Mr. Cob's Alaska Ride

Discussion in 'Ride Reports - Epic Rides' started by fish, Aug 9, 2001.

  1. fish

    fish Banned

    Jul 6, 2001
    Gold Country
    Howdy All,

    To those of you who have ever dreamed of riding your bike up to and in
    Alaska, I have only one thing to say, DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    I have thought about riding the Alaska Hwy. and all of the roads I have
    heard about since I was just a kid ( that was a lonnnnng time ago ) this
    year when BMW, brought out their latest version of the GS, I was ready to
    buy the bike and to make the trip. I have had my eye on the GS, for the
    last 5 years they just kept making it better and getting it to be more like
    the bike that I wanted. So after buying the bike and bolting on just about
    every after market goodi that would fit including a 10.9 gallon gas tank, I
    felt that the bike was ready for the journey to the town of Dead Horse,
    located within the confines of the Prudhoe Bay, oil field complex which is
    situated at the northern most end of the "Dalton Hwy.".

    The Dalton Hwy. originally know as the "Haul Road", because it's only
    purpose was to haul supplies up to Prudhoe Bay, while the Alaskan pipe line
    was being constructed, is the furthest north and west that a person can
    drive or ride on the North American Continent. There are other short pieces
    of road that are further north and west but they are located on or near the
    coast and can only be reached by aircraft or boat, they can not be reached
    by any land route. To ride this road has been something that has intrigued
    me for years.

    And so it came to pass that on July 14th. 2001, my riding partners Don and
    Scott, both of whom were also riding R1150GS's, accompanied me on one of the
    most enjoyable as well as difficult journeys I have ever undertaken on a

    Day number ( 1 ) We met and gassed up our bikes in the little town of
    Arlington, Washington, we left Arlington, at about 7:30 AM, and rode north
    to the Canadian border via one of my favorite roads good old State Route #9.
    This part of #9, is very scenic, lots of hills and curves a truly great road
    for motorcycles. After reaching the border crossing at the small town of
    Sumas, we had to spend some time convincing the border guards that we were
    not drug smugglers or arch criminals, we were then allowed to pass into

    Once in Canada, we proceeded north on a little connecting road that took
    us to Hwy. #1, we rode northeast on #1, through the town of Hope, in case
    your interested, the town of Hope, is where the movie "Rambo first Blood",
    was filmed. From the town of Hope, the road runs north following the Farser
    River, and is one of the most scenic roads in the area. The river cuts a
    deep gorge through the mountains, the road is up and down full of curves and
    the wind is constantly blowing around the corners.

    It's about time that I mention that the "MAXIMUM" speed limit in Canada, is
    100 KPH, for us Yankees this translates into roughly 63 MPH. I have ridden
    in Canada, before and have done so in a "spirited" manner without any
    problems, however in the past I was in the lead and was constantly on guard
    for places where the RCMP, were likely to have one of their speed traps set
    up. This time, I was following my buddies and not paying attention to the
    terrain and the other clues that one must keep in mind if you are to speed
    without paying for "performance awards".

    The limit was 100 kph., we came around a down hill sweeper to the right, as
    soon as we came around the corner, we were greeted by one the Queens finest
    who directed us to the side of the road where we parked our bikes and stood
    in line behind all of the other folks who were also being rewarded for their
    excellent exhibition of driving and or riding skills. This was all
    accomplished in the best and most polite British tradition, we were each
    taken aside and told of how our .recklessness had endangered the peace and
    tranquillity of the Canadian .country side and that because of this we were
    being required to contribute .to the Queens retirement fund.

    Now I don't have problem with getting a ticket if I feel that I deserve it,
    but we were tagged for doing 109 kph., in a 70 kph. zone, the fine was
    $173.00 Canadian ( that's 115 dollars US. ) if we had been tagged at 110
    kph., the fine would have been $475.00 Canadian. To my Yankee butt this is
    ridiculous. The speed limit changed as we were going down hill and around
    the corner, so my advice is this, if you ride in Canada, DON'T ride more
    then 10 kph., above the speed limit until you get north or west of Prince

    Thus our adventurous enthusiasm considerably dampened, we rode north on
    Hwy. #1, and then went north on Hwy. #97, at the town of Cache Creek. North
    of Cache Creek, the country flattens out and the scenery is not as
    spectacular but it is still beautiful, we kept riding until we reached
    Prince George, where we got a motel room and spent the night. Total miles
    the first day, 513.7, average speed 61.8 mph. It should be noted that every
    day of this trip the "Ton" ( British slang term ) was exceded at least once,
    but I will never admit to it in public, "that's my story and I am sticking
    to it".
  2. fish

    fish Banned

    Jul 6, 2001
    Gold Country
    Day number ( 2 ) The day started out kind of chilly, the electric gear
    from "Gerbing" sure felt nice, just turn up the heat then back it off when
    you warm up. We rode north on #97, through Dawson Creek, ending the day in
    Fort Nelson. The scenery was nice but not near as spectacular as when we
    were riding along the Fraser River. We rode in and out of rain showers
    through out the day, never enough to warrant stopping to put on our rain
    gear but it made for cooler riding. When we got setteled in to a CHEAP
    motel, I changed oil and set the valves on my bike, this is really simple to
    do on the Beemer, all the valves were where they should be so it took no
    time at all. Total miles, 533.3 average speed 67.5 mph.

    Day number ( 3 ) Cool and overcast is how the day started. Again we
    rode in and out of rain showers for most of the day. This was also our
    first experience with riding our bikes on gravel, Hwy. #97, as it runs west
    out of Fort Nelson, had many stretches of gravel on it. This ranged from
    hard packed almost pavement quality to thick mud with rocks in it.

    Just east of Summit, we started to climb into the mountains, the fog was so
    thick we had to ride in first gear as we could only see about 20 to 50 feet
    in front of us, we rode with our flashers on in hopes of not getting run
    into. After a few miles of riding in the fog we broke out into a light mist
    and then a little later on the sky was clear with the clouds and mist only
    covering the tops of the mountains. Once the sky cleared up we could see
    what we had been riding through, it was gorgeous! We were surrounded by
    high mountains with snow covered peaks, the road ran along side of a wide
    and nearly dry river bed. We had been seeing signs along the road warning
    to "watch for Caribou on the road", they weren't kidding. We came around a
    corner and there walking down the middle of the road were two LARGE Caribou,
    we stopped and I took some video of this our first encounter with the
    critters of the north. We proceeded on and saw Caribou at least three more
    times on this day.

