Josh has fun in Alaska

the week before I left was a blur. I worked almost 60
hours at the bistro and the new renters were moving
into the duplex I was renovating the day I was
leaving. my schedule seriously went something like
work at bistro for a shift or 2 then drive to the
duplex work until I had to work at the bistro the next
day then back to the duplex. that went on all week. I
passed out here and there; on the restaurant floor, in
a cabinet at the duplex, in my car. my flight left at
noon on Sunday. I was still caulking the bathroom
sinks at 10am as the renters were moving in. I sped
home. I packed in 5 minutes by grabbing handfuls of
clothes and stuffing my suitcase. my first relaxation
in weeks was sitting in my seat in the plane with
nowhere to rush to and nothing to do. it was strange
to be so bored so suddenly. my mind unraveled and
drifted. i realized that time and i don’t get along
very well. i lament every disparate moment’s passing
as time lumbers silently along. Each momentary pang of
loss resembles the last in tragic procession. time’s
incessant march shows no mercy, no concession, and no
compromise. i can exercise certain limited control
over all manner of stimuli, coercion, and convention.
time though allows no such intervening machination. no
amount of optimism or good-natured attitude can
alleviate the stinging sense of loss elicited by
time’s persistent passing. such are the considerations
of a mind at odds with time itself.
i flew from ohio to atlanta, georgia first before
heading to anchorage, ak. it was overcast and rainy in
anchorage. it was after 11pm but it still wasnt dark.
my sister and her reservist husband picked me up from
the airport. i stayed on the largest military base on
the continent that night. the next day i set off for
Denali National Park several hours north of anchorage.
Alaska is very mountainous. every view is a picture
opportunity. I passed a shanty on the side of the road
claiming to be a general store. the sign read
“Wal*Mikes” in the same font and color as “Wal*Mart.”
Denali was beautiful and picturesque. the park is home
to the tallest mountain in north america, Mt McKinley.
many would like to change the name back to the
original name Denali, but the issue will never see
debate in congress as long as the congressman from
ohio(mckinley was from canton) motions for a delay.
the high altitude and wind-channeling peaks and
valleys of the alaskan mountain range creates its own
weather. out of the 365 days in a year mckinley is
visible for 20 of them. unfortunately i was not there
on one of those 20. upon entering the park one soon
finds that the only road leading into the park is
only open to the public for the first 15 miles. beyond
that you have to join a tour. i was upset at this,
suspecting some kind of scam. my desire to see
mckinley won though and i paid my $20 to get to the
halfway point, Polychrome. this was a 5.5 hour tour.
it was too late in the day to take any other tour as
the full distance took 13 hours. the driver explained
that limited access to denali by personal vehicle was
due to their extreme sensitivity to impact on wildlife
in the park. at any given time there are many studies
in progress testing and tracking any impact human
presence has on the flora and fauna of the park. after
some time i found myself agreeing that it was better
off limited to conscientious tour drivers. the
wildlife paid very little to no attention to the bus.
i saw 2 moose, 15 willow ptarmigans(state bird brown
turns white with the snow), 12 snowshoe hares(again
white with the snow), 2 owls, 4 dall sheep, 3 ground
squirrels, 3 caribou, 1 short-tailed weasel, 1 lynx, 2
golden eagles, and 6 grizzly bears. the grizzlies were
exciting to see but the lynx was the strangest. it was
about the size of a german shepard with a small
domestic cat head with little black tufts on its ears.
it had a bob tail and its paws were enormous for its
body so that it could walk in snow without sinking.
the driver mentioned that all the animals were well
adapted for the long cold winters but the heat of
summer was difficult on them. he mentioned one
creature, the pika, whose internal organs tend to
explode if it gets over 85. i saw beautiful mountain
views but the cloudcover never allowed me to see
Mckinley.
i stayed on the base in anchorage and spent the next
day visiting Seward. Seward is on the coast and is a
launching point for many fishing boats. the scenery on
the way there and back was beautiful but the town
itself was a little lackluster. a heavy fish odor
lingered everywhere, no doubt a product of the nearby
fish processing. on the way back to anchorage we
drove off road down along a river on a gravel bar to
seek wildlife. the next day we climbed a mile into
some mountains to a baby blue glacier. i drank from
the baby-blue crisp, glacier thinking to myself “the
last time this water was in liquid form might have
been 10000years ago and its first experience as liquid
again after being static and solid for so long is
becoming part of me. i investigated a crevasse or two
and an ice cave. the lake at the foot of the
mountains had icebergs floating in it. time there
slowed to an idle hum. night was always late to
arrive. daylight seemed hesitant to retreat to its
stronghold behind the western peaks. Moments, no
longer marked by ticks or tocks, were measured by the
sighting of a bear then a moose or the disappearance
and reappearance of a mountain peak or entire range
behind restless, shifting cloud cover.
my sister headed back to ohio the next day and her
husband left the day after that but i still had a few
days. we had exhausted most of the close daytrips from
anchorage. i didnt know what to do. i had heard a
couple locals talk about the dangerous “haul road”
that lead through harsh desolate lands to the arctic
ocean and that it had been open to the public just a
few years back. i considered it for a moment and
decided that it would be worth investigating. so i
began to research the haul road, so named because its
only purpose is to ‘haul’ heavy oil equipment by
18-wheeler to the oilfields on the north slope in
Prudhoe Bay. every website i visited was filled with
warnings and cautions and rules for traveling the
james dalton highway(the haul road.) They all went
something like this.
