So, it’s time for the gravel! Plenty of travelers anticipated me about the terrible road conditions, endless climbs, blood, sweat and tears…but of course, they were mainly RV’s travelers…

The previous night to starting riding the Denali Highway, I met other bikers that were just arriving from riding that road. Julia y Stefan were riding a sophisticated tandem, meanwhile their friends Sven and Daniel, were on top of a couple of last generation mountain bikes. We immediately stroke a conversation and we compared notes of previous trips. Julia and Stefan are the first bikers that I’ve met with my same destination Ushuaia. I’m sure we will cross our paths I the future…

And it looks like we are not the only ones! In the next few days, several people I spoke to, told me about another American couple, a 65 years old Dutchman
 and another American, all of us with the same goal of riding the American roads. Without actually meeting we already know each other. Where will we cross our paths?

But let’s get back to the road… The Denali Hwy was not as terrible as it was announced, nor so lonely, nor so full of bears… That’s great!!

The first day I did 90 km inaugurating the gravel road. I slowly tested Maira’s response, the balance, the weight, every single noise that arose from her. I wanted nothing to fail.

In spite that the going was slower and more wearing down than the pavement, I started to enjoy again the fun that is to ride on those types of terrains: looking for the best part of the road without caring about which side of the road I was on, avoiding unexpected holes, evading the mounds of rocks that makes you lose control of the bike in seconds… just a pleasure of a ride but accompanied by imposing landscapes.

Initially, the road follows the river beds, skirting the woods and with the mountains as background. Later, while gaining in altitude, the vegetation turns shrubby, lower and thinner, but with panoramic views that take the breath away. And the road continues sneaking towards the far horizon and apparently unreachable…

The climbs required to reduce the load to the max, using the small plate and the biggest chain ring… well, almost, because the pride made me reserve the minimum multiplication for something harder… which was not to far ahead!!!

Coming down meant an excess of adrenaline.  If one can let oneself let go with speed euphoria when descending on pavement, to do the same on gravel is to be totally insane!!! Unless the road conditions are favorable, one have to brake constantly, butt in the air and balancing the weight on the pedals, so that if a rock or surprising hole on the road hits the rear wheel, it won’t get immediately destroyed by the hit. With such a load, this is not a trivial matter!!!

Many times, the descents are more exhausting that the climbs: The hands tightly clutched from breaking, the leg muscles cramping and the concentration that every meter surpassed requires, get someone ready for bed… but it’s very cool!!

The traffic was somewhat heavy, but because of the road’s fame, the few that were adventurous enough (about 30 to 40 a day), were driving quite slowly because around here, the objective is to enjoy the landscape and the fauna.

I was able to see some moose, bald eagles (yes, the typical ones from the “yankees”), squirrels, rabbits, a red fox… but no bears. Although I’ve been shown pictures of a grizzly bear crossing the road where I passed by just a few house before… this time I was lucky!! As I told them when I saw the pictures: “the bears don’t exist, but that they are, they are!”

Considering that I didn’t want to have a close encounter with these Godly creatures from my tent’s door, I chose to camp in areas with human presence. The best, without a doubt, was the McLaren Lodge, where Marie Ellen not only let me camp for free next to the river, but also she let me use her computer to check on my mails… Just there, in the middle of nowhere!

Also, at this lovely place, I met Brandon and Don, a couple of Floridians traveling on an old “hippie style” van. We talked some time beside the fire meanwhile the sun was avoiding the horizon. They gave me a couple of emergency food bags form the army that ended up being fantastic! With just some water and thanks to a chemical reaction, the food gets cooked in a cardboard box. The full menu included appetizer, drink and dessert… amazing and very practical after a long day pedaling and no will to cook!

