I first heard the banging of a drawer. The sound of someone callously rummaging through bags. The lights were on outside of the room but I was not sure what time it was. I couldn't quite move and was not sure if I was awake or still dreaming, a feeling of helplessness covered me like a blanket. I wondered what it was that I was experiencing but before I knew it I had drifted back off and lost the specifics.
I checked the time in a cold sweat expecting to have overslept. Clearly I missed something but it was actually pretty early still. I may have been tired from the day before but somebody was in the room. I look at the pile of everything Tiffany and I own for the next couple weeks but it looks as I had left it last night. But I couldn't help but go through it to make sure. Were we robbed? Was I dreaming?
Tiff wakes up and heads for the shower. I ask her what the hell I was hearing last night, and she said someone kept coming in and out of the room in the middle of the night making no attempt to be quiet or reserved in her actions. I was a little mad someone could be so rude and obtuse to everyone else in the room but it didn't matter anymore. We were tired and hungry and would probably still feel the same even if someone hadn't come in late last night.
After getting cleaned up a bit, we asked the hostel host if there were any good places to eat close by that the locals usually visit. He recommended the Bakery Restaurant in town for some good breakfast food, so we loaded up the bikes and headed there for a quick meal. It turned out they have really large portions and the food was pretty good, certainly a great start for our first day on the Dalton Highway. My eyes were bigger than my stomach apparently, and I felt conquered by my breakfast.
We chat with an older fellow in the parking lot while Eddie went across the street to get a spare gas can. He had recommended that we check out the local auto museum in Fairbanks, said it was well worth the visit if we were looking for something to do. So we added that to our to-do list of things to check out in case we got rained out later today. Little did we know at the time, but the museum he talked about, the Fountainhead Antique Auto Museum, is rated #1 in all attractions of Fairbanks on TripAdvisor. His recommendation was definitely sound.
From Fairbanks we made our way north, winding our way through twisty mountain roads as we hugged the terrain. We couldn't ask for better weather, it was such a complete change from yesterday that it was almost hard to believe. The morning air was crisp but not too cold.
Gassing up while we can on the Elliott Hwy, just south of the start of the Dalton:
Getting ready for the Dalton:
We were making good time, and when we saw an opening in the road we took a break to snap some pictures. Eddie agreed to head up ahead and grab a few "action shots" of us riding. We then swapped cameras and got a few of Eddie. It was a nice relaxing stop, and was surely one of those moments you hope to have when on a trip like this, a simple moment with friends without a care in the world.
We pass by a store tucked away in the woods and make a quick stop there. The hand-made sign by the road says "Arctic Circle Trading Post". There were a few ADV bikes parked up front, the first bikes on the road we had seen all day. Judging by the looks of their bikes, they had quite an adventure already. Outside was an eclectic collection of various random cars and trucks, including what appeared to be a homemade limo that was now serving as yard art, and doing a pretty good job of it I might add.
This little guy was practicing for his try up the Haul Road in a few years:
Inside the cabin store we found the riders, who were on two BMW GS1200 Adventures and a newer KLR650. The day was treating us well and it was good to share the day with them. We asked them how things were going, and if they were on their way up too.
One speaks up, "Nope, heading back. Got totally fucked in the blizzard on Atigun."
"Blizzard?", Tiff says. Although you could almost literally hear all three of us thinking it. Surely he's fucking with us. We definitely misheard what he said. Some joke among fellow riders, for sure.
The look on his face was serious and genuine. There was no follow up punchline, as there was no joke to be told. The consequent silence was short but somehow still obtrusive.
"Certainly pretty bad yesterday on Atigun Pass, almost a total whiteout," the lady said behind the counter. She had been quiet but obviously listening to our conversation. "You'll have to be pretty careful up there, it's already passed but it will be nasty up there for a couple more days."
The riders continued to tell us of their misfortune. They tried to make it up Atigun Pass but the blizzard was too much. They had ridden all the way from Nova Scotia and this was the pinnacle of their trip. They were just as far away from home as us and they had to turn around, I felt for them with considerable empathy.
My heart sank. What were we doing here? These guys were on proper adventure bikes with full knobbies. I couldn't help but feel like a charlatan trying at my own presumptuous pursuit.
He continued: "This was supposed to be the highlight of the trip, but the timing just didn't work out. We waited a whole day but it didn't pass in time. It was pretty rough up there. We were pretty bummed, we're gonna find a place to keep the bikes over winter and try it again next year."
I had to admire their dedication.
The news somewhat took me by surprise. I, as well as most people, had only known Atigun Pass from the show Ice Road Truckers. I didn't really expect it to be an obstacle that may determine if we can even make it up there. I had been mostly concerned with the weather, the rain mostly, and didn't think a blizzard was something that happens up here in summer, even in Alaska. Not that the news really mattered at this point, we were going regardless.
He asked what bikes we were on, and what tires we were running. After I told him I was on street tires, he responded, "you... probably won't be making it up the hill. Just be careful." Which kind of stung to hear. His words echoed in my head, never really fading out bur rather growing louder instead.
We wished we could have hung out with them a little longer, but had to keep heading north, as we hadn't gotten on the Dalton yet. But deep down I think the news was just too much of a burden to hear and we wanted to get away from it all, sticking our proverbial heads in the sand.