·It is 500 miles from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay
·The haul road begins north of Fairbanks and runs
parallel to the Trans-Alaskan Pipeline.
·The haul road is narrow as highways go, unpaved,
riddled with pot-holes, and has 12% grades.
·Don’t drive this road alone.
·Expect to lose the windshield and/or headlights to
rocks thrown by tractor-trailers barreling around
sharp turns on mountain grades to make it
up the next hill.
·Rental agencies will not allow you to take their car
on this road.
·Do not attempt this trek without 4 wheel drive, snow
chains, two extra full size tires mounted on rims,
tools for repairing vehicle, at least 5 gallons of
extra fuel, winter gear, a weeks worth of food and
water, and a CB Radio.
·It is Grizzly country so store food a quarter mile
from where you sleep.
·Services and facilities are nearly nonexistent
·etc
so after reading all of these discouraging sites, i
realized that i had no choice now. i had to go check
it out at least. after cursing me and calling me an
idiot my sister took me to the commissary for water,
dried fruit and nuts, fix-a-flat and gas cans. then
she dropped me off at the airport in anchorage so i
could get a car. of course i opted for the cheapest
compact i could get my hands on...and didnt bother
getting any insurance. This was my first mistake. to
my credit you have to keep in mind that it is nearly
500 miles just to Fairbanks. nothing is inexpensive in
Alaska including gasoline, and i was planning on
putting a couple thousand miles on the car in the next
4 days. i said goodbye to my sister and my two
nephews and drove north in the purple 2006 chevy
cobalt. about an hour outside of anchorage i got out
of my car to take a picture of some mountains and i
heard a hissing sound. after further inspection i
found that there was a nail protruding from my rear
driver side tire. this could be enough of an omen to
discourage someone with any sense, but not me. i had
just bought a can of fix-a-flat an hour ago. it was
strange to be using it so soon. it held the air, but
it weakened my confidence in the new car and my sense
of adventure. i came to a gas station in the middle of
nowhere and went inside to ask about tire service. the
place was poorly lit by the fluorescent bulbs
overhead, one of which was flickering. the items that
sparsely populated the barren shelves were covered by
a fine layer of dust and were randomly placed here or
there. a single oil filter for a few 10year old makes
of truck here, a faded box of macaroni-n-cheese there.
the man sitting at the register looked native. he sat
there staring out the window barely taking notice of
my presence. i asked him if he knew of any tire
service nearby. he looked up at me but said nothing.
he simply pointed to the cork bulletin board with a
stark white piece of paper that read:

Tire Service
½ mile left on dirt road

i thanked the man and left wondering what he was
daydreaming of doing as he returned to his wistful
stare into the distant mountains. The shop down the
dirt road looked like a mini garbage dump. the
buildings were sided with pieces of plywood. the sign
itself was a piece of plywood with the words “tire
service” spray-painted in black. i turned around to
leave but then i saw the owner and only worker wobble
slowly out of the shop. he was tall and well dressed.
he had a shock of white atop his head, and although
his eyes seemed to have the distant, creamy,
lifelessness of cataracts, he reminded me of an old
friend from high school. im not sure if it was the
desire to help the old man out or if it was the
comfort of familiarity, but i pulled in and let the
man plug my tire. he told me about how sean penn was
making a movie about “Into The Wilderness” down the
road and that it was going to be a blockbuster. i paid
him his fee and tipped him for such speedy service and
i was on my way. Once i made it north of the high
mountain peaks in Denali National Park, i saw blue sky
for the first time since arriving in alaska. it was
late in the day when i reached Fairbanks, but i drove
past to drop off some postcards in nearby North Pole,
Alaska just so that they would be post marked “North
Pole”. that little city took its name seriously. the
streetlights were candy canes. there were christmas
lights in the middle of august. the streets had names
like ‘Santa Claus avenue’ and ‘Reindeer Lane’ and
‘Saint Nicholas Blvd’ etc. i drove back to fairbanks
and ate a salad while i studied my map at the bar in
the northernmost denny’s in the world. i bought a
“Black Keys” album from the northernmost Fred Meyer in
the world and drove north out of alaska’s second
largest city. it was 11pm but it wasnt dark yet. the
sky stayed a shade of twilight all night. i admired a
yellow streaming ribbon of the aurora borealis in the
twilight as it was in my windshield for several miles.
i came to a stop in front of a group of signs. i had
reached the James Dalton Highway. There were signs
warning about the industrial nature of the road and
the lack of services beyond this point. The Road
sucked. it just sucked. i started out at 30mph and
felt like i was pushing it. potholes potholes
potholes. washboard road. dips. inclines. switchbacks.
