buff3ysbicyclingblog

Author: buff3ystanley

  • Part Seven – Oregon

    “Hey hey Woody Guthrie….. The very last thing that I’d like to do,. is to sa’ayy I’ve been hittin’ some hard travelin’ too” (Dylan)

    Hard travelin’ indeed, I thought you “knowed”.  Woody and Bob never pedaled it! I’ve been taking some time to get lost on some quiet back-roads headin’ south parallel to the Interstate 5.  All very quiet roads running through by-passed little towns.  Have been rolling through the heartland in Washington and Oregon where the election of local officials is well under way (Mayors, Fire Chiefs, School Officials).  The Jefferson County Wooden Object Sculptor is not seeking re-election after that ‘Mr-Turd-gate’ scandal.  Half way between Olympia and Portland I got stuck out in the wilds and had to camp by the road somewhere. Its getting a bit chilly in the early mornings for this sort of caper so again the coming winter is driving your correspondent ever southwards.

    Portland is a truly great city oozing charm and (biking) credibility.  In Portland the thing to do is drink loads of great coffee and micro-brews at Rouges and the Deschutes Brewery Public House and go to some ‘improv’ theatre.  The other thing to do is to enjoy the great food from the food carts in the centre of town. Today was treated to a magnificent lamb kebab with a Brazilian/Russian twist which was just wonderful. Definitely 5 out of 5 stars.   Olga is the prettiest food-cart girl in all Portland, if not the whole of Oregon.  I must admit that I got the distinct impression that she took a shining to your humble correspondent.  If she plays her cards right she might get to ride my bike.

    Your intrepid correspondent has reported in previous entries that the love handles were diminishing with every pedal stoke and the Adonis–like visage of his youth was miraculously reappearing.  Am now sad to report that the unexpected quality and profusion of superb ales in Washington and Oregon have put paid to that little process for the time being.

    The local ‘Occupy Wall Street” park protest is a lot more militant here than up in Olympia.  There is, however, some descent in the ranks as no one wants to do the washing up and the hippies want to turn it into a bongo powered trance party while the hard-core anarchists want to keep it a gas-mask totin’ protest. A few people are a bit miffed that their tents and back-packs have gone missing so the solidarity is slipping in places. The campers here did have the latest innovation in bike design, where one bike frame is mounted in another with an intricate chain mechanism. Groovy.

    High Roller

    Riding your bicycle here is a treat as the streets and traffic are bike friendly.  Regrettably the Portlandian talent for inept reverse parking took another victim last night with a parked motorbike knocked over and a damsel in distress.  Fear not for luckily your knight in shining Gore-tex was on hand to swiftly remedy the situation and right the bike increasing yet again the gross international happiness.

    On the subject of bicycles, Oregon is USA custom bike building central.  I went over to Renovo which is a firm here in Portland that makes wooden bicycles and had a tour of the factory These are things of rare and wondrous beauty and I had a test ride (see photo).  Very smooth ride and loads of cafe credibility. (update – Have put in the order for an R4 with Shimano Alfine 11 speed internal hub with Gates belt drive. Will take 7 months to build).

    Renovo R4
    Test riding the Renovo R4
    Ian & Buff

    By chance at the hostel I ran into Ian from Ireland who is one half of the two-man 350south.org team who are also cycling south from Deadhorse (having left there in mid July).  We took in The Hub Brewery which has a cycling theme and took full toll of the lashings of quality local brews on tap.  It was there that I discovered the Bicycle seat urinal snooze cushion [see photos below].  We at Buff3ysbicyclingblog are always on the look out for cutting edge design and innovation and in the gents at The Hub Brewery Bar we found it.  Should you find yourself with a gut full of IPA and in need of a bit of a mid-urination snooze, then this is just the thing.  Ever passed out in the middle of a wee and slammed your head against the wall? I think honestly we gents all have at one time or another.  The snooze seat is the answer.

    Snooz-a-matic
    Field testing the Snooza-matic

    Below is an example of the fantastic array of the micro-brews (these in McMinnville, Oregon.)

    Taps of Lovely Beer

    20th October (still in Portland)

    The good people of Portland are a very welcoming and laid back bunch; the ones that I met anyway.  Very comfortable in their skins generally so free of pretense and generally happy to chat.  On my last night in town was lucky enough to hook up with some affable Portlanders who took your correspondent off to a “strip bar”.  Of course I thought this meant a strip-mall bar so you can imagine my surprise when the dancers started to actually disrobe right there on the stage!  Most revealed all manner of ornate skin decorations. The kind lady dancers performed quite suggestive contortions and gyrations on a pole which would not be recommended by any knee surgeon and the patrons then provided them with dollar bills which resulted in more and more contortions and gyrations.  The more dollar bills produced, the more enthusiastic the gyrations became and the happier everyone became!  The more grog consumed, the more dollar bills produced and gyrations generated, and the more everyone became ever so happy.  All really good wholesome family fun. I fear I imbibed a great deal of grog and blew the budget in one dollar bills. Have to get out of this town sometime soon.

    21st October (45 miles) (Portland – McMinnville)

    McMinnville south-west of Portland is yet another very cool little town and the Oregon Hotel is a lovely old place. Perhaps for the time being it might be easier to just assume that the towns are cool places here in the North-West until advised otherwise. Given the beer and whiskey consumption of the previous night, it was nothing short of a minor miracle that I was able to get my sorry arse out of bed, packed and on the road. The going was predictably slow but happily the road is mostly flat now running south along the valley past the farms and vineyards. The wine country now should give me a break from the myriad brews of Portland.n,

    McMinnville Pizza Theatre is an indication of a truly civilized society.  This is a place where you can order pizza and pints of local IPA which is then served to you on a bench table in the movie theatre.  What the hell have I been doing with my life up until now, snoozing at the urinal of life while others have been getting served top quality pizzas and quality micro-beers while they watched movies? Pity that the only movie on tonight was ‘Bad Bosses’, which while funny in places was obviously done for a dare, and is something both Kevin Spacey will not doubt regret having had anything to do with.

    22nd October (45 miles) (McMinnville – Corvallis)

    After the huge response to my poetry from the Dalton Highway (my sister wrote, “not too sure about the poetry” – resounding praise indeed), I’ve now turned my talents to song writing to wile away the long miles on the road. Today a traveling song (which will become pretty evident) inspired by the last Guthrie/Dylan entry so you get the idea.

    [Musically a cross between and Irish Reel and ‘Granma’s Feather Bed’ – Tempo is to a Rohloff speed hub in 9th gear at 13 miles an hour – therefore equivalent to Allegro Moderato. Full score available for Kazoo, Jaw Harp, Banjo, Jug and Bush bass]

    I done wrote me a travelin’ song

    I’m gonna sing it while I pedal along

    The tune is simple and the words they all fit…

    So while I’m a pedalin’ I’m gonna sing it.

