Kim's bike needed service and Trail's End BMW was accommodating in squeezing us in for oil and fluid changes, as well as valve adjustments since both bikes had hit their service intervals and we still had a long ways to go. Kim's chain was requiring adjustment more frequently than usual so I asked them to check it out and replace if needed - especially as we were planning to do the Dalton Highway to Prudhoe Bay.
Unfortunately we had to wait much longer than expected, including a panic when the tech misidentified something as a top-end failure and were there most of the day. The Iron B sat on a lowered 1200 Adventure Water (conundrum?) and fell in love immediately. As we waited another couple, a bit worn from the road were perusing the 800's and the girl was waiting to test ride a lowered F800GS.
While we were snoozing in the back, the couple came around and introduced themselves. Dave and Heather had ridden South America and were now on their Alaska loop. Heather's single cylinder F650GS had been giving them problems for months and they finally decided to just get another bike - the lowered 800 on the showroom floor. Turns out Heather's bike was not running and Dave's brake pads were gone, so they were walking around town, luckily staying close enough to the dealer to walk a couple miles.
The dealer was out of stock on brake pads for a few days, so we offered them a ride home, letting them double up on Kim's bike and following them to their friend's house. Kim decided to let them use her bike for a couple of days until their deal on the F800 went through. They were appreciative and we agreed to have dinner or a beer with Fanda and Kaschka that evening. Heather and Dave wanted to glean info about Mongolia since they were eventually going there. BBQ was the order once again.
That night Kim's ear infection hit with a vengeance and we spent a few hours at a late night clinic and then an unsuccessful attempt to get the ear medicine - all pharmacies were closed and the emergency room pharmacist telling us that none of that medicine was available in town at the moment. Kim suffered through the night until the next day when a pharmacist finally substituted eye medicine - warning that it was very dangerous if there was a ruptured ear drum.
The next day was spent washing clothes, editing pics and Kim resting as much as possible. That evening we got a text from Dave and Heather that they'd bought the 800, so we ran over and picked up Kim's bike in the dark. We were planning to do the Dalton to Prudhoe Bay the next day, and Fanda wanted to ride it as well, but had concerns about being two up with Kaschka, His TKC80 was a bit thin and the road was rough and muddy from reports we'd heard. The 1000 mile round trip might push the tire over it's limit with all the weight they carried. Kaschka decided to stay in Fairbanks to rest and work on the blog so that Fanda could go solo. Their couch surfing host was Evan, a young guy who worked at a gold mine and rode an 800GS. He said it would be fine of we wanted to leave some gear at his house to lighten the load for the Dalton, which we happily did. It was late when we finally got to bed, but I was glad the bikes were prepped for the road.
Up early for the long day on the Dalton, I checked Kim's chain in the rain in front of the hotel, a bit pissed to discover it slack. The dealer had "adjusted it" the day before when doing the service, saying it was fine and didn't need replacement, but it was very loose only a day later. Hmmm. In the rush of leaving and loaning the bike to Dave and Heather I hadn't checked it at the stealership.
The highway from Fairbanks to Prudhoe on the Dalton is 497 official miles so the round trip of 1000 with a weakening chain made me a bit nervous. There is only one habitated stop on the 500 mile road, the little gas station/restaurant at Coldfoot which lies almost exactly at the 250 mile midpoint between Fairbanks and Prudhoe Bay on the Arctic Ocean. Not a good place to break down, and foolishly I hadn’t picked up a spare chain on our travels, having intended to do so the entire time. The previous day’s dealer trip had assuaged my concerns as they said it had checked out fine and had adjusted it. The loose condition told me otherwise…
We rolled into the driveway of the couch surfer home where F&K were staying, dropping even more extra gear to lighten our loads for the mud that lay ahead. We'd left all our gear, except for tools, food, tent and basic cook kit and took no extra clothes, figuring we could do 4 days in the same outfits easily.
It was beginning to rain as we left Fairbanks, catching gas on the edge of town. While I waited outside the convenience store for Kim and Fanda to come out, a bearded old character came up to check out the bike and when he found out we planned to camp on the Dalton, immediately asked me if I had a big gun with me. I responded no, having had to leave my Ulralight 44 mag back in the states since Canada wouldn’t let me cross with it. He then recounted how a bear had torn into his tent one night and he had to shoot it with his pistol, killing it half inside his tent. He then said “If I were you I wouldn’t go up there without a gun.” and walked away. Just what I needed to hear before heading into the wilderness, as if I weren’t paranoid enough about bears already.
