Chris' Ultimate Coast to Coast Ride

Chapter 8

Into the Great Far North

The next part of the Alaska Highway, going through Summit Lake and onto Muncho Lake was simply stunning.  Breathtaking views of crystal clear lakes, mountain tops and deep valleys.  I was star-struck trying to take it all in.  Wildlife was everywhere.  Caribou were on and beside the road.  I passed and rode through a large herd of wild buffalo grazing right next to the road.  I thought I could reach out and touch them, but they were twice as big as me and my bike.  They seemed gently enough though.  I saw wild stone sheep on the road.  They apparently enjoy the salt on the road and simply lick the road.  There were several herds of the sheep.  They were wary of me, but did not run off when I stopped next to them and snapped a few pictures.  This was fun and it was turning out to be quite a morning.

I also had finally seen a couple other cars.  Not exactly a traffic jam, but it felt nice to know you weren’t the only thing on the road.  I had traveled somewhere near 400 miles without seeing another car on the road.  I found this to be unbelievable.  I would soon encounter the parade of RV’s that travel up and down the Alaska Highway. 

North of Summit Lake, I passed by Stone Mountain, with its’ imposing views.  The highway winds along the side of the mountain providing stunning vistas.  Severe drop-offs tend to get your attention as well.  Going past Stone Mountain, I began descending toward Muncho Lake.  One of the few cars on the road came around curve up ahead.  As the car came out curve approaching me, it slowly began drifting across the double yellow line into my lane.  At first this didn’t concern me much, thinking he had just taken the curve a little wide and he would soon adjust.  Still, I moved over in my lane toward the shoulder and reduced my speed. 

This quickly escalated to sheer terror as the car continued coming into my lane, directly at me.  I swerved violently to the right.  A scream rose out of my throat.  I braced for the inevitable head on collision.  My front tire dug into the gravel on the shoulder and began plowing toward the edge of shoulder.  The car continued coming at me, swerving back to my left just before striking me.  He overcompensated when he finally realized where he was and caused his rear tire to fishtail onto my shoulder, showering me with debris.  I was going to go down and this was not going to be good.  Gravel filled my face shield. 

I struggled to keep the bike up as the rear of the car sailed past me.  My front tire kept tracking through the gravel toward the drop-off.  I pushed as hard as I could on the bike to get it back on road.  Slowly, oh so slowly it seemed, the front of the bike began tracking back toward road.  When it finally pulled itself back onto hard top, I braked to a quick stop.  It was only then that I realized that I was still screaming.  I stood there shaking trying to figure what had just happened.  It had happened so fast and was over in less than a second.  I got off the bike to check for damage.  My hands shook so bad, I nearly couldn’t get my helmet off. 

Gravel had gotten into my jacket.  I was covered with dust.  I took the jacket off and shook it out.  I was mainly concerned that I had cut a tire or had lost a light in the rock spray coming off the oncoming car, or as I was now calling it, “the motherfricking car of death”.  Outside of a few scratches in the face shield, all appeared to be as it should be.  No damage that I could find.

It was as close to death I had ever come to on a bike.  I thought what a stupid way to die.  I also thought if I had gone off the edge of the road and been killed, everyone would just say, “Oh he was just too tired and drove right off the mountain.”  And there would be nothing to contradict that notion. The car had not stopped, and I doubt he knew what happened to me.  The fact that no one would ever know that I had died because someone had forced me off a mountain bothered me.

I thought of a friend, Jim Young and how he had died when going off the road.  I wondered if someone had forced him off the road.  I looked back at the road and the gravel shoulder.  There was no evidence of what had occurred.  No one would ever have known how it happened.  I slowly began to realize that riding the motorcycle was not what almost killed me.  It had saved me.  Had I been in a car, there was no doubt there would have been a head on collision at a substantial speed.  Only by being on the bike had I been able to squeeze between the car and edge of the road.  This made me feel a little better, but only a little better.

I got back on the bike and slowly continued on.  Every car I past for a long time was studied hard and long for any threatening move.  I should have enjoyed the ride around Muncho Lake a little more, but I was still quite shaken.  My mind came back to focus quickly as I hit my first construction zone near Watson Lake.

At first, I didn’t know what to make of hit.  No one was around.  There were some barricades up, some type of caution sign  but the road just ended.  There was nothing.  No construction workers, no tractors, no trucks, no nothing.  I thought I must have missed a sign or something.  There was just nothing here.  The road ended and there was just dirt everywhere. 