    We were coming up on Liard River, when the road turned really BAD. There was
    road construction going on and they had just dumped and graded loose wet
    gravel about 4 inches deep for about a half of a mile. This stuff was awful
    to ride on, we had to follow a pilot truck and the woman driving the truck
    went so slow it was hard for us to ride and keep our balance. I was in the
    lead and was to close behind the pilot truck, she almost came to a stop just
    at the beginning of the deep gravel, when we got in to this shit I was going
    to slow and nearly went down in an effort to stay up at this slow speed. I
    then stopped and allowed the pilot truck to get ahead of us so that we could
    get up enough speed to power through this loon shit and stay up right. The
    woman in the pilot truck must have though we could not keep up because she
    then almost came to a stop again, @%$#^&*(&^%#%%(&&$% woman

    After we survived this ordeal the road again turned to fairly good
    pavement and we made good time. Twenty miles later, the sun had came out
    the roads were very dry and we again hit gravel, this time it was hard
    packed underneath with a covering of loose rock about 1 inch in size which
    made for dust so thick you could not see. This lasted for about 5 miles
    off and on, when a truck was coming towards you or passing you, you had to
    pull over to the side of the road and stop and wait until the dust cleared
    so you could see where you were going.

    We stopped in Watson Lake, gassed up and took pictures at the "sign post
    junction", this is the start of the "Alaskan Hwy." this is a place where
    people from all over the world have put up signs, all kinds of signs,
    traffic signs, city signs, street, school, home addresses, if you can think
    of it, there is a sign there with your thoughts on it. This was our longest
    and hardest day so far, at times it was down right scary, but hey, we were
    looking for adventure and it had found us. We ended up in the town of
    White Horse, where we again spent the night in a cheap motel. Total miles,
    594.6 average speed 64.9 mph.
  3. fish

    fish Banned

    Jul 6, 2001
    Gold Country
    Day number (4 ) The ride from White Horse, ( Yukon ) to Tok, ( Alaska )
    was spectacular. We crossed many huge river beds that this time of year have
    very little water in them, these rivers must be a sight to behold when the
    spring run off is in full swing. Tall snow covered mountains, trees and
    blue skies and critters on the road filled this wonderful day. We rode
    along side of valleys and lakes that went on for mile after mile seemingly
    with out end.

    We rode a lot of gravel today at least 100 miles worth, most of it was easy
    riding as it was hard packed and not dusty. As soon as we crossed into
    Alaska, the road turned to shit. I hate to admit it but the Canadians keep
    up their part of the Alaska Hwy. much better then the Alaskans do. The over
    all color of the road changes when you are in Alaska, it is hard to see
    where the gravel repairs and the paved road come together. The pavement is
    made up of the same colored rock and sand as is the gravel and the repair
    patches are NOT marked as they are on the Canadian part of the road, this
    makes for some interesting riding to say the least.

    There were two times when we found ourselves in gravel before we knew it,
    this can be blamed on excessive use of the throttle and just wanting to get
    the day over with. Both of these scary moments happened after we were west
    of Tok, from Tok, to Fairbanks, the road is so damned BORING it will put you
    to sleep, imagine riding across the Dakotas only with trees along side of
    the road and you can get an idea of what I am talking about.

    We got into Fairbanks, at about 10:pM., found another cheap motel, got
    something good to eat and tried to go to sleep. I was very apprehensive
    about the next day, I was worried that my riding skills would not be up to
    the task we had before us, riding the "Dalton Hwy.". Not only that but we
    were far enough north so that it never really gets dark out, I couldn't
    figure out why I was so tired until I looked at the clock, it was 1:30 AM.
    and still light out. Weird stuff. Total miles 595.5, average speed 63.7

    Day number ( 5 ) We slept in late this morning, it was hard to get to
    sleep when it still light out at midnight. We went to the Harley dealer,
    Scott wanted to buy a Tee shirt from them, then it was off to a military
    surplus store to buy some "MRE's" ( Meals Ready to Eat ) in case we got
    stuck on the Dalton Hwy. for a few days .

    We were in no big hurry to get started as it was no longer getting dark out
    at night we didn't have to be concerned riding at night. We left Fairbanks,
    at about noon, soon the road we had traveled so far to ride would loom
    before us.

    We rode Hwy. #2, north out of Fairbanks, the first 75 miles of the day's
    ride consisted of pavement ranging from very good to almost nonexistent. At
    the junction of #2 and #11, we rode north on #11, the "Haul Road" or as it
    is now known, the Dalton Hwy.

    At the beginning of the Dalton, you are warned by a large green sign telling
    you that it is 56 miles to Yukon, 228 miles to Cold Foot, and 411 miles to
    the end of the road in Dead Horse. These are only three places where you
    can get gas, some type of food, and minimal types of repair to tires and
    vehicles. If you are not carrying with you what you need, there is no place
    from Fairbanks, north to buy much of anything except the barest essentials.

    The Dalton, is a road of extremes, it varies from gravel packed so hard and
    smooth that you can easily ride at speeds double the posted limit of 50
    mph., but it can change immediately to 6 inch deep mud, or very loose gravel
    that can grab your front wheel and send you flying through the air. The
    road demands your respect and your constant attention. We were told that,
    three days before, a man riding a R1150GS, had to air lifted out with
    massive injuries sustained because he lost control of his bike while riding
    the road at speed, this made an impression on me to "ride the road" and not
    get stupid.

    We were warned about the trucks that use the Dalton, to haul supplies up
    to Prudhoe Bay, we were told to be on the look out for them at all times and
    to give them the whole road, to pull over to the side and let them pass,
    this is very good advice. However, we were also told that the trucks drove
    this road at speeds of 80+ mph., and that they would not give you any room
    and that they would purposely spray you with rocks as they passed, this we
    found to be pure Bull Shit.

    The Dalton, has very little in the way of shoulders, the road is built of
    gravel that is anywhere from three feet to ten feet taller the the
    surrounding terrain, there are occasional turn outs but they are few and far
    between. We found that the best way to deal with the trucks was to slow
    down, get as far as it was reasonably possiable to your side of the road and
    wave at the truckers as they went by. They in turn did like wise. The
    truckers are in constant contact by radio with each other so they would let
    the other truckers know that you were on the road and which direction you
    were headed, this was nice because it prevented very scary situations like
    coming around a corner and meeting a truck head on. We camped and ate
    dinner with a bunch of truckers that night at Cold Foot, and they told us
    that if we treated the truckers with respect while on the road that they in
    turn would look out for us and warn others of our location.

