To the Top

The night before leaving, I had very little sleep - anxiety overload about the condition of the bike, having a flat tyre and all that jazz. I was up way too early, unpacked the tool kit and made ready to work on the bikes. Waited until I heard other movement, crept down and got the bikes out of the garage. Tyre pressures - all good. Chain - mine needed a little adjustment but otherwise good.

Crept back in to the attic to wake Isi with a cup of tea, before cleaning the place and making final checks on what we were leaving behind (Taylor was happy to take to the tip for us). We were both feeling a bit emotional and a bit ill - this was it - another point of no-return. It was time to go!

Bikes felt heavy but we soon got used to that as we rolled off. The bike does grumble with all the added weight (I’m in two minds if the change of sprocket ratio was a good idea), so just need to use the gears more. Getting used to the rules of the road with different signs and light system - giving way to exit on a right turn red light still feels wrong; but it is right. Through the city in no time and out on the Alaska 3 Highway, maintaining the speed limit but relegated to the inside as we are overtaken - no speed-governors on the trucks over here!

After a few hours, we took a small dirt road off to find a place to stop and eat lunch. As we were just finishing up, an ‘old boy’ pulled up on his quad and we started to chat. I asked if it was rude to ask anyone if they were carrying a gun. He said it’s not rude and no he wasn’t - he had left it in the trailer for his wife and daughter to use for their protection - more important than his. We discussed the UK gun laws and he was astounded to hear we don’t have any guns and those that do must lock guns and ammo in different places. “How do you protect yourself against intruders?”. He couldn’t understand that the majority of our criminals didn’t have guns either. One interesting point he mentioned: It is better to wear your gun visibly than to conceal it. Different potential penalties and you know which guy to argue with…. I was left with the conclusion that all Americans are so polite (they are) as they are afraid of any altercation.

As we approached a gas station, Isi asked if we should fill up. “Nah, there’ll be another”, says I.

Riding through breathtaking scenery alongside the Denali National Park, I came to realise that I may have made a mistake…. One bar of fuel left (6 bars to a tank) and I decided it was time to look at options (whilst listening to “I told you so” through the comms). A large, oversized fuel lorry was my answer and for the next 30 miles I slip-streamed him, wondering how long one bar would last. Being in the slip-stream of a lorry is hard work with full on concentration. Isi had dropped back and was providing me with details of what was happening up front - the system seemed to work. Then the reserve light started flashing…. OK, how long can i go on reserve? All the while, Isi and me were talking about what I would be doing if I actually ran out - none of them seemed particularly pleasant.

After more than 30 further miles on reserve, the truck pulled off for a break. That left me vulnerable!

So I started slip-streaming Isi - only around 2 or 3 feet off her rear tyre and hunched in as much as I could. Mostly single lane traffic, so we generated quite the queue (again, very polite with large gaps between vehicles). Eventually, we saw a gas station and I rolled in to what was evidently a closed down, deserted forecourt. What now?! Speaking to the man running the Burrito stall in the vacant lot, he advised there was another just half a mile down the road. The bike started and we made it to a gas station that had gas! I was shattered. Over 80 miles of slip-streaming, with nearly 50 miles of those on reserve tank. 230 miles on one tank - a record and not one that would have been achieved WITHOUT slip-streaming!

We remarked on the temperature - it was hot. A lot hotter than we were expecting. The man in the gas station said this was the first day it hadn’t rained in 2 months - the weather gods were looking down on us!

After that, it was a pretty but un-eventful ride to Healy - our first campsite of the trip. Not the best and litter in various places. Being “bear aware”, we cooked away from the tent and filled our bear-bag with all the food and toiletries. No big tree to hang the bag from, so I scouted out a good tree to tie it too - then I saw the bear-print in the mud. Hmmm…. But I did sleep…

That first day was the first time we had put all the ‘parts’ together. Loaded bikes, pitching the tent, cooking food. It all felt new but worked together well. However…

The next morning, it took 3.5hrs to have breakfast, coffee and pack the tent. We weren’t away until gone 10.30am.

This was our first taste of dirt roads whilst fully loaded. If we weren’t hot before, we were sweating buckets within minutes of a rutted, stoney, dusty road. Fighting for space with the many, many trucks, RV’s and cars. We had to spend as much time looking in the rear-view mirror, as we did looking ahead - especially when we were fighting with the bikes at 20-30mph! The sign for the Dalton Highway is NOT at the start of the Dalton Highway, but many miles in. It was a great excuse to pull in, have our pictures taken and chat to fellow drivers and riders about the road ahead. Yes, many did comment on how much gear we were carrying, until we told them this wasn’t a two-week vacation, but a complete lifestyle change. I still feel like an imposter for saying what we are doing, but it is nice to see the reaction on the faces.

Smiles and laughs done, it was time to face the “haul road” again. Named such, as the only reason it exists is for trucks to haul goods up to the oilfields at Deadhorse. Initially a private road, public access was only allowed from 1994 and whilst some stretches are paved, most is mud or gravel. Ever present along the haul road is the pipeline. Around 12 feet in diameter, it is suspended about 20-30 feet above the tundra. At times out of sight but forever present - the sole reason the haul road exists is the oil within the pipe. This natural resource is piped 800 miles from Deadhorse to Valdez, where it is shipped to other places to be refined. There is no refinery at Deadhorse, so all the fuel has to make the return trip by truck. Seems crazy but it is cheaper to transport the oil to the places of greater need and then truck back the relative, small amounts.

