Fresh Snow on the Brooks Range

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Today's Ride: The Arctic Ocean (A) to Coldfoot, Alaska (B)
Distance: 245 miles but heck, we'll still be 60 miles north of the Arctic Circle!

Having successfully accomplished my primary objectives at the top of the world, I was in a much better frame of mind to begin the long arduous 500 mile journey back to civilization in Fairbanks.

At the conclusion of the morning's tour, our guide advised all southbound travelers that it had "SNOWED" on the Brooks Range the previous evening. Knowing that we had to cross Atigun Pass and the Brooks Range on your way south, I'm thinking he's getting too much fun out of rubbing in the horrible riding conditions I'm having to endure on the bike. Frankly, I thought he was simply messing with us.

The ambient temperature was around 44 degrees and the relentless wind and rain continued to offer themselves as unwelcome travel companions. As I readied the bike for travel it grew increasingly difficult to get excited about a repeat of yesterday's ride but I cowboy-up for what lies ahead and ask final directions to fuel before departing Prudhoe Bay. I figure I'll quickly top off the tank and auxiliary fuel canister for the 250 mile ride to Coldfoot and be on my merry way. Seemed simple enough, right? hint: Murphy woke up!

After spending twenty minutes gallivanting all over the industrial camp known as Deadhorse, I can't seem to locate the illusive "fuel depot." Just for the record, Deadhorse and Prudhoe Bay are essentially one large industrial camp and has little resemblance to anything we know as a town. For the most part, shops, grocery and convenience stores as we know them, are non-existent here.

After covering what felt like 90% of every mud road in the area, an oilfield worker in a pickup finally takes pity on my drenched butt and stops to offer assistance. I guess a cold, wet, lost and frustrated traveler are not difficult to spot. I succumb to defeat and allow him to lead me another few miles to the "place."

A blue metal building with nothing to identify it as the "depot" other than a black rubber hose extending through a hole in the side of he building. No sign, no automobiles, no people, no nothing! I no more than get out a thank you before he's off down the road slinging mud and rocks as he departs.

There I stand, in the pouring rain, waiting for the attendant (haaaaa) to arrive wondering how in the world anyone unfamiliar with the area is supposed to find this place. No signs of any kind, no pumps, gauges, credit card slots.........nothing.............other than my black hose extending from the metalwork with a nozzle attached. I try it and naturally, nothing comes out.

After a few minutes, it becomes apparent that an attendant is not coming to my aid. I walk to the nearest door, thinking surely there are people around somewhere. Unsuccessful at locating an individual capable of giving me fuel, I begin walking to nearby buildings in hope of finding Mr. Attendant, ................somebody,................. anybody..........with blood flowing in their veins to guide me in the process of securing fuel so I can get the heck out of this place before I lose even more precious daylight.

Eventually after going to several building and finding not a single person, I hear a distant voice indicating that I'm "at the wrong building if looking for gasoline." Well I wonder how that could possibly be? Amazing to me that we can figure out how to retrieve liquid gold from 5 miles beneath earth's surface here at the remote reaches of the planet, but nobody ever thought to place a few simple signs to guide a visitor in obtaining fuel. Guess it was just too complicated an endeavor to tackle. Haaaaaaaaaaa..........I gotta laugh.




The stiff crosswind for the first 40-50 miles forced me to continually push hard on the opposite handlebar to maintain my line in the mud. So hard in fact, that I was constantly on guard, wondering if the wind was strong enough to break the tires loose on the slick clay/gravel surface and send it's rider to a nice worms-eye view of the surrounding Arctic tundra.

Fortunately, after fifty miles of so, the rain began to subside and that's when I met Jerry and Matt. They're riding new 2008 KLR-650s and R1200GS's respectively. I learn they had gotten lucky and found fuel without delay which ultimately put them on the road much sooner than I.

