Category: Adventure

Categories
Adventure Interviews

Vague Direction People: Leon Logothetis

Amazing Adventures of a Nobody is the creation of Leon Logothetis. He starts the day with 5 quid / dollars / euros, and travels across the UK / US / Europe making a documentary along the way. That cash has to cover food, accommodation and transport – and inevitably such a challenge has put Leon into some quite bizarre, sometimes scary and often inspiring situations which shine a light on the kindness of strangers. It’s a great watch and in each series there’s some hilarious moments. Also, I’ve just found out that in literally a few hours, he’s embarking on a new adventure called Kindness One which involves a round the world motorcycle ride, a very brightly coloured motorbike and a sidecar.

Ages ago now, I chatted with Leon back in California about his shift from his secure life as a broker in The City, the catalyst for change, dealing with risk and his Amazing Adventures project.

Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

255 – 270: Whitehorse, YT to Fort Nelson, BC

There’s been a lot of road days and momentum since the last trip update, so here’s some highlights from the last 15 days on the road.

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260: Whitehorse

It took about 4 days of being holed up in Whitehorse, focusing on RICE (or more specifically RI). But it worked! Seemed like my knee might be okay again. I was pretty keen that the first day leaving Whitehorse was a light one. Not too much strain and just a test more than anything else. Well that plan was quickly demolished – leaving Whitehorse involves climbing a massively steep hill for a couple of miles. Pedalling started as being cautious – push hard with the left, and quickly spin round with the right – but when it was obvious that the knee issues weren’t a problem, that soon became pushing hard on both legs. It’s an amazing day to be on the road and it was great to be moving. HOT. The mosquitos seem to have changed to dense clouds of midges but move fast enough and they’re not a problem.

261: Nr Jakes Corner

Woke up in a rest stop near Jakes Corner, the tent getting blasted by the sun. Take yesterdays heat and multiply it. Hottest day so far and it’s barely 9am. Woke up to a water bottle that had leaked, and there was nothing for another 70km, so I waited for just a few minutes until a couple of German tourists pulled in to the rest stop in a ginormous RV stocked with plenty of water. Haben sie wasser? Take that GCSE German. Can’t remember being so delighted to see refrigerated water.

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Ride went well. Bursts of wind made for quick patches of cool instant relief. I’ve started using milepost.com, which is a really awesome resource and comes in handy on these remote stretches of roads. Mainly for telling you when gas stations etc are located, but also it tells you about what significance some of the landmarks along the way have. Today involved crossing the Teslin River Bridge, which turns out to be the third longest spanning bridge on the highway. Crossing that river soon led to a stretch of road that traversed the side of Teslin Lake. Kinda reminded me of that phrase ‘Water water everywhere but not a drop to drink’. I had loads of drinking water but by now it was as though it’d been in the microwave – so cycling past this lake brought obvious thoughts – jumping in it. For ages there was nowhere to get close to the water, until a curve in the road brought firsts sight of a pebble beach and a track to the water. Three hours of escaping the midday heat was amazing.

265: Watson Lake

The most unusual day for a while. So it’s been blisteringly hot for a long stretch – since Whitehorse. The blue skies have shown no signs of changing. I left Watson Lake in the morning and the bike was playing up – nothing new there. This time the chain was skipping like a mad person. Think it’s a worn out cassette. Every half stroke and skip, skip, skip. Some adjustments later and three gears were okay. 3 out of 27 isn’t great, but there was enough range in those three gears to cover up, down and flat. Just like a fancy fixie really. In hindsight I’ve been totally naive about this highway when it comes to mechanical stuff – there are no bikeshops. Get a broken bike out here and unless you can fix / bodge it yourself – you won’t have a rideable bike. This is the only section of road where I would recommend carrying ample spares – a tyre, 3-4 tubes, loads of patch kits, a chain, spokes. Oops.

