August 3 – 10, 2024

Saturday, August 3 (Day 1): I love to read. I love a good story, especially when the ending is a surprise ( I’m looking at you Wayward Pines). It’s not often though, that you get surprised at the beginning of a story. A year ago, when Sharon and I decided to kayak in Alaska, Sharon had another idea. “What if,” she said, “we take our bikes and ride back through Canada?” Why not indeed? Yet another plan was hatched, and details worked out.

And so, according to plan, we arrived in Anchorage. We had a lovely time visiting friends. We had a lovely bike ride to Seward. We enjoyed hiking. We met new friends. We spent a marvelous week kayaking with friends.

Here is where the story may surprise you. Back in Anchorage, we spent much of Saturday visiting with Jane and Andrew. I prepped my gear for the start of our proposed ride from Anchorage to Calgary. Then we packed Sharon’s bike for her flight back to our new, barely lived-in home in Durango.

Surprised? Canada was her idea. A few weeks before our departure, Sharon made the difficult and courageous decision to forego the ride to Calgary. There were many factors that went into that decision. One of which was my willingness to continue the ride as planned. In the end, we were in perfect agreement that she had made the correct one.

The decision to either not go, or ride alone was not easily made.  Finally, I decided I wanted both the mental as well as the physical challenges of attempting a long solo ride in remote regions. I will miss my companion. It will be a very different trip without her. We shall see how it goes.

The first day was something of a “soft start.” We said our good-byes. I rode my loaded bike, alone, for the first time since college and a few days in Bulgaria. I set the modest goal of a campground only ten miles away on the outskirts of Anchorage. Day 1? Success!

Sunday, August 4 ( Day 2): I was on familiar ground today. Fort Richardson.  Eagle River. Eklutna Lake. The Knik arm and Knik River. Pioneer Peak. Palmer. These were all places I remembered from a lifetime ago when I lived here. Seeing it all in the saddle was new, however. I managed to piece together bike trails and back roads to mostly avoid the main highway. This introduced me to areas I’d never seen.

It also reminded me of an aspect of AK both Sharon and I intensely dislike. Let’s call it the “garbage dump people” phenomenon. So many homes I rode by literally looked like garbage dumps! Broken coolers and appliances. Wrecked cars. Various other household items seem to have made it as far as they could be thrown from the front door. Clearly, people were living there. But why? Also, in ditches and pull-offs, abandoned cars! More than we’ve seen anywhere in the world. I don’t understand it. I rode  feeling saddened and depressed about a place I truly love.

Today was also a day of adjustment. I am discovering which items went home with  Sharon, but should have stayed with me. Do they need to be replaced, or done without? My finely honed packing method has been thrown into some disarray with the addition of gear normally carried by my lovely bride. We talk about food all the time while riding. Mostly what to eat, but also when, and from where. Now, those decisions are mine to make. Too many decisions, it turns out. As expected, this solo riding will take getting used to.

By day’s end, I found myself at an agreeable campground on the edge of Palmer. Even after only two days, a hot shower (with no timer) is one of life’s great luxuries. I believe I took a $20 shower.  So, in essence, my camp site for the night was free. I’ll take that deal almost any day.

Monday, August 5 ( Day 3): In the Monty Python sketch, “The Four Yorkshiremen,” each character tries to outdo the others describing how tough his childhood was. Finally, one says, “We had to wake up half an hour before we went to bed. Go down to the mill. Pay to work 29 hours a day. And every day when we got home, our father would kill us and dance on our graves!” To that I say, “Luxury!”

I biked up roads so steep I had to dodge mountains goats falling off. My bike and gear weighed so much I needed locomotive wheels so they wouldn’t buckle. It was so hot people were looking into time shares in hell because of the cooler weather there. And you try telling that to young people today, they won’t believe you!”

Perhaps I exaggerate slightly…but today wrecked me. Too much heat. Too many big hills. Too little water. I went into the only three businesses that were open. They saw my water bottles, and before I even asked, they said, ” We don’t have any water!” Really? Well fine! I’ll just filter my own. Could you believe I didn’t pass a single stream, pond, puddle until a few miles before I stopped? I couldn’t. Speaking of stopping…I couldn’t. The only realistic clearings or side roads were clearly posted, “Stop here and you’ll be shot!” Or something to that effect.

When I finally did find an idyllic little spot, I threw up the tent (OK, I meticulously set up a perfect taut pitch because that’s what I do – even when I’m exhausted) wolfed down some food, and collapsed into bed.

My last thoughts before becoming comatose were, “I’ve chosen…poorly! This ride was a really bad idea!” 

Tuesday, August 6 (Day 4): What a difference a day makes. Turns out I had finished the day near the top of a pass. So after a kind lady came out of a not-yet-open roadhouse to fill my water bottles (see, that’s how it’s done!) I was off to a good start. Then, I hardly pedaled and ticked off six miles. Then, for some reason, the weight of the trip seemed to lift. Nothing special happened. No doubt, adequate food, water, and slightly better terrain helped. But something clicked, and I was smiling while I rode. I was just enjoying the moment. And so the day went. People smiled and waved. People pulled over when passing. The scenery was spectacular as always. And after a slightly less taxing thirty-three miles, I found a perfect spot with views of the Wrangell-St. Elias mountains. I may have napped in the late afternoon warmth (not heat!!). I read, then enjoyed a hearty  and totally unhealthy dinner. My last thought before becoming comatose was, “This ride is a really good idea!”