In spite of the general good weather, with abundant sunshine in the morning , in the afternoon the sky turned cloudy, with impressive black clouds that ended up clinging to the nearby mountains and discharging the rain far from me. Pedaling under the sun and only seeing the rain was a luxury… until the road got close to the mountain, ascending to the heart of the storm!! The temperature went from pleasant anf almost warm 25 C (77 F) to little more than 9 C (48 F), with rain and cross winds… brrrr, it was cold!!! It was the hardest half hour on the road.

In three days I covered 180 Km of gravel plus 55 Km more on pavement until exiting the Denali Hwy. The McLaren pass was the highest point, with 1370 msnm., that later took me through several smiling descents. But there was an unexpected climb at the end of the road that converted the theoretical descent to Paxton in an endless torture, with heavy gradients, headwind and almost reaching the same altitude form the pass I happily left behind!!! That’s not fair!!!


Paxon turned out to be a place taken out of a horror movie! A rest area in a road crossing that was incredible: it looked like it was abandoned, almost out of supplies, dirty, with bored-faced workers, as if we were bothering them with our presence. The waitress was a particular case: full-bodied blond, wearing  a-bit-too-small-for-her faded jeans, with a Texan-style hat that looked like it was trying to get off her big head, lost look, sighting a every moment, pounded by life… She was in her twenties. When I asked her if she has any crackers, she got hanging in there for almost 2 minutes (by clock), until she reacted with a “mmmmm, no”, while she was looking to the cracked ceiling. She looked like a zombie… was she one?

On one table, there were a few guys drinking beer that looked at me contemptuously when I came in with my typical biking attire…I don’t have to say that they never replied  my greetings.  While they were not taking guns and started shooting, it was Ok with me…

The most remarkable thing about the place was a sign indicating pompously with big letters: “clean restrooms”. A quick incursion was enough to demonstrate that we didn’t share the same cleanliness criteria…. We better keep biking, right?

The Richardson Hwy, was a beautiful rolling stroll among forests and lakes, on a road in good shape but with few or non shoulders. The famous Trans-Alaskan oil pipe would show up sometimes on the side, contrasting a road in the middle of so much nature with the human presence.

Riding on these roads was where I met Bob, who was supporting logistically a group of cyclists that were riding 600 Km without stopping (!!) as training for a race in France. And you thought I was crazy!!! 600 Km on one shot? It was a paradox to me to think that I would camp, spend the night, ride all day and at the end I would see them again at the Tok Cutoff the next day!!! Nooo, they are really crazy!!

The 200 km between Gakona and Tok had a bit of everything: constant climbs and descents, sunshine, clouds, headwind and thunderstorms .The last 100 Km gave me an spectacular beauty, with Mt. Stanford to my right, hiding between the clouds with its gigantic glacier. To see it in its magnificence generated in me a sense of respect. It appeared towards the end of the road several times, surrounded by smaller peaks, as if it was devouring the pavement.

The nights also had their appeal. First, it was Jeannie’s expresso, which was not only the best coffee that I had to this moment, but she also let me camp under the awning of a porch from an abandoned hotel to get out of the rain that was coming. On top of that, she offered me an spectacular bean stew and free refills on coffee!! In spite of being dead tired, I almost couldn’t sleep form the caffeine overdose!!!

The second night I arrived to the Midway Service, totally exhausted and with the hope of camping there. But it was closed… damn Sundays!!! Nevertheless, Jay, the owner, opened up just for me and let me spend the night on an old bus. Just in time before it started pouring… it was great to be dry and warm while the rain was pouring outside....

On June 18th I finally arrived to Tok. A bit before that I reached the first 1000 km on the road!!! What a joy!! They were perfect to gain confidence, get used to the bike, get in shape…. And also need a rest day!!!

I stopped at the Sourdough Campground, a full of RV’s campground but also with tent sites. I wasn’t exotic just because I was Argentinean, but also for riding the bike. 90% of the camp residents were retired American couples traveling across Canada and Alaska on their huge vehicles.