More "dirty" pictures for John and Doug. As mentioned, the rain lasted only for the first 50 miles of so and then things began to turn beautiful. What had been the worse day of riding in my life only a day earlier, was transforming into one of the most magnificent days I have ever spent on a bike.
Interpret the sign as you wish, things are a little different here on the north slope. The sign means exactly what it says. In fact, there's actually a metal gate that can close off the road temporarily to facilitate planes landing. No, we're not talking 747's here but instead, Alaskan bush planes capable of landing on just about any reasonable flat surface.

As you can see in the background, the guide I mentioned earlier was being serious about the fact it had snowed on the Brooks Range. Jerry, Matt, and myself are riding the same road but on a very intermittent basis. One stops for pictures, the other (or others) continue on. Fifteen or twenty miles later, a different rider stops for any number of reasons and the rest ride on. So it goes for the rest of the day.

The sky is beautiful, the road conditions are good now, the sun is shining and the BMW continues to purr like a kitten. I'm as happy as a clam and honored to be in this magestic place that only the hand of God could have created. A fresh blanket of snow on the mountains and a comfortable 40-43 degrees made for a wonderful day of riding. It is beautiful as we draw ever closer to Atigun Pass and the mighty Brooks Range.

About three quarters of a mile north of Atigun Pass, I spot a bobtail (no trailer) semi up ahead kicking up some pretty serious dust and making good time. Riding alone at that time, I quickly set my sights on him and make it a goal to catch/overtake him before we summit the pass. I'm not sure if he saw me closing and decided to play or what, but unburdoned by the lack of a trailer, he sure wasted no time kicking up some serious gravel to the top of that pass. I'm figuring it wasn't Luke's first time over this bump in the road because the final score was: Trucker = 1, BMW=0. I quickly overtook him on the south side, but he sure as heck topped out on Atigun in front of me and the Beemer.......................this time. haaa

Now all that lies ahead are approximately 100 miles of beautiful scenery between me and our night's destination in Coldfoot. There'll be fuel and a warm plate of food at the little truckers cafe. Maybe I'll just have to offer a victory shake to the trucker with the biggest smile on his face. He'll know why.

An example of why they call it the "Haul Road." When originally built, the road was open to commercial traffic only. In 1981 the state allowed public access as far north as Disaster Creek at milepost 211, and at the same time officially named it the James B. Dalton Highway after an Arctic engineer instrumental in early oil development on the North Slope. In 1994, pubic access was allowed all the way to Deadhorse for the first time. As you can see here, the road has dried considerably and is even a bit on the dusty side today. I'm not complaining, as I'll take it over the mud bath I endured on the ride up the day before.

The pipeline's zig-zag design, (although having a much more important purpose) mimics the pattern of a natural river and hardly distracts from the natural beauty of Atigun Pass and its south facing slopes. Totally obscured from view by the weather a mere 24 hours earlier, it has transformed itself into one of the most spectacular views imaginable. Were it not for time constraints, I could sit here for hours and just watch the herds of caribou or musk ox forage in the valley below.

Matt and Jerry accuse me of "Haulin" down the haul road, but I don't recall seeing a posted speed limit sign. ;-) Guess I'll just have to take a few pictures while I wait for them to arrive. Man, I am giving thanks to God for his handywork and loving life today!

Fresh snow in the Brooks Range. Bear in mind we're talking the end of July here folks.


Fuel stop at Galbraith Lake. Note the freshly fallen snow an the pipeline in the background. At least I didn't have to wait or hunt for an attendant. Just pour and go. This was the longest stretch (243 miles) without services. That's why we're carrying the extra fuel can along. Had to do it on way up as well.

Being so far North, Alaska's growing season can be quite short and harsh. However, wildflowers such as the Alaskan Fireweed pictured here, flourish and paint the meadows with lush color.

