Road Gypsy.com

Alaska 2003

The edited version of this story first appeared in Motorcycle Mojo Magazine

SUMMER 2004 Volume 3, Issue 2

I'm not quite sure when the "Alaska Bug" bit me, but I do recall the stirrings of intrigue and adventure many years ago when I saw a documentary about a family who canoed through the Nahanni Valley. I remember thinking that some day I was going to visit the North too...

It wasn't until 1999 that I started talking about motorcycling there, and everyone around me (boyfriend included) thought I was going senile.

"What the f__k would you want to go there for? What's up there? Do you realize what the roads are like up there?" Reactions like this were not uncommon.

I have a friend who once made the trip to the Northwest Territories on his bike, and it sounded challenging alright, but exciting too. I began my research through books, internet and magazines. The more I researched, the more "feverish" I became. (Fever is a real popular word in my vocabulary.) After somewhat unwillingly agreeing to this absurd idea, my boyfriend went to work on convincing me to buy a "beater" to ride there - not being crazy about taking the Harleys. He also went to work on the possibility that I might agree to riding on the back of his. (Now I thought he was going senile.) Besides, who would want to be standing next to someone else's bike in front of that proverbial "Welcome to Alaska" sign?

At last the decision had been made. Summer of 2003 was the year I would go to Alaska, with me being the planner and navigator.

Preparations for the trip began the fall of 2002, with the main focus being on my motorcycle. My ride is a 1997 Harley Superglide. I put new tires on, front and back. I put new brake pads on, front and back. She got a tune-up and all the fluids changed in the spring. I made sure everything was in order. I had custom highway pegs made (Because I'm vertically challenged, stock highway pegs do me no justice.) I made engine guard slips out of leather to protect my shins from rocks and to deflect the rain and snow (yes, snow). I invested in a deluxe rainsuit - yes the price of the Harley-Davidson rainsuit is worth it! I also did the unthinkable for a seasoned rider - I purchased a heated vest and gloves. After 21 years of riding, and many bike trips along the way, I felt I had nothing to prove to anyone, as far as that topic went. As it turned out, the heated gismos meant the difference between freezing and permafrost.

We left June 8th 2003, in rain. I had decided I wanted to be in Dawson City, Yukon, by June 21st, in time for the Summer Solstice celebrations. After days of intense rains and nights in a tent that were cool, to say the least, we arrived at Dawson on Thursday June 19, at 11:30 pm, under sunny skies. And we were one day ahead of schedule. Up to that point there were some hairy moments as far as road conditions went, but other than very deep pea gravel and sections of wet clay, I managed to navigate myself through it all. The fun was only just about to begin.

Upon arrival, we were surrounded by huge piles of what looked to be river rock. In fact, later on we discovered that's exactly what it was. They were the original tailings from gold dredging that began in 1896. There still exists the old Dredge No. 4 historical site which offers guided tours of the inside of the dredge. It amazed me that for those times this piece of machinery was so advanced, using only four people to operate it. Prior to dredging, panning was a way of life for most of the Klondikers, and after 1-1/2 hours under the heat of the midnight sun panning through only one pan of mud and rock, I had a real appreciation for the hardships endured by the men of the gold rush era in their effort to "strike it rich". Dawson City took me back to the old western movies I loved to watch as a kid.

Rich in history, Dawson City is made up of colorfully painted houses and buildings that have been restored to reflect the gold rush days. Streets are still not paved, adding to the Klondike charm. Summer Solstice in Dawson City was celebrated at the top of "The Dome", a large rocky outcropping at the end of a very twisty road spiralng upwards. And yes, believe it or not, it was paved. Arriving at the top of The Dome we were met by an eclectic mixture of people consisting of pot-smoking, drum playing hippies dancing in circles, seniors traveling via motorhomes, bikers, locals, and ATVers, all with cameras and tripods set up to capture the Solstice sunset/sunrise over the mighty Yukon River.

The next day, crossing the Yukon River by barge we entered the Top of the World Highway. And top of the world it was indeed. The vistas offered from this highway more than made up for the horrible riding conditions (although it was a close race). I might also add though, that the Yukon highway crew did a fantastic job of flagging the potholes well in advance letting us know we were approaching serious trouble. Surrounded by snow and runoff, the grassy hills of tundra offered spectacular above-timberline views of the valleys and snowcapped mountains below. Temperatures were good and hot, so the winds were a welcome friend against the insects. The paved sections of this highway consisted of frost heaves combined with freshly graded DEEP pea gravel which would have challenged even the most experienced rider. Two hours of this brought us to the Alaskan border. From there it was a 3 1/2 hour ride through washboard, frost heaves, clay dust and loose, deep gravel, all in second gear or less. At times first gear was even too fast.

We ride into Chicken, which is the first town one arrives at after coming off the Top of the World Highway and we fill up both bikes but to our dismay, the lady denied us our advertised free "rubber chicken with fill-up". I pointed out to her that I rode 43 miles, which took 3 1/2 hours, across a goat path and I felt entitled to my free chicken just like everyone else. She said. "Your fill-up didn't meet the amount required to get your free chicken, but you can buy one for $1.99" By now we're tired, covered in dust and just generally p__d off and I politely told her that I refused to pay $1.99 for a f__n rubber chicken when I earned it riding across that highway. At any rate, we didn't get our chicken, and I still plan on writing them someday and stating my case. It's the principle, you know.

