Circle to Circle

by Shirley Hardy-Rix

I don’t know what time it is when Brian wakes me up asking me if I’m awake. His efforts to whisper will wake up everyone. I’m worried that he’ll wake the two blokes in the tents next to us, then I hear them giggling as they fall into their tents. Seems I missed a real party in the café.

  •

  Brian’s a little worse for wear and hoes into a huge breakfast before we head west along the Alaska Highway.

  We stop at a wayside inn for petrol and a drink and get talking to bikers we met at the helicopter stop yesterday. They tell us a terrible tale of a motorcyclist hitting and killing a bear cub yesterday. The mother and other cub were very distressed, they’ve heard. The biker had broken bones. They say he was older, like us, and we hope it wasn’t David or John.

  The lady at the shop tells us the injured biker was airlifted to Whitehorse hospital. I’m more distressed about the death of the cub. How awful for the mother and other baby to witness that. The story goes that she was very upset and kept spitting and hissing at people trying to get to the dead cub. No matter how hard I try, these things really upset me, and the thought of it stays with me all day and for days to come.

  Brian: I’m hugging the middle of the road now, keeping a wary eye out for bears. We love to see them but would hate to have an encounter like the one we’ve just heard about.

  At Whitehorse we check into the municipal campground. Camped next to us are a couple from the US, on their way back from Alaska. They describe the trip in three words — cold, wet, slippery!

  In town for dinner we have a bit of time so we check out the hospital. The good news is David hasn’t been admitted and the girl says there hasn’t been any biker brought in after hitting a bear. I know Shirl hopes the whole story is apocryphal.

  •

  Today we’re heading to Tok, Alaska — another border crossing and another step closer to the top of the world.

  On the road we encounter our first unmanned petrol station. No choice but to use your credit card — no one to help, no one for change and no facilities. We have to get used to this up in these remote parts.

  It’s a great ride. We spot a black bear munching grass on the side of the road. He doesn’t pay us the slightest bit of notice. We ride by the massive Kluane Lake where the mountains reflect in the calm waters. It doesn’t matter where you ride up here the scenery’s incredible.

  We get to the border and take the obligatory photos of us with the Alaska sign. When we get to the US border post the guard is quite officious — we have to take off our helmets, even though they flip open and you can see our faces, and turn off the bike. He takes our passports inside and we think he’s going to give us a hard time but he comes out and wishes us a safe journey. We wonder if my status as an ex-policeman is on the computer system.

  Shirley: Woo hoo! We’re in Alaska, USA. The lower 48 are well behind us and the Arctic Circle lies ahead.

  To the Arctic Circle

  1 – 10 August 2012

  Shirley: The internet is a fantastic thing. Online we’ve arranged to meet up with Ken and Carol and Dave and Mike, two brash young Aussies doing a charity ride to raise money for disadvantaged kids they’ve called ‘Adelaide to Anchorage’. We’re getting together at Thompson’s Eagle Claw Motorcycle Campground, a rustic motorcycle-only campground in the small township of Tok, Alaska.

  There’s no power, no showers, not even running water, but it’s not just somewhere to pitch a tent. The owners have put up two cabins, a tepee, a hard-sided tent and an old ambulance if you’d rather something more solid than your tent. It’s a beautiful, quiet spot set among the trees. It’s got amazingly clean drop toilets, huge containers of drinking water, a gas burner and masses of firewood. There’s a solitary power point at the end of a lead dangling from the power pole at the edge of the property.

  Mike and Dave left Australia a little after we left Melbourne, and while we’ve been corresponding on the email we’ve never met. Dave’s already here when we arrive, sitting outside one of the cabins enjoying the sunshine. He encountered the same officious guard at the border as us and was interrogated for more than an hour, mainly because at 30, he‘s too young to be travelling without having to work. Even with his tourist visa and a ticket out of the US back to Australia the official was reluctant to let him into Alaska. I guess there are advantages to being older.

  Ken, Carol and Mike are still on the road from the border. Somehow, over the past week, we’ve got ahead of them on the road. Mike’s been held up further south waiting for parts for his motorcycle so Dave rode on ahead, taking his time, while Mike has put in some long days to catch up.

