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This is Part 1 of a two part series written by Stephan
Cross, a New Zealand rider who joined us on our Prince
William Sound Camp Tour the first week of August, 2002.
He wrote the article for a Kiwi-based motorcycle
magazine call Bike Rider Magazine.
Part 1 appeared in the December/January issue, 2003.
Northern Exposure
Motorcycle Touring in Alaska
- Story/Photos by Stephen Cross
Phew! I breathed a silent sigh of relief as
my large, heavy suitcase and bulging MacPac disappeared down the
conveyor belt at the Air New Zealand check-in counter. I was expecting
to be told that I would have to pay for excess baggage. Packing
for a motorcycle tour in Alaska had proven to be a challenge and
involved packing helmet, boots, a full set of wet weather gear,
sleeping bag, thermals, spares for apres -riding, plus a set of
lighter weight summer gear (Draggin' Jeans plus Draggin' denim jacket).
After six months of planning I was on my way!
Alaska is not the easiest of places to get to from New Zealand and
in my case my travel arrangements necessitated an overnight stay
in Los Angeles, giving me a spare afternoon to kill. It's always
interesting to visit LaLa land and see what is going down, and this
trip was no exception. Walking from my hotel, the first thing what
struck me was the renewed outburst of patriotism on display everywhere.
Like every store is competing to display the Stars and Stripes.
Billboards proclaim "In God we Trust, United we Stand"
and pick-up vehicles have the Stars and Stripes displayed on their
tailgates. Some of this appears to be a genuine reaction to the
events of 11th September- rallying around the flag in defiance of
the unseen enemy - a kind of "don't f*** with us" message.
However, some of the flag waving is nothing more than pure commercialism.
Supermarkets were selling rubbish bins decorated in the Stars and
Stripes - a little tacky. The events of 9/11 were obvious in other
ways. Clearing immigration at Los Angeles took 1-1/2 hour and I
was told that this was a lot quicker than usual. The queue in the
entry hall was a shambles with luggage trolleys snaking backwards
and forwards through the entire hall. Next day, when leaving for
Anchorage, I passed through three different metal detectors and
had to rake my shoes off so they could be inspected by a security
guard. I also had to turn my belt buckle over to show that there
was nothing being shielded by it.
The following day I took the flight to Anchorage, Alaska. While
I wasn't looking forward to another five hours flying, the flight
was one of the most sce3nic I have ever been on. The plane flies
over the states of Oregon and Washington, flying past Mt. St. Helens
before passing over the mountains, glaciers and icefields off Sough
East Alaska. The term "rivers of Ice, " in relation to
glaciers really meant nothing to me until I say these glaciers pouring
from the mountains. We are talking about glaciers that can be 70
miles or so long and three miles wide. The sight of these for the
first time is truly awesome. I remember seeing the mountains and
thinking, "thank god I brought all my thermals"! The flight
to Anchorage itself is even more stunning than flying in to Queenstown,
with snow capped mountains surrounding you.
At the airport I was met by Bob Gin, who runs the B&B where
I would be staying for the first night. I then discovered just how
friendly Alaskans are. Talk about a nice bloke - Bob went way beyond
providing B&B and became a tour guide for me, showing me around
and giving me a low down on Anchorage. It doesn't take long to realize
that you are now in "real man" country. Almost everyone
drives some type of 4x4 "truck" and we are not talking
about piddling little F100's here but it's big brother the F250XLT
( the "XL" almost certainly meaning extra large). Hummers
are also popular. I walked past the Ford dealer in Anchorage and
there was an advertising hoarding up saying "1,170 trucks in
stock".
That evening Bob took me for a drive up to Flattop Mountain, which
is only a few miles out of Anchorage but is part of the 5.6 million
acre Chugach National Park. Looking around, I could see several
moose grazing across the valley. Suddenly I realized that there
was also a cow and bull moose grazing only about 200 yards away!