    Oh, I done wrote me a travelin’ song

    I’m gonna sing it while I pedal along

    You may not like it; or think that it’s shit

    But it’s a travelin’ song and it can’t be unwrit….

     

    [Banjo solo]

     

    Bobby and Woody they jump on a train

    Sit on their arses and jump off again

    If that’s what’s meant by hard travelaiin…

    I’ll jump on board and out of the rain.

     

    Now I’ve dodged moose and cariboo

    Half-blind truckers and a bear or too

    We come from Deadhorse and South we go

    All on down to Tierra del Fuego

     

    [Jaw-harp Solo – tattooed girls dancing Strip-the-willow]

    Oh, I done wrote me a travelin’ song.

    I’m gonna sing it while I pedal along.

    You may not like it, or think it’s shit

    But it’s a travelin’ song and it can’t be unwrit….

     

    [Kazoo Solo – more girls doing strip the willow]

    Well this bicycle travelin’ has certainly loosened up the creative juices.  It took only 60km to write that song! I don’t use an i-pod as I pedal thankfully as I would surely have missed the pivotal moment of inspiration that struck somewhere between McMinnville and here.

    23nd October (40 miles) (Corvallis – Eugene)

    The cycling pilgrimage for my Co-Motion bike is complete and we are back in the city of the Co-Motion. Therefore a pit stop before heading across to the Oregon Coast. Teryk there has been kind enough to undo some of the abuse I’ve handed out to the beast so I will be riding a revitalised machine tomorrow.

  • Part Six: Washington State

    11th October Vancouver – Bellingham (49 miles)

    Sad really to be crossing the border out of Canada.  Difficult also to convert distances back to miles as it just seems like you are not getting the same return in units for your pedaling exertion.  The border crossing was trouble free yet a few of the questions from the USA border control were puzzling. For example when they try to ascertain whether you have sufficient funds to survive in USA, a response that you have a credit card is deemed acceptable.  Just how it is that being in debt is proof enough that one will not burden the US social security system or get stranded here seems a bit odd.  No matter, on-on.  Canada has been a great ride full of wonderful country side, challenging distance and the people have been helpful and pleasant. Now it is on the ‘the lower 48’.

    12th October Bellingham – Couperville (50 miles)

    On Coupeville Pier

    Camped just south of Bellingham (alone as no one else seems silly enough to be camping at this time of year up here) and took the Chukunut Drive back-road down along the coast.  A lovely bit of road winding through the forest lining the coast past the oyster bars then farms further south. Decided to head across the bridge south of Bellingham through the (adjoined) island of Whidbey.  The road cuts across the majestic Deception Pass via a magnificent single span bridge and then on to the fishing villages that dot the coast.  Have treated myself to a stay in a luxurious little guest house just outside Couperville (see photos) made entirely of local logs that creak under every step.  Mussels are deserving of some recognition. The oysters, however, are tiny and nothing to write home about.

    13th October Coupeville – Quicene (30 miles)

    There was a short ferry ride back to the mainland and from there the road turns down the eastern coast of the Olympic Peninsula which it hugs on the way towards the state capital, Olympia. Coupeville is a lovely picture-postcard fishing village (refer picture post card shot of adventure cyclist on Couperville Pier). Today I was lucky enough to come across the best example of road-side kitsch so far.  10 miles south of Port Townsend where Route 20 meets Hwy 101 heading south I encountered the “largest wooden hamburger in the world!”  The staff claim the original burger was even bigger than the current one, which is saying something because this burger is pretty big.  As a bonus there are all manner of wooden items with faces carved into them hanging from the cafe.  Mr One-Eyed Hairy Guy is skillfully rendered while Mr Baseball and Mr Baseball Bat are wonderfully matched.  Just how Mr Turd got a look-in is difficult to determine and I didn’t ask.

    Largest Wooden Burger
    Mr Baseball Bat
    Mr Baseball
    Mr One Eyed Hairy Guy
    Mr Turd

    14th October Quicene – Olympia (75 miles)

    Olympia is a seriously cool city.  Being the very cool adventuring cyclist that I am I can easily recognise cool when I see it and this city has it by the bucket load. This city takes its coffee, beer, food, grunge, grrl, (and adventure sports/cycling) seriously.  While some would contest where the origin of Grunge really was (‘The Scientists’ from Perth in Australia amongst them), there is an almost nostalgic grunge appeal to this place, as it has been a good while since Smells Like Teen Spirit was new.  Nothing new under the sun and certainly nothing new in Western popular music since trance and rap some now argue with increasing credibility. With the ‘occupy the city square’ movement in full swing at the moment the left-wing fringe (including a good smattering of the lunatic and just plain stoned fringe) are out in full force.  It was Winston Churchill who said, “the greatest argument against democracy is a five minute conversation with a voter” and a case can be made for this position after just a few interactions with the great unwashed hoypoloy across the road in the park.  All are in good spirits, however, and some are just straight out stoned out of their tiny minds, which helps.  A protest clash with the right-wing loons from the local chapter of the Tea Party would be good sport though but I fear that they are lying low at the moment.  Am sampling the many micro-brews of increasing variety in NW USA and there is a congenial vibe in the pubs and restaurants  I’ve been in so far.  4th Avenue is all pubs, cafes, theatres, adventure gear places and book shops.  Will stick around for a day or so and soak it up perhaps in some of the best coffee houses of the trip to date.  Am now south of Seattle where I first landed in USA before flying to Deadhorse, which seems significant for some reason. From here we are in serious bicycle country and the next destination is Portland (the bike capital of USA).

  • Part Five Vancouver – In Defense of The Pant

    Whistler – Vancouver (125km)

    An easy roll down to Horseshoe Bay (more horses) and then a wind around the coast and I’m over the Lion Gate bridge and into Vancouver within the day.

    Newspapers here are devoted cover-to-cover to an odd type of hockey game that is (believe it or not), played on ice!  Local coverage of other sports is extensive.  Association Football is also fine as long as it is played on ice with bent sticks.  Grid Iron is OK too as long as it is played on ice and a choreographed fight breaks out every second minute.  I, unlike the people who are now pushing to ban the ‘biff’ (after a few high profile concussions in recent times), do like the fighting.  It looks to be quite a skill to punch someone while hanging onto them for balance all the while standing on little sleds on ice.  It should be a sport in and of itself.

    There is much consternation in Vancouver currently at the city being downgraded to 3rd in the world’s “most livable city” rankings, according to The Economist magazine which evidently does these rankings annually.  Equally there is consternation at it being named the “3rd worst dressed city in the world” (by GQ magazine).

