Leaving Delta Junction we headed for the North Pole… No, I'm not exaggerating here; that's what they called it! Of course we are in the USA, so anything seems to be possible, but calling a town that's not even above the Arctic Circle, North Pole was news for me too. I couldn't help wondering if it might have something to do with the touristy Santa Claus centre being there… In true American style it's hard to miss. But even if you somehow manage to miss the giant Santa Claus statue, there is no need to worry; you can also reach him on Facebook, Twitter, Google and Tumblr or even his own website at northpole.com We stopped there as well of course, but found it all just a little bit too tacky. Still, we had a burger at the only McDonalds at North Pole… :-)
Bryan and Diana, from PanAmericanLandy, had told us about Sven's base camp in Fairbanks as a good place to stay. Who are we to argue with a couple of South Africans who had just finished Argentina to Alaska as well as Africa to Norway while being in their 70s. Hats off! They were right too. Sven is a great guy! He's from Switzerland and operates a hostel and campground in Fairbanks during the summer months. I kind of assumed he would move south during winter… but no, he moves up further north(!) to run sledge dogs for a resort in the middle of the Alaskan winter. Alaska is the land of the midnight sun, in summer that is. As long as it's light Sven is awake too. No kidding; he is a bundle of energy and… 24 hrs a day. We camped at Sven's volleyball field as our tents wouldn't fit anywhere else. The plan was to stay a night and then head for the Dalton Highway, but as it was such a great place to be and as Sven creates such an amazing atmosphere, we ended up staying a couple of days and had a great time. These breaks are, in my view, essential if you plan to stay on the road for a longer period of time.
While we were at Sven's we heard conflicting stories on how bad the road north from Fairbanks was. A motorcyclist had just been airlifted to the hospital with broken ribs and collarbone, the roadworks were apparently very very bad… Hmmm. The same night a cyclist arrived. He had just returned from Deadhorse, and said it was fine, nothing to worry about… but he looked like the Quaker you'll find on the Muesli packaging… could I possibly regard him as a serious source of information? We tried to get a new chain and sprocket set for Mike's Yamaha, but found the local Yamaha dealer not interested, which was unfortunately the beginning of a trend… I made a wheel nut spanner from a cheap wrench bought at a local hardware store. The store itself is worth mentioning too, if only for the Alaskan winter gear they sell there!
The thing to do is be courteous. Do no fly past and bombard them with stones coming off your tyre. If it's a particularly dry section, and a lot of dust coming from the truck's tyres blocks your vision; stop! Just stop the bike on the side of the road. Don't ride on blind thinking it will all be okay. Do not switch it off by turning the key, but stop it with the 'emergency kill' switch to stop the engine sucking in the dust and clogging the air filter. Stopping the engine with the 'kill' switch, means the lights are still on, to keep you visible to others. Use hazard lights too if you have them. (Bonnevilles don't have them… Grmbl). We used that technique the whole Dalton Highway and back and had no problem at all with any of the truckers. Quite the opposite. One of the trucks didn't see us coming, due to a blind corner and covered us in dust due to his speed (and dry weather). He must have been on the radio straight away as the trucks behind him had already slowed down for us. The other thing to remember, is that simply because you think you are on the perfect adventure weapon, the 25 mph speed limit at roadworks isn't for you. Yes, 25 mph isn't exactly exciting, neither is being in plaster… or worse and there are other road users to consider too, it is a public road after all. We took it as it came, kept our distance in roadworks, both from each other and the traffic in front of us, so that we had good vision.
We actually enjoyed the whole trip. The feeling of being out there, way up north, was great! We were on our little motorcycles, which we had been told by the experts would not be up to this, on the same road as the Ice Truckers. Looking around, I realised there was no-one living for hundreds of miles to the left, the right and the north. The further north we went the better the feeling became. It's not just the distance, as there are roads that are longer. The Nullarbor in Australia for instance is a lot longer than the Dalton. It's the feeling of being so remote, riding away from civilisation to… the end of the road. There isn't a town at the other end either. The road simply ends. I wasn't sure what to expect, scenery wise. From trips we had done to the top of Norway, which is further north than Deadhorse or Prudhoe Bay, we didn't expect much. Trees gradually disappear when you get above the tree-line to make way for scrubs, which will make way for tundra. If you come here with expectations of finding Utah like landscapes then you'll be disappointed. Or are you? 