Atypical of most flowers, the beautiful red and purple Fireweed blooms from the bottom petals and works its way up. As the petals open over a course of a few weeks, it eventually becomes "topped out" and Alaskans regard this as the sign that summer is nearly over. For that reason, it is referred to as "Alaska's calendar." Vast fields of Fireweed can be seen throughout Alaska and serve as perfect roadside decorations. The flower exists in two varieties; the Dwarf Fireweed typically seen here in the Arctic and more harsh regions, and the Standard version which can grow as tall as five to six feet in the warm and sunny climates of the Kenai Peninsula.

In the old days, Alaskan homesteaders did not always have access to many of the food supplies as more populated areas, so creative substitutes were often created. Listed below is a prime example of that old fashioned ingenuity for anyone wanting to experience an old homesteader delicacy.

Alaskan Homesteaders Fireweed Honey:
50 pink clover blooms

10 white clover blooms

18-25 Fireweed blooms

3/4 tsp Alum

5 # white sugar

3 cups boiling water

Wash blooms in cold water (gently rinse) to remove little critters. Put all ingredients except water in pan, then pour boiling water on. Let sit for 10 minutes. Bring to boil and boil for 10 minutes. Strain through cheesecloth. Put in canning jars and water bath process for 10 min. before sealing lids.

Honey anyone?

Polar Bear Plunge Club

Nordic countries the world over have long celebrated seasonal rituals locally referred to as polar bear plunges, winter swimming, ice swimming, winter dousing and a host of other names, some a bit rough to mention here. Call it by whatever name you like, but I will testify that it's certainly one way to cool off rapidly if that soak in the winter sauna was a bit too steamy. Matter of fact, it'll cool you off rapidly even if you're in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska in July and there probably isn't a sauna within hundreds of miles. Just ask me! Haaaaa

Access to the Arctic Ocean is restricted for security reasons here on the North Slope and only accessible via prearranged tours originating at the Caribou Inn (my $200 shoebox) in Deadhorse. For $38 bucks, they'll haul you through security and the remaining couple miles to the waters edge. The 8:00 a.m. pre-tour briefing was conducted by a rather unhappy little fella whom had totally forgotten (or never learned) how to smile. He almost seemed to take delight when informing us we may not be allowed out of the bus even after we got to the ocean that morning.

According to him, there had been significant polar bear activity recently and the danger was in the fact that polar bears rely upon the ice fog to conceal their snowy appearance until they are within striking range of prey. It was his hasty and abrupt presentation that left me with the distinct impression that wanna-be swimmers were more of a nuisance and waste of his time than it was a safety concern. Just because he wasn't happy to be here didn't mean I had to share the feeling.

Well, I got news for old "snarrelface" (I'll allow you to decide if I'm talking about the polar bear or the bus driver). I didn't survive yesterday's 308 miles of torture to go home without getting Mike's ashes scattered nor to leave without my Polar Bear Plunge certificate! Since it was 40 degrees and raining, I didn't figure the "plungers" would take up too much of his precious time by loitering excessively in the frigid 39 degree water.

Although not his fault, the tour bus windows were so covered in mud it was impossible to see any of the things he was attempting to point out, so most of us just sat staring at one another and making new acquaintances as we jolted along another few thousand potholes and patiently awaited the arrival at waters edge.

Now, I had already convinced myself that bear or no bear, I was getting Mike's ashes spread and I was going home with my Polar Bear Plunge certificate. Since I couldn't see the tour, I was determined to get something for my $38 tour fee, if it was nothing but a few seconds of "cool-down time." And "COOL DOWN" I did!!!! Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr !!!!

The frigid 39 degree water will literally takes your voluntary control of breathing away initially. I wasn't even able to scream with excitement as I had planned to do. When you do get your breath back, all you can think about is getting out of that water to a dry towel. Like I said, you don't loiter excessively! haaaaaa Holy Pete's.........what was I thinking? haaaaaa I had wanted that certificate for some time and darn it, I wasn't leaving the Arctic without it! You only live once in life and it isn't a dress rehearsal for the next time around.

