…of things is something that has to be picked up along the way, you never start out with it already in the pocket. This seems to be particularly apparent when doing activities that are outside of typical daily occurrences. It always seems to take a few days to work out a pace and find your “stroke” as they say. For me it seems like Monday, our third day, was closer in that direction.

We woke up early after a solid (albeit short) sleep so that we could break camp and swing by the nearest town to try and procure a tube that would fit my rear tire as soon as the local shops opened up. I stayed back to pack stuff up and remove my wheel again and have everything ready in hopes that a tube could be found and we could be underway asap. A bit later I here the cheerful brraaaap braaap of my dad coming back into the camp site throttling his motor signaling to me that we had found something that would work. It was slightly the wrong size but it would get the job done until we found a larger town which would likely have more options. I promptly stuffed the new tube into the tire, mounted it, filled my Camelback up on water from the locale hand-pumped well and we were on our way.

The day was showing promising signs of bearing good weather and (provided we didn’t have any troubles) we were hoping to make up some miles today. Miles, and how many of them we needed to make up for the last two days of slow-going, had been on my mind but as the fog lifted and we started making consistent ground I felt myself slowly shifting, not just focus, but my overall mindset. That feeling of relaxing and settling in to the groove had pushed through.

We gassed up at a small town that my dad hadn’t been to since he was working on a river rafting outfit that finished it’s trip in this small town where patrons could then take the train back to Vancouver, BC. He said it hadn't appeared to have changed that much if at all, he hadn’t seen it in almost 40 years ago.



The Fraser river, which is a predominant river running through BC going South down through Vancouver has been so swollen due to the rainfall this season. So full that they have had evacuation warnings in some areas where the river water is at risk of overflowing and breaking through the banks. The small town seemed to be handling all this extra water and its issues in stride though and making the best of it.



We headed out again and took what appeared to be a short cut on the map that cut through a more adventurous section of the map which took us up initially a couple thousand feet of elevation and the tarmac promptly cut out. This was a welcome occurrence and I was more than eager to get Keepa dirty and put her through her paces a bit.



With the altitude came a bit of condensation and light sprinkling causing the road (which is actually considered a hwy on the map) to get nice and slick with thick mud, exactly what I was hoping for. The sky broke, the sun came out, and the scenery began to open up.

We were in cattle country and there were many ranches sprawling as far as I could see adjoining one after the other. Apparently we went by one of, if not the, largest cattle ranch in Canada. There were many cattle guards and signs that read “open range, cattle at large”. At reading this I pictured gangs of roaming bandit cows lurking around unseen bends, waiting to ambush our little caravan like in the old west. The most that happened though was pop’s already bent pannier coming loose from all the bouncing around on the bumpy road and going for a tumble in the mud. The bikes performed great and I really enjoyed taking that shortcut. We eventually got spit out in a small town and we proceeded on our way north.

We rode for the rest of the day, passing through more and more towns of varying sizes and characters but all with a progressively more relaxed demeanor than the towns before. This seems to be a common trend as we head further North, if it proves to hold true it’s a good sign for places to come.

If “the swing of things” is something that must be obtained along the way, and a traveling ‘groove’ must be found only with distance and time on the road, I feel like we are slowly sinking into ours. At the end of the day I was cruising along open roads with my feet kicked up on the highway pegs, one hand slouched on my hip and the throttle locked at a steady open speed. The only thing to be seen for as far as the last bit of setting light stretches was open scenery and rolling expanses of lush forests, meandering lakes, and sprinklings of open pockets of farm land popped up here and there and the bends in the road brought on new expanses around each turn. All of scenery though seems to have a general feel to it, a feeling if drawing you in one direction, North.

If this is what it’s like to travel via motorcycle, I feel like I could get used to this. A picture I snapped of a pumper rig sums it up.

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"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

Breakfast, Lunch, & Dinner...


…for the next two days, we ate miles. They were served up in every way from “early morning wear-everything-you-have-almost-below-freezing” to sweltering afternoon-sun-too-hot-to-be-sitting-still-in-riding-gear”. We were hoping to try and make it to Dawson City- which is in the middle of the Yukon, for the start of the adventure motorcycle meet-up which was in it’s 20th anniversary this year. To do this though we had lots of miles to ride and so we set out to get it done.