All this in broad daylight at 9:30 pm in the evening! Bob told me
that it was not uncommon to see moose within Anchorage and related
the story of how one evening his dog was barking furiously, and
on investigation Bob discovered a moose in his neighbour's back
yard, staring back at him with a bunch of flowers in its mouth!
Being a Northern Exposure fan when it was screening on TV, I went
to Alaska expecting a certain amount of wackiness from the population
and so was attuned to seeking this out during my stay. Bob shoed
me a copy of a book he had titled ""Alaska Bizarre""
The book begins with the following: " Alaska just feels different
from anywhere else in the country. The whole place is populated
with people who are here simply because they couldn't make it anywhere
else. They couldn't make it in LA so they moved to San Francisco.
If they couldn't make it then they pushed on to Seattle. Next step
was obvious. If you're failing at everything and you're on the run
you might as well go to Alaska, where you'll fit right in."
The book also mentioned a bumper sticker that did the rounds in
Alaska some years ago which read "Welcome to Alaska -Now go
Home". I didn't sense this attitude during my time in Alaska
but what did become obvious was that the people who live here strongly
wish to be left alone and have a dislike of interference from bureaucrats
or government agencies. This manifests itself through things such
as helmet laws (there are none) and speed cameras (again, there
are none- the residents voted NO). There is also a strong feeling
that they do not want the place to change through tourism. The bulk
tourist operators are despised, but independent travelers are welcome.
Alaska is so different from the rest of the States that stories
abound of how visitors from the "lower 48" regularly ask
if they need passports to visit Alaska.
Next day I said goodbye to Bob and caught up with Phil Freeman,
who describes himself as owner/improviser of Alaska Rider Tours.
Phil, who is a born and bred Alaskan, speaks several languages fluently,
including Japanese, Portuguese and Spanish. His motivation in running
Alaska Rider Tours is to show people the country he loves in a way
that he enjoys. I got to meet the rest of Phil's crew - Chad, who
is a motorbike mechanic and who will ride "shotgun" on
the trip; Justin who will drive the Chevy Suburban support vehicle
and Akiko, a friend of Phil's from Japan who came along to help
with camp duties etc. Phil drove me to the starting point of the
tour- Girdwood, a pleasant little township about 40 miles from Anchorage.
Phil dropped me off at the B&B where I would be staying that
night. The owners were out and the door was unlocked - something
that remains common practice in Girdwood reflecting a lack of crime
and a close-knit neighbourhood. I had an afternoon to spare before
the rest of the tour party arrived so I rented a mountain bike and
set off exploring. There are lots of bike trails around Girdwood
and I soon headed off into the woods down a track which got more
and more technical as I went down it. A little voice started saying
"bears" to me and for a moment I thought about singing.
The only tune that came to mind was "If you go down in the
woods today…". Wile blueberries and raspberries were growing
in the woods so I stopped and ate a few. I later found wild strawberries
growing on the side of the road and they were delicious. On returning
the bike to the rental shop I passed some concrete flower tubs,
ever on the look-out for signs of Alaskan wackiness I noticed that
there was a cabbage growing in amongst the flowers. I didn't bother
asking anyone what a cabbage was doing in a flower plot.
Back at the B&B, I met the other guys who were coming on the
tour: Rick Jones from Missouri; Bob McAnally from Alabama and Larry
Grodsky from Pittsburgh. Larry writes for "Rider" magazine
and is checking Alaska out for a magazine article.
Next morning we were introduced to our bikes. Phil operates BMW
F650s Suzuki DR 650s and Kawasaki KLR 650s. I was allocated one
of the DR's which was fitted with a Corbin seat and a 4.9 gallon
plastic fuel tank. Phil said he fitted the larger tanks because
once we travel out of Anchorage all the roadhouses where we will
gas up are dependent on diesel generators for their power and it
is not uncommon to turn up at a roadhouse and find that their generators
have broken down. The bigger tank gave the DR a range of about 300
miles.