    Once we got north of Fairbanks, the terrain changed to mountains and deep
    valleys, we could see the pipe line as it was laid along side of or near the
    road for many of the miles we traveled. It is hard to put into words the
    wonderful scenery and the vastness of the area we rode through, one of the
    great disappointments of this trip and especially along the Dalton, is the
    almost total lack of SAFE places to stop and take pictures. The road is so
    full of curves and hills, this combined with the lack of shoulders makes it
    very risky to stop and take a picture. The only safe places one could stop
    were on one of the few pull outs or on a stretch of road that was straight
    and long enough so that a truck could see you and have time to react to your
    being stopped on the road. It seemed that at the places where one could
    stop, there was nothing of real beauty to take a picture of, on the other
    hand, it appeared that the more dangerous the stop may have been, the more
    wonderful the picture that could have been taken.

    We rode through areas where it was so dry and dusty that we had to ride with
    a half mile between us so that we could see. This was also very dangerous
    because even when the trucks saw us and slowed down when they passed the
    dust was so bad we had to remain stopped at the side of the road for as long
    as 30 seconds to a minute or more waiting for the dust to settle so we could
    ride on. Then there was the mud. The mud varied from a layer so thin it was
    of no significance as far as getting stuck was concerned but at the same
    time it was just like riding on grease it was so slippery, to mud that was 6
    inches deep. We never got stuck, but we sure added to the ruts in some parts
    of the road. Oh, did I mention the rocks. The rocks varied in size from
    pea gravel to about the size of your head, with the average being about the
    size of a soft ball. Riding over or through the rocks was not bad if it was
    dry, it's when you mix rocks with mud that life got real interesting. The
    trick to riding through this type of stuff was to stand on the foot pegs
    while keeping up a steady slow pace. This was hard to do with out catching a
    front wheel on a big rock or getting sucked sideways in the mud. I am happy
    to say that none of us fell down, no dented bikes or ego's but that doesn't
    mean that there wasn't a multitude of extreme near crashes.

    We were stopped at the bottom of a very steep and long hill by a pick up
    truck that was escorting a truck hauling an over sized load. In this case
    the term "over sized load", could not adequately describe what was being
    hauled by this truck. The truck, one of the biggest tractors I have ever
    seen, was hauling a boat of some sort up to Prudhoe Bay, this boat was 28
    feet wide and 110 feet long. This load took up the entire road surface,
    there was absolutely no way to pass this truck. Traffic was stopped from
    both directions and held at pull outs while this truck made it's way north.
    This truck was helped up the hills by another huge tractor that pushed from
    behind when going up steep hills. Later that evening when we were talking
    to the driver of the lead truck, he told us that he has hauled loads that
    have required that the truck pulling the trailer be assisted by two other
    trucks pulling from the front and up to three pushing from behind, this is
    something that would be a sight to see and to film.

    When the truck reached the top of the hill there was a spot for it to pull
    over and allow the engine to cool before it continued it journey, this also
    allowed other traffic to proceed. We rode to the top of the hill, and
    wouldn't you know it, it was a perfect spot to take pictures from. I took
    out my video camera and filmed the area, NOT noticing that the truck with
    the over sized load had left and was driving north. You guessed it, we were
    stuck following this truck for almost thirty miles before we could get
    around it.

    After we got around the truck, we rode into Cold Foot, where we decided to
    camp for the night. About an hour and a half after we had set up our tents,
    the truck with the oversized load pulled in, they too were going to spend
    the night in Cold Foot. We went over to the truck and took pictures, we
    never realized just how big this boat was until we were standing beneath it
    and looking along it's length. We met the drivers of the trucks and had
    dinner with them all the while exchanging stories of the roads we had

    After dinner, we went back to our tents to sleep, we were far enough north
    now to where it never gets dark this time of year, it is really light all
    night long. This was our toughest day so far, we were tired, we had met the
    road and rode it, we were beat but not beaten. I fell asleep wondering what
    would tomorrow bring and if I would be ready for it. Total miles, 259.7,
    average speed 42.5 mph.

    To be continued, there are a total of thirteen days in this road

    Mr. Cob
    NRA-life, IBA-#4510, ABATE-#5671, AFRA- #0001
    98-YZF-R1, 99-Road King, 2001-R1150GS .........
    As Always, Ride Hard, Ride Free, Ride SAFE!
  4. fish

    fish Banned

    Jul 6, 2001
    Gold Country
    Day number ( 6 )
    We broke camp at about 6:AM., had breakfast and started out on our way
    to Dead Horse, at 7:30 AM. The first 30 miles went by swiftly, the
    road was in good shape, hard packed gravel for the most part. But
    this was not to last, we then ran into a lot of soft spots with either
    loose gravel; mud, rocks or a combination of these elements, this
    would continue for the next 50 miles or so.

    Soon we started to cross many bridges with wooden decks, the term
    "slippery as snot", comes to mind as how to describe these bridges.
    Just before we started to climb the Brooks mountain range, there was
    a large pullout on the right hand side of the road, we stopped here;
    nature, made sure all of our gear was still secure, took pictures of
    all the wildlife
    that was in the valley stretched out before us and prepared to cross
    the mountains.

    Once we started to climb the mountains the road became very narrow
    with virtually no shoulders at all. The road had three fairly well
    packed tracks on it's surface the middle one being used by traffic
    going in both directions, even on bikes this made for scary riding
    while passing or being passed by the large trucks that travel this

    As we climbed higher the road became more muddy and therefore
    much more slippery. Because of the muddy conditions the bad spots in
    the road were repaired with crushed rock ranging in size from about 1
    inch to about 3 inches in diameter, when this stuff is wet, it's kind
    of like riding across ball bearings.

    The highest altitude we reached was when we crossed over Atigun Pass,
    4,600+ feet, bear in mind that at this point we were about 175 miles
    north of the Arctic Circle, and it was COLD. Going up to and coming
    down from the pass was beautiful, in places you could see for many
    miles. Luckily there was no road construction while we were riding
    this part of the Hwy.

    I forgot to mention that the trees had been getting; smaller,
    and scarcer the further north we went, once we were in the Brooks
    mountain range and then north of it there were no more trees at all.

    When we reached the the north side of the Brooks, nothing stretched
    before us but tundra. When I use the word "nothing" that is exactly
    what I mean, NOTHING! The tundra is a wet desert, if you get off of
    the road bed you sink up to your knees in muck. The ground is
    permanently frozen at this latitude hence the name given to this type
    of terrain "Permafrost".