When you are riding a popular motorcycle route around the North you end up running into a fair number of other motorcyclists. More often than not you continue to bump into the same people at gas stations further along the route.



Along the way we met Darby, she is a bull mastiff and was traveling with her family in her own cart/container all the way from Ohio. She seemed content chewing on plastic water bottles while stretching her legs as her owners filled up their bikes. When it was time to roll out she would just jump right back into her deluxe trailer and cruise on down the road.

We proceeded to burn further north, passing through plenty of fog, rain, and clear blue skies.



The next day we were up at 5:00am to break camp and get to boogey-n. We didn’t stop for breakfast for a few hours but by the time we did I sure was ready for it. They say the best seasoning is hunger and good ol’ Red River hot cereal cooked on the back of my bike had never tasted so good.



As we burned further north, stretching the day into ever longer periods of time in the saddle, we started seeing more and more wild-life.



We passed from town to town riding all day long. There were hat collections (this one had more than 8,000), sign collections, and giant cinnamon roles to be had.



The cinnamon role was bomb and the owner of the only restaurant/gas station in the town was super interesting. In the winter time the Yukon Quest sled dog race goes right through this small “town” and all of the dogs/racers have a check-point at her establishment for rest and sleep. Several hundred antsy sled-dogs howling and looking to get running again must be quite the sound.



This old dog though I think was more beet than us.


We rode for 12 hours the first day of our push and 15 hours the second day to finally roll into Dawson City in the middle of the Yukon around 9pm. With the sun never setting and just going around in circles above you it’s pretty easy to get lost in time and forget about exhaustion. We had finally made it to our first main destination, the whole reason for rushing, and to catch the start of Dust-2-Dawson.

Onward.

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"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

…was how we arrived in Dawson City, Yukon. We finally got in around 9pm and although we had gotten up at 4:30am and been riding for 15 hours we were both pretty stoked to have made it in time for the start of the 20th anniversary of the Dust-2-Dawson meet-up and our exhaustion was all but forgotten. The history of the meet-up – and it is in fact a meet-up “NOTA rally”, is important to understanding the significance of the gathering I want to paint the picture. Seeing as it has already been well described before I’ll let the people who truly know about it do the talking.

The quote below describes the background of Dust-2-Dawson as seen by one of its original founders who goes by the ADVrider inmate name “Fighter”:

Ca$h Register, along with Jim Coleman and myself are the original founders of the Dust To Dawson (D2D) “gathering” back in 1992. It was hatched over a few s in the Dawson’s Midnight Sun where we first met.

A little pre-history.
In Spring of 1990 the Alaska Last Frontier BMW Club here in Alaska receive a letter from an Oklahoma rider by the name Ca$h Register. In that letter Ca$h related this story:

Ca$h and his long time riding buddy Jim had planned a mega-trip to Alaska for 1990 and were going to attend our little local rally. They had pre-paid their entry fee and about a month prior to lift-off Ca$h collapsed in a restaurant. Heart attack.

Jim was with him at the time and tried in vain to resuscitate his best friend. Paramedics on the scene weren’t having much luck either. At Jim’s insistence they hit the go button on the paddles a third time and Ca$h’s heart lit back up. Obviously their much anticipated trip to the North was on hold. OBTW, to this day… Ca$h’s business cards include the phrase “You only live twice” Our local club, upon reading that tearful letter and hearing the story, sent a refund to Ca$h and Jim and included for each of them a club license plate frame.

Fast forward to June of 1992.
I was on a solo run to Dawson City, YT and saw two well decked out PD’s parked in front of the Midnight Sun. The Oklahoma plates with the LFMC frames caught my attention immediately. It didn’t take me long to determine who owned those two GS’s. Ca$h and Jim had finally made it to the North country after an extensive rehab. Doctors to this day are at loss to medically explain what had happened.