Leaving Girdwood we head back towards Anchorage along the Seward
Highway - a scenic road along the edge of Turnagain Inlet, framed
by mountains on its edge. It is not uncommon to see Beluga whales
from this highway, we didn't see any on our trip. We did however
see some Dall sheep, (they look more like mountain goats ) on the
side of the road and a bald eagle flying past..We rode through Anchorage,
which proved easier than I had feared, and then on to the Glenn
Highway, which joins with the Parks Highway heading North to Fairbanks.
We gazed up at small town called Palmer, where I saw an amazing
set-up - a Goldwing with a sidecar attached, towing a small camper
unit. The owner, who was from Detroit, had traveled up to Alaska
and was heading back home.
Shortly after leaving Palmer we left the main road and headed towards
Hatcher Pass. This involved travelling up a beautiful valley, which
has some nice twisties in it. I was a little nervous to see a sign
on this road reading "No shooting within one mile of road"
- the brain's thinking just how far a bullet can fly. There are
bullet holes through the sign. From this point on every road sign
had bullet holes in it. Phil offered us $1 for every sign we pointed
out that didn't have a bullet hole, no-one collected. This seems
to be another manifestation of you Alaskans' contempt for authority.
The signs with the most holes in them seem to be the ones banning
something or other.
The road to Hatcher Pass turned to gravel and we started climbing.
We pass through an old gold mining area. At this stage we were starting
to sense the vastness of the place and mountains everywhere. The
countryside is reminiscent of parts of the South Island, with glacial
carved valleys and barren hilltops. We reached the top of Hatcher
Pass, where there is a tarn and views over the tundra. We carried
on down the other side of the Pass, still on gravel and dept a wary
eye out for traffic on the blind right hand corners. This road is
only open for about three months of the year and left to snowmobiles
at other times. The road was dry and we all ended up caked in dust
by the time we got to the end, where it joined the Parks Highway.
We were blessed with a hot, sunny day and welcomed some shade whenever
we stopped. We proceed along Parks Highway, sighting our first view
of Mt McKinley looming ahead of us. Mt. McKinley, at 20,320 ft,
is North America's tallest mountain and is even more dramatic as
it's base starts at a relatively low altitude (probably around 3000ft).
The mountain assumed almost icon status as we continued our journey,
regularly coming into view, framed by lakes, moose pasture and spruce
trees. Each time it came into sight is seemed a little different
but always awe-ispiring and always dominating the landscape. We
continued on the Parks Highway until we cam e to a small settlement
known as Trapper Creek. This is typical of wayside stops - basically
a general store that stocks pretty much everything, with a set of
gas pumps and often an "RV park" out back.
Frost heave is a real issue for both tarmac highways and dirt roads
and welcomes noticeable where sections of the tarmac highway have
had filler placed in cracks in the surface. You soon learn that
there can be "lips" where longitudinal cracks have been
filled in, on the gravel roads the effects of frost heave can be
more pronounced, creating hummocks in the road surface.
We diverted from the main Highway at Trapper Creed and headed off
up a dirt road to Petersville again, we were on a read that is only
open for a few months of the year before becoming a snowmobile track.
The surface was wash boarded in placed and gave us some fun riding.
We made many stops to take in the stunning views of Mt McKinley
and the countryside, stopping on one bridge over a stream we say
a pool full of Red (sockeye) and King (chinook) salmon. King salmon
are a bright red and weigh 30-40lbs although they have been known
to go well over 100lb. These fish have spawned and are soon to die.
We carried on to our camping spot which was next to a river surrounded
by woodland. We had covered 207 miles for the day. After pitching
the tents and setting up camp we we3nt to a bridge over the river
to once again watch King salmon in the process of spawning in the
riverbed. At any time it is possible to see 10 or so large Kings
in the waters below the bridge - a magnificent sight. While they
are spawning, rainbow trout, grayling and dolly varden are hanging
about ready to swoop in and have a feed of eggs. Rick decides to
try his hand fishing. Phil told him "we don't call it fishing
up here, we call it catching". Rick caught a nice rainbow and
released it, and later caught grayling and dolly varden, both trout-like
fish.