    Makes you wonder what The Economist and GQ people look for in a city on both counts; good access to a nice lie down, sensible tweed, man bags and ample places for males with no testicles to congregate??  To wit, I just read a local newspaper article bemoaning the preponderance of yoga pants in Vancouver, the article author blaming the hapless yoga pant for the city’s sartorial ranking decline.  Balls!  Viva le yoga pant, I say!  Pants to GQ I say!  Have the GQ people never been to Torino, for example, and witnessed every second git trotting about in shiny flared tracksuit pants, totally oblivious to how stupid they look?  Equally, have they never seen the hordes of plump little scrubbers in Brisbane gormlessly squeezing themselves into ill-fitting ‘boob tubes’ only for the McDonald’s sponsored excess to then bulge from every surrendering seam, providing a good impression of over-blown little balloon poodles? Let the Vancouvan yoga pant thrive!  Embrace the pant! – as I fully intend to.  Especially here in Vancouver which is blessed with so many lovely yoga-panted women who model the much maligned pant to marvelous effect.

    Buff3ysbicyclingblog is currently running a competition for yoga pant wearers with first prize being the chance to meet Buff3y the hard-core adventure cyclist in person!* (*Competition subject to strict terms and conditions. Only Vancouvan yoga panted girls need apply).

    Now, below is an obvious problem with the rankings that you may have picked up on already:

    The “Worst Dressed” ranking cities were:

    1. Orlando

    2. Maui
    3. Vancouver
    4. Harajuku, Japan

    The rankings for the “Best Looking Women in the world” were:

    1. Melbourne

    2. Rio de Janeiro

    3. Amsterdam

    4. Singapore

    5. Reykjavik

    6. Vancouver

    Now leaving aside for a moment the obvious idiocy of having Harajuku in the least fashionable rankings – a place that thrives on being anything that would be anathema to GQ– (Latex hello kitty, ‘Sailor Girl’ or maid costumes and comic strip characters being de rigueur), there is still an obvious contradiction here.  If Vancouver has the 6th best looking women on the planet and they choose to wear yoga pants – surely this is a good thing!  Where’s the problem?  However, if the 500th ranked city (Brisbane I think) suddenly took up a penchant for yoga pants then admittedly we would have to take issue.  Rio ranks, obviously, but how the hell did Melbourne rank so high? (Computer error in its favour no doubt).

    Admittedly, the male population of Vancouver could work on it a bit. The Hockey shirt urban chik is a bit ho-hum.  The Vancouvan smack heads, of whom there are regrettably a good many, could also lift their dress game a tad for the good of the city’s chances for future rankings as the emaciated post sm/crack old-black dirty urine-smelling ‘hoody’ look is not doing it.  The seemingly interminable mumbling, giggling and shouting at themselves is also a bit disconcerting and doesn’t aid the overall look.

    Now there have been mumblings on this very blog from some quarters (yes, that’s you Paul) regarding your humble correspondent’s cycling attire.  I’m here to say that I’ve joined the Pantists, but of course in a harder-core sort of way.  Yes, now that your correspondent is endowed with the finely chiseled buttocks of a hard-core bicycle adventurer, I’m wrapping those buttocks in a stretch fabric Salamon hiking/cycling contour (and conceivably yoga) Pant from a shop, in Vancouver! [refer photo].  You can’t beat ‘em so its best just to pant-up and join them.  It’s all about how you wear the pant, not the pant itself.  Just as when one wears one’s Savile Row suit, it is the attitude of wearing it that makes the difference, rather than the item itself. [This is something that is difficult to explain to my blog audience – some of whom are from Brisbane].  Suffice to say that GQ is a dumping ground for try-hards who have lost their wee-wees, so Pant Up and be proud Vancouver!  [Any anti-pantist sentiment will be strictly forbidden on this blog.  Those interested in taking the GQ line can go and subscribe to http://www.wehavenotodgers.com].  This entry is getting a bit weird and repetitive so I’ll just leave the pant treatise there.

    Panted and Proud

    There is nothing palacial about the St Clair Hotel in downtown Vancouver. It is a run-down heritage listed place relishing in its own dilapidation. A bit creaky but oozing character from every slowly decaying fiber and rusting pipe of its being. It’s handy to the up-market streets, ‘Gastown’ and Chinatown. Vancouver is the biggest city I’ve struck since the start of the ride so am going to enjoy it for a little while and take in the sights. Arriving here also marks the completion of the first ‘ocean to ocean’ (Arctic to Pacific). I’ll have to dip the wheel in the sea somewhere around here and get a photo for the blog. The wheel-dipping ceremony is a time-honoured ritual for touring cyclists to celebrate a coast to coast of self-propelled travel.

  • Cycling Theology (Cariboo Hwy – Sea to Sky Hwy)

    24th Sept Day 60 (Price George –  Quesnell) (121km)

    25th Sept Day 61 (Quesnell  – McLeese Lake) (75km)

    26th September Day 62 (McLeese Lake – 150 Mile House) (60km): “Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! ….Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world! Crack nature’s moulds, ….” [King Lear Act 3, Scene 2].

    I too taunted the winds to do their worst .…and that they did.  I reluctantly emerged from the comfy sleeping bag early in the hope of beating the forecast strong winds or at least making some headway before the cheeks started cracking.  After the 45km ride to Williams Lake a smarter person might have pulled into any one of the ubiquitous cheap motels and called it a day, but ever the optimist, on I forged.  The strong southerly eventuated mid-afternoon and, I regret to report, it battered your hapless correspondent into submission. When the bike simply refused to budge into the wind about eight kilometres beyond ‘150 Mile House’, I felt the much heralded hard-core melt away to a mushy jell and I turned the bike away from the teeth of the wind and literally sailed across the road back to ‘150 Mile House”.  Happily, a lady at the garage ran a B&B just up a side road. I comforted myself with the thought that, “The better part of valour is discretion“. [Henry IV (Part1) (Act V, Scene IV)], and off I slunk to reassess.

