Prudhoe Bay: Sonderby Custom
Blog by Phil Freeman
Many months ago we were contacted by a group of riders comprised of Fathers, Sons and Friends, who have ridden together for over 20 years. They wanted to go to Prudhoe Bay, but had 8 people. Could they join a tour? We suggested that since they had 8 people, they do their own tour, since our minimum participation for any tour was 8. They agreed. So, after 8 months of anticipation, they finally arrived in Anchorage, excited for the journey. They came from all over the USA, had ridden all sorts of motorcycles from dirt bikes to Harleys, and it was their first time to Alaska.
The first day in Anchorage, we spent collecting them at the airport as they arrived, introducing them to bikes, filling out paperwork, briefing them on our itinerary, giving them advice for things to do and see in Anchorage and checking them into their hotel. By twos and threes, they came and collected their bikes, impermeable bags (they transfer their clothes to these for the trip), and went back to their hotel.
The following day, we came and picked them up at hotel in the evening and took them to the Glacier Brewhouse, where we had a private room. There, we enjoyed great food while we had a chance to discuss in detail our upcoming Adventure. It was clear that these guys knew each others very well and were as they recounted past travels I could only smile, knowing that this one would soon be a hallmark in their memory banks.
The following morning we gathered in the parking lot of our shop in Anchorage. Final touches were being made on the bikes as they ate breakfast at the historic Gwennies across the street.
After a group photo, we put on our gear and headed out of Anchorage. The weather was overcast and the temperature was cool, but no rain greeted us as we made our way north on the Parks Highway. A low lying bank of clouds kept the mountain tops out of view, but the road was open with little traffic north of Wasilla, so we made good time. We stopped for lunch at Mary's McKinley View Lodge, but the clouds, like always, kept the monumental Denali Peak from being discovered. It seems that there is about a 20% chance to see North America's tallest mountain, and it just was not in the cards for us today.
As we approached the Alaska Range, you could see ahead a bottle neck of rain clouds at the far end of Broad Pass, so we stopped in Cantwell and put on rain gear. Good thing we did, as we were smacked with about 12 miles of pouring rain, and as we passed Healy the clouds suddenly disappeared, the sun came out and the temperature climbed 30 degrees! Funny, how suddenly you are putting on rain gear, and then shedding layers and nagged by the heat.
This part of riding Alaska - going north and getting warmer - is always strange, but the interior of Alaska is far away from the cooling effects of the ocean, and can be very hot. Some days, Fairbanks is warmer than Florida! I have been in 104 degrees in traffic in Fairbanks, praying for a cool breeze.
We pulled in to Fairbanks at 7:30 pm, and the sun was out and it was almost 80 degrees! We checked into our cabins and went over the Pikes Landing for dinner. On the deck, overlooking the Chena River, we basked in the sun and leisurely watched water skis, jet boats, and four wheelers go by. All the while, you could rent a bucket of golf balls and chip them across the river (and over the boaters!!) to a green on the far side. It seems a little like club med, Alaska style.
The next day we gathered around the map before heading out and I briefed the group on the does and donts of the Dalton Highway. Our goal for the day was Coldfoot, above the Arctic Circle. This would be the day we distanced ourselves from what we knew as civilization, and headed for the center of what was known as Alaska.
On the way out of Fairbanks, I stopped the group at an Alyeska Pipeline viewpoint. You can walk up and touch the pipeline here, and it gives you perspective of the engineering feat they completed in 1974, which spans 814 miles across Alaska, and would be our companion all the way to Prudhoe Bay.
Gear back on, we raced north on roller coaster roads, full of dips, pot holes and fresh paved patches. This road was new just a few years ago, but the brutal freeze-thaw of the winters and summers had taken their toll. Each corner and strait-away was an adventure as the road would suddenly drop two feet for 20-40 yards and then come back to the original level. You could not fully trust a corner, as your suspension was being taxed as you were in the middle of the curve! However, the views from the road were incredible, with large expanses of uninterrupted forest blasting out into infinity in all directions.
We stopped at the start of the Dalton Highway and went for a group picture in front of the sign, but were viciously attacked by swarms of mosquitos. Finally, the infamous Alaska mosquitoes were out in force, and it was all we could do to stay still for a second just to take the photograph!!
On the Dalton, the mud started immediately, and by judging the trucks coming from the north and the sky, I stopped the group to put on rain gear. Sure enough, the rain came and the mist created by the big trucks would leave you virtually blinded. When you passed a truck, you had to keep wiping your visor, but sometimes that did not help a bit, and there were times when you were completely blind. I tell people this is not a normal ride, and riding blind is part of it!
After a while, like most things, you just get used to it and as we pulled into the Yukon River Camp, all the bikes were completely muddy, our riding gear a mess, our boots unrecognizable. But, the group was all smiles and clearly having the time of their life.
