Fairbanks, Alaska, USA
Total journey so far: 2,300 km of which Pan-American Highway 870 kiss
Imagine being marooned in Milton Keynes for ten days, that there is only
one other place within 500 miles and that happens to be about as big and
interesting as Peterborough! That's our plight right now, stuck in Fairbanks
in central Alaska. Fairbanks is a big spread out sort of place but with
a population of only 30,000. Downtown Fairbanks at 9:00 pm in the evening
is deserted. There's a 16 screen cinema but half of the screens are showing
Harry Potter 3 at staggered start times, the others sharing just four,
mainly trashy movies. However tonight should be a ball. We've discovered
that there's a baseball game, so we shall be there supporting the local
team, the Alaskan Goldpanners. We found a 24 lane ten pin bowling alley
("The Arctic Bowl"!) where we spent a pleasant couple of hours
last night. And tomorrow it's the Fairbanks Music Festival, with plenty
of Folk and Bluegrass! And, er, that's it. The local newspaper here, The
Daily News - Miner, is thin (but, interestingly, with columnists quite
critical of Bush). After ten minutes, you've finished it. Yesterday, to
keep myself amused, I was so bored, I browsed the few Lonely Hearts ads
that were published in the paper and one in particular caught my eye. Under
"Men Seeking Women" was this:
INTERESTED?
Single black male, Libra, 18, non-smoker, hardworking, enjoys fishing and
hunting, seeks black female, 18-19, who enjoys staying at home, cooking
and cleaning. Tel: 955934."
And girls, if you want to find out more, here are the numbers to ring,
(but remember to add the USA/Alaska international code first!) To listen,
dial 1-900-226-7450 and for credit card calls, dial 1-888-249-0536! Have
fun.
So why are we being forced to stay in a place for ten days that makes Milton
Keynes look positively exciting? Well, Jeff's bike, with only 4,000 miles
on the clock since it was brand new, has bust a piston in such a spectacular
way the like of which the mechanics at the local Honda dealer have never
seen before. A chunk came off the top end of the piston, and as we rode
along, these bits of loose metal were flying around inside his cylinder
peppering the cylinder head, the inlet valves and the remainder of the
piston head. And every so often, a bit hit the spark plug, closing the
gap to nothing, such that the bike ground to a halt. That's how we found
out about it. We carry spare plugs, so when we replaced the plug, Jeff
could continue but for how long was a lottery. The first time was for just
50 miles, the next was 120 miles and the final time was 0 miles. The cause
is a mystery. We suspect a faulty piston casting. But all this has shattered
our confidence in Honda. And if they don't pay up (at least $2,000 looks
like being the bill), then we shall take them to court.
Anchorage
Up until this incident, everything had been going so well. Our bikes had
arrived in Anchorage the day before we did, as planned. To our utter astonishment,
we cleared them through US Customs in Anchorage in about 10 minutes. The
people at the Alaska Air freight terminal were just brilliant. They gave
us space inside their building where we could unpack the two crates containing
the bikes, and then reassemble them. They provided us with two big claw
hammers and a huge crowbar to enable us to break open the crates. They
agreed to clear away our waste of large quantities of timber, plywood,
polystyrene and bubble wrap free of charge. They plied us with coffee.
And they constantly engaged us in friendly helpful conversation, showing
genuine interest in our trip, and wishing us well. The bikes started straight
away, and with that, we rode out of their terminal building onto the streets
of Anchorage.
Anchorage is another dull place, about as exciting as Fairbanks. We had
to take buses into town from where we were staying. The service was hourly
and last bus home was 8:30 pm on Saturday nights. (And of course, as with
the rest of the USA, the only users of buses here are the bottom end of
American society. All the passengers were seriously weird.)
Tanana River/Yukon River
So we headed out of Anchorage after a couple of days (though 15 minutes
is all you need - so we did give the place a good crack of the whip) and
started heading north. Perversely, the further north we went, the hotter
it got. And the more expensive it got. The first stage of our journey took
us through beautiful countryside of mixed spruce and birch forest, along
roads that ambled through the valleys of the Alaska Ranges, all of which
had snow down to quite a low level. These mountains are impressive in size,
with Mount McKinlay rising to 20,322 feet, making it North America's highest
peak. There are some huge river systems up here, carving wide valleys through
the mountains, including the Tanana River and the massive Yukon River.
The places to stop up at in the first 500 miles were few and far between,
but when you did, you met more drop outs from American society. We meet
a couple of Harley riders at one roadside inn, the younger a fresh-faced
confident guy in his early 30s wearing his leather motorcycling pants,
his stooge of a mate, a short wizened bloke with spectacles, moustache
and a pony tail. The young guy said we were mad trying to make it to Prudhoe
Bay. Didn't we know that it's still snowing up there, that the road is
really bad, covered in huge boulders? Yep, he assured us, we were a month
too early. (All of this subsequently proved to be completely false.) But
when he heard that we were eventually heading to Tierra Del Fuego, he grinned.
"You gotta stop off and have some fun in Mexico" he enthused
"You can get yourself a good whore for five pounds". We thanked
him and moved on swiftly.