    It might also be a silly part of the year to travel south if the prevailing winds are from the south.  However, after days and days of Southerlies it is tempting to go with the idea that orbs or gods are somehow conspiring against me. An a-the-ist, a-Santa-ist, a-Goblinist, a-cargoist, a-Raist, a-Yahwehist, would obviously take the former but could it be that wind, orbs and gods are constantly against me? Best to hedge. Therefore, if a benevolent god of wind can show up right now I’ll devote myself to his magnanimousness; even wear a frock and spend my time giving hapless choirboys a jolly good rogering if that’s the call. Sacrificing virgins? (preferably daughters of huge camper-van drivers or Holland-America tour bus drivers?) not a problem. Just need the right one (Google, Google, Wiki, Wiki……)

    • Aeolus, the ruler of the winds in Greek mythology
    • Amun, Egyptian god of creation and the wind
    • Anemoi, the Greek wind gods Boreas, Notus, Eurus, and Zephyrus
    • Ehecatl, one of the creator gods in Mesoamerican creation myths documented for pre-Columbian central Mexican cultures, such as the Aztec
    • Enlil, the Mesopotamian/Sumerian god of air, wind, breadth, and loft
    • Feng Bo, the Chinese wind god, Feng Po is the name for the human form of Fei Lian.
    • Fūjin, the Japanese wind god and one of the eldest Shinto gods
    • Njord, in Norse mythology, is the god of the wind. There are also four dvärgar (Norse dwarves), named Norðri, Suðri, Austri and Vestri, and probably the four stags of Yggdrasil, personify the four winds, and parallel the four Greek wind gods.
    • Pazuzu, the demon of the South-West wind and son of the god Hanbi in Assyrian and Babylonian mythology
    • Shu, Egyptian god of the wind and air
    • Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent, was an Aztec god of wind.
    • Sídhe, or Aos Sí, were the pantheon of Pre-Christian Ireland. Sídhe is usually taken as ‘faery folk’ but it is also Old Irish for wind or gust. [1]
    • Stribog is the name of the Slavic god of winds, sky and air. He is said to be the ancestor (grandfather) of the winds of the eight directions.
    • Tāwhirimātea, Māori god of weather, including thunder and lightning, wind, clouds and storms
    • Vayu, the Hindu God of Wind, Hanuman‘s father
    • Venti, the Roman gods of the winds, were essentially renamed Anemoi, borrowed from the Greeks.

    I think Stribog’s the chap. Control of wind directions is appropriate. He sounds like a serious kick-ass wind god and much harder-core than a more generalist Wahweh or a thunder technical specialist like Thor. Stribog could no doubt bring down some serious pre-medieval Slavic MMA submission holds on their Canaanite and Norse bot-bots. Stribog it is.

    “Oh Stribog, you are so big and powerful we are really impressed down here, I can tell you (Python). If it’s not too much to ask could you kindly give it a rest with the Southerlies even just occasionally, and blow some wind down from the north across Canada in the coming week. Amen”

    27th September Day 63 (75km) (150 Mile – 100 Mile)

    28th September Day 64 (74km) (100 Mile – Clinton)

    Stribog is the goods.  Out of ‘100 Mile House’ and a 5km rise up to 1,100 metres elevation and then a lovely rolling along a plateau then a swoop down to Clinton.  All the while with a gentle Nor-Wester caressing the right shoulder.

    29th September Day 65 (72km) (Clinton – Lillooet)

    30th September Day 66 (100km) (Lillooet – Pemberton)

    Big ride over the top of the Lillioot Range.  70km up and up to the top of the pass then a plummet at 14% down towards Pemberton.

    ‘Stribog! Why hast thou forsaken me?’ Towards the top and it was wind against and rain which didn’t do much for the view at the top of the pass.

    Lillooet to Pemberton

    1st October Day 67 (32km) (Pemberton – Whistler)

    Stribog has turned out to be a large stinking pile of bear doo-doo in terms of wind god effectiveness. Perhaps it was the lack of virgin sacrifice that was the problem? I’m in Whistler so there just aren’t any virgins of sacrificable age. (someone must have hacked in and written that – Jenny and her friends at The Keg Bar are quite obviously of impeccable character – and the steaks exceptional).

    Whistler is a fun place and a classy (read ‘expensive’) village where happily cycling is taken very seriously, prior to the ski season anyway.  It is all of the ‘sick’ and ‘narly’ single track variety with some designer bikes, “specifically designed for the Whistler conditions” whatever that means.  Loads of bikers catching the ski lift and piling down the tracks back down to the village.  Have been holding up here in the lovely bars and restaurants is just the tonic from the road.  Loads of shops full of things you can only marginally imagine a use for but all very tempting nonetheless.  Will be a pity to leave really.

  • The Cassiar Highway, Canada

    The Cassiar Highway is a lovely piece of road The entry below notes the lead up run down the AlCan from Whitehorse which was uneventful and not such a lovely piece of road.

    Day 35 (110km) (Whitehorse – Gov Campsite)
    Day 36 (75km) (Campsite – Teslin Motel)
    Day 37 (124 km) (Teslin – Continental Divide Lodge/Camping)
    Day 38 (115km) (Continental Divide – turn off short of Watson Lake)

    With my arrival at the turnoff to the Cassiar Highway on the border of The Yukon and British Columbia, I now declare myself a seriously hard-core northern adventuring global solo cyclist.  Conqueror of all Alaska and master of all of The Yukon; from the tundra of the Arctic north to the shrubberies of the Canadian forests; undisputed heavy duty cycling demi-god of all of the little fury things and the large hairy things that inhabit the north of the American continent.  I now further my quest for glory southwards into British Columbia, …after having had a little rest for my sore legs.

    Day 40 (120km) (AlCan Turn off near Watson Lake – Jade City)

    Day 41 (115km) (Jade City – Dease Lake)

    Day 43 (98km) (Dease Lake – Tatogga Lake)

    The Alaska-Canada (‘AlCan’) Highway as I understand it used to be imbued with romantic notions of serious northern adventure travel.  Now it is a sealed modern and tamed national trunk road that conjures little but the desire to be done with it.  That is why it was with some relish that I took a right turn off the AlCan just prior to Watson Lake and headed down the Cassiar Highway.  Even more fortuitous was the timing in that the road has been cut by excessive rain (near Bob Quinn and Bell2) and resultant flooding which also washed a couple of bridges and verges away.  I therefore had the road virtually to myself for much of the way apart from some local vehicles and a couple of trucks heading down to repair the road. The fainter hearted, faced with lengthy delays or being turned back might have been tempted to go back around and back onto the AlCan but not your hard-core intrepid correspondent.  I battle southwards ever southwards come what may (“come hell or high water” literally).  This highway is popular with cyclists so after having seen only three cyclists on the entire road from the top of Alaska, in the last two days I have seen seven.  Am happy to report the belated sighting of bears.  After much talk of bears (maybe too much talk) and bear avoidance and defense tactics, I actually saw a mother and two cubs.  Came across a caribou and kid who were too stupid to run off the road so I chased them down the road for a good three kilometres.  Then last night as an added bonus outside the lovely Tatoggo Lake ‘resort’ I also got to see the northern lights in a huge swathe across a clear sky.  The good folk of the local hunting community here are full of rumours of highway closure and when it might open again but I will head south tomorrow and see what happens (such is the happy-go-lucky adventurer that I am).

    Day 43: Tatogga Lake: Hanging out with the moose hoping that the highway opens.