    During the summer months the top few inches
    or feet of this land will turn into muck that is infested with
    mosquitoes. If you stop moving for any reason, you will immediately
    be ATTACKED by ravenous mosquitoes. These critters are so thick that
    when we were forced to stop because of road construction we left our
    leathers and helmets on with the visor down just to keep from being

    We saw many Caribou once we were north of the mountains huge
    herds of them range over the vastness of the tundra. While we were
    crossing the mountains we also saw some type of sheep or goats, they
    were to far off to get a close enough look to identify them. I can
    only imagine what a HELL it must be to be an animal that lives in this
    part of the world, even with the animals thick hides to protect them,
    the mosquitoes have been known to actually kill some of the wild life
    lives there.

    About 75 miles south of Dead Horse, we ran into road construction.
    This was the worst part of the road we had encountered so far. We had
    to wait about a half of an hour before we could continue, during this
    time we did everything we could to keep the mosquitoes at bay. When
    we could ride again we had to follow a pilot truck through the
    construction zone it was about two miles long.

    It started out as fresh graded crushed rock that was packed down
    fairly hard, this
    turned into loose crushed rock, which turned into crushed rock that
    was dumped into mud, then we hit the mud. Are you starting to get the
    picture. How we got through this with out dumping the bikes is beyond
    me, the thought that kept going through my head was "Shit, we have to
    come back this way to get home, AGRAHHHHHHHHHH.

    After getting through the road construction, the rest of the way to
    Dead Horse, was a piece of cake. The road was hard packed gravel with
    wash board type ripples on it about 2 inches high. We found that if
    you ride this type of surface at 60 mph., it's much easier then if you
    try it a 30 mph. You have to constantly be watching the road for soft
    spots, by this time we had gotten to where we could read the road
    quite well and could tell at a distance what type of surface we were
    coming up on. The last 2 miles of the Dalton Hwy., as you come into
    Dead Horse, was covered with freshly laid and grader loose gravel, it
    was dusty and very easy to slip and slide around in. We pulled into
    Horse, at about 2:pM.

    It's hard to put into words, but once we were in Dead Horse, I
    suddenly felt kind of down, it was all so anticlimactic, there was
    nothing there, just all of the oil rigs and support buildings, nothing
    else, nothing at all. I don't know what I expected, I knew that there
    would be little to see when we reached the end of the road, I guess
    after all of the hard work we had done the last 2 days it was just a
    let down to have reached the end of the journey. Our primary goals
    had all been achieved; we had ridden the "ALCAN", crossed the Arctic
    Circle, survived the Dalton Hwy., reached the end of the road at Dead
    Horse, now what? This just goes to show how true the old adage is,
    "It's the journey that counts, not the destination".

    We talked our way into a room at the "Caribou Inn", the ONLY place in
    Dead Horse, where you can get a room of any kind, unless you work in
    the oil fields. There was a "Tour Bus" that had booked all of the
    rooms at the Inn but we could not stay out doors, this was not because
    of the cold, but because of the "Grizzly Bears".

    Where ever you go you see signs warning you to be on the look out for
    bears, they and
    the Caribou, walk freely any where they please. The bears regularly
    rip apart anything that has food left in it. Two days before we
    arrived a tour bus, whose driver had failed to lock it's doors, was
    torn to shreds, the whole inside of it was destroyed, all the seats
    were ripped, the on board luggage was gutted, and all of the soda pop
    and food treats were devoured by the bears.

    That evening while eating dinner, we talked to a couple of guys who
    have worked on the oil fields for years. They told us stories of how
    the bears are so dangerous that when working out on the oil fields
    when away from buildings or vehicles, the workers have to be provided
    with "bear cages" that are placed all around the work area in case
    they need a place to run to. At first I thought the guy was pulling
    our leg, then the driver of the tour bus said that he could show us
    where one of these bear cages was located just out side of the Inn,
    this gave me an entirely different perspective on the matter.

    So after dinner, we all crammed ourselves into a room meant for one
    person, crawled into our sleeping bags and slept at the closest we
    would ever come to the top of the world. We had signed up to take the
    tour bus the next morning, this is the only way we could actually get
    to the Arctic Ocean, we had come to far to not dip our feet in these
    frigid waters. Total miles today, 255.4 average speed 47.6 mph.
  5. fish

    fish Banned

    Jul 6, 2001
    Gold Country
    Day number ( 7 )
    We went to the general store located next to the Inn and got our
    "Dalton Hwy. Survivor Certificates", some decals for our panniers and
    some snacks. Then it was time to catch the tour bus that would take
    us to the shores of the Arctic Ocean. The tour bus took us through
    the main part of the Prudhoe Bay, oil complex and then to the Arctic
    Ocean where we could take pictures, stand in the Ocean and try to stay
    warm, the wind blowing off of the water was very cold.

    I wish that all of the environmental terrorist who claim that drilling
    for oil in the Arctic would come up to Prudhoe Bay, and see for
    themselves how full of bull shit their extremist rhetoric really is.
    When the pipe line was built part of the deal was that the pipe line
    had to have gravel ramps built over it so that the Caribou could
    continue to travel over their migration trails. Caribou are not the
    smartest animal on the planet but they are smarter then these eco
    freaks. The Caribou never did use the gravel ramps, they simply
    walked under the pipe line and completely ignored it except for using
    the up-rights that support it as scratching posts.

    Every where you look while on the oil fields you see wild life,
    Caribou, fox, birds and bear, these animals do not seem to be bothered
    in the least that man is in their presence. I am not saying that we
    should drill every where, but the way it is being done on the north
    slope doesn't seem to be harming the wild life in any great way.
    That's just my opinion, but after being up here and seeing how the
    animals could care less, I feel it's a valid position.

    After we got back from the tour we loaded up our bikes and headed
    south on the Dalton, we were on our way home. It is hard to explain
    how much the road had changed in less then 24 hours. The road is
    worked on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week all during the summer months.
    About 20 miles south of Dead horse, the road had been graded since we
    had traveled on it, when it was hard packed and full of wash board
    ripples we rode it a 60+ mph., now that it was graded the safest speed
    we could ride it at was around 30 mph.

    The grading left a smooth surface but now it was full of soft spots,
    of the high points were graded off into the low points this left a
    soft pocket of gravel that could easily throw you. When we reached
    real bad road construction about 75 miles south of Dead Horse, it was
    dryer then it had been the day before but now the ruts were hard and
    once you got into one you had to ride it out.

