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beyond the dogpark - a motorcycle tour

Great report, Paul. Hugely entertaining. Looking forward to much more. Ride safe.
 
This might be my favorite shot from the trip so far. . .

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This report based on the 940 mile stretch of the Alaska Highway between Dawson Creek and Whitehorse. But first, some thoughts on common perceptions of the Alaska Highway and my recollections from traveling it five years ago.

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When I first set out in 2002 to drive to Alaska, I was warned about terrible road conditions, unpredictable weather, dangerous wildlife and hostile logging trucks. I was told that I had better fortify my vehicle with items to protect against rocks that have taken flight to escape truck tires and to carry additional fuel as gas stations are far apart and sometimes closed.

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When Griffin and I set out in our semi-reliable four-wheel drive motorhome, we did indeed encounter an Alaska Highway that was unique vs. other roads. There were stretches under construction or damaged by winterÔÇÖs frost heaves. Some of these stretches involved dirt, mud, gravel, ruts and potholes. But I had no sense that the road was impassable. We found it to be a complete misnomer that the weather was unpredictable, since rain and fog were constants during our entire ride. Logging trucks were present, but the RVs were far more menacing, and we never encountered flying gravel. I was not cocky that I beat the road, I was thankful that it was easy on me. I did actually run out of gas at one point and I reacted by putting on my running shoes and grabbing my (empty ÔÇô duh!) gas can ÔÇô but that was due to my own stupidity and itÔÇÖs a story for another day.

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Although I believe that currently there is considerable construction further up the road, so far I have encountered very good road conditions. There have been a few 10-mile sections of gravel but they have been entirely manageable and actually pretty fun. For those sections, I stop and disengage the ABS, then stand on the footpegs and look straight ahead while motoring forward in low gear. Just like I learned at Jim HydeÔÇÖs class. No problem!

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On this trip, the predictability of the weather has been a bit less reliable. But when compared to the all-rain condition of my previous visit, that is a good thing. IÔÇÖve stopped deliberating in the morning as to if I should start off with my rain gear. The answer is ÔÇ£yes, it will rain at some point.ÔÇØ While IÔÇÖve had my share of rain over the last few days, IÔÇÖve also had the clouds lift to reveal entire landscapes flooded with sunlight. And since the weather limited my view back in 2002 (and since my work-only-on-certain-days windshield wipers didnÔÇÖt help matters), IÔÇÖm truly seeing much of this land for the first time.

In my mind, there is an odd balance in this area between rain and sunlight. Although IÔÇÖd prefer to remain dry, the rain surely must be responsible for the lush and life-full land. For that, I am grateful for the rain.

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Speaking of the life in this land, I should report that while IÔÇÖve seen very little wildlife most days, I saw very many animals on the day I rode from Fort Nelson to Watson Lake. On that single day I saw no fewer than five moose, four buffalo, eight sheep and four thousand mosquitoes, each the size of a ham (okay, so the ham part was for fun). One moose encounter is worth further description. I had stopped along side of the road to take some photos (I havenÔÇÖt been getting off the bike as much now that IÔÇÖm all wired in with my heated clothing and audio system). And when I looked forward and prepared to start the bike, along came a moose. It was probably about 50 feet away but it was huge! My heart raced for a moment, then I noted that the moose wasnÔÇÖt particularly anxious, so I didnÔÇÖt feel that I should be either. I started the bike and edged forward. Looking straight at me, the moose took a few steps in my direction. I found this interesting, since I figured he (like most, since I am in need of clean clothes) would prefer to walk away. I pulled forward slightly, but ready to turn and speed off if needed. The moose took a few steps closer. Sort of neat in a way, but what would happen when we reached each other? At ten feet in height (seemingly), this guy was way bigger than me and my moose of a bike combined. In another moment, he crossed the road and headed into the woods.

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IÔÇÖll end this post by describing how my bike (but not my wallet) had some very good luck in Whitehorse. You might recall that I put knobby tires on my bike in Spokane. And you might recall me saying that while knobbies are great for off-road and semi-off-road riding, they are good for far fewer miles than other ÔÇ£streetÔÇØ tires. Back in Spokane I calculated my expected mileage to Anchorage. I planned that a 3,000-4,000 mile tire would get me there easily with quite a few miles to spare. But when the roads in western British Columbia washed out and I needed to double back instead of take a ferry part way, my expected mileage increased significantly. I hadnÔÇÖt thought too much about it until I was in Watson Lake, about 300 miles east of Whitehorse. In Watson Lake, I looked at the tires and realized for myself that I could make it to Fairbanks if I went there directly. But I really wanted to take a northern detour up the Klondike highway up to Dawson City. Out of sheer luck, the first bike shop I called in Whitehorse (no BMW dealership in town) had the exact tire I wanted, and they were able to install it exactly when I wanted. Guess how much that cost. . .