    Stuffed Moose

    Day 44: (144km) (Tatogga Lake – Bell2):  Today’s ride deserves special mention in that it had to be the best day’s ride of the trip to date. Clear weather, beautiful scenery (refer video log), no wind and a lovely surface on a winding road devoid of traffic which loped down through picturesque valleys bound by snow peaks either side. Couldn’t ask for much more really so took full toll for 140km.  At 60km down had to negotiate the first road closure barricade but talked my way through.  Three more bear sightings.  Two adult black bears and a cub on the road and on my approach they too approached!  I tried to “make myself large” as instructed and wave the arms around and made growling sounds but two of them just stood up and looked curious.  Not sure what the next move was going to be (probably ‘run away!’), but happily a helicopter happened past overhead and this confused the bears enough for them to take to the bush rather than deal with the large wavy growly thing.  Trundled down the road at a rate of knots and had to parry away another two ‘pilot’ car drivers who were insisting that your correspondent put the bike in the back of the car and ride to Bell 2.  ‘Not on your nelly’ for this hard-core adventurer is not going to dot the line just because of some road works.  From the conversations it became apparent that they didn’t actually have the authority to insist that I load the bike, so load I did not.  It turns out that the road is just about back in repair and there were only minor works to negotiate.  The Canadians have a thing about ‘piloting’ vehicles through road works which is just silly.  They also are way too conciliatory in trying to get hard-core solo adventuring cyclists to bend to their will.  Regardless, I had none of it and find myself at the Bell 2 ‘resort’; camping  but able to get laundry done and have a good feed.

    Day 45 (93km) (Bell2 – Meziadin Campsite)
    Day 46 (123km) (Meziadin – Camping near Gytanyow)
    Day 47 (70km) (Camp Gytanyow – Hazelton)
    Day 48 (69km) (Hazelton – Smithers)

    The bottom half of the Cassiar Hwy has been a lovely roll through the low hills still with minimal traffic from the road closure.  A pity that the side road (37A) to Stewart is completely cut due to a bridge about 10km from Stewart being washed away entirely.  Spent the last camp night with Amaya and Eric from France who have been cycling for 5 years and are heading for Vancouver and then China to continue their marathon ride around the World to every country.  With the departure from the Cassiar Hwy the road is busier heading towards Prince George.  In Smithers there will be a day’s break to rest and reassess.  Can report a number of bear sightings and almost ran over one. At one point you couldn’t swing a dead bear without hitting a bear so the bear novelty is quickly wearing off.

    Day 49 (Smithers)

    Day 50 (66km) (Smithers – Houston)

    Day 51 (78km) (Houston – Burns Lake)

    Day 52 (128km) (Burns Lake – Vanderhoof)

    Day 53 (94km) (Vanderhoof – Prince George)

  • ‘Top Of The World’ Alaska/Yukon Canada

    Day 13 (Fairbanks): Two days to rest and check out Fairbanks.  Visited the local fair which exhibited a plethora of confused pasty faced, saggy-panted youths and shit-house hippy folk music. A band called ‘Celtic Confusion’ reminded me of a Billy Connolly joke, “I’m not a S’elt ya S’unt”.

    Day 14 (Fairbanks): Fairbanks has great food (at ‘The Pump House’ – fantastic fish) but is in essence a bit of an extended rectangle of strip mall outlets.  It does have a great camping/bicycle shop so spent most of the day buying lighter gear at ‘Beaver Sports’.

    Day 15 (32 miles) (Fairbanks – North Pole – Fairbanks – down the road):  Headed out of Fairbanks only to get a flat tire less than 17 miles out (in a place quaintly named ‘The North Pole’ – a toy manufacturing marketing ploy).  A very kind man from one of the shops (Santa) was driving back to Fairbanks and offered a lift so I decided to go back and stock up on the right equipment (at Beaver Sports again) and cycle out again (I hate riding the same road twice!).  Therefore after more purchasing I tried again at 4pm and once I had made some reasonable headway, saw a B&B sign and stayed the night there.  Mario the young German dog sled runner and the retired ex-army pot-bellied Alaskan guy with tiny dogs did all they could to convince (unsuccessfully) that they were interested in women.

    Day 16 (62 miles) (Camp – to Delta Junction):  Another day of punctures along the flat benign sealed highway.  A staple and a shard of metal went straight through the rear tire.  Was prepared this time but it makes for a shitty day having to change out the rear tire twice.  Found a camp  ground just short of Delta Junction with hot showers and Wi-Fi so coughed up the $22.

    Day 17 (73 miles) (Delta Junction – road side 73 miles away):  A lovely road that was mostly flat and the legs pumped away mercilessly at the miles despite the intermittent rain.  Couldn’t make it to the campsite at 85 miles so it was ‘Guerrilla’ camping and trying to burn sodden wood to dry out some clothes, unsuccessfully.  ‘Guerrilla’ camping is a bit of a misnomer in that most in Alaska are camping pretty well anywhere they feel like it.  Have done an assessment of the love-handles and can report a discernible reduction in the amount of grippable material.  Am yet to form into a mile-devouring peddling machine nor quite regained the Adonis-like svelte profile of my youth, but getting there.  Am also getting used to the staple diet of cereal and chocolate bars, boiled noodles and the odd monster-burger.

    Day 18 (38 miles) (Road side – Tok): Tok (pronounced Toke as in, “Don’t Bogart that joint my friend, pass it over to me”… for a toke).  This is the place to fuel up your personal RV bus.  Many of these vehicles are visible from space, some even towing large 4WD run-abouts – just in case some of the towns you visit won’t accommodate the turning circle of your touring leviathan.  Most have names printed on them like ‘Raptor’ and ‘striker’ where they should perhaps be called ‘Old fat guy’ or ‘Zimmer’.  In Tok you spend the night in any one of a dozen motels (mine has a steel frame that shakes the whole building every time someone moves) and then get the hell out.  Your correspondent is heading for ‘The Top of the World’ Highway tomorrow.

    Day 19 (60 miles) (Tok to ’49 mile’ Campsite 17 miles from Chicken): I thought I was hard-core but regrettably I have to admit, I am not.  At 20 miles after the turn off from the Alaska Highway, along the Taylor Highway on the way to Chicken, I met a cyclist from Russia (Vladeslav Ketov), an old guy (“cyclist, poet, man”), who had pretty well cycled all over the world through 93 countries since 1993, cycling around each continent (with the exception of Australia and the Antarctic). [Later he is Christened ‘Vlad The Impedaler’] Today was a great cycling day.  Good road surface and no traffic with rolling hills (some large but climbable), good weather and lovely country-side so really couldn’t ask for more. The campsite is picture-perfect by the river with a small patch for the tent. I have some Spam in a packet (what an innovation and why did it take this long?!).  SPAM with noodles is a highly recommended serving suggestion.