I introduced myself to these two holligans and another chapter or two was written.
That evening over a few adult beverages the three of us hatched a plan to tackle the Dempster and try to make the 500 mile run to Inuvik. The road had been closed for several days due to high water on the Peel River. Lack of gas at Eagle Plain was most definitely our main issue. We waited a day or two for the road to re-open and made our break. The three of us had a wonderful ride. I remember Ca$h standing on his head at the Arctic Circle. It was his 60th birthday. Both Ca$h and Jim were excellent riders as I later substantiated on my visit to Ca$h’s hometown of Dill City, Oklahoma… the summer after we all met. Two walls of Cash’s shop were smothered with trophies and plaques that both of them had earned.

Jim’s life was tragically cut short on Halloween eve 1994 while returning home from Cash’s place…… his R100GS was no match for the Suburban.

On the original 1992 Alaska trip Jim and Ca$h had taken a side trip to Eagle and both were so taken by the beauty and solitude that they made a pact with each other. The deal was struck that when either of them died, the survivor would return to the North Country with the remains of the fallen. A year later Ca$h gave me a call from Whitehorse.

“Fite… I’m on my way! Got Jim with me in the tank bag. We were doin’ a hundred on the Casiar and Jim was laughing his head off”.

I will never forget that call, nor the one I had received on the previous Halloween night.

Ca$h was retracing the exact route the two of them had taken in ’92. He camped in the same places, hit the same cafes, took pictures from the same vantage points. Had a at the “Sun”. Jim’s final ride with his life-long riding partner Ca$h was just as it was the first time they came north.

Ca$h (with Jim in the tank bag) rounded a hard right hander about 10 miles south of Eagle and there on that windswept mountainside stood a single tree. The anemic looking black spruce, that had survived a myriad of brutal winters, stood tall against all odds. The view was spectacular. Ca$h later told me that when he rounded that right-hander, thoughts of Jim were so vivid that Ca$h began to weep uncontrollably. The thoughts of his lost riding partner were so intense… and the pain so near…. he could barely keep his PD upright. It was on that lonely road with its breath-taking view and scrawny tree that Ca$h said his final good-byes to Jim Coleman. An emotional two man private ceremony gave way to the Jim’s final send off and a plaque being posted on the tree. Ca$h turned around and headed back to Dill City.

For many of us it has been a long time D2D tradition to make a side trip into Eagle, Alaska (on our way to/from Dawson City) and to stop at Jim’s Tree. We do it for Jim AND Ca$h. You can see in the photos where a brush fire has swept through the area. That fire, along with brutal weather conditions wouldn’t dare “mess around with Jim” The tree has been visited and annointed by many of us and the memories of both Jim and Ca$h are alive and well. It is my hope as “keeper of the Tree”…. that the tradition continues.
Carry On.
Fite

I originally read about D2D on ADVrider when I was looking for things to see on my way through to Prudhoe Bay in Alaska. After I read the above description I knew that it was something that I wouldn’t want to miss. The two day event is chock full of activities. In addition anytime 200+ adventure motorcyclists pull into a fun old mining town like Dawson City there is always a good time to be had.

We camped at a campsite across the water where a small ferry operates 24-7 bringing everything from walk-ons to big
rigs across the briskly flowing Yukon River.



After getting set-up, pops and I split up to go explore the area. I was oblivious to the fact that it was the summer solstice that day (the longest day of the year) and we just so happened to be in an amazing location to witness it. I met some younger Dawson locals originally from Germany who said that “if there is ever a party in Dawson, tonight is the night” and that the top of The Dome was the place to be.



So I hopped on my bike and followed them up a winding steep road just outside of town. I saw another local pedaling up the steep road on a bicycle trying to get to the party so I gave him a tow to the top. A few of us road our bikes right to the tippy-top and from this vantage point you could watch the sun just dip behind the mountain ridges and then come back up about an hour later slightly to the right.



There were lots of people hanging out having a good time and a small plane did some pretty brazen acrobatics for the crowd.



By the time I hopped the ferry back home I had been up for almost 24 hours, 15 hours of which was spent riding, and I should have been pretty beat, but with the sun never setting thus always light out, being stoked about finally making it to Dawson, and getting to see an awesome Solstice I was still surprisingly alive and kicking.



After a solid sleep, the next two days were full of riding, tom-foolery, and general shooting the shit with other riders.