I'm still trying to figure out if the term "dip" referring to what you do in the water, or what you "are" for having considered such a crazy idea in the first place. Out of a tour of approximately 20-22 people, I was joined by three other brave plungers................all teenagers! Heck, I couldn't have even outrun those three if the polar bear had emerged..

Now that I have my "stupid papers" to prove I totally submerged myself in the Arctic Ocean, thus joining the elite (aka: stupid) group of Polar Bear Plunge Club members, I'm headed back down the infamous Haul Road and feeling really good about having taken the plunge. :-)

In Honor of Mike

O.K. guys, I really dropped the ball on this blog thing. I got so far behind that I just gave up on my attempt to keep you informed and up to date. Intentionally looking for out-of-the-way places to travel certainly didn't help the internet blog efforts.

Truth is, I'm back home now and quite a few of you have requested that I complete the blog despite the trip being over. I'm going to just sort of pick up where I left off at the Arctic Ocean. I've intentionally changed the dates to reflect the actual dates I travelled to these places. Here goes and I hope you enjoy the rest of the trip with me.

July 30, 2008:

This post is devoted to my friend:

Michael E. Boulton (May 14, 1944 - May 11, 2005)

I've been carrying part of my friend's cremated remains since I left Michigan. As I mentioned early in the blog, part of the reason for coming this far north was to fulfill my promise to Mike's wife Loretta, that I would get his remains here and scattered at the Arctic Ocean.

The blog stalled out at this part, in part, because I just couldn't seem to find the words to say exactly what I was feeling. It wasn't until today (late August) that a dear friend's (Momma Marsha) email, helped me find the words I wanted to share concerning this moment and Mike's passing. I'm going to borrow and modify a few of those lines because they help me convey what I've searched to say.

If you take a look at the dates next to our friend's name we'll see the date his mother delivered him into this world. I have only known Mike a few short years compared to some of you reading this and whom have considered him your friend also for much longer than myself. Some of you may agree with what I have to say, some may not.

The second date, the day of Mike's passing, is the one that wrings so much sadness from the hearts of those who knew and loved him. But what matters most is not the years 1944 and 2005, but rather, the little "dash" between those two dates, for it represents all the time Mike spent alive on earth. And now only the people who knew him can appreciate just how significant that little dash truly is. It represents all the lives he touched, the smiles he shared and the laughter he created.

When we lose a friend, it's a reminder that life doesn't go on forever, but that it always draws to a close and in most cases, sooner than we expected. This was the case with Mike as well. It was unexpected and we didn't see it coming. I know I would have made my way to the hospital that day if I would have had any idea things were going to take a turn for the worse. But I never imagined his condition could so rapidly deteriorate, that I would lose that opportunity to see him another day. That is a mistake that I'll have to live with. That doesn't sit well with me, never has and probably never will. Life does go on and we can't change what we did or didn't do. We can only move forward.

So think about this long and hard. Are there things you’d like to change, for you never know how much time we each have remaining on this earth. If we would all just slow down long enough to consider what's truly important in life and try to think of others instead of ourselves. If we'd be slower to anger and feel more gratitude for all the things we're blessed to have in this life. We should love the special people in our lives and respect those around us, for we never know when our time with that individual will end. And we all know, they usually end too soon.

Remember that this special dash may only last a short while longer. Maybe it'll be years, or only a few months, weeks, days or even hours remaining. Unfortunately, we don't have God's time table to guide our actions. My guess is, that's intentional so he can see what's truly in our hearts and to prevent us from rushing to do good at the very last minute. All the while ignoring his directives until the moment we think he's looking and it counts most.

Live every day like it's the final act and treat your loved ones as if were the last opportunity you'll ever have to share with them. Then, when our inevitable day comes and our eulogy is read aloud, we can be proud of the things people would say of us after we're gone and how the world felt we spent our "dash."