So from Whitehorse, IÔÇÖve headed north to Dawson City, a town that I really love. But more on that in my next post ÔÇô now itÔÇÖs time to find a bite to eat.

But wait! Just two more items:
1) When I told her I was in the YukonÔÇÖs big town (Whitehorse) my mom asked, ÔÇ£how big is a big town in he Yukon?ÔÇØ A web search gives 2003 data of about 22,000 people, 70% of the provinceÔÇÖs population.
2) I have recently established a new policy that I will definitely wash my bike after each ride. I have also officially noted that this three-month ride is half over.

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Yes, support the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, they're my client. *ducking*

Thanks for the vote for Dana-Farber! You don't happen to be a kintera person do you (they do the web services for D-F as well as many other not for profits)?
 
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Leaving Whitehorse (on my new bumpy tire), I turned north off the Alaska Highway in the direction of Dawson City, a place that I visited five years ago and would like to return to from time to time.

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I was recently asked why I like Dawson. And I was recently asked to tell the ran-out-of-gas story from 2002. These items go well together. After fueling up my beloved ÔÇ£The ChiefÔÇØ (my old camper) in Whitehorse, I refueled once along the way, but then passed by another gas station, faithfully anticipating that The ChiefÔÇÖs fuel capacity (never truly tested before, and there was no reliable gas gauge to assist with such things) would deliver Griffin and I to the next town, Dawson. With maps and road signs to help judge distances, I figured that I was roughly twenty miles south of town when The Chief began to sputter. Although there were few placed to pull off the road, luck delivered a The Chief-sized road-side gravel patch where I parked my home, walked Griff, gave him some food, put on my running shoes, grabbed my (empty ÔÇô grrrrr) gas can and set out for a little evening jog.

Not fifty feet from The Chief, a car approached from the south. I held up the (empty ÔÇô booooo) gas can and made some sort of gesture that identified me as a helpless tourist. The driver stopped and offered me a ride to town, and since she was on her way to drop her daughter off and was then to return, she offered me a ride back to the camper. Not only did she have the consideration to take me to the most reasonably-priced station in town, but she gave me a tour of the place, which she was quite qualified to do as she worked at the townÔÇÖs information center.

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IÔÇÖve not forgotten the hospitality that greeted me to Dawson City. And that same spirit seems to persist among most everyone in town, year-round residents, summer-time workers and tourists alike. Add the facts that the town is at the confluence of the Klondike and Yukon Rivers, that it is seated among rolling green mountains and that it presents a top-notch restoration of its gold-mining past ÔÇô and I am sold. This is a great place (at least in the summer).

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When in town the last time, I stayed in an in-town campground, which made sense since I was in an RV. But I recall visiting a pub named Bombay PeggyÔÇÖs. It was in a restored (and relocated) house that also serves as an inn. The building has had a number of uses in the past but it seems to be celebrated most for the time that it served as a brothel. In 2002, I decided that if I were to return to Dawson, I would stay at Bombay PeggyÔÇÖs. And so I have. This is my third and last night here. IÔÇÖve enjoyed the inn and the pub, but I have not even inquired about other services which have most likely been discontinued.

IÔÇÖve enjoyed my stay in Dawson. Again, the town is hospitable and charming. Highlights have been going on several runs including one to the top of DawsonÔÇÖs Midnight Dome, where people flock to celebrate the 24-hour sunshine on the summer solstice, just a few days away!

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Earlier today I took a ride about 75 miles up the Dempster Highway, where the word ÔÇ£highwayÔÇØ translates best to ÔÇ£gravel road.ÔÇØ The ride north on the Dempster shows the transition from forested land to tundra. TUNDRA! . . .where the latitude is sufficient that the tree line drops below the ground level. To continue on the Dempster would deliver one to the artic circle and then eventually to Inuvik. I did not go so far as either of these. IÔÇÖve got a couple reasons for that, but IÔÇÖm very happy that I went as far as I did. To the top perhaps on another day.