We soon encountered a 20 mile diversion under the control of an escort vehicle. For the most part it was just as good/bad as the rest of the mud and dirt but one 200m stretch was large stones that had not been compressed, and getting caught in the wheel-ruts of the larger trucks, found us fighting with the bars, with the comms full of many expletives! We made it unscathed. Nothing to do with skill, just on overwhelming desire not to be run over by the truck behind!

Then we reached the Yukon river crossing, with the wood flooring in various states of dis-repair and my anxiety of punctures heightened - I need not have worried. Soon after is the Yukon gas station and much needed fuel for the next leg. The process is to leave your credit card at the cafe desk, fill up your own bike, take a photo of the pump readings and show it to the cafe desk to pay. At this time, we bumped in to the three bikes we had met at the Dalton sign and they told us about 5 mile camp - 5 miles up from the Yukon. So that was our destination for the night.

First problem was figuring out how to pitch a non-freestanding tent on packed gravel - a big stone would only drive the pegs so far. The solution? One bike either end and tie the guy lines to the spokes if the wheels, with larger rocks to hold the sides out. Variations of this has now become the norm, as Alaska (and we expect Canada to be the same) cater for RV’s and only have hard-standing. The water at 5 Mile is a tapped spring, with a hose constantly running and maintaining the creek flow. The water is fresh, cold and suitable for drinking. Maybe the location but it is the best water I have ever drunk!

One of the three Canadians had to turn for home as family duties dictated he could only get this far. The other two planned to make it to Deadhorse and back to Galbraith Lake in the same day. We made it our plan to get to Galbraith Lake that night.

Next stop was the Arctic Circle and another photo op top prove we have been here - twice! It was good to see Nordkapp almost the other side of the North Pole (and for those that ask, there’s not a lot in it!).

Then it’s off, again, up the haul road to Coldfoot - our last fuelling point before Deadhorse and, given the distance, our need to carry extra fuel - an extra 18 litres piled on top of the bikes! The food at Coldfoot was a bit pricey but very very nice and a portion size that beat us both.

To protect the road and the trees lining it, the crews wet the road to keep the erosion and dust down. Great for the road and the environment but hell-on-earth for us. The water turns the mud in to ice and we’re back down to less than 20mph for these sections. Thankfully, no more than a few miles and not too many of them. On the dry, we were getting comfortable with 40-50mph on the dirt and gravel - within reason, the faster, the easier.

All the while, the Brooks Range was looming larger and larger, as we started to climb through the valleys and then before us, the road turned a sharp left, then right and cut a line across the mountainside to disappear around and beyond - we have reached the Atigun Pass! Notorious from the TV series called Ice Truckers, the Atigun Pass has a notorious reputation for accidents and men and women of steel, fighting with the elements to deliver a toilet or some such other needed item at Deadhorse. Obviously, the weather gods were on our side and we were blessed with un-interrupted views of the pass and all the surrounding peaks. It was still dirt and gravel but we were becoming masters at this and tackled it with relative ease. The drop down the other side allowed for immense views beyond and yet more dirt and gravel.

Galbraith Lake campground is about 5 miles off the haul-road, just past the airport - a grand name for a few huts and a strip. Not knowing if there was water at the campsite, we asked some building fitters. They said there was none but were happy to fill our containers from their water cooler bottles. Turns out, water is just as elusive as every other commodity up here!

Pitching the tent for the night and the 2 Canadians arrived after their mammoth ride, full of warnings and reports of the road ahead - tomorrow…

The haul road and the pipeline were much the same as they were the two days before - the weather gods remained on our side, except for cranking up the thermostat with every mile travelled. It was hot. It was dusty. It was hard-work! Another 16 miles of construction works but not as bad as previous.

In the short time we have been on the road, we have come to recognise the toilets from afar - a stone building with two “chimneys” rising from the top. Drop-holes (with a seat and lid) and the stack pipe to exhaust the fumes. Generally stocked well with paper, though I wish the cleaners training included putting the paper roll in with the grab edge at the front (locked on so I couldn’t correct their errors!). They were clean and didn’t smell. That is, except the final toilets before Deadhorse. There were hunters camped nearby and I’m not saying it was them, but this toilet was in a bad way. I’ll leave it at that…

We did get talking to a hunter who said they were struggling to find the Caribou (hooray!) and hunting had been poor so far (double hooray!). They were only allowed to hunt with crossbow as using guns within 5 miles of the pipeline was strictly forbidden. They also had a limit on the number they could shoot. This had been drastically reduced recently, as a disease had wiped out almost 90% of the herds. You would have thought this was a simple and easy conclusion to reach - reduce the allowed kills as the numbers had declined 90% - but it had taken some serious campaigning by one man, before the officials saw sense.

Then we were in for a surprise. As we dropped on to the Northern Plain, the dirt and gravel turned to billiard table smooth tarmac - for the next 60 miles! Every few miles, a bend would be put in place to keep you awake and, apart from spotting the wildlife, there was little to do but ride. Eventually, Deadhorse could be seen in the distance.

Riding in to Deadhorse after the miles and miles of natural landscapes, was a shock to the system. It is an industrial town. It’s sole purpose to feed the oil extraction process. Buildings and vehicles designed and built to withstand the most extreme of winters and those that didn’t survive, are rusting in the yards where they were left and awaiting a ride back down the haul road.

We eventually found the Store, the iconic Deadhorse sign and added our sticker to the multitude of others who had been before. We had made it!

All roads lead South!