The first mug-shot we took was at the beginning of the Dalton highway at the sign telling us we had arrived. Getting there had been quite a trip already. We couldn't have been further away from it when we started. Just simply being there, at the Dalton Highway sign, was the result of leaving Tasmania, riding the Great Ocean Road in Melbourne, shipping to New Zealand, riding around both the South and the North islands of New Zealand, shipping to Vancouver and riding up through British Columbia, the Yukon and most of Alaska. We had covered almost 20.000 km just to get here! Looking at the wooden Dalton Highway sign made me realise how lucky we were to be here; and how lucky we were with all we had seen and experienced.
For me crossing the mighty Yukon river was a special event too. Most will probably say it's just a river… to them I'd like to say: just read Dorian Amos's 'The Good Life' to understand how special it is. Just over the bridge we met Dottie. Dottie works at the tiny Tourism Information Centre on the right hand side and is a bundle of joy. We stopped to have lunch and simply rode up to the picnic table. Dottie came running outside 'please don't ride over my orchids!' Orchids? What orchids? They turned out to be miniature Orchids, which considering the climate is understandable. Dottie told us, full of passion, about her orchids and all the beautiful things there are to see from where we were to further north. She was somewhat positive about everything… including the weather…! She told us it was going to be fine for the next 14 days… Dottie must have had her own forecast :-) A lovely person.
I wrote before that this high up north you can't really expect beautiful landscapes… how wrong I was! I simply hadn't seen the Brooks Range before. It's magically impressive, if that makes any sense. The range itself is impressive enough and the permafrost just underneath it gave it something magical. We made lots of photographs, photographs that despite our best efforts just can't express the feeling it gave us. It's also difficult to explain in words; the magical feeling of being so remote and in a world so untouched. I love landscapes like this!
After the Brooks Range the landscape changes into flat tundra. You can't ride the last 10 miles to Prudhoe Bay either, from Deadhorse you have to go by bus. Having already been further north in Norway (and thus no 'need' to be at the most northern point here) plus the already visible incoming bad weather and the boring tundra landscape made us turn around after the Brooks Range. We went to the end of the range, looked at the tundra and rode back, arriving back in Coldfoot around midnight and had a great day.
The next morning we saw mud covered cars 'telling' us how bad the weather had turned. According to one of the truck drivers the road wasn't the problem for motorcyclists, it was the people speeding throwing mud all over the place.
We went back south after a big breakfast at the truckers cafe in Coldfoot. The plan was to stay at a campground halfway, but found it was nothing but a dustbowl and rode on towards Fairbanks. The smoke from the bush fires that were burning all around us covered parts of the roads. A massive oil pipeline runs through that area… We arrived at Sven's base camp at 11.30 at night, tired and hungry. Sven was open, he is always open! We had another couple of days at Sven's, staying up until well after midnight every night as we were in great company!
Riding away from Sven felt like leaving home somehow. Maybe because I knew that I was no longer going further and further into this land that I liked so much, but riding out of it. I wanted to go further north again… stay for winter (which is weird because I do not like cold and dark!). Apparently I had fallen in love with the place…?
We rode east, back towards Delta Junction and Tok, the most boring road in the whole of Alaska. Just to give an idea on how boringly straight that road is; the bush fires we could see in the distance turned out to be 160 km away. We took a mugshot at the sign that says 'The Alaskan Highway stops here' and had lunch at an outside diner, where the waitresses rolled around on roller-skates! Ordering was a complex process; first there were dozens of choices for the hamburger part, and then we had to specify the shape of the fries and how we wanted them cooked…!
Still we could smell the oil on the road and any dirt that hit the exhaust started smoking! It's an amazing road non-the-less. It literally takes
you over the top of the mountains.
you over the top of the mountains.
With the benefit of hindsight I'm happy Chicken was what it was as that made me leave and ride on. Had we liked it and stayed; we would have been riding the slippery oil road in the rain! The border crossing was easy as the Canadian border guard was somewhat more human than it's American counterpart at the Alaskan highway border. We stopped at the mighty Yukon River and camped along it's banks in a State Park campground. That night I sat next to the mighty Yukon River, looking to Dawson City at the other side. I had made it to the place I wanted to see for myself after reading Dorian Amos's book. It is indeed a mighty river!
