(FAKE) Alaskan Adventure Ride

Now that was an awesome Dalton Experience.

I still can't believe I actually tried it, it sounds crazy sitting here in comfort.



OK, I need to keep going with the story and finish it up. It is hard though, with only limited ADVrider time I keep getting sidetracked with the other awe-inspiring report going on now.

I lingered at the hot springs as long as I could, but I had to keep rambling. I was disappointed I didn't get to Nebesna, but I had been just about everywhere else I could ride to and it was time to start heading south. Fall was closing in and it was only a matter of time before the snow would turn the land white.


I was feeling good, and the bike had a nice new paint job from the previous day:



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I liked it, I almost wished I could have it clear-coated on, to preserve the beauty of the Dalton on it forever. I obviously didn’t do that, but I didn’t go out of my way to wash it off either.




From Chena I headed to the "Top of the World" Highway over to Chicken then Dawson. I had heard from several sources that it was worth checking out and I did the Alcan on the way in.



It was another beautiful day with perfect visibility, and reminded me of home.



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I had to pull over and admire the amazing view of the Alaskan Range. Zooming in wasn’t working so well at this point, but I still tried.



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I kept rolling in the comfort of the truck, not stopping much, except for the perrrrrdy sunset.





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I turned off of Highway 2 but didn't make it too much further before I found somewhere to pull off and pop the top on the camper and call it a night. It wasn't much of a camp spot, just a little pull-off. I didn't want to go too far in the dark and miss the best of the road, I had hear it was a good one.


Then I watched the aurora borialus for a while before calling it a night.




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Again, more limitations of the point and shoot and lack of technical skills showing up here, but you get the idea.




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The next morning I made it to Chicken just in time to miss the pilot car. So, I took the chance to drop the oil in the bike, I figured it needed it. All the people were packing up, closing down the store, and getting ready to move out for the winter. There was this local guy, stumbling around, face all bloody and reeking of alcohol. He apparently had wrecked his ATV the night before and looking for help getting it out of the woods. All the locals just basically stood there and laughed at him.


Chicken seemed like an interesting little place. I didn&#8217;t get much of a feel for it since it was after their season ended, so I didn&#8217;t deserve a shirt or a sticker. My old man on the other hand, picked up about 3 shirts and two stickers a few days earlier on his way back. I am still not exactly sure what actually happens in Chicken, it didn&#8217;t seem like much to me. Although, I did hear about panties shot out of cannons&#8230;







Anyways, I tried to get back and make sure I was at the front on the line for when the pace car got there to take us through the gauntlet. I didn&#8217;t quite make the front, and after the pace car, or pilot car rather, let us go there were a few people to get around. One chick, AK plates, tried to ride the middle and not let it happen. Apparently people don&#8217;t like getting passed by campers pulling trailers but I had a lot of miles to cover, actually more kilometers than miles, before my next spot to ride.




The border crossing was no sweat, the uptight lady crossing guard made sure I wouldn&#8217;t terrorize Canadia with deadly bear spray, and I pleaded with her telling her I wouldn&#8217;t shoot up the Edmonton Mall with it. I told her how scared I was without it, and she finally said that since it was a wilderness post and not close to the city she would allow me to cross with it but I was not allowed to take it into the city. Heaven forbid.





From there I kept going and going until I hit the Yukon and had to wait for the little ferry. Without much of interest in Dawson City, other than gas, I kept rolling on south. Turned up the tunes and not long after that I was rolling into Whitehorse 532km later. The day before when I was heading out of Fairbanks I tried and tried to find some more dry ice for the 22lbs (10 kg) of fish I had in my cheap styrofoam cooler. I stopped by two supermarkets but they were sold out. I figured it wouldn&#8217;t be a big deal and I should be able find it in Whitehorse.


But, to my surprise not only bear spray, but dry ice too is illegal in Canadia. Smmmma beeeaaaach! I thought &#8220;these panty wasted limp wristed&#8230;&#8221; But, there was nothing I could do and so I gassed up and kept rolling South. Don&#8217;t get me wrong Candians, I love you guys, you are probably some of the nicest and politest people in the world. I just hate stooped laws to try and save ourselves from ourselves. I personally think that Darwin, although not 100% correct in his assertions, definitely had a ton of wisdom in survival of the fittest and that letting the dumb kill themselves off isn&#8217;t the worst thing in the world. Either way, what am I going to do with dry ice? Put it in a Coke bottle with some water and scare someone with the loud noise??? Next you are going to tell me they don&#8217;t sell The Works toilet bowl cleaner either. But what do I know; I am from Colorado where all the crazies are, apparently.





Anyways, after Whitehorse the turnoff to Skagway wasn&#8217;t too far and on the way out of town there was a hitchhiker who needed a ride so I picked him up. He was trying to get to Carcross 70km away. My plan for the next day was to poke around Skagway and I would have to go through there. With two ways in, I wasn&#8217;t sure which I should pull over for the night at, the first one or the second a couple miles down the road. But, the hitchhiker was a little odd so I dropped him off at the first one and continued to the second. I would have been cool with it, but I had to burry my Tech-9 back in Montana.