Ken and Ann, the campground owners, have given the place a unique touch, rescuing the old campfires from the traditional camp: every night after a dinner served in a homemade bread (exquisite), Ken organized a show with songs and skits, prologue to the famous “pancake toss” to the bucket. What was that? Well, all the people present could participate with two attempts to get the pancake into the “buckit” and that way, winning a free breakfast the next day.  And also getting immortalized with a picture in the hall of fame, surrounded by the pictures of previous winners. Interesting, you would say. Specially because I won not once but twice!!!

ImJust imagine the jokes that Ken told about the damn Argentinean that not only won, but also eat everything that was left!!! What happened is that the breakfast was “all U can eat” and there’s nothing worse than a hungry cyclist….They will probably remember me for a long time.. for the food deficit I caused them. If you don’t believe me, you can check the website and search among the winners for Jun 18th and 19th on 2007. Two in a row!!

The most remarkable human encounter was the long chat that I had with Granma Lou, a 92 years old lady that have lived in Alaska for the last 66 years. She’s a source of wisdom, experience and a life example. A divine!!!

Again, what people were saying was auguring me with lots of muscle pain in exchange for an amazing landscape: The Taylor Hwy and the Top of the World Hwy, that would take me into Canada. And this time they didn’t lie…!

Just after the first kilometers, it was evident, as a slap on the face, that it wouldn’t be easy. It was almost like a roller coaster instead of a road. The route climbed with huge gradients toping 14 % during several kilometers. At the top, it dove into a descent of similar characteristics, only to start another climb immediately. Just crazy!!!

The landscape showed the signs of the great fires of 2004: that year, more than 6 million acres burned down. The threes are still standing, blackened, like used matches planted in the middle of the new greenery that started to grow back at their feet.

Everyone that I talked to said the same: “it’s like this all the time”… what? Were they kidding? No, it was like that!!

In the middle of a climb I looked up and I saw Jennifer, a cyclist from Anchorage that was coming back from riding the Dempster Hwy to Inuvik. She passed me reliable information to that respect and also confirmed what I previously said: This would continue for many kilometers!!

It was very hard. The sun was hitting hard. There was little water… and the flat tires started to happen.  More like blown tires in reality, that tested my patience and my control to unsuspicious levels!!

I fixed the tubes a thousand times and a thousand times they deflated. Not to mention what that means when riding on gravel. I started to lose confidence in Maira to the point of being more concentrated on the tire’s air pressure than in the climbs or the intense traffic.

During my time on those roads, I saw dozens of huge RV’s and motorbikes that were going to Dawson City for the Summer Solstice festival on jun 21st. And then,  I saw them come back the same road… Thanks to them I swallow my good share of dirt!!!

In the paved final stretch, I went past a little town called Chiken. Bah, it’s mostly three picturesque souvenir stores in the middle of nowhere. It’s a touristy reminder of the good old mining times that reigned over these lands, around the end of the 1800’s. It was also a paradise to me: food, water and a shop to keep fixing the tubes!!!

The gravel part that followed me to the border was an exhausting task. There were three deadly climbs. Advancing was very slow, while I was sweating copiously and getting all the dust from the passing vehicles stuck on me. On those moments, when the caravan was long, I simple could see nothing and I was only breathing dust. The picture was completed with the mosquitoes having the greatest time with my body, and once satisfied with blood, they slept on me. It was that slow!!!

Nevertheless it was well worth the try, because the landscape in front of me when I reached the top justified the effort: endless valleys covered with trees as far as I could see, with the water thread cutting through them and reflecting the sun at every meander and the mountains superposing each other with a grade of colors. On the other hand, I enjoyed the clemency of the passing drivers who stopped to give me fresh water or sodas when they saw me in my deplorable state. Too bad that all of them drank diet sodas.

On the third day, and after more than 1200 km in Alaska, I arrived to the border.  It’s the northernmost border between USA and Canada. There, I met Rod, the Canadian Border officer, who, along with Mike, his American counterpart, offered me several luxuries such as coffee, cereal bars and fresh water to take on the road. They were such idols!!!