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To complete the ran-out-of-gas story, I should mention that my (empty ÔÇô argghhh!) gas can held only two gallons. The Chief did well to get ten miles to the gallon. There was no assurance that I would make it to town even with the spare gas! Turns out that we were closer to fifteen miles out of town, but still pulled in on little more than fumes.

On this trip I know my vehicleÔÇÖs range and I donÔÇÖt pass gas stations without knowing I can make it to the next. My GPS helps!

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Thanks for the vote for Dana-Farber! You don't happen to be a kintera person do you (they do the web services for D-F as well as many other not for profits)?

Nope, a vendor of computer solutions.
Great pics, btw, keep runnin'!
 
When last I wrote, I was in Dawson City. That was over two weeks ago! IÔÇÖve been (happily) short on time and internet access recently. Now oh man, IÔÇÖve got a bit of typing to do!

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Leaving Dawson City is every bit as fun as getting there. The west-bound trip starts with a short ferry ride across the Yukon River; the ferry delivers its passengers to the beginning of the Top of the World Highway. ÔÇ£Top of the WorldÔÇØ is a fitting phrase, as the road often follows mountain ridgelines. The upshot to this of course is the opportunity of great views everywhere. And although other roads are constructed similarly (Skyline Drive, for example), the Top of the World Highway is often through tundra or above tree line, so little can block the excellent views, save clouds or darkness. Fortunately the clouds were at bay that day and the sun was working around the clock that month.

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A couple hours of riding delivered me to the Alaska border, where I showed my passport, set my watch back one hour and prepared for the road to turn from tidy to challenging. On the Canada side, the road is mostly chip-sealed with a few gravel sections. On the US side, gravel, dirt and potholes prevail. What fun! At least on a monster dirt bike.

I passed through Chicken Alaska, a town that seems to pride itself on having just about the lowest possible year-round population (single digits). I wonder how voting works out in that town. . .

After another couple hours of heading southwest, I met up again with the Alaska Highway and headed northwest to Fairbanks, where a large regional Harley Davidson rally was wrapping up. At my hotel, I met a bunch of nice H-D riders, including brothers John and Tom who I would see again off and on for the next several days.

The next day I started off from Fairbanks at about 10AM and headed north for the Dalton Highway. I had initially planned to ride the entire road to its end at Deadhorse, just shy of the Artic SeaÔÇÖs Prudhoe Bay. But as with the Dempster Highway two days prior, once I was actually at the right spot, I wasnÔÇÖt inspired to ride to the edge of the earth. IÔÇÖm not sure why. Maybe I want to look forward to that for another day. Maybe I donÔÇÖt want to ever see it, just in case it really is made of cheese. Maybe IÔÇÖm too wound up and donÔÇÖt want to take the time. Lots of maybes. I respect the ride and those who make it; it just isnÔÇÖt for me (now).

But I did spend a few hours on the Dalton, just to take a look. I had planned to ride as far as the artic circle but while stopped at a construction site (with a wait time of at least half hour ÔÇô both ways), I noticed some menacing clouds gathering. My understanding of the Dalton (and the Dempster and other ÔÇÿhighwaysÔÇÖ) is that they become amazingly sloppy when wet. I turned back south.

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At the bottom of the Dalton Highway, I stopped to top up the air in my tires and chat with a couple other motorcyclists. And after a moment, two people on bicycles came down of the Dalton. The bicyclists were at the beginning of a two year trip that will take them from the top of North America to South AmericaÔÇÖs Tierra Del Fuego. TWO YEARS! . . .and to start their trip, they rode from Fairbanks up to Deadhorse, just so they could officially cover the western hemisphere nose to tail. In speaking with these people, I was absolutely humbled. I most definitely didnÔÇÖt share my ÔÇ£whatÔÇÖs the point?ÔÇØ perspective on riding to the top of the Dalton highway (thatÔÇÖs something that IÔÇÖm sharing only with you and only in private, so shhhhh).

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I looked to the sky again and quickly jumped on my bike. Still about an hour and a half out of Fairbanks I got dumped on harder than ever before while on a motorcycle. The Super 8 looked pretty darn super when I saw it.

I cleaned myself up a bit, then ran into John and Tom. They too had been caught in the rain. In fact they encountered hail. And since John was enjoying the no-helmet-law aspect of Alaska, he could quite vividly recount the size and frequency of the hail that hit him in the head. Ouch!