Mike was quick with humor and full of laughter. He could be stubborn and hard headed as hell. He pretended to have a touch outer shell that was impenetrable, but if you stuck around long enough and sought it out, one could find the crack to get inside. There, deep inside and well protected by that tough persona, was the part of Mike that many never found. The old softy that he never wanted anyone to know existed. He could be tough to get to know, but worth the effort for the fortunate few who did. He could be a total ass at times, but a wonderful person the next. I suppose that could be said of many of us. If he liked you, he would do anything to lend a hand and help out. Like most everyone, he just needed to feel his efforts were appreciated. I learned that firsthand and for that reason, I feel that at some level, he must have liked me at least a little.

There were times that I remember being so frustrated with him that I didn't even want him around me, but his big smile and belly laugh would quickly make me forget whatever it was. Mike used to love making fun of my southern accent and it brought him great pleasure to tease me about it. One of his favorites was to have be say the word "bearings" in my typical slow southern style. He somehow got the greatest kick out of hearing my version of "bearins" that he would request it on a regular basis. Despite all that, our friend is gone and I will forever long to hear his laughter and see that bigger-than-Texas smile of his.

This is a sad moment for me but I feel privileged and honored to have been entrusted with getting Mike to this special place which he always wanted to visit. Death took him from us before he could ride his bike to Alaska so I hope he enjoyed the journey as a passenger aboard mine. Not everyone understood Mike and I'll never know for sure if I did, but this I do know. Despite all, he was my friend, he made me laugh and I will forever miss him!

The first two pictures are of Mike and his beautiful granddaugther Brieanna. The third is the day he and Loretta took me to see Michigan International Speedway (MIS) for the first time. Next are just a few of Mike being Mike. The final two represent the little prayer I offered for Mike before spreading his ashes to the winds of the Arctic. I only wish I would have had a handful of "bearins" to toss out to sea and solicit one last laugh from my dear friend.

Mike, I hope Alaska is everything he ever dreamed it could be!

Misery on Two Wheels to the Arctic Ocean

After a good nights rest at the Arctic Circle, I was left with another 308 miles to make it to Deadhorse and Prudhoe Bay at the Arctic Ocean. That would have been just dandy with one exception.......rain! Lots of rain! Relentless rain that didn't stop for more than a few minutes for the entire 308 miles. It turned the Haul Road into a soupy, mucky mess that was slicker to drive on than any dirt surface I've ever ridden a bike on. Now I know what was being described in the articles I had read regarding this road and their use of a calcium-clay mixture. Yuck! Double Yuck!!!

I learned several things today; (1) "waterproof" claims don't mean a thing to me anymore. I stopped and wrung out enough water from my Gore-Tex waterproof gloves to have drowned a sea lion and my waterproof boots felt like hip-waders that were used as scoop buckets. (2) Let's not forget those wonderful Frogg-Toggs. While they work for a while, it didn't take long to learn where their usefulness ends. The thermometer started at 50 degrees that morning and steadily dropped until reaching 40-43 degrees with a good stiff 30-32 knot wind (according to NOAA's website) to compliment the rain. Let me tell you, wind driven H2O has a way of finding the tiniest of cracks and over time, will it ever wick!

Despite that being the most miserable day I can ever remember on a bike, I'm still going to attempt to show you some of the valley's natural beauty, what of it I could see when the rain would lighten up enough to dare exposing my photography gear to the elements..

Picture # 1, 2 & 3: A few shots of Atigan Pass, the Haul Road's most notorious climb up into the soup of the Brooks Range. Please keep in mind this is gravel and mud today but could be nothing other than ice and snow in a few short months. I cannot imagine the nerve-racking ordeal it must be for truckers in the winter.

Located approximately 100 miles north of the Arctic Circle, Atigan Pass is the highest mountain pass in Alaska at approximately 4100'. Doesn't sound like much until you're reminded its a 2 mile long twisting and turning 10% icy graveled, and muddy grade! Can you imagine pushing 52 tons of semi up that in the winter? Or worse yet, bringing it off the other side? Talk about heating up the transmission and differential temperatures....WOW!!!!.