it took no time at all for my neck to be sore. im not
sure if it was the incessant jolting from the potholes
or if it was the intense attention i was paying to the
road constantly trying to find the best path for both
tires through the mindfield of potholes. probably it
was both. There was no radio signal. not a single
station. no am; no fm; definitely no cell phone
service. after some time out of nowhere i was suddenly
on paved road. i was so excited. i pushed the car to
75. but there were still potholes. but these were
deeper and the edges were sharp. some were unavoidable
coming around corners or over a hill and i was sure i
had popped a tire a couple times. the dips were spaced
perfectly so that the lift off the crest of the first
dropped you perfectly into the trough of the next so
that car gained more and more lift after each
succession. i actually hit my head on the ceiling of
the car while wearing my seatbelt on the first series
i encountered. the dips didnt occur alone. they almost
always came in groups. i realized that this paved
stretch was more dangerous than the unpaved. suddenly
without warning after coming up over a hill at 70mph
the paved part ended. no signs. nothing. just a big
pothole and a pile of gravel that nearly put the car
into a skid. the stretch had only been 4-5miles long,
but it had taught me alot about what to expect. it was
back to mud, rock and potholes. after the first hour
or two the cautious 30mph had become a less patient
50mph. i reached the only span across the Yukon River
in alaska where i saw the the trans-Alaskan Pipeline
for the first time. The bridge carried the pipeline
alongside and had a wooden deck. many miles and a
million potholes later i reached the arctic circle.
there was a sign marking 66 degrees and 33 minutes
where the sun doesnt set on the summer’s longest day
and the sun never rises on the winter’s longest night.
of course the farther north you go the more
exaggerated this effect becomes. for instance at
Prudhoe Bay the longest “day” without sunset is 63days
23hours 40mins, longest “night”(no sunrise) is 54days
22hours 51mins, shortest ‘day’ from sunrise to sunset
is 1hour 3minutes, shortest ‘night from sunset to
sunrise is 26minutes. i set my camera on the car and
took a picture of myself in front of the sign. i drove
on. the sky grew lighter. i arrived at Coldfoot the
self-proclaimed Northernmost truck stop in the world.
Coldfoot was so named because a mining party got ‘cold
feet’ trying to go north and headed back. everyone
that traveled on this road got gas here. the next gas
is over 240 miles away in Deadhorse the last stop
before the oilfields of Prudhoe Bay. Coldfoot and
Deadhorse are not the most inviting names, but there
is no other gas. The blue sign posted as you leave
Coldfoot reads “Next Service 240 Miles” which is the
longest stretch without service in the united states.
with the daylight, as opposed to twilight, i noticed
that wildlife was everywhere. i saw a fox and a pack
of wolves, and caribou and moose and grizzly and dall
sheep, etc. the trees were strange. they were thin
with few branches. this far north though a 6’ diameter
tree could be 300 years old. after driving for awhile
i came to a small sign near the road. it was small
enough that i didnt pay it much attention, but since
it was the only thing outside nature and pipeline i
had seen in forever i turned around and took a look.
the sign was next to a dead spruce tree and read,
“Farthest North Spruce Tree on the Alaskan Pipeline.
Do Not Cut.” it had been vandalized 2 years ago and
was dead but standing. i looked south down the road
and there were trees all around on the hills, in the
valleys. they were a little weird looking but they
were there. i looked north in the direction i was
heading and there wasnt a tree to be seen. i drove on.
i crested a hill and looked down into a valley. no
trees. it was starting to seem weird. drove through
the Brooks Range and Crossed over the highest pass on
the haul road at Atigun Pass with its 12%grade and
winding muddy path over the mountains. i couldnt get
over the absence of trees. the landscape was simply
surreal. no trees, no familiar grass plants just boggy
yellow tundra speckled with red for as far as the
horizon reached. there was nothing over the next hill
or over the hill after that or on the other side of
that mountain. just the intense feeling of solitude.
all there was was the crappy road and the crazy 48” in
diameter worm wriggling across the pristine nature in
parallel with the road. and the sun didnt rise in the
east and set in the west. it just circled low on the
horizon all day. i couldnt tell direction. it was all
very disorienting. it became very flat. i noticed a
variety of birds. i saw my first trumpeter swan in the
arctic of all places. i was closing in on deadhorse
when i realized that i was suffering from some sort of
food poisoning. i wasnt sick at all but i felt sick to
my stomach. i tried to ignore it as i arrived in
Deadhorse. everything there looked temporary. gravel
lots to park equipment and a few squat, dingy
buildings. i eventually came to a sign that basically
told me that i wasnt allowed to drive on the oilfield
therefore there was no way i could drive to the arctic
ocean 10 or so miles away. i stopped and went into the
caribou inn and talked to the man at the counter. he
told me that it would cost me about $40 to be escorted
to the arctic ocean by a representative of the Oil
field and due to security reasons they needed to run
my id through a database. i was told it would be a
couple hours. so i sat in my car writhing in pain. my
muscles were weak and trembly and i was hallucinating
in my car about someone that was in the back seat that
i was very upset with because they took something of
mine and refused to give it back and so we werent
talking to each other. i was very upset with her. but
she didnt exist. i managed to throw up a little which
made me feel ok for a few minutes but the sickness
came back. i was squirming and nearly doubled over in
pain as i was checked and escorted to the arctic
ocean. i originally wanted to jump in the arctic ocean
but we parked 500yds from the water and i didnt have
anyone to give me clothes and i felt like i was dying
and it was 0 degrees F. i cupped some water in my
hands and splashed my face with the arctic ocean. the
man said that there was at least one polar bear
sighting a month and that there was a grizzly on the
camp that had killed some caribou earlier that
morning.