As we continued north the rain increased and a bit of trepidation as well. The forecast for Prudhoe Bay had said “light rain mixed with sun” for the next 3 days or so, but after hearing the horror stories of the road construction and mud ahead, we had hoped to catch some sunshine and the rain we were in was not comforting.
About the time the blacktop ended and we hit the Dalton dirt, the clouds had come so low we rode in zero visibility for a few miles in the mountains, finally clearing the fog before dropping down to Livengood. We took the side road for Livengood a mile or so to check it out, but the mud was getting deep so we turned back for the Dalton.
I stopped at the road department building at the junction and asked some folks who were working on soil core samples if they had any idea of the road status ahead. They didn't, so we motored on.
The road varied from dirt and mud to loose gravel and asphalt, all wet and muddy. The scenery changed from forest to sweeping landscapes as we dodged potholes, mudholes and piles of river rock dumped randomly on the surfaces. It required constant concentration and doing scenery checks had to be fast.
A wrecked truck off the embankment to the left reminded us of the road, followed by a rolled car a few miles further. The appearance of the Alaska pipeline was fascinating to see after a lifetime of hearing about it. It was fun to ride along side it, somewhat astonishing at the engineering feat it represented as it wound around and under the road and hills for 500 miles through wilderness land and extreme weather.
As we came into the region near Finger Rocks, the sun came out and blue sky lay ahead. It perked our spirits for sure. As the miles rolled by with absolutely no signs of civilization it sank in how far we were going and just how remote and uninhabited a land this place was. The feeling was inspiring and cautioning at the same time.
At a stop for a butt break, a pickup with mud covered snowmobile trailer pulled in and the man and woman came over to talk to us. They'd been bowhunting for caribou and warned us of really bad sections of road ahead, laughing a bit at our adventure to come. The driver warned us that Atigun Pass was very slick and muddy and that we might have real trouble getting over it, as they had much difficulty in their pickup truck. He said there had been six days of solid rain previous and we were heading into a quagmire. It was soooooooo good to hear and I could see Kim's face as we listened, her eyes glancing to me at times. The couple also told us we could camp anywhere along the pipeline, especially at the pull out roads, as long as we didn't set up either blocking the access road or directly under the pipeline.
Frank’s Franks and Beans Break
Finger Rocks protrudes above the plain
Riding on with the warnings in our minds, the sign for "The Arctic Circle" was exciting to see and a milestone marker for us two Texans, pulling in to get the obligatory shots for our memories. As Fanda pulled his bike over to the sign for his turn, he popped the side stand down and leaned the bike over, but the bike kept going and we both grabbed it. I looked down to find a loose rock to put under the stand, but then saw that the side stand itself had broken about an inch below the pivot.
We got the bike on the center stand to survey the situation but it was beyond repair. Fanda decided to wire it up and go on, using the center stand only for the rest of the trip up. We finished our pics and talked to a couple of BLM guys there who were giving away Arctic Circle Certificates, about any camping spots along the way north. They suggested two, or just doing dispersed camping along the road.
Approaching Coldfoot, the only gas stop at the midway point of the Dalton, supposedly named as the spot where people got "cold feet" about going further north, our blue skies turned grey again. As we neared a river crossing, there happened to be an old red and yellow VW bus parked off the side with 4 folks standing around it. Fanda chopped the throttle and pulled off, recognizing one of the couples as Russians who'd stayed at the same couch surfer's home with them. They had decided to go to Prudhoe Bay by car and ended up riding with the VW couple.
Turns out the bus had developed a problem which was soon diagnosed as a bad CV joint. The owners of "Big Emma" had brought a spare and the decision was made to replace it on the roadside rather than continue on to Coldfoot. I had a long conversation with the Russian couple whose plans mirrored all of ours in heading to Ushuaia.
At another butt break on the road side a blue pickup pulled in, two guys from Serbia and Croatia conversing with us about our bikes and trip.
Our goal for the day, Coldfoot, which is almost exactly 250 miles from Fairbanks and roughly the same from Prudhoe Bay further north, was in reach as the weather deteriorated into rain again. Kim's bike had a known range of 235-240 miles based on experience, and I had planned to siphon some gas from my tank in case she didn't quite make it. Turns out Fanda had an extra 3 liter fuel bottle so we'd decided to use his if needed and had raced north as quickly as the roads allowed, which turned out to be closer to 40 mph in average. As I looked at the GPS and told Kim we were about 4 miles from Coldfoot, she simultaneously shouted she'd just run out of gas. My GPS showed it 3.8 miles away. Fanda pulled up and we dumped the 3 liter bottle in, then continued on. Her bike had made it about 245 miles or so.