Talking with some of the drivers who regularly run the Haul Road in like sitting in the midst of living trucking legends. These guys have nerves of steel. Some of them will tell you that "Sure it gets a little tough at sixty below zero, your brakes freeze to the drums, or you can snap a drive train like a candy cane if you're not tender with the gears." "Make one wrong move on a hill and you're hanging onto an 18-wheeled toboggan." That's why some guys refer to the Haul Road as the Kamikaze Trail, but they'll quickly tell you it's the best trucking in the world if you know what you're doing.

Pictures 4 & 5: Some of the equipment being regularly transported to the North Slope oil fields. Due to the enormous size of machinery required in the oil patch, the drivers tell me they are allowed to haul more weight on the Haul Road than other Alaskan highways. If memory serves me correctly, I recall him saying 105,000 gross vehicle weight was their limit. Now remember that comment about the runaway toboggan on the icy mountain passes. These guys earn every penny they're paid!

The International Harvester/Case 385 QuadTrac, built in Fargo, North Dakota is one impressive machine and currently holds the world record for a 24 hour plowing activity. While it obviously isn't headed to the North Slope for a corn planting contest, it looks as if it could do or pull just about anything you linked it up to. For more information on the QuadTrac, click on the link above.

Pictures 6 & 7: Approximately 60 miles north of the Arctic Circle is the town of Coldfoot, Alaska. It has the distinction of holding the lowest recorded temperatures in Alaska when in January of 1989, the recorded seventeen consecutive days below -60 degrees and a bone chilling low of -82 degrees. While you're thinking of those numbers, take comfort in the fact that you can always find warm cozy accommodations nearby. For a mere $90 per night, you too can snuggle up in this bungalow complete with additional fir blankets if needed (pic 7). No.......I'm not kidding, it is for rent! You have to remember, you're in some of Alaska's most remote country and things are a bit on the rustic side. But, of course if that doesn't suit your fancy you can always check into alternative lodging as seen in pictures 8-10.

Pictures 8, 9, & 10: But, of course if that doesn't suit your fancy you can always check into alternative lodging in the form of the Arctic Getaway Igloo #8. Price is about the same but decorated differently. Then of course, there's always the bed and breakfast (9 & 10). Look closely at the sign and learn that at this B&B, "YOU" make both! haaaaaaaa

Pictures 11-15: Dirty pictures for John and Doug! You asked for them, so here they are. Now I'll expect you guys at my house upon my return to help clean this thing with a toothbrush. By the time I rolled into Prudhoe Bay around 11:00 p.m., I was so darned tired, soaked and nasty from mud thrown up by the trucks I could have slept in a 55-gallon barrel. Fortunately, the Caribou Inn had "one" room left which was little more than a 8' x 12' box with a tiny bed, 13" television and shared bathroom. For a mere $200 (!!!!!) I could rent it for the night. With camping not allowed in the town and a driving rain still coming down, I couldn't have cared less if it had been $400.

To the Arctic Circle

Finally made it to Fairbanks which is the kick-off point for my ride to the top of the world. I have looked forward to this part since I began planning the trip over two years ago. The passage north to Prudhoe Bay and the Arctic Ocean is 497 miles due north of Fairbanks and requires one to ride the notorious "North Slope Haul Road" or as it's now known, the Dalton Highway. If you really want to learn more about this road, click on the link above to learn just how remote and demanding this part of the world truly is.

The James W. Dalton Highway, is a 414-mile road which begins at the end of the paved Elliott Highway, some 75 miles north of Fairbanks, and ends at Deadhorse, Alaska near the Arctic Ocean and the Prudhoe Bay oil fields. Originally called the North Slope Haul Road (a name by which it is still sometimes known), it is mostly gravel and was built as a supply road to support the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System in 1974.