            As I sat there trying to figure out what to do, a pick up truck came up behind me, drove past the barricades and continued on through piles of dirt.  Well, when in Rome….   I fell in behind the truck and followed him.  He seemed to know what he was doing.  The dirt was hard packed and smooth.  It was pretty easy going, although I did stay far enough behind the truck to avoid the dust cloud.  About a half mile later, we emerged on the other side.  So that was a construction zone.  Pretty neat.  I would find out that they were not all like this one.  Not at all.

            It had been one heck of day up to this point.  Just to recap to this point for those that may have not been paying attention.  Up early, no power, no gas, big bear, gas up, buffalo, caribou, sheep, no moose, near accident, construction zone.   I was also able to cover the large portion of Alaska Highway between Fort Nelson, BC and Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, during the daytime, when fuel was readily available.  Had I hit this section at night, I would have had to stop and wait for gas stations to open up in the morning.

            I pulled into Whitehorse, YT a little after 6:00 PM PST (3:00 EST) to gas up.  I also decided to put all my cold weather gear on, since I planned on riding well into the night.  After refueling, I quickly stripped down to my riding shorts right at the island.  I started layering up, including the electric socks.  The owner of the station was just locking up.  He asked me where I was heading to tonight.  I told him I intended to be in Fairbanks by morning and then up to Prudhoe Bay the next day.  After the usual bewildered look, he told me he didn’t think so.  I said, “Not only that, but I’ll be back here in a few days and you can buy me a soda if I make it.  If I don’t, I’ll buy you one.”  He kind of chuckled and replied, “We’ll see”, as he walked off.

             All bundled up and ready for coming night, I set off toward Kluane Glacier region.   At this point, I was not only significantly ahead of my schedule, but I was also ahead of the record pace by several hours.  I encountered a few more construction zones, all of fairly short duration and in reasonably good shape.  None of them had any workers present.   Every vehicle was left to their own devices to pick their route through.

            I arrived in the Kluane Glacier region as the sun was just starting to drop behind the mountains to west.  I rode along the highway, peering up at the mountains and massive glaciers.  Kluane Lake is formed by the runoff from the various glaciers and it is huge.   The highway works its way from the southeast side of the lake and then over to the western side of lake.  It follows the shoreline of the lake to the north, passing the small towns of Destruction Bay and Burwash Landing.  As I approached these towns, darkness started to fall and along with it came the first few drops of rain.

            By the time I refueled in Destruction Bay, the rain had started coming down in earnest.  There were large areas of construction in this area.  Between the rain and the mud it created, my progress significantly slowed.  As I slid, slogged and churned my way through each construction zone, every vehicle on the road would pass me.  I tried to stay as much to the right as possible, but often the safest (easiest) path would be in the middle of the road or even to the far left. 

            Because I was hitting these areas on the weekend, there were no back-ups, no pilot cars and no delays.  This turned out to be a two-edged sword.  Because there was no one working, no one was there doing any grading or other maintenance that would maintain the quality of the road through the zone.  The zones were filled with deep vehicle tracks, water filled gullies, large rocks and wheel bashing potholes.  The more it rained the worse it got.  And as darkness closed in, seeing and navigating through the zones got tougher and tougher.

            The next 150 miles to the Alaskan border was pure hell.  Rain poured down.  The road beat the hell out of me and the bike.  My speed dropped to under 20 mph in many spots.  I was praying to just keep the bike upright.  Once total darkness fell, the construction areas were impossibly treacherous.  I often could not even tell which way to go.  Other vehicle traffic became non-existent, which was at least somewhat of a blessing in that I didn’t have to worry about being run over by a speeding 4x4 flying through the mud.

            I began to long for the border and US roads.  I thought clearly the roads had to be better on the US side.  Obviously the Canadians knew nothing about road building.  No one would actually refer to this crap as a road.  I began to dread the construction signs.  Every time I cleared a zone, it seemed that as soon as I got up to 40 or 50 mph, I would hit a sign for another zone.  I cursed the signs.  I cursed the engineers.  I cursed any and everything that came to mind. 

            And I was tired, very tired.  Events were catching up to me.  I was also beginning to get cold and wet.  Water was working its way into the crotch of riding suit and working its way up and down underneath.  It was also working its way up my sleeves and down from the neck.  And it just rained harder.

            Lighting was quickly becoming a problem.  Both Piaa lights had been jarred loose so there aim was now off.  The rain made them even less effective.  The powerful lights would simply reflect off the raindrops and back at me.  The Motolights worked fine, but they were constantly being covered over by mud.  The first few times this happened I would stop and clear them, but I soon gave up on that and just rode on.