Ever on the look-out for Alaskan eccentricities, one of the guys
reported that he had just seen someone wading up the river carrying
a broken fishing rod and saying "Yip" about every fifteen
seconds. We all marveled at this behavior until Phil suggested that
the broken rod was the result of a hook-up with one of the King
salmon and "Yips" were calls to scare off any bears that
might be in the neighborhood. It then dawned on us all that we were
right in bear country and that we were camped beside a river flowing
with salmon. That evening around the campfire our hosts thrilled
us with bear stories. I recalled the story that I read in "Alaska
Bizarre" about the visitor to Alaska who told an old-time local,
that he wasn't worried about the possibility of a bear attack because
he carried a .44 caliber handgun with him. The local said "son,
if I were you I'd take that gun and file the front sight off - that
way it won't hurt as much when the bear shoves it up your arse!"
I didn't sleep much that night. The distant thump of generators
from the roadhouse down the road became a bear huffing in my imagination.
I heard twigs cracking around my tent site and all sorts of unexplained
noises. I calculated the odds that my tent would be the one to be
"investigated". The beers we drank started producing the
inevitable side effects and after crossing and uncrossing my legs
I had to escape the flimsy security of my tent to take a leak. Talk
about a nervous pee!
Next day we went back to the Parks Highway and headed North. A planned
rendezvous with our support vehicle (carrying our lunch) went awry
when a tire blew out on the trailer. Justin was left on the side
of the road, holding the trailer wheel rim and trying to hitch-hike
back to a roadhouse. With Chad's help the situation was sorted.
Meanwhile we stopped off at Igloo City - a roadhouse with a giant
igloo-like structure alongside it. The igloo was built to provide
bunkhouse accommodation for snowmobilers ("slednecks"),
the design did not allow for fire escapes and construction was from
a material that was falling off in chunks so that scuppered that
plan.
We proceeded to Cantwell, where the Denali Highway starts. Cantwell
is a small township, apparently famous for having a disproportionate
number of its citizens featuring on the FBI wanted list. After gassing
up we headed off down the Denali Highway, a dirt road that is closed
for all but a few months of the year. The Highway runs 130 miles
across interior Alaska, and the surrounding area is often described
as being the "Serengetti of North America". All along
this Highway we were surrounded by nature in its rawest form. The
vista is one of vast expanses of moose pasture, tundra and spruce
trees all framed by distant mountains big enough to loom on the
horizon. There are innumerable ponds and lakes, and blazes of wildflowers
such as purple fireweed everywhere. Just when you think you've seen
the most wonderful view imaginable you round a corner and get wowed
by another. The road is rather lonely, hot and dusty but fun to
ride as you hit wash-outs, wallows and corrugations. I stood on
my pegs all the way, partially for control but also to take in the
scenery. About half way along the Highway we came across a settlement
- Gracious House - a roadhouse with camping ground attached. The
proprietor advertises a café/service station/bar/camping
ground/air taxi service and breakdown service amongst other things.
There are three or four light aircraft parked near the camping area,
and snowploughs and snowmobiles scattered around the yard. Behind
the camping are is a dumping ground for cars, wrecked aircraft,
air boats and other machinery that hasn't survived the rigours of
the area. We explored and found a late '50s Cadillac with big tail
fins parked in the vegetation. The doors on it still opened and
closed with a solid click. We pitched our tents there - we covered
203 miles that day. That night we grilled steaks over some ashes
and sat talking. We heard a moose bellowing nearby and got up to
investigate but didn't see it. It was still twilight when we hit
the sack around midnight. What is hard to comprehend is that the
days were shortening by six minutes a day, or 40 minutes a week
and within a month or so the area we were in was likely to be coated
in snow. …
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