i think that alaskans, as a rule, tend to keep their
noses out of other people’s business, even if it is
obvious that someone is spinning in a dizzying cloud
of relentless agony. i was dropped off at my car where
i sat for some time floating in and out of waking
dream and clarity. in a moment of lucidity i decided
to get gas and leave. The population of Prudhoe Bay is
near zero. there are a few thousand oil field workers
that work in two week shifts but everyone is flown
home or elsewhere for their two weeks off. There is no
medical facility. There are a couple EMTs as part of
the staff but any medical situation requires a plane
ride to anchorage. during this spell of clarity i
decided that i was getting worse and i really needed
to have my stomach pumped. i started driving south
wishing for death or any other end to the burning
misery as my mind began to cloud over again. my last
semi-clear thought was that maybe i could make it to a
hospital in fairbanks the next day. i had driven for
some time when my mind snapped back into intelligible
coherence. i thought, “This is bad. i may be in
trouble if i dont do something about this now.” i
stopped the car in the middle of the barren gravel
polar highway. i had almost 4 gallons of water and i
began chugging until i couldnt drink anymore. i opened
my car door to the frigid north wind and bent my head
as low as i could to the icy mud/gravel road. i forced
myself to throw up. weakened and shaky, but glad to be
proactive, i drove on. i drank as i drove, and after
drinking as much as i could i would repeat my
primitive self-administered stomach pump technique.
over the course of 2 hours i had repeated this process
10 or so times until it was all water coming up. i
tried to nap but i felt so cold and weak and restless.
it was nice to close my eyes but it was a waste of
time. i drove on without appetite, sleep and
civilization anywhere in sight. As i neared the
mountains in a weakened stupor, it began to snow
heavily. i didnt pay it much attention as i wasnt
paying much attention to anything at all in my fuzzy
haze. soon enough though the road had become gravel
and muddy ice covered by 4 inches of snow. without
signs or markers, the road slowly became a vague
slightly raised and flattened mound winding and
plunging through the white wilderness. i could still
make out the depressions of the deeper pot holes and
the tops of larger rocks jutting out of the snow
cover. after so many numbing hours of driving and the
recent draining poisoning incident, i had
subconsciously developed a method of efficient
driving. it is nearly impossible to pay attention to
both the driver’s and passenger’s set of wheels for
any extended period of time. i resigned myself to
watching the road in front of the driver’s wheels and
just hoped for the best for the passenger’s side.
so i was a few hundred feet up in the mountains now,
and i was approaching the highest mountain pass on the
haul road, Atigun Pass. it was somewhere around
midnight or 1am. i saw a depression ahead indicating
the presence of a pothole, so i steered around it to
the right. my front passenger’s side tire hit a rock.
when this happened, the car bumped or jerked to the
right of the rock. my reaction was to correct this
slight displacement by turning the wheels slightly in
the opposite direction of said displacement. the car,
however, did not respond to the attempted adjustment.
so whether i was too close the imperceptible place
where the road ends or whether i was in an icy rut of
some sort, i drove off the edge of the mountain.
This is the view in the direction the road traveled
looking off to the right into the valley below. The
angles arent exact of course, and it isnt to scale but
the car might be the size of the word “road.”
road-__
_
_ ___
_ _/ ·
__/ ·
·
V
death
There was a ditch of some sort along the side of the
road but it ended ahead dumping into the valley. So I
guess in the story I am heading into the ditch from
the road. there are no thoughts in my head at this
point. It is pure action and reaction. So what should
the immediate action be when heading down toward a
deadly drop? my first course of action in thoughtless
survival mode was not to apply brakes, but instead gun
it. that is right, i pushed the accelerator down.
there were no thoughts at this time so i cant really
find any reasoning but if i had to guess, i had felt
that the only control was in acceleration. there was
no stopping only ineffective slowing. it seemed my
plan was to accelerate into a shallower angle with the
side of the ditch, because hitting it straight on
would:
1)stop me very abruptly, crumpling the front end of
the car and injuring me in who knows what way. or
2)send me over the other side of the ditch to the drop
into the deep valley below and death. so my 4cylinder
compact rental is careening down the side of the
mountain over large chunky snow-covered rocks toward a
short rock wall. the vehicle and its contents shook
violently over the rugged rock. i glanced off the side
of the ditch at a shallow angle. my car came to rest
shortly thereafter with a 500 lb boulder between the
front and back driver side tires holding them off the
ground. my senses rushed back and my mind overflowed.