            Mostly as I rode, there was nothing.  No towns, no gas stations, no hotels.  I really needed to stop and regroup.  But there was no place to stop.  I was around 50 miles from the border working my way through the umpteenth construction zone when I made a serious mistake.  I had somehow lost the road and was riding in soft mud about 20 feet right of the road.   The bike sank into the mud.  I then compounded the problem by stopping and losing all my momentum.  When I put my feet down, I knew the bike had sunk quite a bit in the mud.  I couldn’t see how far, but I could feel it.  Just standing there the bike was pretty unstable.  I slowly twisted the throttle.  The rear wheel spun.  Uh-oh…and the rain just kept coming down.

            I just sat there, in the rain, in the dark, in the mud.  I had no idea what to do.  I thought about just dropping the bike and then trying to figure out a way to pull it out.   Then I decided to just wait for a vehicle to come by and to try to get some help.  Surely one of those trucks would have a rope or a chain to pull me out.  So I waited.  But no one came.  Five minutes went by and I still sat there in the rain, in the mud, in the dark.  After about 10 minutes, I decided this was not a very good plan.  I could be sitting here for quite a while, and even if someone went by there was no guarantee they would stop in this storm to see if I needed help. 

            I finally decided to spin the rear wheel until one of two things happened.  The bike would either sink in the mud up to the Jesse Bags or the rear tire would grab something to pull itself out.   I said a prayer for a big rock to be under the tire and started spinning.  Straddling the bike, I was able to get a small rocking motion going.  I tried to keep my weight off the bike.  Finally, the tire bit something and the bike lurched forward.  I held on as the bike started pushing its way through the mud.  I tried to slowly guide it toward the road, finally hitting some firmer gravel.  I didn’t stop again until I was back on hardtop.  Another bullet dodged.  I trudged on.

            I finally reached the border.  Soon I would be on good old American roads!  I crossed the 20 mile no man’s land between the two checkpoints.  That section was terrible.  I crept along, barely making 20 mph.  When I finally arrived on the US side, there were 2 or 3 inspectors working the one lane.  They just stared at me.  I had to look like a drowned rat.  I was happy to pull in under the overhang and to be out of rain for the first time in hours.  I wouldn’t have objected to a full and complete search and even a few hours in dry warm cell would have been fine at this point. 

            After a few questions they cleared me back into the US.  One of the inspectors told me that I probably should look for a hotel and that the weather was supposed to get worse!  I didn’t think that was possible.  I made some comment about the road being terrible on the Canadian side and asked if they were any better on the US side.  My morale went even lower they said “no”. 

How could this be?   Americans do everything better, right?  Could it be that the road sucks, because the road just sucks and is very difficult to maintain?  In my beaten state, I did not want to think that.  I had too far to go still.  A more reasonable answer occurred to me.  A Canadian firm had the contract to work the US side of the highway.  Yeah, that had to be it.  I was grasping for anything. 

I pulled out of the checkpoint very depressed and tired.  I wanted off this bike and off this road.  But mostly I just wanted to be anywhere but where I was.   I started dreaming of home and a warm, dry bed.  That was all I thought about.  I began just dreaming about getting off the bike and kicking into some ditch.  I knew I was hitting the wall and could not go much farther.  I had to get off this bike and get some rest.

I rode looking for anyplace to stop.  Anywhere that would give me shelter from the rain.  There was nothing.  I rode on.  As I approached Tok, AK, the rain slackened and actually came to a stop.  This lightened my mood somewhat, but I still needed rest.  I pulled into Tok, some 100 miles from the border, around 2:00 AM.  I re-fueled the bike and asked the clerk about hotels.  He said there were three in town.  One was closed for repairs.  The other two were right around the corner. 

I rode to the first.  There was a sign on the door.  “Closed for the night.  Go Away.”  I knocked anyway.  No answer.  I went to the other hotel.  No sign, but the same result.  I put the bike on the center stand and tried to sleep sitting on the bike.  I have been able to do this with varying success in the past.  This time it didn’t work. 

I went back to the gas station and told the clerk I couldn’t get a room.  I also told him that I really needed to get some sleep.  I told him I would pay him if I could just sleep on the floor of the store for little while.  He told me that it would be against company policy to let me do that.  Yeah, right.  I asked if I could try to get some sleep in the parking lot and he said that it would be okay. 