It is clear that those who sign up for this tour are here for the challenge and the adventure, and this group was right on par. There were a few motorcycles in the parking lot as we pulled in. A couple of them were Ducatis, there was a KLR, a BMW and one Harley Davidson. We talked to the HD rider and he was glad to be heading south! In slick road conditions, this road on a road cruiser like a Harley is not fun at all, and his face was testament to that.
As we were leaving, we were warned by another biker that the road was slick going north. The sun had come out, and all we needed was a couple of minutes of hot sun blast on the road to solidify it a little. That is what we got and as we headed north, we had the the benefit of no dust as we rode the Dalton. We briefly stopped at the Arctic Circle sign to take a group photo. The sun was out, and it was 70 degrees. Where was the Arctic??
The rest of the day was pure delight. We passed rivers, lakes, and admired the endless forest. The foothills of the Brooks Range came to greet us and soon engulfed us. We pulled into Coldfoot with smiles and a feeling of exhilaration. There is something about the north country that heightens your awareness. We were really on an adventure now and you could sense it. Cocktail hour ensued, laughter, story telling, bike wrenching and a generous buffet dinner and we were soon ready for bed. Tomorrow would be another big day - now for some rest.
The next day we geared up excitedly, knowing we would be riding to the end of the world. We would be riding motorcycles as far north as you can go on the North American continent. The weather was good, all the bikes started, and we were off. Being that this group had ridden together for over 20 years, they had a knack for being ready fast and riding together closely as a group. I reflected how special it was to ride with several sets of fathers and sons, and how they were living their dream. The first few miles through the Brooks Range were beautiful. Large rock mountains greeted us on the left and the right, etched by an eternity of water erosion. Their ancient faces staring blankly as we sped by.
As we approached Atigun Pass, the temperature plummeted, and we stopped to put on more warm gear. As we climbed the actual pass road, suddenly the sky ripped clear and the tops of the peaks could be seen all around us. Remnents of avalanches from weeks past were along the roadway. It is always a magical transition when you cross this pass as the trees suddenly disappear, and are replaced by the velvety lush carpet of tundra. Looking north from the top of Atigun, you can see the haul road and pipeline meander together north. The air is so clear up here, that distances become hard to judge. We rallied in an open parking space north of the Brooks Range to eat lunch and wait for Jethro, our support truck, to catch up and top off our tanks, as the bikes would not make the 245 miles on one tank. We stood there, eating our picnic sandwiches off our bikes, staring at the open landscape of mountains, a river, and open tundra. It was nice to have a pause and to take in the natural surroundings.
On the road again the the road started to change in character. The Dalton Highway has many moods and certainly weather is the major factor when considering how easy the ride will be. Even in it´s best conditions, the Dalton is challenging. Add road construction, wind, rain and big trucks and you have a recipe for a world class adventure. This last part of the Haul road through to the Arctic Ocean is perhaps one of the most remote parts of the world. East or west, there is uninterrupted uninhabited nature - until it hits the oceans. You can stop your motorcycle literally anywhere and walk off the road and stand, knowing no human being has ever stood there before. The road construction on the is road will challenge any rider, as you are forced to follow a mud spraying pilot truck at slow speeds through an expanse of big rocks, thick mud and heavy machinery. Even though our entire day would be 245 miles, it feels like, as you pull into Prudhoe Bay, with its bone chilling wind and faceless sky, to be much longer than that. Anyone can ride 250 miles on Interstate Pavement, but the Dalton is another story.
If you try to pick out the most dangerous aspects of the Dalton Highway, you would have to look to the condition of the road surface, which is highly dependent on weather and road construction. One might bomb up the road without any problems, or one might just hold on for life. The trucks add an element that just makes things more complicated. This is their road, and they drive like it. Most of them are very courteous to the motorcycle riders, but some act as if you are a nuisance. But the thing that endangers most motorcycle riders on the Dalton is the shoulder of the road. It lies there, sometimes advertising itself as 4 inch thick mud - a viper out in the open. Or, it sits there, insidiously, as dry, 3 inch pebble size gravel, and looks innocuous, but the vipers's fangs are there. All you have to do is drift into this area and you will have to use all of your dirt biking skills to get back onto the road. Most of the wrecks I have heard of on the Dalton are from this - it usually gets ahold of you and sends you flying out into the tundra.
70 miles from Deadhorse, and one of the riders drifts into the shoulder. After a moment of "tank slapping" he almost pulls out of it - then is thrown off the road and into the bushes. I have seen my share of motorcycle wrecks over the years, but this one was one of the most dramatic. The rider almost pulled out of it. I won't go into the details, but only to say he is healing at home and safe.
As we pulled into Deadhorse, a shadow of sadness closed over the group. The wind chill outside smacked us at just above freezing. The colorless cloudy sky and the depthless horizon added to the Morder-like feeling. The group was resolved to continue the journey even though we would not be accompanied by their leader.
In the morning, the group went on to the Arctic Ocean by bus and got a chance to touch it and see the surrounding oilfields. Dan and I stayed behind and systematically went through all the motorcycles, cleaning, tightening, starting and checking. The cold wind made the KLRs reluctant to start. Once the group got back, we had to work on one last bike, and by pulling it down the road, we finally got it to turn over.