Anyways, I had riding to do the next day and so I found a decent place off the main road and set up for the night.






The next morning I suited and booted and headed out to see what I could see. And honestly, it was pretty amazing.



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Really amazing in fact.







And soon, I was to another cheesy picture of a sign.



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But, then I remembered I was a complete dumbass because my passport was back in the truck, more than a couple klicks back.

What are those hotsprings called please.

Great pics.

Thanks! The one on this page is Chena Hot Springs: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chena_Hot_Springs,_Alaska

There are some pics in the beginning of the story that are from Laird: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liard_River_Hot_Springs_Provincial_Park

I thought about turning back, but I figured I would give it a try without the passport. Getting into the US wasn&#8217;t the problem; it was getting back to the truck and back across. I had the friendly boarder guard write up a slip telling the other side that I was OK to let back in, prayed that it would work, and went on through.


The canyon in was pretty cool, but didn&#8217;t think it was a good place to carve it up proper. So I obeyed and rolled through and into town. There was nothing for me there, I still had enough gas, so I turned around and took the turnoff I spotted on the way in that seemed to lead along the shoreline and would go for a ways.


It turned into dirt, and got real good. Easy stuff, nothing technical, just good cruising. Eventually though, just like the rest of them, it deadened.







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Well, it didn&#8217;t actually end. It would have been one hell of a hill on my dirtbike, but obviously impossible on the KLR. Pictures of this kind of stuff never give it justice, and the blur doesn&#8217;t help either. But, on the way in I noticed several interesting turnoffs. So, I naturally had to see them all dead-end in one form or another.










There was some nice riding up the wash and ended in this:












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It gave way to a nice view of this:








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I found some nice tracks that looked like that:










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But the best of all, I found quite a bit of riding that looked somewhat similar to this:






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The riding was awesome, probably the best concentration of little tracks that I found. It was obvious there were quite a few ATV riders beating in the trails. None went anywhere, just winded in and out of the main path in, but fun as can be. There were also some good sandy spots too.





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One river had a decent path out the other side but I didn&#8217;t want that much excitement. So I found all the dead-ends and headed back to town.




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I noticed that the tour boat had pulled in. The streets were packed with overweight tourist herding all throughout the downtown area. It wasn&#8217;t my scene and made the stomach turn just a little so I rolled back to the gas station by the edge of town and headed back to the boarder, hoping that I could get back in.








The border guard looked at my little piece of paper and my driver&#8217;s license and waived me through with little delay.





I cruised through the canyon and made it back to the amazing turquoise lakes just on the other side.




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After a nice break and taking the chance to eat a little more of my packed lunch, I blazed up the pavement back towards the truck.











But not far after that something caught my eye so, after a quick glance in the rearview mirror of course, I slammed on the breaks and flipped a bitch.

I turned around quick because of a truck with an empty flat bed trailer behind, parked next to the road. Exactly like the type you would use to tow an ATV or a sled, oops, I mean snow machine (in a different season of course), with the ramp still down next to a little path leading into the woods.




It obviously needed checking out.




And I am glad I did. I am also glad I didn’t have any extra luggage or a more obese bike because it was steep.




Real steep.




The hill kept going and going and going, up and up and up. There were a couple moments of doubt, but in that situation you have no choice; just gas it and go. Not too many rocks, at least at first. Just steep and unrelenting, enough to where there was a little clutch slipping involved to make it.



No stopping and no slowing just keep going, it was a relief to finally make it.



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The trees disappeared, choked off by elevation and the elements, giving way to an alpine playground.




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Running into the owners of the truck and trailer, I thanked them for tipping me off. It would have been very easy to just blast by the little path off the main road. They seemed pretty surprised to see me roll up on the bike, mainly surprised that I was able to manage the hill. One owned the campground in Skagway and the other was retired and spent all his time ATV’n and sledding. I mean snow machining. They were awesome, the typical friendly and helpful Alaskan.




After a warning about the clouds coming in from the sea, they headed down but there was more poking around to be done for me.




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After finding all the dead-ends, it was time to head back. The clouds were coming and riding a waterfall down would not be fun.





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If you ride off road, not just graded gravel roads, you understand that up can be much easier than down. That was the case here too, and all you can do is pucker up and go with it.





At the bottom I waved at the guys, as they were just getting back to the truck, and headed back up the slab.





Not much before Carcross there was another interesting looking side-road, so I stopped to check it out. It looked good, but the day was wearing thin, there didn’t seem to be any liability waivers, and it was time to get back to the truck.






Not until after a quick shot of the sign though, just in case one might find himself in the neighborhood again in the future.





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The next day the miles, or KMs rather, just melted away one after another, after another.

The Cassiar was a nice roll, but there was not much disappointment in having the enclosed box rather than the bike; not enough corners to make it better for a bike. But definitely the way I would go if I were to ride it, with a back-track for Laird of course.

It seemed like a good idea to not skip the gas stations however.

Just a bunch of open road with no one around.