  Six Aussies together — it’s going to be a big night. Just like any BBQ at home there’s cold beers, meat and salad. By the time Ken, Carol and Mike arrive we have to head out to get more beer. It’s a raucous night, sitting around the fire talking and laughing. Around 11.30 it gets a little dark — the moon rises and moves a tiny way across the sky and disappears. There’s not much darkness up here, even though we’re past the 24 hours of daylight.

  Ken and Carol bumped into David and John in Whitehorse so it wasn’t them involved in the bear incident. That’s good news.

  We toss up staying another night here but we’re itching to get to Prudhoe Bay.

  Brian: It’s a much quieter campground this morning with lots of shabby people. I’m not the first up, someone’s thrown a couple of logs on the fire. One by one we all surface and cook up bacon, eggs and toast on the open fire. All that’s missing is a shower.

  We move on to Fairbanks. During the summer university break you can rent rooms at the Fairbanks University for just US $71 per night and that’s pretty cheap up here.

  On the ride up we spot a moose on the side of the road. We’ve been told they’re extremely dangerous and can turn over a small car if riled. I hate to think what they’d do to a motorcycle.

  On the outskirts of Fairbanks there’s a road sign to Santa Claus Lane. We can’t resist it and have to investigate. It turns out we’re in North Pole, Alaska.

  Shirley: I love Christmas, so a visit to Santa Claus House is just about compulsory for me. Santa’s in residence so we get a couple in the queue to take a photo of us with the jolly gent. Just as you would expect, Santa’s very nice. We think he’s suffering from beard envy, though. Brian’s beard is much longer than Santa’s.

  This store is a blast. There’s Christmas stuff everywhere and you can even ask Santa to write a letter to little ones at home.

  •

  The uni accommodation is fine. The room has two beds, two desks, two cupboards and 20 power points. You could power the world here! The wifi is free. The laundry is free and there’s a kitchen somewhere.

  Rather than cook we’ll eat out. Brian heads out to find somewhere nearby for dinner and he’s gone for ages. He’s been chatting. David and John have just arrived and we meet them at the uni pub for a drink. We talk travel, of course. David and John would like to come to Prudhoe Bay with us. This is going to be one hell of a trip.

  An SMS comes through from Nicole and Christian. They’re at the Go North Hostel in town with Jens and Kati. There’s some synchronicity in meeting them at the top of the world after spending Christmas with them at the bottom of the world.

  It’s wonderful to see them again and the hostel is a great location. There’s a grassed area where we can camp so we’ll move in here tomorrow, Friday. It’s the perfect starting off point for our assault on the Arctic Ocean.

  Kati’s hurt her neck and the chiropractor’s ordered her off the bike for three days, so if all goes well we’ll be on the road to the Arctic Circle on Tuesday.

  They’re an interesting bunch at the hostel: there’s Ollie, a rather dapper British architect who’s backpacking around Alaska; there’s Tony from southern USA who claims to kill squirrels and boil them up for his dinner — certainly whatever he cooks in his pot looks most unappetising; there’s Kon, an Aussie who’s just bought a bike and plans to ride around the US and South America for the next t
hree years; and there’s us.

  The local Safeway is the place to bump into travellers. There’s free wifi and everyone congregates here. We bump into the Brits we met at Hyder. Two of them fell off on the road to Prudhoe Bay, moving from one muddy wheel rut in the road to another. It sounds like a slippery version of Ruta 40 in Argentina.

  Brian: This is a test for man, woman and tent. It’s cold and it’s raining, yet we’re warm in the sleeping bags and the tent doesn’t leak. Even Shirl has praise for our camping gear. There are no mozzies, but maybe that’s because it’s raining.

  Ken and Carol won’t be here for another day. Jens and Kati can’t ride for another couple of days. Sick and tired of waiting, we decide to head south to Denali National Park with John, David, Nicole and Christian. It’s in the opposite direction to the one we’ll take to the Arctic, but we’ll go stir crazy if we sit around Fairbanks any longer.

  It’s stopped raining when we hit the road for Clear Sky where the local saloon’s bar has the catchy name ‘I’ll only have one more … I swear’. There’s no one inside except the ladies of the local sewing circle. Shirl gets talking to them about the craftwork she does. They present her with a piece of Alaskan material, decorated with local animals, to make into something when we get home. It’s a lovely gesture, but something else to pack onto the bike.

  •

  There are more road works on the way to Denali. The stop/go girl points out the spot on the horizon where Mt McKinley, the highest mountain in North America, should be. It’s shrouded in cloud. Of course, she tells us, you could see it this morning.

  Shirley: Riding in Denali National Park we see caribou with huge racks, as the locals call their antlers. You can see them bobbing above the long grass while they’re eating. They’re protected here but in other parts of Alaska they’re hunted for their racks, even though they shed them every year. I just don’t get hunting animals for sport. No one will ever be able to explain to me why it’s fun or challenging. I just don’t get hunting — full stop.

  We don’t see any bears but we know they’re here. A photographer was killed by a bear a couple of weeks ago; when they found his camera they discovered he’d been walking towards the bear taking photos rather than keeping his distance. It seems like he asked for it, but the bear had to be killed.

  •

  Coming out of the National Park John signals that he’s going into the park office and will catch us up.

  Further down the highway there are a few cars pulled over. Two moose are feeding in the shallows of a stream, dunking their heads deep into the water. The mother and young male don’t pay the slightest bit of attention to everyone watching them and taking pictures. People hunt moose here. It must be like shooting cows, they’re such easy targets. I still don’t get it.

  There’s no sign of John but we can’t wait any longer. We need to find somewhere to camp for the night and end up at the remote Denali North View Campground. We’re the only ones here. There’s still no sign of John and no sign of Mt McKinley. He’s on the road somewhere, and it’s still hiding in the clouds.

  We’re all a bit worried about John except David who says he’ll be fine, assuring us he’s used to travelling on his own. Nicole’s so thoughtful she makes up a handwritten sign and puts it on the campground gate for John, just in case he passes by.

  The bugs are bad and no amount of repellent deters them. Then the rain comes. Nicole and Christian set up a tarp on the back of their Land Rover, making a cosy shelter. The boys get the fire going and we cook up some chilli for dinner. A glass of red, good company — it doesn’t get much better than this. When we turn in there’s still no sign of John.

  •

  The rain’s stopped overnight but still no sign of Mt McKinley or John. Rather than taking the highway back to Fairbanks we take a dirt road past the snow-capped mountains. The sky is the purest blue with wispy clouds dancing across it. There are a couple of glaciers on the way. Yet again, it’s the most incredible scenery.

  Even though it’s worth the ride, it’s not an easy one. There are real waves in the road surface and the suspension bottoms out a few times. Brian has to take his time.

  •

  Back at Go North we finally catch up with John. He has an incredible tale to tell. He missed our sign and camped about 10 kilometres up the highway in the woods on the side of the road. During the night he was woken by the sound of his helmet crashing off the bike onto the ground. When he looked out of the tent he saw a bear knocking it around the clearing. He chased it off with his torch. Bloody hell! Little wonder he reckons he didn’t get much sleep after that.

  Brian: It’s all doom and gloom at Go North. It’s been raining today and Ken’s heard that it’s snowing at Atigun Pass in the Brooks Range. He reckons there’s six inches of snow up there and we have to ride through the pass to get to the Arctic Circle and Prudhoe Bay.

  Ken and Carol have decided against making the trek north and he’s trying to convince us not to go. I can feel myself getting frustrated. We’ve come this far and we’re not going to be daunted by some bloody snow. If we can’t get through the pass, then so be it. But we’re going to give it our best shot.

  We spent days in Smithers worrying that the weather would be against us getting to Prudhoe Bay and it may well be, but I want to see it for myself.

  Jens and Kati don’t want to risk it either. The dirt roads might be too difficult for Kati with her bad neck.

  So it’ll just be the six of us again. And we’re up for it!

  •

  Wednesday, August 8 — an auspicious day. Today we’re beginning our ride to the top. It’s raining and miserable, of course. We bid farewell to Ken, Carol, Jens and Kati and hit the road — a convoy of three BMWs and the Land Rover.

  Riding out of Fairbanks the cloud’s low and it looks like we’re going to have a rotten ride up. Maybe Ken was right. Then, a few kilometres out of town, the sun breaks through and it’s a glorious day.

  The road follows the Alaska Oil Pipeline much of the way. It hugs the road and sometimes disappears into the hill and appears again on the other side. It’s close and then it’s far away. The pipeline carries crude oil from the oilfields at Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, 1,200 kilometres to the south, an incredible feat of engineering. There’s a sign along the way warning that the FBI investigates all damage to the pipeline.

  The Dalton Highway, also known as the haul road, was made famous by the Ice Truckers TV series. These drivers take on the road in all conditions, not just the summer months like the tourists. The highway crosses the mighty Yukon River. It’s massive, bigger than the Mississippi.

  There’s not much civilisation out here, just work camps. During the summer months the road gangs repair the damage done to the road by the ice truckers during the long, dark winter. The Yukon camp is the last fuel before Coldfoot, about 200 kilometres away. They make a good burger and have an impressive range of ‘I crossed the Arctic Circle’ t-shirts.

  By the time we get to the Arctic Circle — 66° 33’ — the sun’s shining and it’s the most amazing day. There’s an incredible sense of achievement when we see the pointer sign telling us we’re about to cross the Arctic Circle. We turn into a clearing where there’s a marker sign for this major circle of latitude. Ken and Carol don’t know what they’re missing.

  David’s waiting when we arrive for the essential photos. He’s holding a yellow dry bag strap. It seems his tent bag slipped out of the straps and hung behind the bike over the exhaust pipe. A fire followed and he’s lost his tent and cot. He’s taking it very well.

  We get together for a group photo. We’re like kids on a school outing. There’s lots of laughter and it feels so good. This is quite an achievement. We didn’t quite make it to the Antarctic Circle because of pack ice. But we’ve made it here, to the Arctic Circle.

  Shirley: It’s getting late but we’re in no fear of running out of light. When we get to Coldfoot, our scheduled stop for the night, Nicole and Christian check out th
e work camp campground. The rooms are $199 so they’re out of the question. The campground is right near the fuel pumps and it’s a fair bet the trucks coming and going all night will make for an ordinary night’s sleep, so that’s out of the question. We push on another 10 kilometres to the Marion Creek Campground.

  It’s off the road and should be quiet. We can fit the tents and the Landy on one $8 site, especially as there are only two tents now David’s is somewhere along the road. We get the fire going, cook some more chilli and have a fun night. We haven’t known them for long, but John, David, Nic and Christian are great travelling companions.

  When it comes time for bed, David takes a tarp, his sleeping bag, a mosquito net and our bike cover up the hill to find a sheltered spot in some heather for the night.

  Nicole has some bear spray, which isn’t illegal here, and thinks David should have it seeing he’s sleeping in the open. He’s only been gone about 10 minutes so we don’t expect him to be asleep when she finds his hiding place in the woods.

  All we can hear are curses coming from the hillside. It seems he was asleep and thought Nic was a bear coming to attack him. Nic has tears of laughter streaming down her face when she reappears. The laughs just keep on coming.

  We’ve ridden just over 400 kilometres today and another 395 tomorrow to Prudhoe Bay, the end of the road. Almost there.

  Brian: We wake to ice on the tents and the bikes. It’s bloody cold and a hot shower would be great, but there isn’t one out here in the wilderness. Instead we stoke up the fire and try to get warm. The campsite’s in the shade so the tents have to be packed up wet.

  David appears out of the woods unscathed. He’s still laughing about the tent going missing and Nicole’s late night visit. Just as well we didn’t lose our tent. Shirl wouldn’t take it nearly as well.

  We hit the road and it’s like riding on porridge. The surface isn’t quite mud and it’s not sealed. They can’t tar the roads up here because it will thaw the permafrost and create an even more hazardous surface. It’s an unusual experience, but it’s surprisingly easy to ride this surface with our new tyres. They’re perfect.