    Day 20 (17 miles) (‘49 mile’ Campsite to Chicken):  Tough little stretch of rolling hills and arrived at Chicken. Had the 1/3 pound buffalo burger and spent the rest of the day in the Chicken Creek Bar drinking Amber ales and talking to the owner, or more precisely the owner talking to me as when Susan holds court in her place, her word is law.  You got to be tough to survive up her and the locals have this self reliant certitude about them.  The tour buses cruise through for souvenirs – anything with ‘Chicken written on it.  Later in the day the old gold miners and the camper tourists fill up the bar and a couple of guitar players emerge to put down the Dixie Chicks tunes.  The owner’s daughter is back from university where she has an ice hockey scholarship. “Your legs must be hard” says she (the saucy little darling).  Your correspondent: “Indeed, hard and getting harder” (Susan the owner/mother would no doubt sever my manhood).  Later in the evening the manners are slipping in the bar as the camper-van girls get a few on board and the panty gun (a paint ball gun adapted for purpose), is fired off a few times.  The remnant threads are hung on the trophy ceiling and walls.  Your correspondent was of course tucked up in bed thinking pure thoughts and pondering how to cure all known diseases by that point. (If you are 18 or above go to www.buff3yinthebuff.com and pay your $14.95 for one month’s membership for alternate versions). It’s all happening in Chicken.  Camped in a “walled tent” out the back of the shop that had a stove.

    Chicken Cafe

    Day 21 (38 miles) (Chicken to Boundary):  Hung over so cycling not the best idea in the world. The road winds up and up through a magnificent valley and follows the river gradually up and onto the ‘Top of the World’. At Boundary (3.5 miles from the border), Jim the miner has bought the café/car but not sure what to do with it yet.  The boys are down by the river sucking, blasting and sifting river banks for gold that is now fetching A$1,800 an ounce so all are very excited.  The feds have evidently dragged off a few miners for blasting and gouging the hell out of the river illegally.  Jim has kindly offered to put me up in a cabin that serves as a ‘museum’.  It has an old piano and some old tins in it.  Heading across the border into Canada/Yukon Territory tomorrow morning.

    Day 22 (108km) (Boundary – Dawson City):  A most beautiful road (‘The Top of the World Highway’). Magic scenery either side of the road.  Across the border into Canada and rolling across the ridges of the mountains.  Showers occasionally, magnificent rainbows.  A rollicking final ride of 14km downhill into Dawson, with a couple of moose on the road half way down the hill, then onto the ferry across the Yukon River in the city.  Covered in mud but happy to have made it to Dawson but will pay for the distance tomorrow.Alaska has been great and the Alaskan people have gone above and beyond to be helpful and friendly.

    Day 23, 24, 25 Dawson City:  Recuperation.  Ensconced at the Downtown Hotel and all the gear is washed etc.  The casino in town is cheesy/touristy but the town is a pretty and very sleepy museum piece; a grid of coloured wooden buildings (of which the Downtown Hotel is one – see photo).  It also has a glut of colourful local characters (read ‘drunk old dead-shits’).  A good Thai massage that was murder on the legs and some soothing cream (Deep Heat’) and am almost recovered for the ride to Whitehorse.  Dawson is a great pit stop for a few days to refuel.

    Gerties Casino Dawson City

    Day 26 (85km) (Dawson City – Roadside Camp): While the ‘deep tissue massage’ from Laura the Argentinean masseuse was nothing short of complete and utter torture, it appears to have done some good for the legs.  Note for aging cyclists: don’t get dehydrated and do stretch once you get off the bike each day. If you don’t do this you will get lectured by Laura the Argentinean sadist as she grinds her fingers into the non-gaps between muscle and bone until you are a yelping blob of pulped flesh with only faint remnants of your self respect left intact.  I won some money on the roulette table at Gertie’s Casino two nights in a row (Gamblers always fibbing about how much they win, suffice to say my winnings were right up there in the high tens).  I feel for the community organisation running the place, as the gambling proceeds reportedly are fed back into community projects… on further reflection I couldn’t really give a rat’s.  The showgirls will miss me terribly I’m sure (refer photo – that arm nonchalantly draped over my shoulder is not some token gesture for the tourist photos – its love!).  I reluctantly checked out of the lovely Downtown Hotel and the legs spun with ease along 85km of mostly flat road.  My camping technique is improving.  Am now assiduously taking Bear Grills’ advice and urinating around the camp-site to discourage bears from investigating (Bear says it has something to do with testosterone in the wee).  I can now pitch the tent, perform my perimeter peeing and have some pretty ordinary noodles on the boil in next to no time.  So much so that finishing a ride early on camping nights leaves bugger-all to do.

    Day 27 (72 km) (Camp to Moose Creek): Regrettably one of the legacies of spending three nights at ‘Diamond Tooth Gertie’s Casino‘ is that as the pedals turn the one song stuck in my head is, “Hanky-panky, nothing like a good spanky”).  Occasionally ‘Hey Misbehavin’’ emerges, offering only fleeting respite but inevitably the endless cycles of, “Treat me like I’m a bad girl, even when I’m bein’ good to you” return.  The ‘Moose Creek Lodge‘ at the end of the day is a lovely little compound of café and a few cabins. The daily special of buttered chicken and pasta/vegetables, a hot shower and a rocking chair on the porch sees your correspondent very comfortable indeed.  The coming ‘fall’ is at least reducing the number of mosquitoes but the sunset is marching inexorably forward (at a rate of 8 or 9 minutes a day – 9:51pm today) so my thoughts are turning to getting myself southwards fairly smartly ahead of the coming cold.  I rock and ponder. One thing, however, is certain; when all is said and done, there really is nothing like a good spanky.

    Day 28 (94km) (Moose Creek – Pelly Crossing):  The road is not particularly interesting – a corridor of pines close to but out of sight of the river.  Pelly Crossing is a first-nation settlement with a shop and a campsite and I stock-up and pitch camp.  I am literally and figuratively miles away from previous work thoughts of ‘cashbook and the journal’.  I’ve been on the bike for almost a month and very much enjoying no longer being governed by ‘ends of months’ and dividing my time on the planet into ‘quarters’.  Those quarters have a habit of filling up and passing very quickly and before you know it, years are gone.

    Day 29 (108km) (Pelly Crossing – Carmacks): Am followed to Yukon River along a flat road but when going against the flow there is always an imperceptible gradient on the road (or the water would probably be flowing the other way – all that physics training not gone to waste after all).  The wind today blew face-wards constantly sapping energy and slowing progress.  I cross the Yukon River (for perhaps the last time I think) just before the town of Carmacks and check into the Carmacks Hotel and a restaurant with the blandest chunk of fish ever plated.

