The ride to Deadhorse has ultimately been our favorite ride on this trip… both for the beauty and the sensory experience, and underlined by the challenge. Standing silently in the quietest place I’ve ever been, engulfed in sunshine and solitude will forever be burned into memory.
That said, getting back to a nice room and the chance to get gear cleaned from the ride was a welcome experience. Our day was spent washing clothes, camp gear and more importantly the bikes which were caked in the brown crust of the Dalton. The crunching grit sounds as case lids opened and dirt fell into everything grated on us, and despite wanting to leave the crud on as a tattoo of the trip, we hit the local car wash to spend about $30 hosing them down.
Kim’s chain was done and there was no way in hell I’d take the bike back to the BMW dealer in Fairbanks - I’ll stop at this point, but let’s just say they get a 1-2 star internet rating for a reason. Luckily Adventure Cycle Works was happy to respond on a Sunday and had a chain, sprockets and other parts for the F800 series in stock. Dan the owner said to come on over to his house and he’d get the Butterfly’s bike fixed up.
We chatted about Alaska, bears, bikes and such as he flew through the work, discovering a bad rear wheel bearing and notchy steering head bearings in the process. He swapped in new bearings and we were on the road again quickly. Dan was quick, efficient and knew his stuff. We had a great experience with him and is a great resource.
We swung by F&K’s host home to pick up the gear we’d left behind for the run up the Dalton, cringing at the thought of adding it back onto the bikes… all the repacking and additional weight seemed hideous.
Back at the motel, as we clambered off the bikes, an older native American man was standing in the doorway of his room adjacent to ours and shouting loudly. I couldn’t understand what he was saying due to my helmet and he couldn’t hear me as I yelled back. A young native American woman was walking away from him, purposely ignoring him and waving her arms as if she wanted nothing to do with the man.
When we got our helmets off, Kim said he was shouting “Can you help me? Can you help me?” We finally got over to the old gentleman, who was stone deaf and couldn’t hear our responses to his plea until we got right up to him. He kept yelling loudly and asking if we could take his trash out for him, holding himself up in the doorway with twisted and gnarled hands. We tried to get him to understand that we needed to get our gear off and would return, but he seemed frantic and continued shouting for us.
A moment later I’d gotten the jacket off and helmet on the bed, returning to his doorway where he began to thank me profusely. Kim was right behind and as we entered the room, the stench was overwhelming. There were about 30 Walmart bags filled with trash and rotting food stacked all around his kitchenette area. He was obviously unable to carry them out and apparently had no help. Maybe the woman we’d seen walking away was a relative, who knows...
We held our breath and carried them out a few at a time, stacking them around a full garbage can outside. I hit the manager's office and scrounged a couple of trash bags so that we could bag them all up. The entire time, the old man stood watching and yelling “Thank you! Thank you! God bless you! God bless you!”
Finishing the cleanup, we were finally able to come back and talk with him a little. He kept thanking us and I shook his hand and asked his name. He responded that he was 96 years old and his name was Moe Samuelson, his mother being an Eskimo and his father a Norwegian who’d come to Alaska as an explorer.
Moe continued on, saying how God had blessed him so much in his life, his health being so good he’d never even had a headache and had no idea what one felt like. He said he’d ended up in Fairbanks after being drafted and assigned to the area during WWII.
Moe continued on, sharing his life and stopping to thank us again and again for helping him. He continued to talk of God and God’s blessings on him. Kim and I both had some moisture around the eyes hearing him talk of life. I treasure the chances to speak with old warriors of this world and to hear of their lives. The old and forgotten ones have so much to share, the only difference being that they started down this path earlier than me. I love to look in their eyes and see a lifetime of sights and events playing like a movie across the screen of the windows to their soul.
Moe continued to thank us, over and over, at his elevated volume as we walked back to our room and wished continued health and blessings over him. I wonder sometimes if my life will play in the eyes of a younger man when I am old and helpless. I wonder.