I went back outside in the cold and found a dry part of the lot to lie on.  I set the Meanie for two hours, shoved it under my helmet and went to sleep.  I woke less than an hour later, shivering from the cold.  The rain had started up again.  This really sucked.  I felt a little better and decided to try and make the next town to look for a hotel.  I plugged the electrics back in and began to warm up again.  I got back on the bike and rode on.

I arrived at Delta Junction, the end of the Alaska Highway, a while later.  The rain continued to come down, though not as heavy as before.  The sun was also starting to come up.  I was now pretty thoroughly soaked to the skin, but with the electrics, I was able to stay fairly warm.  I felt reasonably awake after my short nap.  Fairbanks still beckoned some 100 miles to the north.  I thought I could make it there, get a hotel room for a few hours and then tackle the Dalton Highway after getting some serious rest.

As I pushed on toward Fairbanks, the rain increased again.  I kept telling myself, just 70 more miles, just 60 more miles, etc.  Fairbanks became my goal.  Get there, get dry and get rested.  I also knew I was well ahead of a record pace for the ride at this point.  I thought I could get some good sleep and still have a good shot at the record.  The rain became heavier.

Just south of Fairbanks, I saw my first moose and not in a good way.  I must have come upon the accident shortly after it occurred.  The moose was lying in the middle of the road, apparently dead.  The minivan that had hit the moose was off to the side of road.  There wasn’t much left of the van.  It appeared everyone, with the exception of the moose, was okay.  I felt bad for the lady that had been driving the minivan, but I also felt bad for the moose.  Even though the moose was dead, it is still an eye opener to see how big they are first hand.  I hoped to see one in a better setting before my trip ended.

I arrived in Fairbanks around 7:00 AM, Sunday morning.  I did not know what to do.  But I saw a McDonalds and decided some hot chocolate sounded good.  I was shivering pretty hard at this point, as well as being soaked through.  I ordered two hot chocolates and immediately began stripping off the wet clothes.  I created quite a stir, but I didn’t care.  I was near a collapse.  I had been riding for nearly 30 hours, much of it in horrible conditions. 

I drank the first two hot chocolates and went back for more.  I decided on a little breakfast.  I had eaten nothing other than power bars since Wednesday.  This ride had been so much harder than I had anticipated and I still had over 400 miles of probably worse road to go to reach Prudhoe Bay.  I was ready to call it quits.  The last thing I wanted to do was get back on that bike. 

I called Nancy.  I told her I was done.  I didn’t want to do this.  I didn’t want to be here.  I did not think the Dalton Highway would be passable in this weather.  This had been too hard.  She listened and was supportive.  And then she delivered a swift kick in the pants.  If I didn’t finish this ride, I would regret it for a long time.  Whether I actually made it up the Dalton Highway was not important as long as I felt I had given it my best.  And she was right.  She wished me best and said to call her as soon as I knew what I was going to do. 

The couple at the table next to me had been watching me with special attention.  The lady came up and asked me if I was one of those “Iron Butt” riders and if I was going to Prudhoe Bay.  I replied that I guess I was one of those riders, but I didn’t feel particularly like one at this point.  I hadn’t decided about going to Prudhoe Bay, but that was my goal.  I asked if they had been up there.  Neither one had been any further than the Arctic Circle.  The lady replied that when she rode up in her Jeep, the road had not been too bad.  She wasn’t sure what the road would be like in this weather.

I thanked them for their input.  I finished my breakfast and started thinking about getting a room.  I needed somewhere to dry my clothes and maybe stash some gear to lighten the bike.  As I sat there, I remembered one of pet peeves about every McDonalds I had ever been to.  None of them have paper towels in the bathroom.  They all have warm air hand dryers.  I nearly sprinted to the bathroom to check out the bathrooms.   

Eureka!  Warm air hand dryers!  I immediately went back out and retrieved all my wet clothes and started drying them all one by one.  There I stood in my underwear drying each piece of clothing one at a time.  An employee came into the bathroom.  He took one look at the nearly naked guy and turned around and left.  Twenty minutes later, I was not only dressed but I was nice, warm and toasty in my now dry and warm clothes.  I felt tons better.  I was still tired, but I felt a lot better than I had when I pulled into the parking lot.

The Dalton Highway actually begins about 84 miles north of Fairbanks.  I decided to ride up to the start of the highway, just to see what it looked like.  At that point I could make a go or no go decision.  If I decided not to go because of weather or fatigue, then I would come back to town and get a hotel room for a few hours.  As I pulled out of the parking lot, the rain subsided again, and a small sliver of sunshine began to peek through the morning sky.

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