The highway, which directly parallels the pipeline, is one of the most isolated roads in the United States and driving to Deadhorse is as far north as one can travel by road on the entire North American continent. There are no towns as we know them and the few settlements are merely truck stops to support the long-haul truckers running the road. There are no public medical services, cellular service, banks or for that matter, even an ATM until you reach Deadhorse. Of course, that makes little difference as there are very few places to purchase anything other than food, fuel, and an occasional T-shirt at about three places along the route.

Picture # 1: I figured having the Freedom Machine shod with a new set of Continental TKC-80's (knobbies) in Fairbanks would be a smart move before heading out up the Haul Road. My research had told me sections of the road would be under construction and the reports were not incorrect! Thanks to Randy and Jerry at Thunder Road Harley Davidson in Fairbanks, putting on new rubber was fast and efficient. Ask me later how I got the tires! heeeeee

Picture # 2: While I was awaiting my tire change, this guy rolled into the shop on a 1974 Harley Davidson softail. You don't have to be the longest french fry in a happy meal to figure out this guy's probably just rolled off the Dalton Highway.

Inquiring further, I learn that Tony is from the Netherlands and has indeed, just returned from the Arctic Ocean with only first, second and fifth gears! He had lost third and fourth gears somewhere on the north slope haul road and was in looking to purchase another transmission. He tells me the bike has been all over the world and with over 350,000 miles behind her, I believe he's one tough puppy. You'd think looking at his bike and listening to his story about losing the transmission, that I'd be smart enough to forego traveling up the Haul Road. But, as you know, I was on a mission to succeed and not getting Mike's remains to Prudhoe Bay was not an option I was willing to consider. For me, it was Prudhoe Bay or Bust!

Picture # 3: If I hadn't paid any attention to how the "74" Soft-tail looked after enduring the Haul Road, you'd have thought I would at least have gotten a hint as to what this road was going to be like from this road sign,.............but nooooooooooooooo,.......... the Freedom Machine and I pressed on.

Picture # 4: Day one on the Dalton Highway was beautiful with only a little rain as I departed Fairbanks. As you can see in this picture, miles and miles of gravel, tundra and heavy forest. Notice how clean the Freedom Machine is.

Picture # 5 & 6: And then things started to get a little messy. Construction on the Haul Road up around the Yukon River was an indication of what lie in store. Yep, this is the slick, goopy, messy, calcium based stuff that the North Slope Haul Road is notorious for. Still, I ain't turning back and neither is Murphy.

Picture # 7: It isn't long before you start seeing the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. Usually called the Alyeska Pipeline in Alaska or the Alaska Pipeline elsewhere, is a major U.S. oil pipeline connecting oil fields in northern Alaska to a sea port where the oil can be shipped to the lower 48 states for refining. The main Trans-Alaska Pipeline runs north to south, almost 800 miles from the Arctic Ocean at Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to the Gulf of Alaska at Valdez which it Alaska's northern-most ice-free sea port.

Construction of the pipeline presented significant challenges due to the remoteness of the terrain and the harshness of the environment it had to pass through. Between Arctic Alaska and Valdez, there were three mountain ranges, active fault lines, miles of unstable, boggy ground underlain with frost, and migration paths of caribou and moose. Geological activity has damaged the pipeline on several occasions.

Since its completion in 1977, the pipeline has transported over 15 billion barrels of oil.

Some statistical data for us that enjoy that sort of thing:

Length: 800 miles.
Diameter: 48 inches.
Crosses three mountain ranges and over 800 rivers and streams.
Cost to build: $8 billion in 1977, largest privately funded construction project at that time.
Construction began on March 27, 1975 and was completed on May 31, 1977.
First oil moved through the pipeline on June 20, 1977.
Over 15 billion barrels have moved through the Trans Alaska Pipeline System.
First tanker to carry crude oil from Valdez: ARCO Juneau, August 1, 1977.
Tankers loaded at Valdez: 19,625 through April 30, 2008.
Storage tanks in Valdez- 18 with total storage capacity of 9.1 million barrels total.