    We hit rain just before we started to cross the Brooks mountain range,

    this was not a good sign. As we climbed the Brooks, we came upon a
    road grader that was working on our lane of the road, we passed him on
    the left and rode on down the road. The grader had pushed up a bream
    about 18 inches high in the middle of the road, this bream was made up
    of very soft gravel and soft ball sized rock.

    We came around a corner and found ourselves on the wrong side of this
    bream with a BIG truck coming down the mountain towards us. This was
    a butt puckering experience, we had a choice, get run over by the
    truck or
    try to ride over this bream with out falling down. Needless to say
    playing Evil
    Kaneivl, with the bream was the only reasonable option.

    Now crossing this bream under normal circumstances would not be that
    big of a deal, we had to cross it NOW, no time to look for a low spot,
    no time to
    look for a spot without rocks, no time to maneuver to hit it at a
    angle, we had to do it immediately. Again we all made the crossing
    without anyone going down, I chalk this up more to good luck rather
    then our riding skills.

    After we crossed the Brooks, we were still riding in the rain, the
    road was hard packed, rippled and extremely slippery. Later on the
    rain stopped, the sun came out, we picked up the speed and caught up
    to a large truck pulling two trailers. The road had a long straight
    stretch ahead of us, I was in the lead, I pulled out to pass, I
    flashed my driving lights so that the truck driver knew we were going
    to pass.

    The road was hard packed, rippled but dry except for a few
    very shallow mud puddles about an inch deep. As I was passing the
    truck I saw ahead of me a long puddle, I looked in my mirrors, Don and
    Scott were right behind me, I stood up on the foot pegs, braced my
    arms against the bars and went for it.

    The puddle was deep, how deep I don't know, all I could see was water,
    I fought the bars to keep control and rode it out. Later when we
    over to take pictures, Don, told me that I had blown all the water out
    of the
    puddle but had thrown the mud in the bottom of it all over him and
    Scott, we
    laughed about this and remarked how we had again been lucky not to
    have had a crash.

    We were making good time and the weather report was for a storm to
    move in that evening so we continued to ride south past Cold Foot,
    deciding to get as far south as we could before camping for the night.

    About 10 miles south of Cold Foot, we had a very strange experience
    with a Wolf. Don was in the lead, we were riding at about 50 mph., we
    saw a Wolf standing on the right hand side of the road, we slowed down
    to about 20 mph. The Wolf then ran out in front of us, crossed the
    road and stopped in the ditch on the left hand side of the road. Just
    as Don, was riding past the Wolf, it jumped out of the ditch and ran
    directly towards him acting as if it was going to bite him.

    This was really weird, I grew up in northern Minnesota, and have had a
    lot of
    experience around Wolfs and I have never heard of one attacking a
    human without good reason.

    This Wolf was not acting right, Don, sped up and got away from the
    it stopped in the middle of the road and looked at me and Scott as we
    approached. After we had passed it, this crazy Wolf actually chased
    down the road for about a half of a mile. I don't know, maybe it had
    rabies or
    something, but this is not normal Wolf behavior at least in my

    We camped that night about 15 miles north of the Yukon River. The
    mosquitoes were so bad that we had to set our tents up with our
    leathers, gloves and helmets on just to keep from being sucked dry.
    The next morning when we broke camp, we got dressed inside of the
    tents, full leathers and helmets on just so we could break camp
    without again being eaten by mosquitoes. Total miles, 376.3 average
    speed, 48.7 mph.

    To Be continued

    Mr. Cob
    NRA-life, IBA-#4510, ABATE-#5671, AFRA- #0001
    98-YZF-R1, 99-Road King, 2001-R1150GS .........
    As Always, Ride Hard, Ride Free, Ride SAFE!
  6. fish

    fish Banned

    Jul 6, 2001
    Gold Country
    Day number ( 8 )
    We broke camp at 6:30 AM., dressed into our leathers while in the
    tents so the bugs would not get us. We rode south on the Dalton, and
    crossed over the Yukon river bridge. The bridge deck was made of wood
    and was a little slick this early in the morning but no problem. The
    remainder of the Dalton, was in good shape and we made good time and
    soon we turned on to #2, and rode south on it towards Fairbanks. The
    stretch of #2, in between the turn off to Manley Hot Springs, and Fox,
    has some stretches of good pavement with lots of curves, we had been
    on bad roads for the last 1,000 miles so needless to say we opened up
    our bikes and enjoyed ourselves.

    We stopped just north of Fairbanks and talked about what we should do
    next. In our original plan we planed on going back the same way we
    had come up with the exception of taking the Cassier Hwy. on the way
    home, but now we were thinking about a different route. We had
    been told how beautiful it was to ride down to the area down around
    Anchorage, others told us to ride the ferry from Whittier, over to
    Valdez and then ride north on #4, until it joins with #7, then to ride
    #7 east until it hooks up with the ALCAN at Tok. We looked at the
    map, it looked good, it would add a couple of days to the trip but so
    what, we decided this was the route we would take.

    We rode until we were south of Fairbanks, before we stopped for fuel
    and something to eat, then we headed south on #3, on our way to
    National Park. As long as we would have to ride past the park on our
    way to Anchorage, why not stop at the park and see Mount McKinley, at
    20,320 feet, it is the tallest mountain on the North American

    The weather started to turn bad, overcast skies, very light rain. The
    further south we went the worse it got. The road is built on the top
    of a ridge line that runs for miles, on either side the lands slopes
    away into deep valleys with wide rivers and high mountains to both the
    east and west. Every now and then through the gloom we could see some
    of this scenery. It poured hard rain the last 25 miles before we got
    to the park, then it let up and started to clear a little.

    We rode into the park, stopped at the ranger station and asked what
    there was to do in the park that could be done from our bikes, we
    didn't feel like doing a lot of hiking. We were told that at mile
    marker #13, if it wasn't cloudy we "might" be able to see Mt.
    McKinley. We rode up the road that runs through the park it was
    really pretty, many dry river beds, tall mountains and critters on the
    road. When we got to mile marker #13, we could see mountains but
    nothing that was 20,320 feet high. At mile marker #15, the road is
    gated and you can not ride past the gate, if you want to go any
    further into the park you have to ride on a tour bus. I asked the
    ranger, "where is Mt. McKinley?", he pointed to where it was and then
    told me that because the mountain is so large it is almost always
    in clouds because of the weather that it creates. So I took a video
    of where the mountain was according to the ranger and the map, I
    didn't see it but I will take his word that it is there.

