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Published: September 13th 2010
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Toad River
The view from my tent. The place to be if you want to watch beaver! I'm a month behind with this blog already & even I have to admit that's a bad effort, especially when I consider I've only been going for two. However, I now have the motivation to get things done after receiving a phone call from Dublin last night (thanks Elaine) - so I'll try & catch up as best I can - or suffer the consequences.
When sat behind a desk back in London thinking about this trip (obviously only during my 30 minute lunch break) Alaska seemed like a distant daydream. I didn't think I'd ever actually get there. But here I am, after taking the motorbike I used to roll around the streets of London on from New York to Alaska!
From now on all I'll be doing is heading due south towards the sunshine. There's a hammock within arms reach of a bar somewhere in Baja, Mexico & I intend to find it!
So Saburo my Japanese riding partner was heading south as he had the good sense not to even attempt the Dalton Highway & we said our goodbyes with a promise to try & catch up in the US, Mexico, Central or South America.
Hopefully we'll be able to manage something, after all we've given ourselves enough scope.
I turned north & pushed on towards the start of the 1422 mile Alaska-Canada Highway. One long day in the saddle & wet night in the tent later, brought me to Dawson Creek (with numb bum cheeks & a sopping wet sleeping bag) where the Al-Can begins. I was slowly getting closer!!! The Al- Can was built by the US Army during WW2 to ensure Alaska wasn't cut off & the Northern Rockies terrain the road sweeps through is truly stunning. I would have more pictures but they're a pain to upload so you'll have to make do.
I missed the monument marking the start of the highway as I'd just ridden around a roundabout. No big deal you may think but it was my first in over 4000 miles so I went round it twice for good measure. I pulled over to watch as people tried to figure out what they were supposed to do. Over here its a case of left, right or straight on & so a roundabout is clearly a little too much for them, although I'm not sure what
Mountain Bison
He didn't care he caused Martin to crash. pulling over to watch one says about me.
So to start the Al-Can is a little boring the only incident being a moose trying to commit suicide (& kill me) by hurling itself at my bike. If you've seen the size of a moose you'll know how messy that could have been, they're enormous. I was told later the locals call them 'bush donkeys' on account of their IQ. Their brain only accounts for a tiny part of their bulk apparently. That's the moose, not the locals.
As its summer the road crews are out in force digging up vast stretches of highway which means I keep getting caught at Stop signs & up to 45 minute delays. Still as I don't have to be anywhere for a few months yet I wasn't that fussed. The good thing about the Stop signs is they are manned by a person stuck out in the middle of nowhere all on their own, usually miles from where the work begins & as they're out there for hours on end all by themselves, they love to chat. Now I know I may come across as the strong silent type but occasionally I
Watson Lake.
All stolen, don't ask me why. like to chat too. I got to hear the gossip (most of which is a little too rich even for the internet), snippets of their taste in music (either country or rap), local history lessons & bitchin' about life in general. A nice way to pass the time, so much so, I began to look forward to roadworks. (Added to the entertainment I seem to get from roundabouts these days it doesn't paint a very good picture I know).
Bikers are always allowed to the front of the queue so we don't get covered in dirt & dust when 'Stop' changes to 'Slow' & perhaps because we're more inclined to chat as we have no window we can roll up. Canadian road crews are different to any other as they are usually atleast 40% female (which meant alot more gossip) from working the Stop sign to driving the trucks & diggers. I discovered once you've done your time on the Stop sign, which with 14 hour days out in the middle of nowhere in all conditions isn't as easy as you'd think, you can progress on to the machinery & hopefully a warm cab. Once the 'Slow' sign was
Looks like Scotland.
Just prior to the aptly named Destruction Bay. shown I'd say goodbye & ride through the works trying to put names to faces as you wouldn't believe what that slut in the steam roller got up to!
So as I was heading north I met Brett from Bermuda who is also taking some time out to tour round on a motorbike & from what I could gather get as far away from his ex-wife as possible. As we were going in the same direction we shared the miles.
Come sunset we pulled into a campsite at a place called Toad River & pitched our tents beside a gorgeous creek. The campsite owner said we could watch beaver which I took to mean he had all the satellite channels - but actually meant we could see beavers in the water beside our tents.
Later we were joined by another biker, an Argentinian lad called Martin who had ridden up from Florida & was on his way to Alaska. As both of Martin & I wanted to head as far north as the weather would allow we agreed to cover the miles together. Safety in numbers & all that. (Plus Martin owned a motorbike shop & looked
Just keep heading north.
Mile after mile, after mile. like he knew how to handle a spanner whereas despite taking a motorcycle maintenance course prior to leaving London, both the components I fitted to the bike look like they're about to fall off).
The following day Brett flipped a coin & let fate decide if he should come with Martin & I to Alaska or head south as he had planned. Fate pointed him south so we said our goodbyes & agreed to meet up somewhere sunnier. I not going to describe the accident involving Brett & the bison as I'm already a month behind with this blog - I'll save it for my memoirs.
So Martin & I rode on towards the Alaskan border getting soaked (yes I lost yet another game of 'rainwear roulette') & after 480 miles we booked into a miserable campsite. It looked as though Fate knew what was coming & had advised Brett wisely.
The next day we got up early for the last push towards the Alaskan border. The road between Canada & Alaska as we got nearer the border makes some African roads look good. Canadians clearly don't like their neighbour nor care who knows as although America
maintain their side, the Canadians don't & so when it's wet (which it was) it's a slippy, dangerous piece of bike & possibly bone breaking tarmac that only took about 5 hours to ride. On the Canadian side after the aptly named Destruction Bay the road falls apart, they've greased the corners & added some mud & gravel to make it interesting. It wasn't fun.
When we got to the border it was still pouring & I was looking forward to seeing what arsehole (appropriate swearing is allowed mum) was waiting to examine my passport. However, the chap Martin & I got came out of his booth into the rain so we didn't have to get off our bikes, asked a few simple questions & then wished us both a pleasant & safe trip. A stark reminder for any members of US Immigration Service that if you're decent & polite they'll post you to Alaska!
So I'd made it. London to Southampton, New York to Alaska. Now all I had to do was ride to Prudhoe Bay. How hard can it be?
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Claire
non-member comment
Blimey! That Bison looks huge. Glad your having a good time, am not jealous at all. Although a new series of the inbetweeners has started. Who's jealous now eh? C x