On Friday night after the Biker Banquet the biker games begin and people get rowdier. The games start around 9 and go until after midnight. There are Blindfold riding contests, Slow Races (those who have the best balance and can ride the slowest across the line win), Ball Drops (dropping tennis balls in consecutively smaller containers while riding), and Slalom events. If you enter a “Two-up” event there is the Water Balloon Toss and Hot Dog Bite (co-ed teams or lady teams only, no two dudes allowed).



And of course, don’t forget to do the Sourtoe Cocktail at the Downtown Hotel so you can join the ranks of the Sourtoe Cocktail Club.




I did and am proud of it.




Next up is riding the Top Of The World Highway passing over and out of the Yukon and back into ‘Merica to head to Fairbanks.

__________________
"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

..is an accurate description of the biggest little town in eastern Alaska. Chicken, Alaska was our first destination after heading out of Dawson City and would be our first stop in Alaska. We had heard that the home-baked pies crafted up by Susan were crazy good and I am not one to pass up top notch baked goods, especially if they involve berries.
Before we headed out we wanted to do a few touristy things that we hadn’t been able to get around to yet. I wanted to snap a few photos of Dawson City and we also wanted to do a tour of one of the old dredges used during the big Klondike Gold Rush to dig for gold on an unimaginable level. The one we really wanted to go see was called Dredge No. 4. What they were able to do that long ago and the lengths they were willing to go to make it happen is quite the feat. If you dig on history check out the link above, it’s pretty impressive.




On our way out I snapped a photo in front of the downtown hotel and snapped a few more around town. What it was like in the late 1890′s with 40,000 people in it at the height of the gold rush I can only imagine.



We milled about a bit, fueled up on gas, picked up food for the next couple days, and rode our bikes onto the small Dawson City ferry to take us across the Yukon River. We were now turning East to start heading towards the Alaskan border. The route from Dawson back to Alaska is via the Top Of The World Highway and the name is very fitting. The road cuts across the ridge-line for several hours of dirt riding and eventually crossing the border out of the Yukon and into Alaska.



There was a feeling that this border would be more relaxed than most so I got a couple pictures. The one with my dad and I was taken by the border guard himself, of which there is only two stationed here. One for entering the US and one for entering Canada. They live in two separate cabins right next to each other. The guy said he is stationed there for 72 days straight then he goes back home for a bit.



We continued on East until the road gradually dropped from the ridge-line and into the valleys below.



When we came across the town called Chicken there was no confusion as to whether we had found it or not. We stepped inside the Chicken Saloon and ordered a drink from the bar. Then took the drink outside and stepped one location over into the Chicken Cafe and ordered some BBQ chicken served up by the none other than the same person who served us at the bar who just walked on into the Cafe. We followed the food up with some of the home-baked goods that others so raved about. The food did not fail to impress.



On one of the doors there is a sign that provides some handy facts about Chicken:



We camped for free in the gravel parking lot and spent the rest of the night shooting the shit with the handful travelers and locals that gather around the small little spot, gawking at the holes in the saloon door that were blown out with their home made “panti-cannon”, and firing up the panti-cannon to tack another gunpowder-obliterated undergarment to the saloon’s ever growing ceiling collection. With a thong packed in on top of two and a half shot glasses of gunpowder, the blast and subsequent concussion was deafening.



They lit another one off around 3:30am after a drinking rally that had even more gunpowder in it as well as another donated under-u. Not a single person in town batted an eye, then again, they are the town.

- – - – - – - – -

As exciting as the characters of Chicken and the panti-cannon were, it was another traveler that captivated my interest the most. He was an elderly guy traveling with his wife. He had a fairly quiet demeanor but a warm look on his face and a smirk-y grin that told me he must be a cool guy. Me being me I got to chatting with him and that was that. He told me all about the things he had done throughout his life which was by far the most varied and extensive history I had heard from any stranger. Everything from winning the famous Omak Suicide Horse race, sailing in St. Marks, flying bush planes in Alaska, to getting bored and deciding to train to do the famous Iditarod sled dog race when he was in his 60′s. He moved to Alaska, built a home to train at, and 3 years later successfully completed the Idatorod race (he broke his neck the 2nd year so it took him a bit to rehab before he could successfully race it to completion).