Wednesday, August 7 (Day 5): The butter is hard. Definitely need gloves. Maybe I should put on another top? No, there’s a climb coming up shortly. I’ll warm up. Look at those mountains in the sunlight! Wow! Look at those clouds…what an interesting variety. I should stop and take a picture! Nah, a picture really won’t capture it. But still, look at those clouds. “Changes in latitude, changes in attitude…” Great, now I’ve got that song stuck in my brain!

That small sample of what goes on inside my brain should answer the question, “Doesn’t it get boring riding all day, especially riding alone?” Riding offers constant sensory input. Sights, obviously, but also smells. “Is that actually a dead beaver on the road? Whew!” And of course, sounds. All the senses were fully engaged on the fantastic ride into Glenallen. As the road twisted and turned, I was treated to ever changing views of the Wrangell-St. Elias peaks.

Sixty-five miles after setting out, I rolled into Glenallen. Three years ago, Sharon and I stopped here on our way down to Valdez. It was not memorable save for the tasty chicken tenders in the IGA. After munching a pound of the little beauties I can report, they are still tasty! Hey, don’t judge! I’m biking here!

At camp I met Andrea and Tom. Three years ago they shipped their motorcycles from Germany to Argentina. Since then, they have made their (circuitous) way here to Glenallen. Unfortunately, just outside this campground, his transmission died. Not many great options that don’t involve throwing huge wads of cash at the problem. I wish them well.

Having reached my first major objective, I pondered taking a rest day. My body felt good even after a long day. Glenallen didn’t offer much in the way of diversions, so I made plans to continue on in the morning.

Thursday, August 8 ( Day 6): From here on to Tok and beyond, it’s been forty plus years since I passed this way. It may as well be the first time since I have almost no memory of that trip. In defense of my recall ability, much of today’s ride wasn’t all that memorable. It was pleasant enough, especially for the lack of traffic. But there were long stretches of road lined by walls of spruce. Occasionally, I’d crest a hill, the earth would fall away, and I’d be treated to a vast panoramic view. Then the forest would swallow me again.

Mid afternoon I arrived at my pre-selected wild camping spot – an abandoned gravel quarry on the banks of the Copper River. I set up and ate just in time for the rain to start. Perfect excuse to spend the rest of the day reading.

Friday, August 9 (Day 7): “Rain, rain, go away…” Yeah, that didn’t work. My all time, least favorite thing in the world while camping is??? You guessed it – packing a wet tent. It wasn’t just wet, it was saturated. I was a tiny island of dry in what had become an inland sea. It kept raining while I packed.  It kept raining while I rode to Chistochina. It rained while I hung the tent in a picnic pavilion, hoping to dry it before I would have to set up again in the all-day rain forecast. After a few hours and no visible drying progress, I thought, sod this! I called the roadhouse I’d passed a mile back. A very pleasant Judy did indeed have a reasonably priced cabin for me. So much for Dave the hard-core adventurer. As I luxuriated in the steamy hot shower, and ried my things in the snug cabin, that thought didn’t bother me in the least.

Saturday, August 10 (Day 8): Breakfast with Judy and Rick was a treat. While I casually packed away calories, they shared stories of their life. Rick had been a teacher and then administrator of bush schools in the Kotzebue region. Judy had spent thirteen years as a missionary nurse in Chad. When the civil war broke out, she was on the last U.S. plane to leave the region. They’d run the road house for the past seventeen years. We traded stories of travel, interesting people, and just life. I could have continued all day, but alas, the road was calling.

It was 9:25am when I started my GPS watch. A late start, but I had no plans, so everything was going according to plan. Before I could leave, though, I also had to have a quick chat with Thomas and Henri. These two young Germans had cycled in late last night. Thomas is planning to reach Calgary. Henry has his sights set on New York. I may have raised an eye brow, but they had only taken four days to get here from Anchorage. Oh. And even though their gear was still scattered, they confidently stated their intent to reach Tok – ninety miles away. Oh. Any thoughts of riding together vanished. Auf wiedersehen! And off I went.

Many years hence, as I sit in my rocker with my lap blanket and great grandchildren gathered at my feet, I shall recount stories of this day. “It was a crisp fall day.” I will say. “It was only August 10th, but Mother Nature doesn’t pay attention to our calendar!” I will go on to talk about the blue skies and the vastness visible from the mountainsides. I will talk of leapfrogging with Thomas and Henry, the hares to my tortoise. With a scowl, I will  speak of the evil radial tire wire that flattened my tire. And then, I will get misty eyed and speak in hushed tones of the glorious, the blessed tailwind that traveled with me all day. The giant, invisible hand that gently helped me up the long climbs. That force  that allowed to use never before used gears as I gobbled up the miles. And then, my children, let me tell you story of how great grandpa ate a pizza big enough to feed all of you and all of your friends.

A week after setting out, I find myself farther than I imagined and immensely satisfied in the crossroads cmmunity of Tok. And just there, past the trees and hills to the south, is Canada! I keep thinking I’ll take a rest day. But after some early growing pains, I’ve so enjoyed the riding – I just keep riding. And so kids, until next week somewhere in the Yukon…Seize the Carp!