    We left the park and again headed south on #3, the road was in good
    shape and we made good time. When we pulled into the little town of
    Wasilla, I just had to pull over and stop. There before me was the
    most beautiful mountains I have ever seen, I can not put into words
    what lay before us. These peaks where tall; dark, jagged, snow
    covered and majestic this is a must see if you are ever in the area.

    We looked for a motel to spend the night but nothing was available so
    we again headed south. We could not find any lodging along the road
    so we headed for Anchorage, again nothing that we could afford, so we
    kept going. We stopped in Gridwood, it was very late and we were
    tired, the only thing that was available was some high buck ski resort
    that cost $350.00 per night. At this point I was ready to park the
    bike in a parking lot, throw the rain fly of my tent over it and sleep
    in the saddle "been there, done that" many times in the past. Scott,
    went into this high buck place and laid some kind of story on them and
    got us a room with three beds in for $125.00, what he told them, I
    don't know but it worked. Total miles today, 581.7 average speed
    57.2 mph.

    Day number ( 9 )
    We slept late, ate a good breakfast and just kicked back for a few
    hours, we had to catch the ferry at Whittler, but that was in the
    early afternoon. We rode the 30 or so miles to Whittler, in the rain,
    hard rain. Just west of Whittler, we found out that the only land
    route to Whittler was through a 2 and 1/2 mile long tunnel, at a cost
    of $15.00 per bike @$#%&^(*&^%#$!

    This tunnel, is one lane wide with a train track running down the
    middle of it. The surface of the pavement in-between the tracks is
    really weird, it felt like riding on a steel grated bridge deck. They
    let the train go through, then the vehicle traffic goes from west to
    east, when this is done the traffic goes from east to west.

    Riding through this tunnel is spooky, it's wet, dark, and noisy from
    the huge ventilation fans that clear out the exhaust from the traffic.
    I was in the lead of all the traffic, I started out at about 45 mph.,
    by the time I got to the end of the tunnel, I was down to about 30
    mph. It was hard to ride and not be mesmerized by the rails, that's
    all you could see, after awhile it seemed harder and harder to stay
    between the rails it's like they were some kind of giant magnet
    sucking me into the deep groove that the rail sat in, I was very glad
    to get to the other end of the tunnel and break out into the gloom of
    the over cast sky.

    We bought our tickets for the ferry, $95.00 per person with bike, and
    waited for the ferry. We left Whittler, at around 1:30 PM., and
    steamed out into Prince William Sound, on our way to the town of
    Valdez. The ferry took 7 hours to make it to Valdez, it slowed a
    couple of times so that we could watch the sea lions, whales and other
    wild life along the way. I wish it hadn't have been raining so hard,
    we could only see the bottom half of all the mountains that made up
    the shore, we could see the hundreds of water falls that came down the
    sides of the mountains from the glaciers but we could not see the tops
    of the mountains except in a very few places. I filmed as best I
    could all of the animals and wonderful sights of fishing boats and ice
    bergs as we made our way to Valdez, but between the rain and the fog I
    got very little good video. We pulled into Valdez, at about 8:pM.,
    got a good meal, a cheap motel room and hit the hay. Total miles
    bikes were ridden today about 50, average speed about 35 mph.
  7. fish

    fish Banned

    Jul 6, 2001
    Gold Country
    Day number ( 10 )
    Again this morning we started late, didn't get on the road until 9:AM.
    We rode Hwy. #4, north out of Valdez, this was another great road, to
    bad the weather was so damned lousy. As we rode through Keystone
    Valley, we could only catch small glimpses of what must have been
    spectacular scenery. Again the rain; mist, low clouds and fog
    prevented us from seeing much of what was surrounding us. As we rode
    over Thompson Pass, the fog was so thick we crept along in first gear
    with our flashers on so that other traffic would see us and with any
    kind of luck not run us over. We did stop at Washington Glacier, it
    was just off of the Hwy. and you could walk right up to it and take
    pictures, this was really neat. We rode on through the rain that was
    now coming down really hard, they had recently done some road
    construction and all of the oil was being leached out of the repairs
    and was just sitting on top of the road surface, this made for
    extremely dangerous riding for about a 20 mile stretch. The weather
    up a little by the time we reached the junction of #4, and #7, we rode
    northeast on #7, up to Tok, at Tok, we rode east on the ALCAN ( #2 ).

    When we decided to ride down to Whittler, and take the ferry across to
    Valdez, and then ride up to Tok, we did this in order to see all of
    the wonderful things people had told us about, but because of the
    shity weather we didn't see much of anything.

    The trip was starting to get on our nerves, we have all been friends
    for years and have ridden many thousands of miles together, still the
    road was getting to us. Scott did not have good rain gear and had
    been soaked for the last three days, Don, was starting to get
    homesick, I was having a good time and felt guilty because I didn't
    feel bad. So all the little things that don't normally matter became
    irritants for all of us. Scott and Don, wanted to stop for the night
    while we were still in Alaska, I wanted to continue until we were in
    Canada. We had been getting started later and stopping earlier for
    the last five days, I had a hard time making my point that the only
    way we were going to get home was to keep moving. I am NOT putting my
    friends down, they have not traveled as long and as far, for as many
    years as I have, they were just tired and wanted to be home, NOW. The
    problem was we did not have access to "Transporter technology" and
    could not "beam" ourselves and our bikes home, when I mentioned this
    to Scott and Don, they laughed and agreed to keep going.

    We rode east out of Tok, and ended up spending the night at Wilderness
    Village, in Canada. After we got settled in for the night we held a
    meeting to decide the route we would take to get back home. Scott
    wanted to take the same road back as when we came north, Don, also
    wanted to take the main Hwy. I wanted to take the "Cassier Hwy." (
    #37 ) south off of the ALCAN. In the end it was decided that in the
    morning we would split up and go our separate paths on the way home.
    I was not upset that my friends were going a different route then what
    we had originally planed, but I would miss their company and hoped
    that I would not run into any situation that would require their help.
    Total miles today, 448.5 average speed 59.2 mph.

    Day number ( 11)
    In the morning, I woke Don, and asked him if I could take the spare
    back tire that he had brought along, my rear tire was almost
    completely gone and I doubted if it would make it back home. Don said
    to take the tire, as I was getting ready to pull out, Scott asked me
    to come back into the cabin and talk to him and Don, I agreed to talk.
    Scott and Don, did not want me to travel by myself, I did not want to
    prevent them from getting home quickly, after they could not sway me
    to give up the original planed route they being good friends and
    riding partners agreed to ride with me. So we were back together
    again, the adventure continued.