it all came out in a compulsory raging stream of
crackling expletives. i was very upset at this point.
thoughts flashed and boomed in a storm of negativity.
why am i here? how did i get myself into this? i am in
the middle of absolute wilderness. there isnt another
human for hundreds of miles in any direction. what am
i going to do. im not supposed to have this car on
this road. i have to catch a plane in a day and a
half. how am i going to get out of this? a wrecker
from fairbanks is going to cost $5 per mile for 500
miles both ways. how long will that take? how could i
even get in touch with anyone? there are no people, no
phones, no way to communicate. !%$@%^@%@#$%@#
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 breathe. calm. none of that
matters because i am going to die here. this is
grizzly country and they kill for sport. my mind
flashed back to documentaries on nature channels
showing footage of just how easily a grizzly opens a
car up. i remembered rules at parks that i have
visited out west about not leaving anything in a
vehicle that smelled like the food i had on the
backseat floor all spilled about, or the deodorant i
had, or my own scent, or the fruity rental car smell.
with a running car on stable ground one is fearless.
what is a grizzly going to do to a car that is moving?
i am not afraid of death. my concern is that there is
no way to convince a bear to finish you off. i have
nothing that could be used as a weapon to fend off a
bear or to finish the job a bear started. i thought of
a bear standing over me grazing on my innards as i lay
half conscious watching. the helplessness was
overwhelming. i had to do something. i disengaged my
seatbelt and set my water upright. i opened my driver
side door which acted more like a hatch on the top of
a submarine now than a door. the car was at a steep
angle with the driver side door aiming up the
mountain. i climbed out the now top of my car and
inspected the boulder that was holding my driver side
tires off the ground. out of desperation i began
digging through the snow around the boulder as if i
could find some way of dislodging it or moving it. my
hands soon became numb and raw and i realized how
stupid i was being. speaking of stupid i had driven
into the arctic without a pair of flippin GLOVES...oh
silly silly foolish boy. i climbed back up my car and
dropped my feet in. i was weak and tired and drained
and helpless and overwhelmed. i hadnt eaten for a day
and a half and had thrown up everything from before
that. i hadnt slept for over 2 days. i started my car.
yes it started. i ran the heat at high til the car
was hot. i shut it off and unpacked all of my clothes
and made a cocoon or nest of insulation around my
body. my feet were down on the passengers side , my
butt was on the console and my head rested between the
driver headrest and the window. i dozed lightly. after
some time had passed i heard and engine. i turned my
hazards on and watched for light. the lights passed
but stopped some distance behind me. i wriggled out of
my cocoon and climbed out my hatch and walked up onto
the road. i watched the brake lights 100yards down the
road and heard doors open and shut. i was soon
approached by two good ole boys in heavy hunting gear.
one held a rifle with his finger on the trigger and
the other held a bowie knife in one hand and shiny
revolver in his other. i was a little taken aback. “y’
alright boy?” one asked as he spit the brown discharge
from his chewing tobacco in my direction. “yeah but im
a little stuck,” i replied. “yer in a mess fer sure.
if i had m’ other truck id yank you right on out. the
transmission went out on this one a hundred miles onto
the haul road. we had to get towed back to fairbanks
to get a new one put in. you got food water and gas?”
to which i replied yes to each. he asked in an
uninterested tone if i need anything. i told him that
i didnt have a weapon of any sort hinting at how
useful just a simple knife would be in my situation.
he told me that all he had was the “big boy” he had in
his hand and that it was for “skinnin’”. he reassured
me that he would tell someone about my predicament if
he met anyone, which brought me no comfort whatsoever.
they walked to their 6cyl big knobby tired 4wheel
drive as i thanked them for stopping. i wasnt sure
whether they had stopped to help or stopped in hopes
of getting to shoot something. i shivered and
chattered back to my car. i started the car and got it
hot while assembling my makeshift cocoon. i shut off
the engine and dozed once again.
i woke to the sound of a big 18-wheeler. i squirmed
out of my cocoon of shirts and pants and socks and
pushed open my hatch. the truck looked like it came
straight out of a “mad max” film. it rumbled in
towering imposition over me caked in dirt and mud with
chain-wrapped tires. the cab door swung open to reveal
the squat and hardy driver. he was gray and grizzled
with his unkempt beard and mustache floating stiffly
over his leathery face. a cigarette dangled loosely
from his lips as his eyes narrowed in contemplative
scrutiny. his heavy boots alit upon the crunching snow
with surprising agility and fluidity. i attempted to
extend a groggy but good-natured salutation. i was
interrupted by his low droning voice grating like
rocks and gravel in his throat. he spoke plainly and
directly. he was obviously in no mood for niceties and
truly had no interest nor patience for anything i
could possibly say. directed partly to me but mostly
to the car, he said,”here’s what we gonna do. im gonna
tie a strap to the rear and pull. you gonna steer that
front tire over that big rock. if i do it wrong,
you’ll flip over and down you go.” without waiting for
any acknowledgement or agreement from me(or my car) he
went about connecting his hulking behemoth to the puny
4cylinder compact by a 4 inch nylon strap. in his
defense i imagined that he was not used to much human
interaction trucking up and down the haul road in the
desolate alaskan wilderness. also i was sure he was
on some kind of schedule that had already been set
back by having to chain up his tires and the slow
crawl up the icy pass. nevertheless i stood by feeling
quite inconsequential but grateful. i reluctantly
climbed back into the car not really wanting to be in
anything that could flip anywhere. i buckled myself
into the driver’s seat and rolled my window dow...