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Ignoring the sudden lack of gears, soon outside Watson Lake is this place called ‘Lucky Lake’ – I wasn’t aware of it, but the sign posts said that it was a ‘recreational community water park’. Well it was hot – so any excuse really. WOAH. This was probably the nicest swimming spot so far. Sandy beach next to a warm and clear lake – with a floating platform about 50 metres out. Lucky. I swam out and dived around a bit, in the scorching sun. An hour or so later, the rumbles began. Big roars of thunder. I hadn’t even noticed but looking up now the sky was DARK. You know just before it storms sometimes it gets weirdly cold? That was happening. There were a few other parties there too – young families on vacation – and all of a sudden after the first roar, everyone was quick to pack up their things and leave in a hurry. I did the same but rather than having an RV to retreat to, figured I’d try to just pedal on before the looming rain began. That was a mistake.

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Less than a kilometer away from ‘Lucky’, the sky opened. And I really mean opened – like nothing I’ve ever witnessed before. First started the rain. A few heavy drops on my shoulder initially teased. Then a raging downpour of the biggest rain imaginable. There really was nowhere to hide, so it was mostly a case of hood up, head down, try and get somewhere where there was some kind of shelter. And then the rain turned to MARBLE sized hail. Big chunks of ice falling out of the sky. After about a minute the road was covered – just minutes ago the surface was dry. Now it was white with these blocks of hail covering everything in sight. It was the kind of hail that is amusingly painful – imagine someone constantly prodding you, or someone shooting paintballs at you and you’d be close. And then the lightning started to happen. It happened in Louisiana too – being on the road in the pouring rain whilst there’s lightning. Every time it’s quite a scary experience. About 50 metres to each side of the road is dense forest, but that leaves a 100 metre section of openness in between the trees. A wet human being on a metal bike in that openness probably isn’t a great idea. Your heartbeat definitely gets faster. And then, as though a sign, there was a, erm, sign. Rest stop 1km ahead. A rest stop can sometimes mean just a gravel turnout (i.e. not much better than where I was), but sometimes it can mean a proper reststop with restroom buildings. YES. Two tiny concrete washrooms just about big enough to cram a bike into. And an escape from the craziness outside. (There’s video footage of this happening which I’ll try to edit together soon.)

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267: Laird Hot Springs

Go here. Honestly, if you’re in the area, do it. It’s a bizarre paradise. You arrive and it just looks like an RV park & campsite in the sticks. And then you see the start of the boardwalk. A 5 minute walk later and the boardwalk opens onto a tropical blue pool, with steam floating off the surface. Put your toe in initially and you’d be forgiven for thinking that the other visitors had special heat resistant skin or something, because it does initially feel as though you’re stepping into a kettle. I had a great time here, one of the best days for a long time. There were a bunch of ace characters at the first pool. The second deeper pool was closed off because a griz had booked it out.

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By chance I met Kelen and Yeren from Madrid who had been teaching in Canada for 2 years and were taking one last road trip vacation before heading back to Spain again. It’s easy to see a place and meet people and talk about how friendly and ‘nice’ everyone is, but being honest, the last few towns haven’t been like that – maybe there’s something in the water but in Watson Lake for example, there was about 2 nice people, and the rest that I had dealings with were the opposite of that. Kelen and Yeren had similar experiences in Watson Lake too – a local vs tourist thing maybe. They were super cool and had similar interests, so it was fun just to hang out.

From Laird Hotsprings there has been more mechanical issues including a split rear tyre, bursting tubes (valves ripping right off) and more – it’s been a bit of an epic being on the road over the last fortnight, a fun one mind, but finally in Fort Nelson there was a (semi)bikeshop so maybe the mechanical issues will stay quiet for a while. I’ve never done anything that destroys gear as much as cycle touring – my advice if you’re ever thinking about doing this is to get rugged and decent gear, strength over weight for sure, especially bike parts because it’s hard to avoid putting every single part through a ton of abuse and you need stuff that can stand up to it.

– –

Results of the comp are in. Congrats to Kevin (US), Bastab (India) and Nigel (UK) who won Premium accounts, and Shannon, Keith and Tim who won some funky new T-shirts. Thanks to the wonderful Dora – mayor of Cape Charles, VA & Misslette The Singing Cowgirl from Texas for taking the time to choose.

