I awoke to a pleasant surprise. Sunlight.... and a frenchman. At least, the bicyclist spoke with a french accent, I assumed he was French. We chatted a bit as he finished packing up his gear. I marveled at his luggage setup on such a small bike, and he took pride in showing me all the features of what appeared to be a quite well built road bike, but what do I know. He had oatmeal, I burned one and offered my neighbor a share. He declined, stating that he wouldn't be going anywhere if he went down that road. I laughed and told him that's why I don't have pedals. With that, handshakes were exchanged and I wished him luck as he headed south like so many others.
I burned alotta miles after this encounter, fueling up at random overly-decorated fuel tanks wherever I found the opportunity. I remember the road getting pretty gnarly here, where as before it was like any other highway I had been on. Cracked and uneven pavement gave way to seemingly random patches of loosely compacted gravel that seemed to enjoy sucking me and my rig into tire tracks at irregular intervals. Made it to Watson lake and took the opportunity to find some Wifi and send out emails. My cell had long since stopped working, so this was now my only lifeline back home. I also looked up the numbers for several moto shops in Anchorage and managed to secure a rear tire from Alaska Leather. I grabbed a decent meal at Archies and stopped by the Signpost Forest as well. Interesting place. Alotta signs. I remember several drunks hanging out deep within the forest, with obscenities being thrown about with alarming frustration. Alrighty then, moving on. As I geared up, I waved at a passing Vstrom that quickly doubled back and parked besides me. This was an Australian fellow, Richard I believe. We talked a bit, the usual banter, and I went through what had now become a routine tour of my rig. I believe I also made this guy's online blog. He'd been everywhere, and couldn't get past that I was just now going up to Alaska. He seemed to find it necessary to remind me that it was cold up there. Fuck, it's cold HERE.
With that I gassed up and bumped into the Australian once again, who was eagerly trying to find a beer. With a shrug, I wished the guy best of luck and moved on, heading towards White Horse. I camped a few hours east of the city alongside yet another unnamed lake. This is the first time that I really began to question my decision, and it doesn't change with the coming of the new day. I'm riding in the cold, wet, and downright miserable weather. I admit that I don't have the best of gear, and am merely moving from one point of hypothermic recovery to the next. I feel miserable, and am incredibly homesick. I longed for the warmth of my home back in NY. To hug my dog and see my family. To lay on the couch and drink some GOOD coffee for a change. The only thing keeping me moving on is the knowledge that going back won't be any easier than moving forward. That, and a tire in Anchorage.
Here's a direct excerpt from my journal. “It's only mid-day, but I've been doin a lot of thinking and figured I should jot something down. I've only been using this journal as a record keeper of my travels and scheduling more than my personal thoughts, so here I go. First off, this emotional rollercoaster is killing me. I'm finding that at night and in the morning I just don't have the ambition that I should have. That I need to have to complete this little journey of mine. It took all I had last night just to keep moving and even then I pitched camp an hour earlier than usual. I just couldn't keep moving. I'm obsessed with not failing, but I have no objective or goal in mind. It's fuckin with me. Then I get on the bike, all be it reluctantly, and I get moving, I'm usually fine as long as I'm not cold. Even the light rain we've been having isn't bothering me as much as the cold. 50 degrees and no sun is no fun, even fully layered up. All I can do is try to stay warm and keep moving, stock up when I can. The amount of people that I see going the other way (south) has me worried, though. I've been sitting here on a smoke break for 20 minutes now, and havn't seen anyone going my way. Not cool. The traffic itself has picked up, too. At least compared to the Cassier highway. I'm not used to having to check my mirrors and actually having to keep pace with others. Other than traffic, though, there isn't much out here. I'm going 80-90 miles between active gas stations. There are so many places out here that are closed down. Easily every other road sign advertising has a big CLOSED sign screwed over it. I wonder how recent they are. Did the recession do this? “