Over dinner, the three of us decided to head south together the following morning. They wanted to make it to Anchorage the next day and I was happy to be on my way south.

We left as planned and decided to stop briefly at Denali National Park. We rode in for the fifteen miles accessible to public vehicles, then returned to the highway. I wasnÔÇÖt in much of a hurry so I decided to poke around the area a bit more while my new friends headed south.

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I did end up making it to Anchorage that evening, in part because I couldnÔÇÖt find appealing overnight options to the north. And when I recalled learning that the Anchorage Harley Davidson dealership allows for motorcyclists to camp on their property, I decided to head on down.

AnchorageÔÇÖs House of Harley shares a parking lot with the Alaska Rider bike tour & rental company. Although the Harley shop was closed for night when I arrived, a few folks were still at the Alaska Rider shop. I knew for sure that I was in good hands when I pulled up and the first thing they did was offer me a ÔÇ£nice local beer.ÔÇØ Yes. Yes!

IÔÇÖm not sure how much to talk up the Harley shop. My first impulse is to tell you all how friendly the people there are. And how they donÔÇÖt care about what you ride, only that you ride. And that you can camp for free. And that as a camper you have 24 hour access to a secure bathroom and a hot shower. But if I were to tell you all those things, then maybe weÔÇÖd overcrowd the place and a good thing would become over utilized. So IÔÇÖll just say that if you are visiting Anchorage by motorcycle, you should definitely stop by the Harley shop and have a cup of coffee and some good conversation. (oops, did I just tell you that they have free coffee?). And when you are there, be sure to talk to their finance manager Bob, whoÔÇÖs quite possibly reading this as he is a dual sport/BMW motorcycle forum type of guy. (In other words, thanks again Bob!).

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I spent the next full day based out of the Harley shopÔÇÖs camping area, as did a few other motorcyclists. It seems that several of us had been traveling for a while and welcomed a warm sunny day when we could tinker with our bikes, making repairs and adjustments. I visited Alaska Leather, where I picked up a sheep skin seat cover for the bike. The covers reportedly provide a huge upgrade to the comfort of any seat ÔÇô I agree that itÔÇÖs an improvement.

I slept in a bit the next morning and opened my tent flap to discover that I had been abandoned. All six other campers had hit the road. I had one more day to kill in town, so I got back to the business of running. I ran for maybe 10 miles (RME quantity pending) and when I returned to the Harley shop, I was greeted by John and Tom. ÔÇ£We found your bike, so then we started looking for you.ÔÇØ Small world!

Later that afternoon I headed over to a B&B where Anna had made a reservation for us to stay. I had a lot of work to do to clean my bike, my clothes and myself before her flight arrived late that night.
 
Outstanding job !!! :clap :clap :clap See you at National. I will have your last leg of your trip scouted out because I am going to West Bend via Montreal, Canada.:bikes :bikes :bikes :bikes

Thanks for the feedback and the claps!!!

I'll definitely take any good route advice you might have - see you at the MOA rally, you bet!
 
I followed the instructions from my GPS to AnchorageÔÇÖs Sand Lake Studio B&B. But I arrived at a single family home. I approached apprehensively and was greeted at the door by a man who introduced himself as Mike. Turns out that I was in the right place; Mike and his wife rent out a very nice loft apartment built over their garage. A very homey feel, complete with two great dogs. Mike was very kind to let me make a complete mess of his lawn and driveway as I tore apart my bike, gear and clothing for a little shake-down and cleaning. Mike and I were both glad that his wife wasnÔÇÖt around to see the ugliness.

My cleaning and organization project took me up until late evening when it was time to head to the airport to meet AnnaÔÇÖs flight. Taking the bike would not have made sense as there would not be room to carry her and her luggage. So I went for run number two that day (RME factor increases for multiple runs in a single day). Anna arrived, noted my ever-stupid hair and we grabbed a cab back to MikeÔÇÖs house.

The next day we headed to the BMW to drop the bike off for tires and an oil change. From the (campgroudless) BMW shop we took a cab to *gasp!* the motorhome rental place. In a heartbeat I was transformed from a motorcyclist into a motorcyclistÔÇÖs worst nightmare, an RV driver. I had wanted a smaller camper, but the only RV available was 30 feet long. IT would be our home for the next week. IT would be monstrous to drive. IT would be an annoyance, threat and real danger to others. IT would eat fuel and produce waste water. IT would be hideous. IT would be fun!