sideways or open or whatever. he was going to pull me
backwards and apparently my job was to steer my tire
onto the rock and steer over it so that it wouldnt
tear any of the important parts out of my car as i am
dragged over the rock and so that i wouldnt drop the
weight of the car on the front end of the car. all he
could really do is drive on the narrow mountain road;
there was no angling or maneuvering that he could do
to help. so the important thing for him to do was to
put the strap at the right place on the car and on his
truck so that i wouldnt flip over or slide over the
edge. he climbed into his cab and put the truck in
gear. there wasnt the slightest sign of faltering or
burden. the ease at which i was pulled surprised me. i
successfully steered onto, over and down the rock with
my driver’s side tire, but i then found myself in a
pickle. firstly i had no real traction for steering.
not steering at all though meant that i would just be
dragged along the bottom of the ditch since gravity
kept me at the bottom and he couldnt drive away from
the ditch, only along it. turning the wheel to the
left would pull my front end into the wall of rock
forming the lower side of the ditch. turning the wheel
to the right was my best bet, but since steering this
way tends to swing the back end down into the ditch,
the pull of the truck ended up straightening the car
out. rock by rock i inched closer to the road. i
narrowly missed some outcropping rock and had made it
far enough up the side to only catch the shallow end
of an icy pool of stagnant water. by pure luck i was
half on the road with the trailer a foot away from my
car door. the driver jumped out and began undoing the
strap as i tried to wriggle out of the car with so
little space. i thought about how i could repay the
man or what i should say as i walked to the back of
the car. as he rolled the strap into a tight cylinder
he approached. before i could say anything he said in
a dooming tone “yer gonna need this,” as he handed me
the worn, heavy duty strap. i looked down at it in my
hands as he wheeled around and climbed into the cab.
he didnt want a thank you or praise or to know how or
what i felt or if i was gonna be ok or anything. i
hadnt been given a chance to say anything to him the
entire time and he was driving away. i stood there for
a minute holding the heavy strap alone in a world of
white trying to register what had just happened in the
snowy silence of the arctic morning.
my attention went back to the car. it now rested on
all 4 wheels; two of which were safely on the road. i
walked around to the passenger side it was icy and
muddy. the front well cover was falling out of the
wheel well. i kicked it into place and found that one
of the tabs was still dangling in the well cover. with
icy raw fingers(no gloves in the arctic!?!???) i
positioned the well cover as best i could and worked
the tab into place just to keep the cover in place. my
fingers were numb and wet so i started the car and
turned up the heat. would it drive? i had to find out.
i shifted into drive and the car began to move. i got
all 4 wheels onto the road. i couldnt believe it. i am
so so so lucky. a surge of exuberance washed over me.
i was driving. why stop. i started up the highest
pass. the snow was thicker and the gravel-mud beneath
was ice. i made it maybe a quarter of the way up
before i came to a spinning stop. as the tires spun
the front end drifted toward the edge of the drop to
the valley floor. i backed down the mountain to near
level ground because there was no way to turn around
on the side of the mountain. i tried to jimmy the well
cover the best i could with what i could find in my
car. i got restless and tried to make it up again but
failed so i sat at the bottom of the mountain for
hours. i stood near my car admiring nature trying to
think of something i could do. i had to catch a plane
the next day. i thought about flagging a truck down
and asking if they would pull me up the mountain. but
noone would want to risk losing their truck over the
side of the mountain to help some stupid ohian driving
a compact 4 cylinder on the haul road. trucks would
pass every now and then. a couple stopped to see if i
was ok. i told them that i just couldnt make it up the
mountain. everyone had chains. but it was the middle
of august. two big diesel SUVs with lifts and chains
stopped. they were both full of college girls who had
been at a lake doing research on the tundra ecosystem.
they asked if they could help me. i told them only if
they had an extra set of chains. they wished me luck
and crept up the mountain. some time had passed and i
was getting restless and wondering if i would ever be
able to get over the pass. someone had mentioned a
grater working on the other side of the pass where
apparently it was a solid sheet of ice. this was not
surprising as the haul road is constantly being worked
on 24 hours a day 7 days a week. i had seen no sign of
the grater for 6 hours. i could see two big trucks
descending in the distance. they soon roared by me
kicking up a thick spray of muddy gravel. there hadnt
been so much mud thrown at me all day. maybe the day
was late enough and the sparse traffic had been enough
to break through the ice to muddy gravel beneath. i
got in my car and headed up the mountain. i stayed in
the deepest, muddiest set of tracks and soon passed my
previous spinouts. it was still very icy and my tires
were spinning faster than i was moving. i could hear
the spray of gravel on the undercarriage of the car.