We gassed up at the combo gas stop and restaurant to a crowd of Australian tourists who were about to board their bus. They were anxious to take pics and talk to us, one lady getting a shot of herself sitting on my bike. She was thrilled to send it to her son.
In the store I bought a couple of stickers, some peanut M&M's and a Coke to share, as well as each of us downing a big cup of coffee while we watched the rain shower through the windows.
We'd not seen a place to camp and since it didn't get dark until 10:30 at night we made the caffeine fueled decision to go on for Galbraith Lake on the northern side of the Brooks Range by way of Atigun Pass.
The cash register girl had suggested a couple of roadside pullouts about 10 miles up the road from Coldfoot but we passed them in the rain with no desire to stop.
Random short stretches of blacktop appeared in the middle of nowhere only to end shortly after
Nearing Atigun Pass, the rain stopped but the temps had dropped to 48 or so. The pass began the climb into the mountains, the road wet and spongy, the front end wandering as the smooth dirt sunk an inch or two into mud beneath. It had appeared to have been freshly graded and was deceptively smooth, hiding it's depth and softness well. It seemed the road crews had just dumped and smoothed fresh dirt on top of the mud, disguising it well.
Tension was thick as we motored up, feeling the bikes wandering as the throttle pushed the front wheel on, never feeling secure and not knowing if the mud would suddenly deepen. I kept asking the Butterfly how she was doing to hear a tense "Okay".
Hitting the top to spectacular views of sun spots amidst the cloud shadows was breathtaking, but as we began the descent I could see deeper mud and deep ruts from semi truck tires. It got very bad just as a turn came up, tire tracks cutting deep trenches in the 8” deep mud where a semi had slid sideways.
Simultaneously in my rear view mirror I could see Kim, Fanda and the pickup truck with the Serbian guys all coming behind me. Incredulously I saw the truck pass Fanda and come up right behind Kim just as we hit the deepest mud. I began doing the butt clench tango as the bike wobbled in the deep ruts and heard Kim shouting in my ears as she suddenly went completely sideways just as the jerks in the pickup truck tried to pass her in the deep mud. Incredibly she didn't go down, and as I stopped she wore the paint off the truck with a withering streak of language. I was so pissed at the idiots myself I shook my fist at them as they passed.
Kim was shaking heavily, having just avoided going down in the mud and then being run over by the truck. We'd had not a single vehicle near us on the entire ride until the worst part of the road, and of course an idiot driver decides to blast past as her bike was wavering side to side. As she got her nerves back we got the bike turned downhill and she continued the slithering down for another mile or so to the base.
After settling down a bit we passed the truck again and later at a butt break miles up the road the driver pulled in to apologize to both of us. Thankfully Kim had calmed down a bit so I was relieved we wouldn't have to burn the bodies and push their truck off the cliff when she finished with them. To say the road and views that day were epic was an understatement. The skies, terrain, loneliness, expanses and weather are truly amazing and one tires of trying to describe it or photograph it. It must be experienced.
North of Atigun Pass, there are no trees as there are on the southern side. Instead, only tundra which lay in red, purple and gold patterns like a shag carpet covering the landscape. The contrast between landscapes only a few miles apart was stunning, and the tundra was beautiful in a completely different way, something I’d never seen before.
The fall coloration of the tundra was beautiful
As the light faded we began to wonder if we'd missed the turn for the campground, and when we saw a pump station off the road side I swung in to ask about fuel or camping. The guard in the shack freaked out when he saw my helmet cam and demanded to know if it was on or not. I assured him it wasn't and he calmed a bit, explaining that the camp area was still a few miles ahead.
As we rolled on, we saw the sign for Galbraith and the side road went past a small airstrip, eventually dead-ending into the brushy camp area. A bear box was both a good sign and a bad sign, but at least we had a spot for our food after dinner. If I’d been smaller I would’ve attempted to sleep in the bear box for the night.
Fanda used his new miniature camp hatchet to get some small wood and a fire going, while I scavenged a couple of burnt logs from another fire ring and Kim got boiling water going on the propane stove.
Our meal was a share of instant Thai curry rice and a can of baked beans from Fanda, the cold eventually driving us into our tents where I lay awake late wondering if we had inadvertently pitched our tent directly on the bear path to the bear proof trash cans.