The riders, worn down from their fateful attempt of the Haul Road:
We soon found ourselves at the Dalton Hwy, of course stopping for the token pictures at the Dalton Highway DOT sign. I had to laugh at the sign stating "50 MPH, next 416 miles", as if there was an air of apathy for any real police presence north of here.
After stopping again for another Dalton Hwy sign, this one appearing much newer than the standard DOT sign we stopped at before and clearly made for those that make the trek up for personal reasons, our friends Ian and Kristina pulled up. As luck would have it, they are hitting the road just at the same time we are, perfect timing! We soon found ourselves playing tag with them the first few stops along the way.
My impression of the Dalton was a pretty easy road, some decent pavement but many hard-packed dirt and gravel sections that were not too terribly tough. There was quite a bit of washboard sections but they never really covered the whole width and you could pick a line pretty easily to avoid most of it. 50 mph was an easy task, and likely no problem going faster although we had planned to keep the pace within reason, no sense rushing any experiences here. I wouldn't want to see the road in the pouring rain, but fortunately Mother Nature was treating us well with clear skies and warm sunlight.
At a random stop along the Dalton, we found an Alaskan Stonehenge:
We make it to the Yukon River and stop for a quick break. We see Ian and Christina again and hang out for a bit. We've been dancing with the pipeline since getting on the Dalton but because of the bridge at the Yukon River I finally get a chance for a close up look at it. Up close, the pipeline became a Monolith figure of both ominous domination and stagnant emotion. It never seemed out of place wherever we saw it, its purpose and function juxtaposed with the natural beauty of its surroundings.
We all head across the street for another gas stop. For the first time I see a gas pump with no payment console, just a nozzle and a pump with an above ground storage tank.
I had been getting used to not paying attention to the gas prices. It made no sense to me to worry about such things I had little control over. But Yukon River was the first time I'd really taken a look, and the price at just under $6 for Regular (the only grade of gas available from here on out) really made me cringe. There was only one pump and it was a wonder the place was not busier than it was, even up here.
Another random stop at Finger Mountain:
We saw a lot of these little guys running around all over out here:
Just a little further up the road, was the Arctic Circle:
Goofy picture time:
We pulled into Coldfoot making great time. There was still plenty of light out, but that wasn't saying much since the sun goes down so late here. We had heard about the buffet from a rider earlier on the trip and we had been looking forward to it all day. The buffet smelled too good to pass up, especially after a long day of riding, and for $20 I couldn't complain considering how far up in the middle of nowhere we really were out here. I learned that the name Coldfoot literally came from prospectors in around 1900 who had gotten "cold feet" and had to turn around.
We saw these guys earlier today. A bit hardcore planning on camping all the way up here, who knows how cold the temps get overnight:
We hung out with everyone and chatted up a bit, and it felt really good to sit down and relax. Then we headed up the road to Wiseman to get our cabin at the Boreal Lodge, where Ian and Christina would also be staying. The cabin ended up being pretty nice and we really enjoyed staying there.
The property was very eclectic:
We also found we wouldn't be the only bikers staying up here, as there was a decent group of adventure bikes parked outside of the other cabins at the Boreal.
There was a group of Canadian V-Strommers who had attempted the Dalton north of here, but ran into some serious trouble. They got caught in the blizzard up at Atigun pass we heard about before and literally couldn't make it through. One guy had pulled over to let a truck by and with both front and back brake applied, the bike slid down and fell over into the muck. He said they were pretty much stuck so they found a station by the side of the road they could leave the bikes at, and had to head back down into Wiseman. Fortunately they had a buddy driving a chase truck which really saved the day.
To make the best of the situation, and because the bikes were still a bit "stuck" on the Pass, they all took the chase truck up to Deadhorse to at least make it up there in some form. They had just gotten back from the trip up around the time we had arrived, as they were on their first initial beers of countless we would see them go through that night.
Since they had already made the whole trip up there, we prodded them for information. They commented that even in the truck, it was pretty nasty stuff to go through. They told me I may not make it. But said if the weather holds up, it's possible.
I replied "worst case I can always turn around, I guess."
But one of the guys saw right through me.
"You won't turn around," he replied. "You'll be stubborn and keep going until you can't go any further. Nobody heads up here on a GSXR only to turn around before making it."
I suppose he's probably right. It was a little sobering to hear the truth, and it seemed plausible that I'd be in trouble before realizing I couldn't actually make it.
Their bikes were at the cabin (they rode them back today when they got to Atigun Pass) and they looked pretty tore up, covered in the calcium mud from the Pass. One of the bikes had a huge penis drawn on it in the mud. A very huge penis.
A perfect back window for a SUV carrying a bunch of guys:
Ian and Christina were staying here too:
It was really nice talking with the guys, who had headed up from Vancouver and Edmonton to make the trip up here in Alaska. But it was getting late and I was pretty tired from being on the road. So we said our goodbyes and they wished me luck on the Dalton. I am beginning to think that if I make it up there on street tires, there's gonna be a few really pissed off people!
After copying over the picture/video files and charging the cameras, we were off to bed. I'm pretty sure we all slept like rocks that night. A good thing, as I suspect the nasty stuff is just up ahead.
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