His name was Jeanne and he was diagnosed with inoperable brain cancer 2 years ago. He was very frank about his outlook and openly said that he would be surprised if he was still around in 2 years. For a guy that has done so much with his life already and always lived with a drive and passion for doing what you are interested in and flying by the seat of your pants, I asked him if there was anything that he knew he really wanted to do before his time was up. He thought about it only for a moment and then laughed and smiled with the same smile he had so easily brought forward throughout our long conversation and said that if there was anything left that he desired to do he’s sure he would get out there and be doing it already (he was still actively traveling the world and flying his plane regularly).

In the morning I walked over to where him and his wife were camping and talked with him again over camp breakfast. Before we parted ways he said that he had thought more about my question since last night. He said that although he hadn’t come up with anything that he has yet to do that he’s not already doing, he wanted to explain that he did understand why I asked the question.

He said that if he can impart any wisdom in his long life of lessons and fun, it is that:

With his joyful attitude, insightful eyes backed by many years of a life well lived, he looked at his partner with an honest smile and said that they had to get going, they had things to go do.

If I had any question about finishing up my work in Seattle and heading South in the fall his wise words sure stand to stomp those out.

__________________
"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

…on the Dalton Highway. After Chicken and heading through Tok we rolled into Fairbanks. We had some bike maintenance to do and needed to source some parts so we went to who’s name we heard most and who’s shop came highly recommended, ADV Cycle Works over on the North end of town in Fairbanks. After being in and out for several days and getting a glimpse of how they do things over there, Dan and Shawn Armstrong are quite the duo, they sure do know their way around ADV bikes, and their outfit is a great example of how a local shop should be run. Hats off to you guys for sure.

Some good friends of mine just so happen to live in Fairbanks now and were overdue for a visit. They have been kind enough to offer up what space they have in their cabin that they live in to my Dad and I to crash there for a few days while we re-collect and then make a dart north to ride the Dalton Highway. My pops is flying back to Seattle on the 1st of June and so we are planning to do the ride to Prudhoe Bay via the Dalton Highway before then. After some last minute bike fixes (blown rear axle bearings) from ADV Cycle Works we were ready to head out.

The Dalton Highway (also known as the haul road) is a predominantly dirt road that stretches from just north of Fairbanks 414 miles up to Deadhorse/Prudhoe Bay. It was originally built to haul goods etc up to supply the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System in ’74. If you follow it all the way it takes you up into the Arctic Circle and up to the Arctic Ocean. The furthest north you can ride in the Americas. Although with the first leg of this trip my goal was only to have a good time, get a feel for what traveling via motorcycle was like, and iron out the mechanical kinks etc, I had definitely made it a personal goal to make it to the top so that I can hopefully ride “tip-to-tip” of the Americas.

On the first day we waited until the afternoon in Fairbanks debating if the weather would clear. Screw it, it wasn’t going to clear, and we weren’t going to let the weather sully our chances of making it to Prudhoe Bay. We set out from my friends cabin in Fairbanks and the roads progressively became more and more dirt.


Around 9pm we made it into the Arctic Circle and snapped our photo’s with the famous “Arctic Circle” sign. I felt pretty touristy doing this but it sure did feel good to finally be in front of that sign after seeing so many of those before me bag their photo on the same ride.


We rode until around midnight and got just past Coldfoot, about the halfway mark, and packed it in for the night. We awoke early the next morning to make a solid push towards Deadhorse/Prudhoe Bay. These birds seem to be pretty into the camp scene and know how to get a snack.


After a few more hours of riding I switched the page view on my GPS to show a map instead of my usual digital read-out. For the first time since I left I saw coastline and ocean come up on the screen! Being an island boy who gets all weird if he’s away from the ocean for too long it was GREAT to see that image. I kept it on this view for the next 2.5 hours, watching the little arrow creep closer and closer to the blue water on the map.


We were now on the tundra. There was nothing but vast open expanses of nothingness. These ridges on the east behind my bike were the last geographical features to see.