if i slowed down i would start spinning because i
would lose momentum, but if i pressed the accelerator
more i would start spinning. i felt like i was going
to come to a stop or go over the edge at turns many
times. but i made it to the top. true to the warning
from a trucker earlier, the other side of the pass was
a solid sheet of ice. i slowed to a crawl. it was soo
steep and there were no guard rails and i was aiming
down. i went 1-2 miles per hour the whole way down the
mountain. if i would have tapped my brakes too much i
would have slid off the edge of the mountain. there
was no snow at the foot of the mountain range. i gave
one glance back through my rear view mirror and drove.
i did 60-65. i no longer worried about the shocks or
undercarriage. i pushed my head back onto the headrest
to save my neck from the violent pothole vibration. i
made it to coldfoot a minute or two behind the college
girls. i pulled up to the gas pump, got out and
stretched. two of the girls walked over to me and said
“holy @#$%, how the $%$^ did you make it over that
mountain?!?” i told them ‘slowly’. one of them grabbed
my arm like i was an old friend and led me toward
their vehicles telling me to “look at this!” they
showed me their big beefy diesel chained SUVs had
slammed into each other at the top of the mountain. i
pumped my $3.70/gal gas and drove on. i had a plane to
catch the next day and i was growing weary of the
potholes and crazy truckers. i stopped at the arctic
circle to leave a message for a friend and i stopped
at the Yukon river for a couple pictures. i had to
stop because they were blasting on the road ahead. i
had to wait for a pilot truck to come lead me and the
trucks that lined up behind me across the mess. the
driver of the semi directly behind me jumped out while
we were waiting and headed for the truck that had
pulled up behind him. at first i thought that there
was going to be a fight but they appeared to be
friends just being rowdy. i had, however, made the
mistake of pulling out my camera and aiming it into my
rear view mirror to catch a shot of the fight. there
was no fight but i took a picture anyway. well the
fella directly behind me caught me in the act and
stared me down as the pilot car led me forward. the
trucker jumped in his big-rig and proceeded to ride my
rear bumper through the blasting area and for the next
30 miles. he had it in for me. i didnt lose him until
i hit a paved stretch of about 5 miles where i finally
put some distance between us.
the first sign of civilization came a few hours later
when i found a radio station playing bluegrass. my
spirits were high. the station played two songs and an
announcer came on. the announcer warned drivers that
flood waters from the previous night’s storm had
washed a bridge out on the denali highway and that it
would not be passable for 2 to 3 days. this was a bit
of a setback. the alaskan highway system in the north
is not too complex of a network. there was no short
detour. the missing bridge meant that i had to head
southeast from fairbanks instead of southwest on my
way back to Anchorage. this added a couple hundred
miles onto my return trip and introduced an element of
uncertainty that at this point in my trip, having
precious little time to spare, was not a welcome
anxiety. Shortly thereafter i reached the end of the
haul road. my neck and shoulders were so very thankful
to drive on paved road. it was so amazing i couldnt
get over how wonderful it was to drive on solid smooth
road. i almost hit a porcupine and made it to
fairbanks as it started to get dark. i filled up on
‘cheap’ gas, checked my map, and started on my drive
through the night. time was tight so i didnt really
have time to stop. i left my spare gas tanks full in
case i couldnt find an open gas station in the night.
i drove through the darkness without a stop. the sun
began to rise and alaska’s beauty was shown to me
anew. a few hours after sunrise i saw in the distance
a snowcapped range with fog flowing like a river in
the valley below. i couldnt resist the photo
opportunity and the chance to stretch a little. at
this point i had only slumbered in my restless dozing
on the side of the mountain since the previous
wednesday. it was sunday morning. i pulled into a
drive that lead to an open area surrounded by a ridge
that provided an excellent view of the snowy range. i
parked and emptied one of my spare gas tanks into the
car tank. i grabbed my camera from the car and walked
through the icy morning air. there was a path that led
up the ridge about 200yds from where i parked. there
was a camper near the path. as i approached the spring
loaded aluminum door to the camper squeaked open and
bearded man stumbled out with a budweiser in one hand.
he looked at me and called back into the camper, “oh
no jim, they are after us again. trying to get our
picture.” then to me in a joking tone “why cant you
guys just leave us alone?” i couldnt help to notice
the handgun in a holster at his side. i smiled and
replied in playful response “ok, i will just take
pictures of the mountain range today. i’ll leave you
out of it, but my audience will be disappointed.” and
i walked to the path and up the ridge. i snapped a
couple pictured of the breathtaking scene and headed
back down the ridge. the man was sitting on one of the
atv’s with a rifle mounted. i noticed the fresh
caribou carcasses behind the camper. i walked gingerly
past the drinking hunter. as i passed he called out to
me, ‘where you from?’ i called back over my shoulder
as i kept walking, “im from ohio.” there was an
irritated pause and he yelled, ‘boy! come over here.’