Categories
Adventure Interviews

[Video] Vague Direction People: Yukon River Kayakers

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Back in the late 1800’s, The Yukon River was one of the main transportation routes for the Klondike Gold Rush. Jump to 2013 and nowadays it’s less about gold and more about shredding in a variety of floating crafts. Connor Oliver-Beebe and Lawrence Brennan are two local kayakers, and a few days ago were out for a play in their playboats underneath the Rotary Centennial Bridge near Whitehorse, YK. I tagged along and was in awe of their skills the whole time – it was a blast. Below is a snippet of some of that filming. Hope you enjoy it.

Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

247 – 254: Fairbanks, AK to Whitehorse, YK

Straight after getting back from the Stampede Trail, I spent a while in Fairbanks with some sketchy illness. Water-from-the-river related maybe. Whatever it was, it meant a few days of not going anywhere. Other than recovery on the road being an altogether inconvenience, it wasn’t a big deal because the time could also act as an opportunity to get recharged for the final leg of the journey. Fairbanks is the highest point North on this trip, and the final ‘corner’. It was a weird relief to know this was the last turning point, but still whilst looking over the map I couldn’t help but be hit with a wave of anxiety, which is stupid really after coming this far. The biggest leg is yet to come and it’s a really bloody long way back to the East Coast from Alaska. Obviously it all comes together when you set off, bite size pieces and all that, but regardless there was a wave of intimidation in the air – unparalleled since looking down out of the plane window on the way to start this thing.

247: Fairbanks – Shaw Pond (75 miles)

The ride from Fairbanks followed the Tanana River upstream. Keep going upstream and you don’t have to worry about any other navigation. Simple, if you ignore that following a river upstream inevitably means a lot of hill climbing. The first town you hit is North Pole and it’s not often you find yourself riding down Santa Claus Lane in North Pole. By now the bike started to be getting a bit clunky. It’s gotten easy to spot when certain mechanical problems are imminent, and a skipping chain means a snapped chain is just around the corner. It’s become a twisted challenge now – rather than frustration it’s a game of how long can you make it last? Not very in this case. The repairs have become a game too -how fast can this get sorted? Not very in this case. It was eventually going smoothly though and for the first time, the mountains made an appearance from behind the clouds. Mega.

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Ticked a goal at the end of the evening too which was to find a stealth camp spot near somewhere to swim. There have been places that appear great for swimming but have been glacially-fed / freeze-your-privates-off cold (looking at you, British Columbia). Shaw Pond  was fairly deserted other than a couple of RV’s parked up for the night and deep. And the water was bearable at last.

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250: Delta Jct – Tok Jct (108 miles)

The cycling’s been samey for a while. The odd lake, the occasional roadside moose, but mostly open tundra or tree meadows (a lot of them burnt from the notorious forest fires that hit Alaska each year because of lightning strikes.) Bumped into Javier, a hilarious and infectiously upbeat Argentinian who’s a few days away from finishing an epic 18 month journey from the Ushuaia in South America to the Beaufort Sea in the North of Alaska. From the bottom to the top of the Americas. Hardcore. Clearly 18 months on the road have taken their toll though, because now he wears plastic bags on his feet.

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 251: Tok Jct – Northway Jct (49 miles)

Other than in sections of Texas and Arizona, the actual cycling between towns has been solo. For the most part, other cyclists have been going the other way. That all changed outside of Tok Junction, when in the space of about half an hour, there ended up being 4 riders from 3 separate parties cycling together the same way.

First up there was Busy from Colorado and Michael (blog) from North Carolina, university pals who are on a month long trip that goes Anchorage > Fairbanks > Whitehorse > Juneau. Like any crowd, or sport, or whatever, a minority of the cyclists you meet can be ‘touring snobs’, who judge your gear and route choices and don’t seem much fun. It’s always a million times more enjoyable riding with those who are in it for light-hearted reasons rather than being 100% focused on the act of cycle touring, so I was so glad to hear after a minute of meeting these lot, “Wahey, another member of the say-no-to-spandex team”.

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10 minutes later, there was Wish (or 施暐煦 – his blog here) from Taiwan, who was two days into his trip from Fairbanks to Whitehorse, and then down the West Coast to San Diego. He’d not done a bike trip before and it was easy to relate to his obvious shock of “what am I getting myself into?”. Physically, the first couple of weeks are definitely the sorest, the most intimidating and the time when you learn the most quickly about how it all works.

