August 18, 2014 Dawson City, Yukon Territory
Going to Alaska was not part of the plan, I was supposed to continue south but instead booked the last ferry leaving from Haines and hitchhiked over 2300 miles from Vancouver to Dawson City. From here, I had a rough idea of where I wanted to go and 36 days to do that. I’ve heard too many stories and I wanted to see it for myself. I wanted those tiny dots and contour lines on the map to become places, experiences and memories. The mode of transportation, of course was a bicycle, especially with the prices of gas up there!
The start of the ride was on the Top of the World highway, the northernmost border crossing on the continent. The road was like no other – snaking its way from ridge to ridge and offering spectacular views. Hundreds of miles separate the towns, no rest stops, motels and often no campgrounds. With that comes the ultimate freedom – being able to stop anywhere, anytime.
While making my way north to Fairbanks, the mighty Alaska Range to the south caught my eyes. On a closer look at the map, there is an unpaved road that traverses it east to west. In hopes of glaciers, snow-capped peaks and open vistas I headed to The Denali Highway. It rained for days straight and when it didn’t thick clouds covered the mountains. On the fourth day I turned around to see the misty mountains, smell the fresh air and feel the soft mud beneath my feet. This is Alaska and I am loving it!
The issue, however was time. From the end of the Denali Highway to the end of the road at the Arctic Ocean it’s 650 miles. There was no time to ride both ways. I set the bike on the shoulder of the road and stuck my thumb out and just like that, the first pickup that came pulled over. Glen took me as far as the start of the Dalton Highway and offered me a place to stay when I make my way back south. Next four hunters made space in their fully packed trucks for me and my bike. That was the long haul to the North Slope.
That printed page reads: “I want to see the world. Follow a map to it’s edges and keep going. Forgo the plans, trust my instincts. Let curiosity be my guide. I want to change hemispheres, sleep with unfamiliar stars and let the journey unfold before me.” (Maptia manifesto).
The Haul Road parallels the Trans-Alaska pipeline for 414 miles, it was solely built for the pipeline construction and the oil fields at Prudhoe Bay. 150 trucks per day haul supplies over some of the most remote and challenging conditions.
“How fast do you go up the mountain pass?” I asked the driver hauling an oversized research boat. The trailer alone had 48 wheels and there was a second semi which would push the main load from behind up the hills.
“8 or 10 miles per hour.”
“Nice, well that’s faster than me…”
“I wouldn’t be going at all… if I were you.”
Despite the gravel road and high truck traffic, everybody was generous in giving me space and slowing down. And often I got more than that. People stopping to offer me food, rides and most important of all – positive attitude.
Going across Alaska’s highest highway pass – Atigun would not be complete without a snowstorm… in August. It was a special day, however, the only rest stop on the way was within reach and it offered a dinner buffet. As I rode down snow turned to slush and slush turned to rain, headwinds and cold and grizzlies wandering the pipeline access spurs made the day tough and exciting.
Cold Foot, Alaska. Population 10. The warm and cozy trucker stop had a wall covered with accidents and major events. One of those being the transportation of a huge module. Four semi’s would push the main load over Atigun Pass. Beside me were some motorcyclists talking about the storm, one of them was turning back because of the weather. I did not say a single word. I sat and ate for four hours straight.
After crossing the Arctic Circle, the sky finally cleared and I was able to see the Northern Lights. The following day at the Yukon River I had the misfortune of accepting a free boat ride… by a drunk Alaskan. There was some comfort knowing I left my bike with his friends and they knew where I was…
“It’s my first time on a motor boat!”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I said before he began rocking the boat back and forth. Accelerating to the river banks and turning off at the last moment.
Upon reaching the shore he took a 15 minute nap and then we went to his cabin, a 30 minute one way walk through the bush. ‘Yukon Jeremy’ hunts and traps in the winter and in summer drinks and gives boat tours. I felt it was only polite to accept his offer of Alcohol. On the way back he took his gun, shooting it was another first for me.
“I love you man, I really do. Sorry it had to go this way…” While I knew he was messing with me, we were headed straight for the support beam of the bridge over the Yukon. I was never so happy to step on solid ground again.