my car was 150 yards away at this point. i turned on
my heels and walked back toward the camper not wanting
to upset any antisocial drunk alaskans with shooting
skills and plenty of ammo. i stood in front of him
next to his camper. he introduced himself as Frank. he
asked, “where ya been?” i told him that i had flown
into anchorage. he asked if i liked it. i sensed that
i was supposed to say no and followed that instinct to
show at least some dissatisfaction with the city. he
said, “yeah we call it ‘Los Anchorage’” with a
chuckle. i told him i had visited denali. he guessed
that i hadnt seen Mt McKinley. his hunting buddy’s
head appeared out the squeaky camper door for the
first time. he lumbered out the camper looked at me
and then at the car and threw out a few choice
expletives. frank asked where else i had been. i told
him that i had just come from prudhoe bay. a surprised
look came over his face and he asked “in that thing??”
pointing at the compact. i nodded and he yelled into
the camper, “Jim, get this boy some MOose jerky, he
just drove the haul road in a 4 cylinder rental!”
“you’re a crazy SOB!!”, my new friend said. jim hopped
into the camper and appeared moments later with a
large ziplock bag of smoked moose meat. they both
looked on as i was handed two long ropes of dried
moose. i didnt really want this to be the first thing
i would eat for days now, but i felt obliged to
partake of their gift of acceptance. i took a small
nibble trying to make it look larger. chewed for a
moment and nodded in approval. i told them of my
trials and tribulations briefly. frank replied in
jim’s direction, “im startin to like him. he’s a crazy
sumbitch.” they told me about their moose jerky and
eventually invited me stay with either of them if i
ever came back to alaska. frank gave me his business
card. i made it apparent that i was on a schedule and
was pressed for time. they eventually let me leave
saying, “we’re gonna kill us some moose.” i thanked
them for their hospitality and hurried to my car. i
started driving and realized that something had
changed. up to this point i had been down on myself
thinking about how stupid i had been and the danger i
had put myself in. but after talking to them i
suddenly felt like i had done something cool or at
least interesting. i began thinking that every
explorer was considered a dangerous idiot. not that i
was an explorer but i felt like i had gone out on my
own into a foreign and wild, unforgiving land and had
lived through it. in fact i wasnt even hurt. i should
have broken a bone or gotten a bruise or totaled my
car or at least something. the thing that really
matters is the outcome. if christopher columbus had
sunk in a ship he would have just been another
dangerous idiot. but he lived. if lewis or clark would
have died along their trek they would be a nobody. but
they took a risk and came out on top. i felt
vindicated. i started to feel good about what i had
done. and started getting scared of what stupid thing
i might do next since apparently i am rewarded instead
of disciplined for my stupidity.
i drove on. every glance was a photo opp. i had no
time to lose though. i took a picture of a bald eagle
in its nest right next to the road but stopped for
nothing else. as i got closer to anchorage i started
looking for campers or hunters to give my gas to. i
made it back to anchorage without luck. i pulled into
the first gas station i could find and ran to the
pumps with the two gas tanks. i offered the gas and
the tanks to a man pumping gas into his VW bus.
english was not his first language so it took me
several minutes to explain that i was giving it to him
for free because they dont let people take tanks of
gasoline on board planes. he finally, almost
reluctantly took the gas. i threw $30 worth of dried
fruit and mixed nuts into the trash. i hurriedly
packed my bags and threw anything nonessential into
the trash can. i had parked the car next to the water
refill station for campers. i used the hose to try to
spray off the quarter inch of dried mud that was
cemented to the entire exterior and every crevice of
the undercarriage. the water pressure was nonexistent.
i got it wet but not clean and i didnt have any time.
oh well. i sped to the airport. i parked in the
rental return handed the attendant my key and hurried
away from any questions or looks that would certainly
arise from the car’s condition. i had returned it with
less than ten minutes until they would charge me for
another day(nearly $100). i sat in the airport
considering the extraordinary events of the last few
days. i felt so lucky, so amazingly lucky. i felt as
though i had cheated fate. i felt as though i had
gotten away with something. the moment was gone. the
incredible chaos was now coming into focus. it was so
strange to be in the airport with all of its straight
lines and shiny surfaces. the stifling structure of it
all began to bother me. i realized that one cannot
return to that moment of wonder or horror; that
specific instant when one’s concept of reality,
convention, and propriety is jarred, shaken, or
otherwise displaced to the point where the mind
proclaims of itself without conscious provocation,

“It will never be the same.”

Reasoning shortly thereafter that, considering the
current disparity raging between past and present on
such a basic level, there can be no compromise nor
equivocation between a reality built on false pretense
and the New reality being constructed on the recent
foundation-razing epiphany. my plane came soon enough
to remind me that i was part of the world. sleep, food
and work put me back on track but i still feel that
glimmer of newness once in a while.

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