, to avoid being bounced out of my seat or off the road. A few sections of road construction are particularly harrowing, with larger stones exposed and less compact on the surface. This big Harley sinks a bit and squirrels through them.
On the hills, with the road still wet, the front wheel is not very planted. It struggles to follow ruts, while I try to maintain enough speed so that the back tire doesn’t start spinning. It is a balancing act that requires full attention at all times.
I often wonder how the ride would have been had the road been dry. Would I have been disappointed at the ease of this challenge? I still wonder that as I write this, but it does no good. I know that the answer is just another question.
At some point in this first segment just out of Deadhorse, I notice a large brown furry shape along the road up ahead. I hadn’t seen much wildlife on the way up, but this morning, I had already passed a small herd of what I think were reindeer. Now I see this shape in the distance, and I start flipping through the rolodex of possible animals in my head. Is it a grizzly? I downshift and prepare for evasive maneuvers just in case. As I get closer, it looks more bovine than ursine. Do buffalo roam this far north? As I get closer I see the distinct horn shape of a muskox. I don’t think they’re aggressive, but I am cautious anyway. I also make sure to scan the area for any buddies who may be nearby. I question my sanity for riding a motorcycle in an environment where I might encounter such a creature as the musk ox. I don’t really get any good reply from myself, so I continue, still unsure about my actual state of mind.
I continue to slog along heading up into the valley towards the passes. I cross them with attention and they are in about the same condition as when I was northbound. The snow is freshly white, but there is no precipitation today. Soon I am heading back down in elevation towards Coldfoot. The miles tick down and finally a bit of pavement. With this, I know I’m near. Soon, I pull in for another tank of fuel and decide no longer break is needed. Breakfast is still holding me well enough.
The road from Coldfoot to Fairbanks is not in great condition, but after riding the northern section of this road, it is a welcome improvement. It didn’t get the rain from the system that I was affected by on the north slope. The temperature is back up in the 50s and 60s, making for a very comfortable ride. Occasionally, I am dusted by a vehicle, but everyone seems to be courteous.
I strike up a CB conversation with one trucker. It doesn’t last too long, as he’s going faster than me. He obviously knows the road better and struggles less with the loose rock that frequents the path.
Eventually, I make it down to the Elliot highway junction. I stop for another picture of the bike. I have missed the “Arctic Circle” sign both directions and had wanted a picture if it too. In hindsight, I would have added it as a waypoint to my route to ensure I got it. I don’t plan to turn around.
Pavement is becoming more regular as I drop back towards Fairbanks. It is a welcome change, but vigilance is still required to avoid going too fast through the patches of loose gravel or hitting the unmarked potholes and frost heaves.
Fairbanks is a welcome sight. I am ready for a meal and a shower. It has been a long day and I’m starting to get a bit worn. My friend recommends a food truck with great burgers and then it’s shower and bed. I send a few quick texts to my wife to let her know that I survived the gravel road. She was not real fond of my plan to ride up there by myself. I think her real comfort in letting me go was the hope that I would stop talking about wanting to go.