(I forget the exact logistics, but we got a sweet shot of the RV and bike together).

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* * I should definitely note that IÔÇÖm not a complete stranger to RV living. As I think I mentioned, I owned a 21ÔÇÖ motorhome and traveled in it with Griffin the dog for eight months about five years ago. But this motorhome, with its 30 feet in length and itÔÇÖs ÔÇ£IÔÇÖm a rentalÔÇØ graphics was a very different animal. Far more annoying. Perfect! * *

Anna and I were registered for the Mayors Marathon foot race, to take place in two days. So rather than leave town, we hunkered down in Anchorage to get settled in to our new home and prepare for the run. From prior travels, I think of Wal-Mart as the de-facto metropolitan place to park an RV on nights when water and electricity arenÔÇÖt needed. And from prior experience, the Wal-Mart at the intersection of Seward Highway and Dimond Boulevard is the most happening party in town. Apparently my recollection is very accurate because overnight parking has been banned at all Anchorage Wal-Marts due to certain abuses of the retail chainÔÇÖs generosity. So we headed up the road to Fred Myer (Alaska retail chain, similar to Wal-Mart) where we were greeted with much hospitality.

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The Mayors Marathon was great fun. With fewer than 1,400 full marathon runners, the race is very small compared to, say, DCÔÇÖs Marine Corps Marathon that has tens of thousands of participants. The small crowd size was pretty important as the first couple miles were on a ten-foot-wide path, where passing others was difficult. After a few miles, the course turned off onto a series of full-width gravel fire-roads (not unlike the Dempster or the Dalton!) and the pack thinned out nicely. The scenery was great ÔÇô it was a bit overcast so some views were obscured, but there were plenty of mountains and wooded areas in full view. At about mile seven(ish), a moose ran onto the course and sort of jogged upstream v. the rest of the runners. Very odd, but very cool!

About half way in, I began to get fatigued. It wasnÔÇÖt that I couldnÔÇÖt keep running (IÔÇÖve run marathons from start to finish with far less preparation (not quickly of course, I never run quickly)), but that I didnÔÇÖt want to keep running. I didnÔÇÖt want to beat myself up so much that IÔÇÖd hurt for days. I did, however, want to enjoy the city and the event that ÔÇôostensibly- IÔÇÖd traveled so far to experience. I was glad that Anna was of like mind. We ended up walking quite a bit of the second half. And while that might decrease the RME factor, the true 26.2 miles will likely count for some value greater than 26. After all, it was breezy out and we were at about 300 feet in elevation. . .

I found a photo of us online ÔÇô itÔÇÖs tough to see us but that makes it sort of fun. IÔÇÖm pretty much in the center and Anna is to my right, photo viewerÔÇÖs left.

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I should mention that the marathon has significance for me beyond being a great run. It represents the focal point of things done in memory of my father. While I donÔÇÖt for a moment justify three months of self-serving fun as a duty performed for my family, I gratefully leverage the trip as an opportunity to reflect on my father and to raise some money for a good cause, in his honor.

Okay, this trip report is supposed to be fun ÔÇô so back to lighter topics!

Leaving Anchorage, our first stop was Talkeetna, a small town about fifteen miles off the Parks highway. Talkeetna is interesting in several ways. Although it is not so close to the entrance to Denali National Park, it is actually one of the closest towns to Mt. McKinley. As such, the National Park Service has an office in the town and all expeditions to ÔÇ£the high oneÔÇØ are to register there ÔÇô so it is sort of the seat of Denali expeditions. Also, the town has a fascination with the moose. And ÔÇôstrangely- with moose poop. Certain town events involve a moose poop throw competition. Just goes to show that thereÔÇÖs an activity for everyone AND that thereÔÇÖs a use for everything.

From our RV park, Anna and I took a walk into town. On our way we came across a dirt mound that appeared to be used as a bicycle jump. As pedestrians, we gave it our best.

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We also stopped at a local bar for some beer music and wet dogs.

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From Talkeetna, we headed up to Denali National Park and into sections only accessible via bus. Our tour was in the evening, predictably the best time to see wildlife. Turns out that we did see an impressive bull moose. And also a wolf. And also some weird little rodent that we couldnÔÇÖt identify (so we called it an octopus because it had approximately eight limbs). We also saw a lot of great scenery, thanks to clear skies and the angle of the evening sun.