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252: Northway Jct, AK – Beaver Creek, YK (Canada)

The day started off like most, nothing unusual. Just a gentle ride hoping to get into Canada. It was only 45 miles or so away. A couple of hours and it was the same kind of thing as previous days. A plod on quiet roads through Alaskan tundra. Then it suddenly all went downhill, whilst riding uphill.

There haven’t been any serious prolonged injuries on this entire trip so far. There was a bruised metatarsal in Charleston, SC, but with The Body Rehab’s help, it was fixed in a couple of days. There was a brief 24 hours of knee pain in El Paso, TX, but it was gone quickly. Other than that, nothing. Cut back to the hill climb, and a moment where on a downstroke a tweak shot through my right knee. It was fairly obvious something had happened – pedalling uphill brought on a sharp pain and even walking with the bike was a limpfest. It was clear no more riding was going to happen that afternoon so out went the thumb. A hitchhike to the next town, Beaver Creek, to figure out what to do next.

The first car to pass was the one that stopped, an amazing ratio. They didn’t have any room in the car but were towing a Yamaha in a trailer, which had just about enough spare room to stuff my bike in the back and crawl in amongst the motorbike and the pushbike. In between the departure borders of Alaska and the entry into The Yukon is a kind of no-mans land. You’ve left the US, and are in Canada, but you haven’t been officially stamped in. And the roads are TERRIBLE. Forget paved road, this is a mix of dirt, gravel and sand. The crew in the car didn’t seem to mind, so being in the trailer and bouncing up and down as we hit each pothole was like being on a rollercoaster in a theme park. Loved it.

I was soon at Beaver Creek and ended up setting up a really obvious tent site by the side of the road in between a bunch of statues. When you put up a tent whilst you’re kind of knackered, and then wake up and stumble out of the tent to be greeted by this guy WITH A PICKAXE, it definitely wakes you up fast.

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253: Beaver Creek – Whitehorse

Camping with an injury in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere when it’s raining is crap, no two ways about it. I woke up still limping and decided it’d be wise to hole up in the nearest town of any size. That was Whitehorse, so out went the thumb again and an hour later a huge RV pulled over. Valerie and Joni, along with 3 tiny dogs, were driving all the way to Olympia, WA and were going right through Whitehorse. As you’d expect if they were willing to drive a stranger for a few hours, they were both super friendly but their time in Alaska had been enough (the constant summer light plays havoc with your head and quality of sleep) and they were were excited to the lower 48 again.

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254+ Whitehorse

There’s been a heavy stint of constant rain recently. A couple of nights where it was so intense, that in just the time between getting gear out of the panniers and setting up a camp, everything was soaked. Basically like sleeping in a puddle, so they weren’t the best nights and were more quick rest than proper sleep. The first night in Whitehorse was torrential and ended up being one of the bad stealth camp nights, on the concrete behind a DIY store. Honestly if you’re reading this and plan to do a bike trip in the future, don’t think you need to camp behind home repair stores on the concrete. This was just daft planning and a ‘Urghh, I give up’ late night mentality.

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It’s really hard to be psyched when it’s so wet. Riding just isn’t enjoyable, much of your gear gets soaked, and compounded tent life is draining. It doesn’t happen all that much, but I’ve opted for a few-day stint in a Whitehorse motel. It’s a few days holed up with an iced knee, a raised leg, a bunch of ibuprofen as per physio instructions, gear drying in the corner and the sound of rain tapping at the window. Busy and Michael arrived yesterday too on their way to Skagway so it’s been nice to know people in town and feast on pizza. Strangely, all it takes to be motivated sometimes is a decent kip and dry gear. The rain is due to leave, and after a few nights here I’m raring to go again, so hopefully the next blog will be more upbeat. The ever fluctuating highs and lows of road life!

