Ready, Steady, GO!
Friday started early - for me at least - 4.00am and wide awake well before the alarm was due. Last minute packing and un-packing and checking and re-checking.
7.30am and our ride arrived, including a (not such a) surprise visit from Ali & Jake - bunting and flags galore. Last minute check around the house and hand-over the keys. Bricks and mortar are no longer for us as the plane and a new adventure beckons.
Breezed through the United Airlines checking in process and a full body scan courtesy of the security with a full bill of health - why can’t the NHS be as efficient? ;-) Lots of sitting around, observing people and activities - always a favourite pastime of ours.
Flight time was slightly delayed but nothing we didn’t make up across the Atlantic, with a 90mph tail-wind. Having booked our seats for the extra leg-room, we had Chris, an air-steward, buckled in opposite. Just as we took off, Chris asked us how we were, then both Isi and me let our emotions flow and the tears started to pour; there was nothing more we could do for the next 9+ hours and, even if then, we would be on another continent and time-zone.
Chris (and surrounding passengers) got the full story and, as we’re getting used to, the responses of “wow”, “brave” & “inspirational” are often said and whilst the accolades are gratefully received, they add to the scary nature of what we are undertaking. As the plane reached altitude and Chris commenced his services, he asked if we drank. “Why? Do we look like alcoholics?”, we laughingly replied, and with a wink and smile he disappeared aft to return with brimming glasses of champagne. Yet more was to follow as we were treated to first class luxuries from our economy seats. A truly great transition from our old life to the new.
Then came Denver and delayed landing due the storms in the area - a regular occurrence, apparently. It was going to be tight for our connecting flight to Anchorage.
Under instruction, we collected our hold baggage, to walk it in to the next room and hand it back for the next flight. It does make you wonder why the redirection couldn’t be done behind the scene, as the barcode tags clearly provide the ultimate destination. Then it was the long walk to Immigration…
Our body-clocks were telling us it was 1.30am on Saturday but local time was 6.30pm. We were tired and not prepared for the US Immigration - we assumed that gaining the extended visa would mean a guaranteed entry but how wrong we were. As a couple, we were directed to your typical immigration official that I thought you only met in the movies. He really didn’t seem to want to be there…
“How long are you staying?”
“We have a 6 month visa, so 6 months”
“That’s not how it works - you tell me how long you want to stay and I say if you can or not”
“OK - 180 days?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” He says with a serious grumpy attitude.
He then tries another question. “Do you have details of your flight out of the US?” So we explained about the bikes in Anchorage and leaving via Mexico. It was like he hadn’t seen overland adventurers before and he was not a happy bunny - at all…
A new tack “How much money do you have?”. “About $700”, says me. “No - how much do you have in your checking account?” “Around £2000” says me. Pregnant Pause. “And a lot more in Premium Bonds and other savings that we can call upon”, I said, having realised we were not winning.
A long pause and looking as if a roll of the dice was all it would take, and he then took my fingerprints and interrogated his screen.
FINALLY, he stamped our passports, providing an exit date of January 27th - 6 months from the day. PHEW!!!
But before we could go - “Do you have any food products?”. Having read all the signs on the way in and satisfying ourselves we did not have any contraband foods, I replied “No, not food”. “Except for the salted peanuts in a sealed bag”. Rather cross and seriously upset he replied “so that’s a yes then. Don’t tell me no when it is a yes!”. We stood like naughty children awaiting our punishment and with a sense of exasperation he just waved us away like a bull would flick at an irritating fly.
We were in!
A mad dash to the next gate, made all the harder for being a mile high and reduced oxygen (or just being overweight or tired - you choose), to find we were late for boarding - had the plane been on time. So, the 2.5hr delay was a mixed blessing of relief and tired frustration. People watching again…
As with all airports, they have battery powered “golf buggies” to move less-abled people about and Denver was no exception. However, I was highly amused to observe that the costly buggies had not been fitted with horns or bells, but had a bicycle bell strapped to the steering wheel operated by various techniques or thumb, finger or hand-heel push - a classic example of how to get Repetitive Strain Injury in the workplace.
Around 8.30pm (3.30am Sat body-clock time), we were crammed on to the next flight. No niceties to be had on this flight. The window was held together by sellotape and the floor panel rattled with every thrust of the extremely noisy engines - 6 hrs flight will little more than a cup of water and a few dry snacks.
Anchorage airport was bright, fresh and empty but it was a relief to land - albeit 2.30am local time (and 11am Sat UK time). Short taxi ride to the “Mother-in-laws Attic” (AirBnB) and the taxi driver having no respect for the front lawn or the sleeping occupants, we were home for the next 2 days. 2 days to adjust the body clock, buy a local SIM, bear-bag and bear spray.
We met our host, Taylor, the next morning and were privileged to be provided with a tour of the numerous and vast salt-water fish tanks and various reptile enclosures. The size and variation of the species required a space at least twice the size of the house we had left behind! Taylor and the Mother-in-laws Attic was just the perfect place to provide the stability of mind and body for the adventure ahead.
With no wheels and a dislike to spending money on taxis, we decided to walk in to town and absorb the local area - big V8’s, big plots and just big…. At one stage, a lady wound down her window and offered us a ride to where we were going. We politely declined (British, don’t you know…) and said we were going to McD’s - she advised otherwise and suggested Tommy’s Burger Stop - not a disappointing suggestion and one we were so pleased to have followed. Talking to the optician later (don’t ask), it would seem we were walking through a rough part of town. However, when she realised we we British, she said it was OK - we’d be used to it. Not quite sure what to make of that…
We’re feeling stupidly upset about throwing away specific items of clothing - jeans and hoodies that we’ve worn all weekend. Shoes that were falling apart but have a lot of personal history. It’s really silly but we’re quite tearful again about what’s in front of us. You wonder why we’re doing it if it’s so hard and so painful. But we know that when we ride off the journey will begin proper and we’ll know exactly why we’re doing it. So, body clock adjusted, bits bought and throwing away the gear we had travelled in, we were ready to collect the bikes the next day.
Were we ready? No chance! I was full of anxiety about the condition of the bikes, their ability to carry us and our loads, and our ability to transition to a nomadic way of life…
Monday morning and yes, I was up very early, allowing my anxiety to get the better of me and my much needed sleep. If Customs was anything like Immigration, we were going to be in for a long day but, contrary to my lost hours of sleep, the Customs process was easy and straight-forward - always helps to have all the paperwork in order. Stamped release form and a mile walk to the FedEx building.
Shelley appeared out of the huge warehouse with two crates and a couple of screwdrivers - down to us to unpack and find out how the contents fared. Again, contrary to my lost hours of sleep, the bikes were all secure, easily removed and loaded with far too much gear!
So far, everything was going as planned - except for the weather. Shorts and T-shirts were the required dress code - not what we had expected for Alaska.
One more sleep and time to start the adventure properly - tomorrow was the Dalton Highway!