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After Denali we turned south again, this time south of Anchorage where we did some great sightseeing, first of glaciers, then of wildlife. I canÔÇÖt believe how many amazing animals we were fortunate enough to see very close up. IÔÇÖll post the best animal shots separately; here is a one of a glacier in the saddle of two mountains.

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I should say at least one more thing about RV living. In my own RV, I never really used the toilet as there are certain things I just canÔÇÖt bring myself to do in my own car. But in the rental I figure that I wouldnÔÇÖt be creating an environment any worse than had already been created by other renters. So bombs away! Anyway, the downstream part of the process involves a sewage dump. Pretty gross. Remember how my old rainsuit proved ineffective? Well it found its use! And then it got thrown away.

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I camped another night at AnchorageÔÇÖs House of Harley and then it was time to begin the (slow) ride back home. And whatÔÇÖs the best way to begin to come home? With a detour, of course!

Several people had strongly recommended that I ride the Denali Highway, a 135 mile stretch of (mostly) gravel road that runs east/west from near the park. So I headed north on the Parks Highway once again and took a right a couple hundred miles later onto the Denali Highway. I was not disappointed!

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Bob at the Harley shop had described the road as the perfect place to run a large engine dual sport bike, which happens to be exactly what I (and he) have. All but the first few and the last twenty miles are gravel, but mostly not so deep that youÔÇÖd wash out at speed. ItÔÇÖs the ÔÇ£mostlyÔÇØ part that makes it so fun!

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I was also treated to a great view of Denali (Mt McKinley) on that very clear day.

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I spent that night near the east end of the Denali Highway, where the view was wonderful, particularly in the very early morning. For no good reason, I woke up at 4AM and took a look outside, to the north. This is what I saw.

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What a great example of the nighttime sky in the northern latitudes! It works like this: in the mid-morning, the sun is visible to the east. As mid-day approaches, the sun rises a bit more, but mostly swings to the south. Toward evening, the sun appears from the west. And during the heart of the night, the sun is below the north horizon, but it continues to light the sky; dusk and dawn sort of blend together.

Growing up, I always thought of mid-day as being a time when IÔÇÖd have no significant shadow, as the sun would be ÔÇômore or less- directly overhead. Not the case toward the arctic circle(s)! In the extreme northern (or southern) latitudes, you will always cast a shadow, unless it is cloudy or you are infinitesimally short, in which case you probably wouldnÔÇÖt be too worried about this point.

Yesterday I rode nearly all day, covering about 530 miles. Perhaps not a full dayÔÇÖs mileage, but considering that I traveled through (literally) hundreds of miles of construction (read: gravel, mud, frost heaves and potholes) and considering that I got dumped on with rain for most of that, I did pretty well. . . .and donÔÇÖt take any of this as a complaint; it was all awesome fun!

By dayÔÇÖs end I reached Haines Junction, where the Alaska Highway meets the road leading south to Haines, Alaska (I took that road five years ago on my way to board a ferry heading south ÔÇô but this time IÔÇÖm going to drive it all. . .)

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Another item about yesterdays ride: I had traveled with two cans of beer in a luggage case. I even declared the two cans as I passed through Canadian customs. But immediately after customs, I stopped to get something out of the case only to discover that one can had ruptured and exploded everywhere. In some ways, I had lied because I actually only had one can of beer (another potential topic for debate). But of more importance to me was the havoc played on other of my belongings. It was ugly. With (appropriately) limited respect for a certain Oasis song, this incident will forever be known to me as the ÔÇ£Molson Supernova.ÔÇØ

Today is July 1, at least for another few minutes. It is Canada Day and I am somewhat disappointed that there hasnÔÇÖt been more visible celebration of the holiday. But as one person notes, fireworks would appear lackluster against a sky that does not get dark.

Tomorrow (soon today) is July 2nd. It is my 41st birthday. I have many wild things planned, beginning with a fresh change of clothes. Then perhaps a ride down a road I was afraid of five years ago. . .
 
Fantastic pictures Paul! Just makes me want to get up to AK even more. Keep riding safe and having fun and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
 
Your trip has provided motivation to learn a few skills (notably how to fix a flat out in the middle of nowhere) and then trek north to visit my sister, her husband, and their four kids in Anchorage. I think the ride from Seattle to Anchorage and back would be a hoot - even on an RT.
 
Your trip has provided motivation to learn a few skills (notably how to fix a flat out in the middle of nowhere) and then trek north to visit my sister, her husband, and their four kids in Anchorage. I think the ride from Seattle to Anchorage and back would be a hoot - even on an RT.