After traveling from Chicken to Tok, we headed to Fairbanks just ahead of a thunderstorm, then on to Anchorage. The road conditions were wild, let me tell ya! We got quite the work-out just trying to hold onto the handlebars. We rode over rocks that were 4-5-6 inches big (absolutely no exaggeration here) ,that were either on the surface, countersunk, or halfway between. First gear was still too fast. One better be adept at riding the clutch here - that was my only salvation. The cars were just as slow, thank God because we were literally crawling through those sections. This went on through most part of Denali National Park.

At McKinley we met a very interesting man named George who was a local native whaler. I asked if I could take a photograph of him using a technique I saw in a photography book. Since George also had an interest in photography this paved the way for further conversation about native customs and George was thrilled to show us a stack of whaling pictures of himself and a group who caught a 42 foot Bowhead Whale.

After that adventure, we had a couple of hours sleep then continued on to Tok and rode through cold, foggy drizzle for about 50 km. We arrived in torrential rain at a local restaurant and not having showered for 4 days and mixing that with the road dirt and mud, I really couldn't understand what the waitress was staring at. We fueled up the machines, then our bodies, and upon taking 2 body-building pills which really are straight caffeine (and I don't reccommend you kids try this at home) two coffees and one 12 oz. espresso, I was ready to ride! My problem during our whole excursion was always needing to nap while riding. Many times I would have to pull over for a 5 minute power nap. So having ridden almost 24 hours in grueling conditions, I was determined to not fall asleep this particular day. The fun was just starting, however. I was right wired to ride but as we were about to pull away, I hear Bernie yelling, "We're not going anywhere! My belt just broke!" Oh great - of course by now the caffeine is beginning to kick in and I'm beginning to vibrate, never mind the Harley! The whole time this is going on, one of the locals in the restaurant is watching us.. This guy comes out, and tells us he knows the local Yamaha dealer there in town, and that maybe a belt off a Yammy could be made to fit. So we somewhat reluctantly left our machines, packs and all right there in the parking lot and hopped into this guy's truck. Now up there, there ain't too many places to hide two bikes with their packs, so we felt pretty safe leaving them behind. But I wasn't feeling so safe when I saw what Ray (that was the local's name) had in the back of his cab. Man, you should've seen the gun this guy had sittin' there behind my neck! I guess they're on the back-woods justice system up there in Alaska!! At any rate Ray's help. along with some local boys' help. we were able to get rolling in a couple of days' time. Jeff, who owned the shop put us up for the night, but didn't want to touch the belt problem with a ten foot pole - he knew what was involved. I also knew we were in for a long night. I once did a belt drive conversion on my old sportster. It was a full days' job, removing the wheel, primary, etc.

Jeff's son was on his way home (four hours away) from Fairbanks, and Jeff was able to head him off in time to run to Fairbanks Harley and pick us up a belt. Another local guy, Butch, had a spare pulley kicking around, and we replaced the pulley on Bernie's FXR. We had discovered upon removing the old pulley and broken belt that the pulley had extremely worn teeth. And very sharp ones at that. It would only be two more worn pulleys later that we would discover what the real problem was.

So, the belt finally arrived via Jeff-the-Yamaha-dealer's son, it was put on while I had the luxury of a bath. Now picture this - when we first met these guys, my hair was pulled back and wrapped in a bandana, making it very difficult to tell that I had long hair. I was extremely dirty, make-up-less, and dressed in oversized rain gear. By midnight, the rain had stopped and the sun came out in full force. So I emerged after having a wonderful hot soak in Jeff's tub, wearing clean clothes, my hair was styled full, and I put on some make-up, which I hadn't worn in weeks. I walked over to the guys, and they didn't recognize me! They actually had to do a double take, and when they realized it was me, they said "Oh my God there's a woman here!" It was too funny. Ray carried on about his business and when he returned to see how we made out, he walked right past me, not even realizing who I was.

I had to scrub Jeff's tub. The water was a dark gray when I drained it, and the last trickle of water left to reveal the bottom of a very dirty tub. It was literally BLACK with road dirt.

Slowly the belt and pulley job was being wrapped up outside, and by 1:00a.m. I was toast. I crashed on Jeff's living room floor. The next day, we awoke to a continuing beautiful sunny day, and Ray and Jeff escorted us along the highway 'til the construction started, then we said our goodbyes and parted. These guys really gave us some memorable moments out in Forty Mile Country. Jeff has since sold the business and moved down to Utah - quite a climate change from Alaska!

Our adventures continued throughout the trip consisting of bikes falling over in torrential rains, hitting HUGE potholes full of mud, batteries going dead, starter motors dying, bum-starting my bike all the way home from Calgary, gear shifts flying through the air, losing coats off the back and so on.

At one point we had met a gentleman at Haines Junction riding a trike - with no hands just hooks, which gave me much needed inspiration. In Steamboat BC we met a deaf mute from Russia. During a two hour indoor reprieve from the cold wet rain and slush, we had engaging conversation through full body language. With maps and newspaper articles we realized he was on a quest to motorcycle around the world for the Guinness Book of World Records. He was riding a 350 Jawa two stroke. Upon arriving home we told our story of meeting him to friends that had read a newspaper article about him while we were gone. They were surprised when we told them we met him in the mountains and had the pictures to prove it.

Overall the trip was the best and most challenging I've ever been on. We logged a total of 14,455 km averaging approximately 3000 km per week. Out of five weeks we had rain during four of them, one of those weeks being seven days of solid rains and hurricane winds combined with freezing cold temperatures.

The next time I go (you heard that right) I'll probably ride an Enduro.