There were more than 100 Km without supplies and they knew that very well.

That’s where I realized why it was called the Top of the World Hwy. Mixing gravel with pavement, the road travels the ridge of the mountains with a never ending up-and-down towards the infinity. Every time I reached a summit, I could see how it was followed by another, and another and another… It was like that for about 80 Km. In sections there were drop-offs to each side of the road, and obviously, my eyes were going crazy trying to catch all the beauty.

At the beginning it was hard because the hurricane-like winds were pushing me off the road while I was rapidly descending, searching for my night stop, a rest area at 20 km from the border.

I was riding on an agonizing tire and I was exhausted, so it was amazing to arrive in one piece. And it was also a disappointment: used to the Alaskan rest areas, with huge and completely clean restrooms (ideal as emergency shelters), I found basic and dirty latrines where someone, very wisely, had written: “Welcome to the Yukon, friend”

I ended up sleeping in a Bivi, in the old ruins of a road post, with its roof semi destroyed but with enough covering to avoid setting up the tent… Bears? At this stage, I didn’t care.

The next day was also a long journey of climbs, descents, swallowing dirt, saying hi to the wave of motor bikers in their “cool” way, slightly extending the arm to the side and waving a victory “V” (but while ringing my bike bell, of course), dazzled by the landscape, fixing the rear tube, asking myself when I would descend below the 1100 msnm, watching a couple of wild fires in the distance, running into an occasional and short rain shower, talking to cool people like Paul ( another cyclist that was now riding a motorbike), deliriously thinking about the food I was about to eat (I would’ve killed for a dozen “facturas”. Translator note: typical Argentinean pastries)… After all of that came the so longed for and waited descent to Dawson City, with 14 km of pure pleasure with a smile to the wind…

Without even crossing the Yukon River, I stopped at Dieter Reinmuth’s Hostel. It’s a unique place managed by a unique character. Everything was old style: no electricity, wood stove and wood bath….Yes, you had to get the water hot on a wood stove (which also heated the room), and then using buckets you could take a bath like in the old west. Also, you “went” to the bathroom in big pools where you then flushed with water form the river. It was a way to go back to the old days but with a cool style. And everything managed by a guy who cycled the world in the 70s and 80s. You should’ve seen the bike he used!!

He made me feel very small with my trip while carrying so many gadgets and technology on me. It’ s definitively the kind of people that’s worth meeting and knowing along the way.

Now, I’m in Dawson City, a complete “Far West” town but in Canada, with wide dirt roads, wooden sidewalks, and wooden houses with that old west architecture… and even a saloon-casino with Can-Can dancers!!! It’s all touristy, but the old gold fever atmosphere can still be breathed in every corner of this Yukon town…

Until  the next time, hopefully from the northernmost town in the continent, Inuvik.

Good trails,

Damian

Acknowledgements

Stefan, Julia, Daniel and Sven: for being cool, their anecdotes, the spare tube… and the beer!!

Marie Ellen: for the nice conversation, the computer and the oatmeal cookies in the morning.

Don y Brandon: for the emergency food packs and the dehydrated cantaloupe (delicious)

Bob and the rest of the 600 Km crew: for the many energy bars and for making me feel like Superman, when in reality you are crazier than me… 600 Km in one shot… yeah, delirious!!!

Jeannie: For the hospitality and the great coffee.

Jay: Without your generosity I would’ve ended up drenched!

Jennifer: For the information and contacts what’s coming up next on the road.

Rod y Mike: Without their help I would’ve died of thirst and hunger on my way to Dawson City!

Uwe, Roger, Barbara and Patrik:  For inviting me to my first dinner in Dawson City… and I was starving!!

To the people of El Dorado Hotel in Dawson City (Heidi, Nicole, Jim…): For lending me the computer to write these lines without having to spend a fortune in a cybercafé.

... And to all the RV’s and cars that took pity of me and gave me something to drink or eat during all these days on the road.