    Day 30 (90km) (Carmaks – Camping): Had intended to stay at the Braeburn Lodge 75km down the road but got a weird feeling as I had lunch (admittedly a great soup and a reasonable and very large burger) that Steve the owner was a bit of a prick.  It turned out that the rooms were “not available” for some reason so the easy 75km ride was extended to a lake side unofficial camp 90km down.  Managed to light a good fire despite the wet wood and then proceeded to melt my shorts and almost melt the shoes when drying them next to it. [Note to new campers: Do not melt your clothes]. Steve is confirmed as a bone fide Prick.

    Day 31 (100km) (Camping – Whitehorse):  A quick spin down the straight road and I have completed the Deadhorse to Whitehorse run.  Resting up here for a few days.

  • The Dalton Highway, Alaska (Deadhorse to Fairbanks)

    The Dalton Highway, Alaska (Deadhorse to Fairbanks)

    Part One: The Dalton Highway (Deadhorse to Fairbanks)

    The Dalton highway gets a day-by-day description given that it is the first challenge of the trip (and I am full of the zeal of a new blogger) and secondly because it was an event of a highway.  Deadhorse on the Arctic Sea coast is where this journey begins and its all southwards from here on.  The last few days of the below were on the Richardson Highway between the end of the Dalton Highway and Fairbanks.

    Deadhorse Store

    Deadhorse: I delayed the departure in order to pick up a few things (bear repelling horn etc) and organise the pack a bit.  I also wanted to get myself in ‘the zone’ for cycling after such a long hiatus (14 years no less) and having everything just right will help.  It has been a while since I attempted anything this foolhardy so really needed to be in the right frame of mind at the outset.  Yesterday turned out sunny with a following breeze so would have been a good day to start as it turns out and with the prospect for the next five days being cloudy with showers, I might regret the decision to dally.  Had a little ride of approximately 5km over to the general store and can feel that new leather saddle will need some working in. The Prudhoe Bay Hotel has ‘all you can eat’ all day long in the cafeteria to cater for the oil rig workers so I take full toll.

    Day 1: (50 Miles): So it begins.  I circle around the Deadhorse Airport and then turn south and head down the Dalton Highway, and on towards the great beyond. I set out early and feeling very nervous. Am not sure what I am doing and why. After a few miles every muscle, joint and bone is aching. By mile 20 am stunned by the sudden and belated realisation that I am old. Quite a revelation. A steady one degree gradient throughout the day on straight road.  There is a carpet of tundra as far as the eye can see on either side of the road and the ever present oil pipeline accompanies me for each mile.  This pipeline feeds the USA with crude and runs from Deadhorse straight to the south coast of Alaska.  Am gradually getting used to the bike and she me.  Camped short of Pump Station #2.  Camping for the first time in ages so am relearning how to put the tent up and thankfully it proved very easy.  My mother doubted if I would be capable of camping out at all so I guess I really showed her.  There is, essentially, nothing at all between Deadhorse and Wiseman/Coldfoot (225 miles south) in terms of services such as food, shelter etc so until I get there I will be on my own (apart from the company of the odd passing truck doing the long haul up to Deadhorse).

    The ever present pipeline

    Day 2: (50 miles): The flat has given way to rolling hills which are a not-so subtle form of torture.  Over one crest and down into a small dip then back up another – repeat ad infinitum – heartbreaking stuff. Loose muddy gravel road surface into the bargain.  The Rohloff gear twist grip changer came loose and sure enough it was the 20mm ‘torx’ that is required while I, of course,  have the 25mm torx.  Better to rig up a wire to the handlebars to keep the shifter from moving so that I can at least change gears.  I may have misjudged the food requirements, or my pace, or both – or more precisely not really judged either of them very well at all.   At my current pace I will be running short on noodles and spam; not good.  It will then be a race to get to Wiseman/Cold Foot (at 225 and 239 mile marker respectively) before the food supply runs out.  Am equipped with the bear repelling kit of knife and hooter and am camping with them at the ready.  Andre at the ‘Happy Valley’ Camp (an airstrip) informs that the hooters don’t work. Thanks Andre.

    Day 3: (36 miles): Met biker Robert by the roadside with the small trailer behind his Cannondale mountain bike.  Reassuringly he is only getting 30 miles a day so at least there is one person on the planet traveling more slowly than I.  Mark the cyclist I met in Deadhorse is long gone and will probably be in Anchorage by now.  Today the road just went up and up for 25 miles rolling through the morning.  Not good at my level of unfitness.  Camped just in time to get half soaked putting the tent up. [Note to self: Must get better at weather watching.]  It appears I am going into a canyon before the pass tomorrow.

    Day 4: (31 miles): An examination of character.  Awoke to find a strong wind blowing directly from the south which just happens to be the direction in which I wished to travel so had a hellish ride into the teeth of it all day long.  It blows up through the canyon into which I am heading so there was simply no respite all day long.  Even on those brief down hill sections the bike refused to budge as the headwind was simply holding it still.  Majestic scenery though as the continental divide rises out of the rolling hills that have been my companions between miles 50 to 100.  The pass is turning out to be a very long rise (of which 500 metres elevation was achieved today over the 30 miles on the road).  Camped just short of the pass and had the last of the noodles – a calculated gamble to get as many carbs in as possible so that I can get over the mountain pass tomorrow morning and then hope that the going is easier into Wiseman/Cold Foot.

    92 Miles to Coldfoot

    Day 5: (64 miles):  Awoke to light rain and a decision to make as to whether to ride over the top of he pass.  Hunger and the theory that rain falls on one side of mountains and maybe not on the other prevailed so up I cycled up the hill.  Some truly ugly grades near the top so really there was more pushing than cycling for an hour or so.  The guidebook says something about stunning views from the top: I saw nothing but cloud, rain and more wind in the face.  The weather theory turned out to be rubbish as well so got a gentle soaking for most of the day.  Plummeting down the other side and eventually out of the mist I encountered the first trees since the start of the trip as the road finally broke away into a gentle down hill and level glide for 50 miles into Wiseman and most importantly, a cabin and some food.

    A poem:

    Brand new bike

    New leather saddle

    Undulating ride across

    Alaskan Highway

    Sore bottom

    Day 8 (60 miles) Wiseman to ‘Gobbler’s Knob’: Refreshed and rolling after recuperation in Wiseman at the lovely Borreal Lodge.  Headed down to Coldfoot and a truly magic hamburger (with Tots!) [refer photo ‘Best Hamburger’], quite possibly the best hamburger in the history of the world.  The weather was a vast improvement with patches of blue sky in the afternoon so had the opportunity to take in the scenery of rolling hills.  The wind persists from the south (directly in the face as normal).  The nastiest rise all day was up to the oddly named ‘Gobblers Knob’ at the end of the day’s ride (make up own story as to how it got this name).  Gobblers Knob lookout had great views back down the valley with the charming ‘Pump Station Number 5’ shimmering in the distance.  The look out at the summit was the venue for the night’s camp where I met a guy and his girlfriend who offered beer and marshmallows!  All good until a trucker pulled up and idled the truck for the next 10 hours.  Just why they do this is difficult to say; its not that cold. to create more demand for oil thereby ensuring continued trucking employment on the haul road or just run the heater for the cabin?  I fear so. Either way the bastard ran his engine all through the night and woke even a very tired cyclist.