North Fairbanks
North of Fairbanks, there is nowhere to stop along the roadside except
for little oases every 200 miles or so. Here you will find gas, a motel
and usually a café attached to the motel. The architecture up there is
what you might call Arctic Portacabin. Everything seems to be based around
large Portacabin units, sort of welded together to whatever shape and accommodation
the owner wants. At Healy we stayed in one that looked 20 units long stacked
3 high. Inside the Arctic Circle, they're just single story because so
few people go that far north. Eighty miles north of Fairbanks, the Dalton
Highway starts. This is 420 miles of predominantly dirt road built solely
for servicing oil production in Prudhoe Bay on the Beaufort Sea, and for
servicing the 850 mile pipeline that takes oil from there down to Valdez
in the warmer waters of Prince William Sound, just off the Gulf of Alaska
It's an incredible journey, first winding its way through hills covered
in spruce and birch, then as you head further north the birch disappears
and the spruce become much smaller until you reach the Brookes Ranges of
mountains. By now, there's snow beside the road and huge slabs of it in
the rivers. Then you have to climb over the Atigun Pass at 5,000 feet where
the mountain snow comes right down to the roadside and where, not surprisingly,
it starts to get cold. Crossing this pass is an awesome experience because
of the views you get from the top of the Atigun Valley to the north. No
more trees. Just tundra and permafrost. We were really lucky with the weather,
for the sun shone most of the way, reflecting a purplish hue from the tundra's
sedges evoking strong comparisons with northern Scotland. Another 100 miles
of undulating tundra and then suddenly we lost the sun and dropped off
a low tableland down to sea level - and to the frozen wastes. It become
instantly bitterly cold, especially with the wind chill factor on a motorbike.
Luckily our many layers of clothes combined with our electrically heated
handgrips and waistcoats worked brilliantly.
We checked in at the Arctic Oilfield Hotel, the one used by many of the
oil production workers up there. Another Portacabin style construction,
only this one was on stilts - something to do with polar bears!! Although
expensive (a mere $150 a night), its great attraction was that all meals
and snacks throughout the day were free. No alcohol though - not allowed.
And judging by the size of some of the guys we saw, they were clearly taking
full advantage of this deal. They were overweight, most sported moustaches
and all wore work gear signifying their employers: Baker Hughes Tools,
VECO, ARCO,etc. We felt distinctly out of place.
Prudhow Bay
In the morning we went to Prudhoe Bay Post Office which we found in another
Portacabin behind a huge mountain of snow and beside a large frozen lake.
For us this was the start of the Pan American Highway, an event familiar
to Kate, the bubbly postmistress and manager of the General Store. With
great excitement, she produced her Polaroid and took our photographs outside,
standing beside our motorbikes. She asked us all sorts of questions about
ourselves and apparently she posts this up on the post office notice board
and also puts it onto her website, And then we were off, back into the
freezing gloom, now shrouded in an icy cold thick fog.
Dalton Highway
The trip back down the Dalton Highway to our first night's stop at Coldfoot,
250 miles south went well, even seeing quite a few mousse on the way. We
first hit trouble with the fuel we bought at Coldfoot which, we have now
learned, clearly had water in it. Apparently all Alaskans know that you
often get water in fuel bought from gas supplies up here, but they never
think to tell the visitors. Thirty miles further down the road the next
morning, Jeff's first plug went. But after he'd replaced it, neither of
could get going. After a couple of hours, we got Jeff's bike going with
a new spark plug and some good quality fuel we'd strapped onto the bikes
at Fairbanks on the way up. So I was stuck on a lonely road that passes
through bear-infested forests and with the company of several million of
the largest mosquitoes I have seen in my life. In the next five hours:
* A passing truck driver gave me some cans of soft drink
* A women in an Ute gave me a huge can of anti-mosquito spray, she felt
so sorry for me
* A guy drove down to the nearest pipeline pumping station (fortunately only a few miles away) to see if they had any good quality unleaded fuel.* The same truck driver from earlier, passing by again, handed me a packed lunch he'd put together
* A spunky woman form the Alyeska Pipeline Company (you have to be spunky
as a woman working in the male-dominated oil industry!)
drove off to find me some high octane unleaded, returning
half an hour later with 5 gallons of the stuff. The bike roared into life,
and I was on my way. I know she'd nicked the fuel
from her employer, but she wouldn't take a bean for it.
We've spent six days in Fairbanks and, remarkably are still sane. The parts
needed to repair Jeff's bike should arrive from Honda America after lunch,
and the bike should be ready late on Monday afternoon. That means we can
get going again on Tuesday morning - fingers crossed.
I'm looking forward to going further south and to start seeing some night.
I haven't seen a night since I left Oxshott over two weeks ago. (Jeff and
I went to a late showing of Harry Potter and emerged at 12:30 a.m. - it
was still bright daylight!
Now I must go - I have to prepare myself mentally for the Alaska Goldpanners
game this evening!
Best wishes to you all. And stay in touch.
G. 11/06/04