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The next day, after around 600 miles or 1000 klicks or more in the truck, to Hyder it was to have some fun. The border crossing was easy, especially when you don&#8217;t forget your passport. Actually, come to think of it, there may not have even been one. Its been a while now.



But, typically, it is preferred to find the furthest dead-end and work back, but it couldn&#8217;t be resisted. There was a cool old bridge that had to be ridden.




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With nothing much on the other side, other than a dirt parking lot, back to the main road it was and off to see what could be seen.






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While keeping one&#8217;s eyes peeled for any good looking off-shoots.

There were a couple more good looking turnoffs that couldn't be resisted, one nice and tight through the trees.



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And another a little bit sandy ending with a river.




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It was nice, perhaps a bit short lived, but I had heard while back there was more to see so I kept on heading up the dead-end road.

where in alaska did you find those scenery

I found it all over; everywhere I looked. Currently, in this report's time-line, Hyder Alaska.

There were a couple good side roads, but there was more to see. One highlight is the enormous glacier, probably the main reason to go. There is not much in the little dot of a town, the stepchild of Stewart. It is always intriguing to think of how the politicians manage to draw these lines we have on our map. More-so the ones that are not also rivers, but this one seemed particularly arbitrary. The Americans, or maybe it was the Russians before us, did a pretty good job of gobbling up the beach-front property at any rate.


Either way, the glacier was amazing, however we Americans ended up with it.





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Not amazing enough to actually get off the bike however, apparently.




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Hopefully no one is getting sick of the cock-pit photos, but getting on and off can really cut into someone's riding time.

Not too far after the glacier, there was a nice little tunnel.


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But they later build a road around apparently, so the tunnel was skipped. The big rocks detoured the short-cut too.

The road then got better and better, depending on your point of view I guess. It dropped down into the valley and there were quite a few short dead-ends to find. There seemed to still be some mining activity, actually there was a helicopter flying in some big equipment. It was pretty interesting to watch.

There were some gates across a couple of the paths and soon I found myself at this gargantuan thing.

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Still not sure exactly what it is, maybe someone can fill in the blank. It almost looked left over from the communist era, or perhaps just premature?


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There was a little more to see, so after cruising around and actually getting off the bike for another picture, it was time to head back the way I came.


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Looking at this again, I’m not quite sure at this point why saddlebags were necessary that day, one of the problems of procrastinating for two and a half years on a report or taking almost that long to get one done perhaps, but, anyways…


On the way up and out there was an awesome custom-built Overlander made from a 4WD Isuzu NPR with a log cabin built on the back. The mid 50's plus owners were calling Alaska home currently, and we chatted for a while. It is a shame that I didn't take a picture. He told me that he built a housing development and they are now retired, migrating north and south with the seasons. He custom built the log cabin all by hand and showed me in. As we were standing around, there was a rustle in the bushes and we stopped talking for a second.

We were on a wide pull-off, and it sloped down steeply. I peered over the ledge and there was a brown bear aka “grizzly” just 5 feet below, a big mangy one snacking on the blueberries. It moved around to the other side of the bush, and I wasn’t quick enough on the draw with the camera. It was a little too close of quarters too.

They retreated to the big silver screen of their Isuzu, no need for NatGeo, and I hopped on mine and hit play.
But soon after, I decided hit stop and snap another one of the same thing and again opting out of the shortcut, darn rocks.

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Then hit play again and blasted up the dirt.

Not too long after, there was the urge to pull over and it couldn't be resisted.


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Just to simply take another picture of the same thing.





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Then again, to say farewell to the Alaskan beach. A sad farewell, a sad, sad farewell. But the jig was up and it was time to head back down.






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The girlfriend was flying into Seattle in a couple days so there was some deciding to do on were to ride on the way, in the meantime.

After Hyder, it was time to keep pounding out the klicks south. I rolled hard and just kept going anxious to get to the next riding destination. There was a sweet little short-cut up and over a little 2-lane dirt road. And in that case, I was almost glad I wasn&#8217;t on the bike because it was sloppy on top. The mud was so thick I had to pop it into four-wheel-drive.

I kept an eye peeled for any good looking side roads as I pounded south, and finally pulled into Whistler at about 8 at night. It had been a while and I felt like partying it up, so, I asked a few locals where the hot spot was. They said it was 80&#8217;s night a one of the bars and that was the place to be. I circled around, parked it up in the overnight lot for the ski area, made a little food, and set out to for the bars.

Unfortunately I didn&#8217;t take any pictures but it was a riot. All the people seemed to be international, German, Swiss, Brazilian, Argentinean, all working at the resort. The dancing was awesome. I talked to a few Canadians, but not many. Resort towns are always fun to party in, but it didn&#8217;t smell like I thought it would that close to Vancouver and all. I shut down the bar and went to bed.

The next morning, the only question was where. There was an ATV rental outfit off a dirt side-road that looked like a promising place to start. It was a good bet and turned out well. There was bunch of steep and rocky two-tracks that wound around the hills. None going anywhere, some blocked off by the loggers, a perfect place to dick around on the bike for a while.




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And the scenery wasn&#8217;t half bad either.




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Not half bad at all.



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It was too bad the twin peaks never came out from the clouds.