You could totally make the trip to Anchorage on your RT. A couple significant stretches of construction (gravel & dirt) but look straight ahead and stay in your clutch's friction zone and all will be well!!!

Yep, knowing how to plug a tire would probably be good. And to that same point, bring a little air compressor (I use mine all the time to re-inflate after letting some air out to ride off pavement.

There are more experienced people on this forum than I, but PM me if you have any specifics you'd like to discuss. I tell you all I know. And then you'll really be in trouble!
 
The Stewart-Cassiar Highway has intrigued me for the last five years. Running south from Watson Lake into central British Columbia, the Cassiar provides an alternate route to the Alaska Highway. I wanted to take this road when I visited five years ago, but two things convinced me otherwise:

1) While at the summer camping trip for the then-active Anchorage Hash House Harriers, one person told me about their experience on the road. While driving at a reportedly-reasonable speed, she ran over an aggressive frost heave, causing her to break an axel and lose two hubcaps. At a standstill, she also was visited by a bear. My takeaway was that the road is spooky.
2) The front drive shaft on my 4-wheel drive RV was rattling something fierce and I sensed that my miles were limited.

So I whimped out and boarded the ferry from Haines to Prince Rupert (and then had the front drive shaft removed a few days later).

On my way up north three weeks ago, I planned to take a ferry to Prince Rupert and then ride up the Cassiar, but as you may recall there was a road wash-out that caused me to re-route my trip.

My next chance to take the road was today. But alas this darn rain will not let up. And having heard that the Cassiar has some significant dirt sections, I opted out. I donÔÇÖt mind gravel and I donÔÇÖt mind dirt. But when deep dirt turns to deep mud, I mind a lot.

So dammit, that highway remains untraveled, at least by me. Perhaps one day I will return with a hardy riding pal and conquer the roads that have recently confounded me.

But this birthday was not without event. In the morning, Elizabeth and Michael, the owners of Watson LakeÔÇÖs Air Force Lodge recognized my birthday with a nice card and candle (which at first I welcomed as food, only to realize that breakfast would be best found down the road).

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My second-choice route proved to be rainy and chilly. But my rain gear works well. As does my heated jacket. And this road was paved. And my MP3 player played only the best randomly-selected songs. So all was well.

There were a number of animal sightings including caribou and deer. And the there was a most interesting encounter with some buffalo and a semi truck. Want to hear about that? No matter, because IÔÇÖm going to tell you.

From about a quarter mile, I saw two formidable specs of brown on the road ahead of me. I slowed. And hen slowed some more, stopping about thirty yards from two enormous buffalo who seemed in no hurry to leave their lane, which also happened to be my lane.

A car approached from the other direction and stopped on the other side of the two roadblocks. I decided to pull over to the shoulder of the oncoming lane in case someone pulled up behind me and noticed the animals more than they noticed me. Other vehicles did indeed arrive from both directions. Two queues were formed, both waiting on two disinterested buffalo.

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After a couple minutes, a car or two approaching from the other direction decided to ease forward and pass. They were successful, passing between me and the buffalo. The buffalo stayed put. Approaching next from the oncoming lane was an eighteen-wheeler. Because IÔÇÖm smart, I recognized opportunity. If I were to advance past the buffalo in the oncoming laneÔÇÖs shoulder while the very long truck also moved, the truck would provide a barrier between me and the animals while I passed. No time to think; time to act!

As the truck approached, I pulled forward. I did notice that one of the buffalo was heading toward the truck, which meant that I had better move quickly or the truck would be gone before mr. buffalo and I would be quite close to each other. So I pulled the throttle. A lot. With a nice spray of mud and rocks, I passed by the truck with a foot or two between us.

By the time I reached the end of he oncoming truck, I saw the buffalo also rounding the truckÔÇÖs backside. While I was pulled the throttle, sprayed rocks and listened to REO Speedwagon, the buffalo galloped and snorted, both of us about twelve feet apart. I looked in my mirror to see one dejected buffalo. He wanted my bike, I just know it.

Remember how I described myself as smart a moment ago? I might also describe myself as sarcastic. IÔÇÖve created a little graphic to help explain the spacing and timing.

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ItÔÇÖs now 8:30PM in Fort Nelson and IÔÇÖm going out to grab a bite to eat. If a buffalo burger is to be had, IÔÇÖm all over it.
 
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