    The day started out with a light misty rain falling but the sky looked
    lighter to the east. In a couple of hours the sun broke out and we
    rode in good weather for the rest of the day. We rode this part of
    the ALCAN, on the way up but now we got the chance to see it from a
    different perspective, it is an incredibly beautiful stretch of road.
    By now we were used to riding on gravel so the repair patches didn't
    hardly slow us down we were making good time and having fun.

    While riding east on the ALCAN, about 120 miles west of the junction
    of #1, and #37, ( Cassier Hwy. ) the back of my bike started to feel
    loose, as I slowed down it got worse, I knew then that the rear tire
    had gone flat. I pulled over to the side of the road, luckily there
    was a nice wide hard packed shoulder on this part of the ALCAN, the
    others followed and we looked over the situation. The rear tire had
    been punctured by a sharp rock, but looked like it could be fixed with
    a repair plug. I had everything needed to fix the tire so we put a
    plug in it, plugged in my small electric air compressor and filled the
    tire. It leaked around the plug. Along side of the plug on either
    side was a very small pin hole leak, this we could not fix on the side
    of the road, thankfully, we had the worn spare tires that Don, had
    packed along with him the whole trip.

    We then went about replacing my bad tire with the spare, this would
    have been an impossible task if it weren't for all of the tools I had
    brought along for just such a mishap. The bead breaker, tire irons,
    and air compressor all worked flawlessly, everything was going along
    just fine until we tried to air the tire up. The little compressor
    could not put out enough air to bead the tire, we then tried the CO2
    cartridges, almost but not enough. We wrapped a bike tie down around
    the outside of the tire and compressed it, this helped but we could
    not keep the air from leaking between the tire and the rim. But no
    fear, I had the solution in my personal gear bag, "Pert Plus Shampoo".
    I smeared some shampoo on the beads of the tire, gave it another shot
    of CO2, this popped the bead out on to the rim, now we hooked up the
    air compressor and Ta Da, a tire ready for the road.

    After repacking all the tools and test riding the bike, we then
    continued east on the ALCAN, until we reached the junction of #1, and
    #37 the Cassier Hwy. We stopped at the junction, ate a good meal and
    got a room that was 9 feet square in a mobile home type building, this
    little room was just big enough for us to roll out three sleeping bags
    but it was CHEAP and we were starting to run low on cash. All things
    considered, today was a good day. Total miles, 458.1 average speed,
    64.7 mph.

    To be continued.

    Mr. Cob
    NRA-life, IBA-#4510, ABATE-#5671, AFRA- #0001
    98-YZF-R1, 99-Road King, 2001-R1150GS .........
    As Always, Ride Hard, Ride Free, Ride SAFE!
  8. Jay

    Jay Redbear Rides

    Jul 9, 2001
    Mariposa, CA
    Thanks, Mr. Cob, for this good story about the Dalton Hwy. It is some of the best description of the road and the conditions I have read. Someday soon, it will be me fighting the mosquitos.

    I especially liked your description of the animals in Deadhorse not being affected by the oilfields. You are right, the envirowackos should go see the things they complain about, instead of mindlessly believing/following the Sierra Club/NRDC/etc. down the garden path, and then make up their minds, if they still have any ability to exercise freedom of choice left.

    I'd like to make a couple of points of order:
    - You refer to breams in the road. The real word is berm.
    - Canada has been separated and independent of Great Britain for over 100 years, so the RCMP will not be contributing your tributes to the Queen's retirement fund. We Canucks love the dear old Queen but we told her Daddy to take a hike a long time ago.

    Please post some pictures of the Dalton, so we can all see the wide open 'nothing'.
  9. Mr. Cob

    Mr. Cob Howling "Mad", Adventurer

    Aug 8, 2001
    Granite Falls, Washington State, USA
    Mr. Cob's Alaska Trip, the final chapter days #12 and #13.

    Howdy All,

    Day number ( 12 )
    We had spent the night in very cramped quarters and were relived to
    get up and get moving again. It was clear and chilly outside, we
    loaded our gear onto the bikes had a light breakfast and hit the road
    at about 7:AM. we rode south on #37, the Cassiar Hwy.

    I was looking forward to riding the Cassiar, I had been told how it
    went along deep valleys and through high mountains some of which had
    volcanic origins, I am a geology nut and this type of terrain
    fascinates me. After we had ridden about 50 miles we stopped at a
    pull out by a lake and put on our "Gerbing" electric gear, it was cold
    and we were going to be gaining elevation as the day went on.

    About 10 miles down the road from where we had just stopped, as I came
    around the corner, I saw a huge big horn ram, followed by a female
    they were right along side of the road. I slowed down and came to a
    stop at the edge of the road so I could take a picture. Don, was
    following very close behind me and nearly ran into me as he tried to
    stop, quick stops and gravel roads are not a good combination. I
    didn't get a picture, as Don, and I were trying to get out of each
    others way the sheep walked off into the heavy brush.

    The further south we went the more beautiful the country became, the
    road was in quite good shape, very narrow black top, no shoulders,
    tight corners with brush or tall grass right up to the edge. We had
    been told that the Cassiar, was a very bad road and how dangerous it
    was to travel upon it, so far I could not understand why people would
    say this about this road. The only bad thing I can say about this
    Hwy. is that like all the other roads we had been on while on this
    trip it had little or no shoulders and very few places where you could
    safely stop and take pictures.

    I had seen a Grizzly bear up close to the edge of the road while going
    north on the ALCAN, just outside of White Horse, but had yet to see
    any Black bears, this was soon to change. As I came over a small hill
    and around a corner, in the tall grass along side of the road, I saw
    what looked like two small black triangles sticking up out of the
    grass. When I was about 30 feet from the spot where I first noticed
    the black things, they started to move in an upward direction, what I
    had been looking at where the tips of the ears of a large Black bear.
    When this big guy stood up on his hind legs I would estimate that he
    was at least 6 feet tall. This may not be BIG as bears go but he was
    a lot bigger then me, being in Canada, and not being allowed to carry
    a gun, this was as close as I wanted to be. As I rode down the road I
    looked in the mirror, I swear that bear was waving at me, maybe he was
    hungry and wanted me to come back and have lunch with him.