    Best Burger – Coldfoot
    Reverse Blue Nosing at Arctic Circle

    Day 9  (72 miles) (Gobbler’s Knob – 5 mile north of Yukon River [Hot Spot Café]): Hard hard hard ride.  Up and down and up and down until your heart bleeds, your soul shatters, dreams crush, guts tear out and you cry for your mummy like a babe lost in the woods with big nasty wolves poised to attack and nibble on those very same torn out guts.  At last there was no wind in my face but as the wind took a breather, the topography took over in its quest to defeat your humble correspondent.  Monstrous dips and rises all day that take your will and give it a good kicking.  One mile rolling down then One mile pushing up silly unridable 12-14 degree gradients.  In the afternoon made it back across the Arctic Circle line [refer obligatory snap shot next to the sign].  I imagine that makes me a reverse ‘Blue Noser’, a ‘Red Noser’ perhaps?  The plan was to camp and ride to Yukon River the next day but as the camping terrain looked uninviting (bear paw marks along the road’s edge) and the road finally leveled out offering some encouragement, I decided to press on.  As it turned out the ‘roller-coaster’ ride resumed so up and down I went for the next 15 miles over more ugly gradients, each just for ½ mile but more and more of the roll down and repeat scenario until you lose the will to live.  The nearer your destination the more you’re slip-slidin’ away (Simon and Garfunkel), and today I did some sliding.  Suffered through the last 10 miles and felt that if the up and down, roll/push combinations persisted much longer then there was a possibility of my just running out of energy bikkies entirely and sitting down for a good cry.  9pm eventually found me at the ‘Hot Spot Café’ (4 miles short of The Yukon River crossing) with a ‘gift shop’ container full of stickers cautioning not to dare give a difficult time to the proprietors, (“Happy Everything – now leave me alone until next year” sort of thing).  The camp accommodation, however, was very very welcome.  Had the second best and undoubtedly the largest hamburger in the history of the world and a heated room (converted part of a shipping container) with a bed and a hot shower nearby!  Am amazed again at the recuperative power of just one shower and a super-sized hamburger.  I really pushed it out way too hard to get here today and might be in need of a day’s recuperation. 132 miles over that ridiculously undulating terrain in two days was just too much for an old bugger like me who is just trying to get his cycling legs back.

    Hot Spot Cafe

    Day 10 (62 miles) (Hot Spot to end of The Dalton Highway): Over the Yukon River bridge first thing in the morning and then up a long gentle rise from Yukon River up and up 8 miles.  A few nasty climbs but generally the cranking legs are getting back in shape a tad.  Up until close to the end of the highway everything was in order and again decided to push it out beyond the original plan in order to get the Dalton Highway done.  The Highway, however, really didn’t want to give up without a fight.  The last 20 miles turned into a nasty roller-coaster and the surface deteriorated to ugly dirt and then into a thick gluey clay-like gloop that encased the wheels and jammed up everything.  Over the last 2km the highway threw everything at me.  Horrid horrid grades, more gloopy mud and with 1.5 miles to go the gears clogged (odd for an internally geared rear hub I’ll grant).  Had to push the bike up the last grade and then coast out the end of the Highway with no gears and no energy.  Its not clear, to me at least, as to what the cause of the gear jam actually is but the glue/mud might have jammed the external mesh (cable connection to the hub) up or something might have come loose: or both.  Whatever the problem it will need fixing if I am to continue the red cycling line.  At the first intersection for 414 miles since Deadhorse I can see the sign facing the opposite direction reading ‘Dalton Highway’. A huge moose replete with a splendid rack of antlers, pokes its head out from the road-side trees, sees me and then deciding that the better part of valor is discretion, disappears.  It is done. I am the master of the Dalton Highway! What a road! Oh life! No welcoming committee –  so I camp by the road.

    Day 11 (33 miles): A lesson in actually taking the time to get things right.  I had attempted some on-the-roll repairs yet to all intents and purposes the bike remains dysfunctional.  The drive wouldn’t take a load on the drive without the gears slipping – making hill climbs impossible.  There is also a risk of doing some sort of permanent damage to the gear edges.  15 miles down the road and a caravan drink stop I ran into an odd French man who was riding up ½ of the Dalton (Why half?).  I gave him my map which he, blissfully unaware of the way it had been loved and studied over the past two weeks, promptly placed on a wet table soaking the thing, bloody ingrate.  Went on to the Arctic Circle Gift shop (more ‘don’t mess with me’ stickers) that was closed for a lunch three hours.  This turned out to be a blessing in that I decided to wait there and actually clean the bike and (belatedly) consult the Rohloff hub gear manual.  I also inspected the twist shift and within an hour and the assistance of a handy drill bit handle, I had the gear mesh’ cleaned and tightened and the twist shift re-installed properly.  All good to go.  Had one long long climb through the afternoon but called it quits at 8pm on a ‘turn-out’ road with a fire just enough to heat the noodles.

    Gear repaired and still stylish

    Day 12: (42 miles): Cycled up the remainder of the only pass between the end of the Dalton and Fairbanks and had a decent day of ‘normal’ highway ride. 15 miles out had a stop at the Hilltop Truck stop and a huge plate of stuff called ‘Hilltop demolition’ (a ‘fry up’ plate of assorted bits of animal and potatoes).  Then it was down into Fairbanks and splurged on a room with a jacuzzi! Two days here soaking in the tub and reassess the situation.

  • Deadhorse Alaska

    I’ve arrived in Deadhorse by air from Seattle via Anchorage.  Self, bike and gear arrived with no drama. The Prudhoe Bay Hotel is ostensibly accommodation for the oil workers associated with the Trans-Alaskan oil pipeline. Deadhorse, while romantically named, is a series of sheds, shipping containers and 450 Ford 4WDs. The hotel has all the conveniences (CNN, ATM, donuts, twinkies) and is handily ‘all you can eat’ so am carb-loading as I enter this log.  The bike (attached) is  now assembled and is a thing of rare and wondrous beauty.  Co-Motion in Oregon have done a marvelous job on the bike (thanks Zach and Teryk).  Will take a day or so to tweak settings, sort out gear and explore the wonders of Deadhorse. Already shedding excess gear/weight.