After only a few minutes of being stopped the skeeters where on you like stink on shit and it was time to boogey. (you can see how many of them there are in the bottom-left photo)


We pushed on and within the hour we had made it to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. I finally found out the discrepancy between calling it Deadhorse and Prudhoe bay. As a handy little info pamphlet told me, calling it Deadhorse is like calling New York city “The Bronx”. Technically Deadhorse is a place in Prudhoe Bay. Either way though the information seemed fairly suspect and sounded like there was an ongoing dispute about zip codes and titles, so take it with a grain of salt.

At any rate we made it but there would be no swimming in the Arctic Ocean for me. The entire area is controlled by BP and Conoco (HUGE oil companies for those that don’t know) and they have a tight reign on it. Seeing as it is a work camp and by no means a tourist town you feel like an outsider butting into people’s business the whole time you are there. Essentially though this is precisely what you are doing, it’s a work camp, not a tourist destination (barring the few crazies that decide they want to go as far north as they can go via road for the hell of it). There is a sign as you enter the area that reads something to the ilk of ‘this is no longer a public area, you are allowed here but people got shit to do, rigs to drive, and places to be, so stay the **** out of the way’. Obviously this isn’t verbatim, but it is clear that you are a guest, and it would behoove you to mind your business and not impede anyone else’.

To get to the real ocean you need a security clearance and a background check that takes 24hours since you are going onto the oil-fields and may decide to get all political and bugger something for shits and giggles while you are there. We weren’t planning on staying that long so we snapped some opportunistic photos and kept out of the way of people and their work.


The whole place gave me a fairly eery feeling, if you have ever seen the movie Waterworld staring Kevin Costner you’ll understand what I mean.

That movie was all I could think about while I was there and all of Deadhorse reminded me of it. It’s bustling industrial activity, located in a super remote place in the middle of nowhere, set in a harsh, barren environment where all of it’s inhabitants are completely focused on searching feverishly for a single highly valued resource.

Funny enough though that resource, which we need to run our bikes, was $5.35 a gallon here!


As always though the ride is the fun part, the destination just a bonus. So we got our pictures, fueled up on gas and food, and headed out to see if we could burn back towards Coldfoot, the location of the next nearest gas station some 240 miles away.

__________________
"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

…can be found quality food, hot showers, and good company. We made it back to Fairbanks after another day and a half slog-fest in the mud down the Dalton Highway back to where we had come from. I snapped a few photos of Keepa in her muddy glory before I set out to get her cleaned up.


After the mud had dried I noticed that there was still a peculiar wet spot on my right fork, boot, and pant-leg. I could tell immediately that my right fork seal had failed from all the mud and puked it’s innards everywhere. I added that to the fix list to get done while in Fairbanks.

The last few days have been spent doing laundry (I’m traveling super light though so don’t really have much), eating a ton of food, hanging out with Sophie and Thaddaeus (my friends I’m staying with in town), lounging in the local hot springs, scoping out the wildlife by the cabin, and trying to be a bit more Alaskan by shooting some guns.


Pops flew out on the 1st to get back to work leaving the bike for my buddy Koshal who is flying in Wednesday night to meet-up with us here in Fairbanks for the 4th of July. After that we’ll both continue on riding South towards Anchorage to visit some friends there. Then…well we’ll see where we want to go when the time comes. For now, I’m going to continue enjoying the fair-banks they have here in Alaska.

__________________
"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

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"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

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"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

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"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

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"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

Hey; this is a fantastic RR, very beautifully written and laid out. I guess you've just done a bulk post on the HUBB to get us up to date? Where are you now?
Trip looks amazing, you have a great bike - I wish I had the dollars to get such a good one and farkle it up! I'll be on a 125cc with some soft panniers :P Haha!
Well done! Hope you're still on the road and having a blast.

Thanks Nicola, glad you are liking it. Yeah I just did a bulk post all at once.

Niiiice, that's rad you are riding a 125cc. The less 'ideal' the circumstances makes for a better adventure I say. I'll be looking for your RR.

This next post will now be up to date on the RR. Getting prepped now for the next leg.

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"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

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"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

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"In life sometimes you just need to value adventure above security and comfort."

When do you set off South??