    We came upon a stretch of road that was damp from a recent rain
    shower, it had a series of gravel repaired patches that were about a
    100 yards long, this gravel was very hard packed and extremely
    slippery, the top 1/4 inch was mud and just like grease. We
    negotiated this without mishap and continued on. 50 miles further we
    came upon the first road construction site while on this road, we had
    to wait for a pilot car and spent the time fighting mosquitoes. Again
    we were led through the construction area by a woman driver who went
    so slow we had a hard time keeping our balance. when going through
    these construction sites it's not so bad if you can pick your own
    route and set your own pace, it's following those damned pilot
    vehicles that make it a nightmare.

    It was at the second spot where we had to wait to cross the
    construction zone that we decided we would go into Steward, Alaska,
    and see the "hanging glaciers" what ever the heck they were, we saw a
    large sign telling about them and figured why not, it would not be
    that far out of the way. We then made our way through the muck and
    mire onto the pavement and again headed south.

    All along the road I had been seeing lots of critters, Black bear's,
    fox's, some type of low slung short legged animal that scurried across
    the road, rabbits by the score and many large birds some of which were
    eagles. It was very peaceful to be surrounded by such beautiful
    scenery and wild life that seemed to be unafraid of people.

    We stopped for gas and lunch at a small place in the middle of nowhere
    about a 150 miles north of the junction of #37 and #37A. It was at
    this stop that I noticed that the rear brake caliper of Don's, bike
    was deeply scored. The rear brake pads had worn out completely and
    now there was metal to metal contact between the rotor and the backing
    plates of what had been brake pads. Needless to say this did not set
    well with Don, other then my rear tire going bad this was the only
    other problem we would have while on this trip.

    Because we were now faced with a potentially dangerous situation, I
    asked Don to take the lead and set a pace he was comfortable with as
    he now had no rear brakes. This in retrospect was a mistake on my
    part, Don, is one hell of a good rider, but he was now very upset,
    instead of going slower then we had been, he set a faster pace. I
    hung back waiting for him to get the anger out of his system, Scott
    decided to try and catch up with Don, now I was really worried. We
    had been on the road for a long time, our tires were shot, our tempers
    were getting short, our brakes were worn and now two of my friends
    were riding beyond what the conditions called for, this was not good.

    At the junction of #37 and #37A, Scott was waiting for me at the gas
    station, he had not been able to catch Don and was worried about what
    to do. #37A, was the road to Steward, we didn't know if Don had went
    west to Steward or had continued southeast on #37. With his rear
    brakes being gone and wanting to get home, I figured that Don, had
    continued on #37, Scott and I both had the large 10.9 gallon gas tanks
    so I knew that eventually down the road we would catch up with Don,
    when he had to stop for gas. We caught up with Don, while he was
    getting gas, at the junction of #37 and #16. By this time Don, had
    got it out of his system and we rode east on #16, until we reached
    Fort Fraser, where we stayed the night in a motel.

    Other then the road construction, and Don's rear brake problems, I
    enjoyed the Cassier Hwy. as much or more then any other road while on
    this trip. I saw many Moose, large birds, bear, fox, rabbits, and
    many other critters that I don't know what they were along this road.
    The road is in much better shape then we had been lead to believe,
    it's about 80% paved and very scenic. I highly recommend this road.
    Total miles today 652.8, average speed 58.2 mph.

    Day number ( 13 )
    We had decided that today would be our last day on the road, that
    baring unforeseen circumstances we would all make it home by
    nightfall. We rode east on #16, until it joined #97 at Prince George,
    from Prince George, we rode south on #97, until it joined #1, at Cache
    Creek. Scott, turned east and went to visit his girl friends family
    in Kamloops, Don and I continued south on #1. Don and I reached the
    border crossing at Sumas, at about 10:pM. When we got to my house in
    Granite Falls, rather then stay over night at my place Don decided to
    continue riding to his home in Cashmere. I was concerned about this
    but I knew how much Don wanted to get home so after saying farewell we
    parted company. Total miles today 634.1, average speed 57.1 mph.

    This was a true adventure. It was truly a trip that at times tried
    our souls and forced us to dig deep inside ourselves in order to carry
    on. It forced myself and my riding partners to come to grips with
    parts of our personalities that are not our best, but in doing so made
    the bond between us even closer.

    A trip like this will bring out the best and the worst of your inner
    being, it will show you for what you really are and make you a better
    person for having done so.

    To me, the destination is not what it's all about, I know it's an old
    clique but the journey itself is where the adventure truly lies. If
    you don't have adversity, if you don't sometimes wonder why the hell
    you ever even thought about doing what ever it is your doing, then you
    have not been really challenged.

    It's the challenge and overcoming
    the hardships that make us grow to be better people and riders. I now
    have more confidence in myself as a rider then ever before, this
    should not be construed as saying that I am better then someone else
    rather that I have pushed my limits further then before and now feel
    confident to push them further still.

    In closing, if asked would I do it again, I can only say this,
    YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Next year I plan on going north again, this time
    by way of the Dempster Hwy. to Inuvik. Anyone want to come along? I
    would like to ride the Baja, I would like to ride in Mexico, I would
    like to ride around the world, truth is I just want to ride anywhere
    at anytime.

    When your dead and gone, who you were, what you were, how
    rich you were, won't have been of any importance. What's important is
    what you have done with your life while you were here, did you waste
    it, or did you LIVE it. To live, and ride as long as I am alive, is
    what makes me happy.

    I wish to dedicate this ride to a man I know who lives in Texas, his
    name is Rick Frame. I met Rick, after he had been involved in a
    horrible bike wreck that left him paralyzed from the neck down. The
    way that Rick has dealt with this tragedy has been an inspiration to
    me and has helped me put into true perspective how damned lucky and
    fortunate I am to be able to live the way I do.

    Here's to you Rick, you are my Brother and will always ride with me in
    spirit where ever my wandering may take me, your spirit rides on, God
    bless you and keep you, my friend.

    Mr. Cob
    NRA-life, IBA-#4510, ABATE-#5671, AFRA- #0001
    98-YZF-R1, 99-Road King, 2001-R1150GS .........
    As Always, Ride Hard, Ride Free, Ride SAFE!
  10. fish

    fish Banned

    Jul 6, 2001
    Gold Country
    The Cobster did it! WooHoo!

  11. Marc

    Marc Just sayin...

    Jul 8, 2001
    I got a chance to see Mr. Cob's videos of the trip. In a word - amazing. The words don't do justice to the unspoiled beauty of Alaska (and Canada). I hope to someday take a similar journey before the Dalton is permanently closed. Thanks for sharing...