Denali National Park, a 90 mile road dead ends into the wilderness. Aside from taking a tour bus, the only other way to go there is by foot, or bicycle. Thick clouds covered the endless valleys as the road snaked its way across mountain pass after mountain pass. At times I would look up and wonder which way the road would go. It was all unreal, remote and wild.
“Denali, in our native language means the tall one.”
Not a single cloud was in sight and I watched the sun rise over North America’s tallest peak. There was something about this, maybe it was the clouds and rain that constantly tested me or the random encounters with people from all over the world. I’ve taken it upon myself to ask how people describe Alaska and by the end of my trip, describe it on my own.
“You can go to any mountain top and you aren’t seeing any kind of human-anything”
“A large place… for infinite exploration.”
“Rugged, beautiful, harsh.”
To the west I saw the sky change colors as the sun disappeared from the horizon.
To the south was the massive mount McKinley
To the east, a full moon shone over the snowcapped Alaska Range
And to the North, were none other than the northern lights.
It’s moments like these that make it all worth it. I am home.
Then reality set in. I needed to hurry up and get to Haines to catch the ferry. Fast riding on the paved roads took me through Palmer and Glenallen to one of the access roads to Wrangel-St. Elias National Park. Pavement to chipseal and chipseal to dirt, the 44 mile road took me to the abandoned Nabesna mine through the fall colors, remains of old volcanoes and snowcapped peaks.
“here’s some smoked…” she paused as she was trying to remember the English word… “salmon.”
I had just ran into natives picking berries for the winter near the highway. I cannot begin to describe how kind and giving people are up here. While hitching a ride to the Arctic with Glen, he invited me to stay in his motel room, researchers along the Dalton offered me food and later a place to stay in Fairbanks. And these natives whom I just met were giving me food without even asking if I wanted it.
“We saw you on the TV the other day,” one of them said. It clearly wasn’t me. I was not even on the Kenai Peninsula.
That person on TV was Sarah Outen. A woman from the UK on a mission to circumnavigate the globe by human power. She rode a bicycle from London to Japan, then rowed across the Pacific Ocean, kayaked the stormy waters of the Alleutian islands (panhandle of Alaska) and is now headed to New York. It was a great time to meet another traveler and to motivate each-other through a rainy day. After cycling the Haul Road, Denali National Park and Nabesna road it felt that the adventure was over. There was just a boring grind on pavement to the ferry. I couldn’t be more wrong.
“With all this downhill, it means there will be uphill at some point.”
“For you… I’m headed for the ocean!”
We parted ways at Haines Junction in the Yukon.
It was getting dark and cold. September is not a great time to be tenting this far north, especially when you are nearing the summit of a pass. A gravel truck slammed on the breaks when he saw me and began reversing. The driver told me of a small cabin which was used for Ptarmigan research back in the day. Now it is available to travelers wishing to spend the night.
Inside the cozy cabin was a wood stove, bed, table and a resident mouse. The walls were covered with people’s names and dates they visited. The sky turned red, pink and purple. I opened the journal:
“Magic and mystery abound,
Love and life guiding us all through our lessons
Blessed little cabin thank you for your gifts of goodness
May all friends travel so well.”
-Ty, Rebecca, Brook and Kim
When it got dark and cold, I stepped outside to do one thing on my list. Ride a bike under the northern lights. Shivering and wondering if that grizzly few people warned me about would be here, it was spectacular.
So, how would I describe Alaska?
Despite the solitude and remoteness, human encounters are common and inspiring. From the kind natives and the people who make a living to the wanderers like myself.
The scenery is legendary, vast and wild. Massive mountains, endless valleys, cold tundra and vibrant vistas. This wilderness serves as a reminders that we do not belong here.
But yet among the empty spaces, the endless mountain rangers and the clouds, I found a home. A new home every day and every night.
It’s harsh, beautiful, unpredictable and infinite. It’s the wild west.
And you can’t go further west than Alaska.
But why take my word for it? Go out there and find out for yourself.
and here is a 54 min documentary detailing the trip: