Circle to Circle

by Shirley Hardy-Rix

  •

  There’s no direct road from Anchorage to Valdez, so we head cross-country and then south again. There are plenty of areas in Alaska that are completely inaccessible, pristine wilderness, and we hope it stays that way.

  The weather’s cleared up and it’s a great day for a ride. The run down to Valdez on the Richardson Highway is simply spectacular, even though the road’s broken up by the permafrost thawing and ever-present road works. It starts out a little flat and boring, but then climbs up the Chugach Mountains near Valdez. The road is a continuous line of long sweeping bends. Around one turn there’s the Worthington Glacier glistening in the afternoon sun, brilliant white and blue hues — and right there beside the road.

  The temperature drops dramatically but we don’t care, the view’s worth it.

  Then begins the long run down into Valdez where the Alaska Pipeline from Prudhoe Bay ends. We can see the oil tanks on the other side of the harbour, surrounded by ditches big enough to hold all their oil in case of an accident.

  Shirley: We rise early for a cooked breakfast, thinking we’ll have the restaurant to ourselves. But no, it’s packed with people wearing gumboots and waders. Salmon fisherpeople are keen to get out early.

  We stop for a break at Glenallen ‘gas’ station and the army’s here, fuelling up a convoy of at least 20 trucks, little tanks and jeeps. Inside there’s a queue at the cash register because the person at the head of the line has a credit card that’s not working. Peering over the people in front of us we see it’s a soldier. The army’s credit card keeps getting rejected. Their fuel bill must be enormous. Everyone thinks it’s a great joke, except the soldier with the credit card. We leave them to it.

  •

  There’s no road from Valdez to Skagway, so to get the ferry to Canada we need to ride back into Canada. We head back to Tok and take the Top of the World Highway to Dawson City in the Yukon. The road’s deserted and it’s wonderful to ride through the foothills without seeing another car, truck or motorcycle.

  The first town we come to is Chicken, Alaska. There’s quite a tale to Chicken. The settlers wanted to name the town Ptarmigan to honour the local bird that flourishes in the area. Unfortunately no one was really sure how to spell it and they didn’t want to appear stupid, so they named the town Chicken. At least they could all spell it.

  Eight people live in Chicken today. What was once a bustling gold mining community is now an interesting tourist stop and a good place to refuel before we get to the Canadian border.

  Brian: From here the Top of the World Highway lives up to its name, following the top of a mountain ridge that certainly gives the impression we’re on the top of the world.

  At the Alaska/Canada border we get a passport stamp of a man panning for gold. We don’t have to stamp it in ourselves, either, as we did at the Hyder border post. The Canadians know how to welcome tourists.

  The dirt road continues along the ridgeline. It’s wide and easy to sit on 80, 90 and sometimes even 110 kph. These new tyres are great in this sort of stuff. Before we know it we’re overtaking cars and winding our way down to a ferry crossing of the mighty Yukon River. Across the river the wooden buildings of Dawson city look like a Hollywood wild west film set.

  This fast flowing river is about 100 metres wide and the little car ferry struggles across against the current. It only holds six cars and battles against the swirling waters. The motor is almost at full throttle to hold the ferry against the bank so we can ride off.

  It’s hard to believe that this massive river actually freezes in winter and locals drive across it. I wouldn’t want to be the first person to go across, testing the thickness of the ice, or the last person to cross when it starts to break up in spring.

  Shirley: Accommodation is very expensive here so we pitch the tent in the RV campground on the edge of town. Like most campgrounds the tent area is right at the back, with the huge RVs parked closest to the facilities. This is ridiculous when you consider they all have their own bathrooms. We’ve been told it costs US $1.00 a mile to drive these houses on wheels, they’re so big and thirsty for fuel.

  Setting up camp we get talking to a couple from New Zealand. They ask if we know the Australians Ken and Carol who they met a couple of days ago. Of course we do. It seems like everyone does.

  It’s 1.30 am and I have to get up to go to the loo. It’s a long walk past the RVs to get to the toilet block so I have a quiet grizzle to myself. I’m still silently grumbling on my way back when it dawns on me that it’s dark again. Apart from an overcast night in Anchorage, it’s the first time I’ve been up after dark. I look up to see if there are stars in the sky and there they are, the Northern Lights.

  Wow, it’s surreal. Green lights streak across the sky. It’s breathtaking. I don’t want to wake up the entire campsite but I do want to wake Brian, so I use my best stage whisper and get him out of the tent. The green flash is fading but we watch until it disappears. Breathtaking!

  Brian: Dawson City is still a gold town. Millions of dollars worth of the precious metal is mined here every year. In its heyday they said the streets were paved with gold. That might not have been completely true, but we’re told an intriguing story about some enterprising individuals who bought an old bank and went prospecting in the dirt under the building. Most of the buildings here are all off the ground to avoid them sinking when the permafrost thaws. The story goes that there was plenty of gold dust in the dirt under the building and the raised footpath.

  It’s easy to see why they build above the earth here when you see the old buildings falling into the soft earth.

  At the Downtown Hotel we try the local drink of choice. It’s not a pisco sour and it’s not a caipirinha, it’s the sourtoe cocktail.

  In a nip of your spirit of choice they place a blackened human toe in the bottom of the glass. The locals vow it’s real and it certainly looks real.

  The catchcry is ‘You can drink it fast, you can drink it slow, but the lips must touch the toe!’ Legend has it the first toe belonged to a sly-grogger who amputated his toe to avoid gangrene setting in and kept it in a jar of his tipple. When it was found by one of the locals, the sourtoe cocktail was born as a dare.

  Today you pay for the privilege to don a captain’s hat and down the drink in front of a bar full of strangers. And the toe must touch your lips!

  We take up the challenge with a nip of Jack Daniels as our spirit of choice. As long as you don’t think about what’s in the bottom of the glass it’s not too bad. It looks pretty gross when Captain Dick picks up the toe from its bed of salt and drops it in the glass.

  Down the hatch!

  Shirley: I can’t believe I’m doing this. Not only because of the toe but because I don’t usually drink spirits, and certainly not neat.

  I’ve watched Brian and he’s survived. I know Nicole drank it down when she was here. If she can do it, I can do it.

  The chant begins. I take a deep breath and throw the bourbon down. The bloody toe sticks at the bottom of the glass so I have to put my head further back and shake the glass to make it fall. It hits my lips with a light thump. Yuk!

  Brian: They say the ride into Skagway is awesome, but we’ll never know because the cloud base is so low today. To make it worse, for the last 10 kilometres into town we’re stuck behind a line of cars caught up behind a slow moving double semitrailer. I eventually take the bit between the teeth and scoot past.

  Our ferry leaves early tomorrow morning so we just need a bed for the night. We find the Sergeant Preston Motel, that’ll do us.

  Skagway is a lovely little town with a decent port that hosts the cruise ships that ply the waters of the Inside Passage. There’s one in port and walking down the main street it looks like it’s sailing straight at us. There are lots of touristy shops and jewellers trying to get you in the door to spend money. There’s also a shopfront devoted to Sarah Palin. We never forget that she could see Russia from her house. One moment the streets and shops are packed, then a
siren blows and like lemmings they all head back to their ship, and Skagway becomes a ghost town.

  Shirl hits the laundromat and is very sheepish when she gets back. Engrossed in a book she didn’t keep an eye on the dryer. I’m now the proud owner of a thermal T-shirt that only fits Shirl. She’s been using it as a nightie anyway, so maybe it was done deliberately. This is the second time it’s happened to me. On our last trip we stayed with friends in Islamabad and their houseboy shrank my thermal long johns. Maybe I should do my own washing.

  Shirley: No comment.

  Brian: It’s 4 o’clock in the morning. It’s dark and it’s drizzling — a gloomy morning to begin our ferry ride through the Inside Passage back to Canada.

  Rather than the sun lounge on the back deck we opt for reclining seats in the lounge. Even though there are heaters out there it’ll be a bit too cold and uncomfortable, particularly for Shirl.

  Shirley: What a view. The Inside Passage heading south winds its way down through narrow marine lanes, past islands and landfalls where people have built hunting and fishing lodges. As day breaks and the clouds lift a little the snow capped mountains become visible. The captain announces a whale sighting on the port side. We rush outside and see two humpback whales putting on a show. Water spouts every now and then and a fluke showing by one of them. Too soon we leave them to their antics.

  When it comes time to sleep we get our mats and sleeping bags and stretch them out on the floor. It’s surprisingly comfortable and we sleep well.

  Brian: At breakfast we’re joined by Michael and Jack, two American bikers we met in Dawson City. They were heading north when we saw them, but only got 40 kilometres along the Top of the World Highway when Jack got a puncture. He nursed the bike back to Dawson City and had to get a tyre shipped up from Whitehorse, so they’re heading back to the States.

  They’re both ex-navy pilots who’ve seen war service and are obviously very close friends, yet they have very different views on the US obsession with carrying firearms. One is for it, one is against. We have a healthy discussion on Australia’s gun laws and our lack of mass shootings in comparison to the US. So many Americans find it hard to believe that we’re doing this trip without carrying a gun. It’s such a different world. I prefer ours.

  At 1.15 am we arrive at Prince Rupert, British Columbia, and head to the local motel for some sleep.

  The natural beauty of Canada

  25 August – 10 September 2012

  Shirley: After a sleep in we head to Tim Horton’s for breakfast. Even though it’s nearly lunchtime I think it’s probably not a good idea to have a chocolate Boston donut as my first sustenance of the day, which takes incredible will power.

  We’re still not sure how to get home or when to go. One thing we are sure of is that we’ve not had enough of the local wildlife. We take the only road out of Prince Rupert, heading east to Alberta and the Rocky Mountains and through Smithers which is really jumping. The Fall Fair is on, obviously the highpoint of the season here. We don’t linger. We’ve seen enough of this town.

  The camping’s not so cheap in Alberta. It costs us CAD $63.60 for two nights at the Whistler campground in the Jasper National Park. The firewood’s free but the permit to light the fire is another $8.80. We’re really getting the hang of camping. Our cooking supplies have stretched to a long-handled fork, foil, salt, pepper, spices, small olive oil and a small bottle of tomato sauce. And I’ve still got a little Vegemite left.

  Even cooking over the open fire doesn’t pose too many problems. A couple of spuds in foil in the fire, tomatoes cooked in one of our mini-camping saucepans and steak cooked on the grill over the fire. Simple.

  A huge elk meanders past our campsite, a massive beast. There are bears around, all the warning signs telling visitors to stay in their cars with the windows up if they see a bear in the Park. The rangers have removed a lot of the berry-bearing plants, the bears’ staple food, from the campgrounds, but they still come in looking for food. All our food and toiletries go into the bear-proof box before we turn in.

  The joy of camping disappears during the night when my bed deflates — twice! Sleeping on the ground isn’t so comfy.

  •

  There are some beautiful lakes in Jasper. Medicine Lake baffled the First Nation people. They thought it was bad medicine because it disappears in summer and then reappears at the end of winter. What they didn’t know is that there are massive caverns under the lake that need a constant supply of water. When the melting snow and summer rains stop, the water drains into those caverns leaving the lake dry. It’s hard to imagine this massive expanse of water disappearing.

  One thing that is disappearing is the caribou. There are only a few left in the Park and we don’t catch a glimpse of any of them.

  By the time we get to Lake Maligne the weather’s closing in, so we don’t get to see it at its best. The dark and threatening clouds take the shine off the colour of the water. It’s time to head back to town.

  There’s a traffic jam, cars backed up on both sides of the road. A lady walking past says there’s a black bear eating on the side of the road. I hop off the bike to see if I can catch a glimpse of him. And there he is, walking up the street towards us. People are hopping back into their cars as he gets near.

  That’s a bit of a problem for us on the bike! We’re trapped. There’s nowhere for us to go. The bear walks within a metre of us, stops and looks and then keeps going. He just wants to eat his berries in peace. He walks behind us and wanders back into the bush. A close encounter of the bear kind!

  Brian: I’m pretty sure the bear only looked at us because we’re so different to all the cars. It was a breath-holding moment when he looked our way, before wandering behind us to resume his dinner.

  Camping is great, a real money saver, but it’s not fun with a flat mattress and you have to blow it up in the middle of the night. Both of our beds are leaking during the night now and I just can’t find any holes. I’ll either fix them or get rid of them.

  •

  The road from Jasper south to Banff is billed as ‘the world’s most scenic drive’. It’s said to be so beautiful they’ve renamed Highway 93 the Icefield Parkway.

  It’s rained overnight and the clouds look oppressive this morning so we don the wets and head south through the mountains to the Columbia Icefields. There’s waterfalls galore, hanging glaciers that seem to tumble down the sides of the mountains into other glaciers. The most impressive is the Athabasca Glacier. The runoff from the glaciers creates exquisite turquoise lakes.

  The most impressive of these lakes is Lake Louise, the winter playground of the rich and famous. We’re gobsmacked to read it freezes in winter. That’s mighty cold. When you see photos of Lake Louise you’d think the colours have been enhanced, but they haven’t. It’s a rich, deep green.

  Closer to Banff, Highway 1, the Trans-Canada Highway, runs right through the park. To protect the animals the sides of the road are fenced and overpasses have been built for the animals to get from one side of the park to the other. There are hidden cameras on the overpasses and you can watch the animals moving about on the Trans-Canada Highway website.

  Shirley: We give camping a miss so we can get a good night’s sleep in a bed that doesn’t deflate in Banff township. Brian takes the opportunity to find the leaks in our mats. It’s quite hilarious as he fills the bath and puts the mats in, trying to find the holes. There’s no plug so Brian has to stand with his foot over the plughole. It’s quite a sight. He does find a couple of small holes and patches them up. Convinced he’s fixed the problem we head out to dinner only to find both mats a little flatter when we return. More glue and more patches. The next test will be when we head back to Banff after our trip to Calgary.

  Brian: Rather than the local BMW dealer, I take the bike to Anderwerks in Calgary for a service. It’s a BMW specialist without being a BMW shop so it should be a bit cheaper. The ride into the capital takes us along the Trans-Canada Highway again. There’s a family
of elk drinking from a pool, safely protected by the wire fencing. It must be costly, but well worth it to protect the park’s animals.

  Directions have never been Shirl’s strong suit so streets that include compass points pose a real challenge. Anderwerks is on 6th Street NE which runs off 16th Avenue. Finding the avenue is easy. Shirl spots 6th Street NW so we take it, looking for the point where it becomes NE, but that doesn’t seem to exist. We waste an hour looking for it. As tempers fray we pull over to check the phone number on the email messages and ring for directions. We’re not that far away, but we’d never have found it without help. It’s in a bit of 6th Street that’s broken off by a main road.

  Checking the map I see where we made our mistake. Central Ave breaks the city into NE and NW. We turned down 6th Street NW when we should’ve continued down the road a little and found 6th Street NE. It’s probably a simple system, if you know how it works.

  Dave, the owner at Anderwerks, lends us his 1970s BMW to ride to the shops for lunch. Heading back it starts to splutter and spit, even when I flick the petrol over to the reserve tank. We roll into the bike shop, completely out of fuel.

  The 120 kilometre ride back to Banff takes us into the Canadian Rockies and all of their splendour. There are people everywhere because it’s the Labour Day long weekend, the last break of summer, so the campgrounds are packed.

  In the National Park are the Hoodoos. We’ve never heard of them and have no idea what they are until we see them. They’re very like the fairy chimneys in Turkey, pillars of rock created centuries ago by receding ice flows. From the lookout we see the Bow Falls, rapids raging deep in the valley below.

  Shirley: The squirrels are very busy foraging through the pine needles for something delicious. Who needs the TV when we have this fine show right at our campsite?

  Only one of the beds deflates tonight. The good news for me is that it’s Brian’s.