It was mid day by the time we left Deadhorse, headed south back to Coldfoot. It is always an outlandish feeling when you are in Deadhorse. It is just a maze of raised gravel pads, used as parking lots for any kind of large machine. Most of them sit dormant during the summer, and find life during the long winter, when cruising across the snow and ice is easier than the marsh of summer. The stark feeling of being on the moon cannot be more apparent. This is the place man pits himself against the elements. Ingenuity vs. wind, rain, snow and ice. You never get sad when you are leaving Deadhorse.
The challenge of the road did not let up as the group headed south. Rain, mist and fog greeted the riders for the next 120 miles. They had to put their heads down and put up with it until finally, after Atigun Pass in the Brooks Range, the clouds let up and clear skies greeted them on the south side of the pass.
They say that it is always good to have a strong finish, and this was the case. We pulled into the familiar mud soaked parking lot of Coldfoot and settled in for the night. The group as a whole had accomplished a dream and realized that going to Prudhoe was not just a ride, it was an accomplishment. There was relief in the group as the sun came out and the idea of a couple of easier days ahead of us.
The next day we awoke to blue skies and rising temperatures. If you ride in Alaska, you need to expect at least 3 days of rain for every week you ride. This tour was no exception, and a sunny day is twice as nice when you have to ride through the rain to get it. The ride south was uneventful, even though it was obvious the area we went through had been hit by big rain just the day before. The shoulders of the road screamed "Stay Away" and at times you needed to thread the needle when you came across a truck coming the other way. You just needed to stay in the tire tracks - no options there.
We bopped and weaved through rain bursts but never got hit and the rolling hills and endless forests were a welcome sight. The air was clear and the road was welcoming. We pulled into Chatanika Lodge and were welcomed by cold drinks and great hospitality. Ronny had prepared a rib-eye dinner for us and fired up the grill while we went about cleaning out the radiators of the bikes, checking in, cleaning up ourselves and telling tall tales at the bar. Later after dinner we walked over across the road to check out an abandoned dredge. The monster goliath sat dormant since the 60's and had made its last resting lagoon before the power was turned off forever.
We woke to the day that would be one of the easiest, as it was an all paved itinerary for just a couple hundred miles. Blue hung in the skies and warm temperature made for a cheery departure. We stopped at Santa's house in North Pole. It is always fun to watch people react to Santa, but the child in all of us seems to scurry to the top when you do see him. Sure, it's cheesy, by hey, life is too short to be mature. We rambled to Delta Junction for lunch. The temperature soured into the 80's as we enjoyed a leisurely lunch.
The rest of the ride was a pure joy as we approached and then entered the Alaska Range through Isabel Pass. The mountains were out, the road was dry, and the spirits soared as the group weaved in and out of tall mountains, over glacial streams and past pristine lakes. We finally pulled into Tangle River Inn, and morale was great - the best it had been in days. Hot showers, home cooking, and the tired members one by one drifted off to bed. After so many days in a row of riding, rest was the one thing that was needed on a day like today.
I woke to heavy rain at 5 am that next morning. By breakfast, it had gotten worse. We decided to wait for a couple of hours, since, we only had just over 100 miles to go. We finally pulled out into the rain at 11 am and within minutes found ourselves in snow flurries. As it was sticking to the visor and the ground I could only laugh: really!? the longest day of the year and snow???!!
After two bouts with snow, and rain in between, the Gracious House was a welcome site after a couple of hours of riding. We were welcomed with hot drinks, hot food, and a warm fire. Cold toes, faces and fingers were soon warmed. Hamburgers and Moose Dogs were on the menu and we sat around the fire stove and told stories back and forth with Butch from Gracious until it was time to go. The weather let up a little and for the rest of the day is was not nice, but it was not torturous! We pulled into the Perch early and the group was fine with that. Once checked in, after riding beverages appeared, to be topped of with a delicious dinner. That night we told tall tales at the Panarama Pizza Pub until it was time for bed.
Our last day to Anchorage and the weather decided to be kind.
The mountains were out, and we could even see to the top of McKinley! The ride back was a time to reflect on the trip and start preparing mentally for the shock of coming back into life as we know it. Traffic, buildings, stop lights, people...these were all things that we had been distanced from for the past week. Now we were riding into Anchorage, home to 250,000 souls and it is as much as a culture shock as coming back from a foreign country!.
The last meal, we sat outside of our hotel and watched float planes land and take off, as we dined on fresh salmon and crab. The adventure we had shared was one for the history books, and all of us would look back on this week fondly. Riding to the edge of the world may not be for everyone, but for those who dream of it, it certainly leaves a lasting impression. As the meal came to a close, the the conversations went from what we did to what we need to do in order to get back into real life, I could only smile. This group was going to the four winds, but for one magical instant, they had all stood at the edge of the world together.