Pictures 8, 9, & 10: Well, the Freedom Machine had finally completed part of the mission for which she was purchased. She has delivered Murphy and I to the 66th parallel; 66 degrees, 33 mins. north of the equator, the Arctic Circle!

That mystical, imaginary line that seems to draw people like a moth to flame. I can't exactly explain why this is such a special moment for me but it is. Just as I had anticipated, there are no banners flying, no trumpet salute or confetti in the air, but rather, just an unparalleled serenity that makes me heart feel alive. Just standing here in the middle of the great Alaskan wilderness several hundred miles from civilization as we know it, looking out over a seemingly endless stretch of uninhabited tundra as far as the eye can see. I've finally made it and it's a little after 10:00 p.m.

Light is plentiful and there are no motor home, tour buses, or noisy vehicles anywhere in sight. I'm totally alone here tonight and the only sounds are those of nature. God has a marvelous hand and I am blessed to be here to enjoy his works.

The Arctic Circle is an imaginary line around the Earth (at about 66°33' North Latitude) that defines the boundary of the Arctic region. It marks the start of the area where, for at least one day each year, the sun does not completely set (June 21) or rise (December 22). These dates are referred to as the summer and winter solstices. For some really cool pictures and illustrations regarding the Arctic Circle be sure to spend a little time on this link.

Despite bear warnings and the lack of darkness, I made camp and got a wonderful night of sleep, Sleeping at the Arctic Circle was one of those things on my "bucket list" and now I can cross it off and move on to the next one which is coming up real soon. I feel truly blessed and all my worries are but a fleeting memory at this moment. I hope that all my friends will one day experience this great moment and have the same feeling in their hearts as I have at this moment. Life is Good!!!!!!

Into Alaska

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Today's Ride: Dawson City, Yukon to Tok, Alaska
Distance Traveled: 298 Kilometers

I've been having so much fun meeting people and seeing places that I've almost forgotten that I was supposed to eventually get to Alaska. Good thing this was about the journey instead of the destination. haaaaa I have met so many really neat and interesting people that I couldn't remember half their names were it not for making cheat notes. Must be that old age thing setting in. Finally made it to Alaska about 5 days ago despite being late on the post. Waiting to board the ferry to cross the Yukon River in Dawson City, Yukon. No charge for the ferry since the Canadians consider it part of their road system. The river's current is very strong at this point and its really amazing to watch the skill of the captain as he manuevers the boat against the water. As we load, he has to use significant engine power to hold the barge in place against the current. The wet metal decking was a bit tricky as the boat bobbed and weaved in the rough waters.



Picture # 2: Alaska at last! A land shaped by the power of running water and rivers. Endless river valleys cradle caribou, moose and elk while echoing the cries of peregrine falcons and the majestic bald eagle. A home of seasonal abundance to the people who inhabited this land first, the native Athabaskans. A source of hidden gold that beckoned strong-spirited souls to extract her riches from the ground. A land that still calls the adventurous to discover her history, wildlife and free-flowing waters. Alaska is not a land that I will ever be able to describe to you in this, or any other blog for that matter. It is a land and beauty that has to be witnessed with one's own eyes to truly appreciate. Make it a priority, make it your own. I have and I will never be the same.
Picture # 3: Sometimes, a dirt road can seen to go on forever and a day. The miles seem longer than a mile and I find myself totally lost in the moment. Modern day problems seem to slip into oblivion with little thought as to time of day, day of week or whether the grass needs clipping. You can, and I have...........become totally lost in this land with little thought as to what is left behind. I love this land and this trip.

Pictures 4 & 5: Just a few pictures taken as I made it into Alaska. There were taken along the Top-of-the-World Highway crossing into Chicken, Alaska. Not sure what year the old Ford was but it appears to have seen it's better days. The horns are moose and caribou. The licence plates on the building date all the way back into the 1940's.