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– – –

247: Fairbanks – Shaw Pond (75 miles)
248: Shaw Pond – Delta Jct (21 miles)
250: Delta Jct – Tok Jct (108 miles)
251: Tok Jct – Northway Jct (49 miles)
252: Northway Jct – Beaver Creek (45m ride / 15m hitchhike split)
253: Beaver Creek – Whitehorse (277 mile hitchhike)

Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel Interviews Philosophy

Walking the Stampede Trail to the bus from Into The Wild

To read the no-holds-barred account of Dave’s hike of the Stampede Trail, check out Chapter 25 in his brand new book, Vague Direction: A 12,000 mile bicycle ride, and the meaning of life  – AVAILABLE NOW, on Amazon. [Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk]

The Stampede Trail is most known for being the trail that Chris McCandless set out on in April 1992 with the intention of living off the land for the summer. It’s home to “the magic bus”, which became Chris’s base during that time. Four months later, in September ’92, McCandless’s remains were found in the bus, where it’s believed he starved to death. His story gained notoriety in January 1993 when Jon Krakauer wrote an article for Outside Magazine, which was later developed into the well known book and subsequent film, Into The Wild.

It’s a divisive story. Many locals view it as a foolish one, where an underprepared dreamer came to Alaska totally naive to the reality of the wilderness and its challenges. Others are touched by the story and flock to the area in a pilgrimage-like way, from around the world.

A few days ago, I stashed my bike and most gear in Fairbanks, and then hitchhiked back South towards Healy. The plan was to walk to the bus, with the hope there’d be a chance to talk to people and see what drew them to visit. I didn’t expect it to be a profound spiritual journey or anything, and I think some of the criticisms are accurate, but it’s a story that it’s easy to connect with on some levels – questioning our conditioning and a desire for a type of adventure – so being in the area anyway, well, why not? If nothing came of it, it’d at least be a break from pedalling for a couple of days and a refresher course in the art of walking.

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The plan was to do the trip in two days, walking to the bus the first day, camping, then walking out. It’s a slow 20 miles to the bus from the trailhead, basically along well-carved rocky trails, through ponds and open tundra, across a couple of rivers (one of which, the Teklanika River, is known as the point of no return for McCandless – the barrier that stopped him from walking back out to civilisation), and through dense and mosquito-infested tree corridors. And then all of a sudden, it opens up and you find yourself at the bus with sore and aching feet.

It’s in a pretty bad way, bullet holes lining the outside of the bus, most windows put through, and the inside has been torn apart and many parts stolen. But nonetheless it was still strikingly reminiscent of the images from ’92. Inside, it’s a mess but still in good condition is the guestbook for visitors to sign. They range from philosophical messages of people who have seemingly been hugely affected by the story, to “thx chris 4 the inspiration“, to “me and my buddies just drove out here in our 4×4’s and made it in 4 hours. Sick trail!“. There’s also some messages from people who have stayed at the bus for several months during the winter. It’s definitely a hardcore place to be based in the depths of a heavy Alaskan winter.

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Camping outside, it was eerie. There were a lot of noises that were probably nothing but definitely sounded like big critters. You know people say you should make loud noises when you’re in Alaska backcountry? Well it makes you go mad, always saying the same thing, like “HUMAN”, every minute or so. It drives you crazy, especially when the mosquitoes are constantly swarming your face in their thousands too. There’s advice that says you should make regular, loud noises, in a deep voice to let animals know you’re in the area. 3am in the tent and there were big sounds outside. Too late to think clearly, the only loud deep voice I could conjure up were the words from Chocolate Rain by Tay Zonday. Imagining it from another person’s perspective, it must have been really, really weird.

Getting ready to walk out again the next day, Eric from Minneapolis walked into the bus site. He’d flown into Fairbanks for a couple of days with the sole purpose of walking to the bus and was aiming for a single day round trip to make the flight back. Hell of a mission that. It was attempt two, after last year getting turned back because the Teklanika crossing was so high. Split into two days was pretty full on, so I can only imagine what one intense day was like. Sore feet I reckon.

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It was a bit of a slog on the way out. Headphones in and painkillers to dampen the plod. The river hadn’t risen, even though the crossing was late in the day, so getting across was fine. All in all, whilst it’s not the most best walk in Alaska, the Tundra is spectacular in places and it’s a worthwhile trip if you’re in town and have ever felt a connection to the McCandless story or other Alaska wilderness tales.

And regardless of your views on his story, McCandless showed wisdom when, whilst in the severe stages of starvation, he wrote “Happiness only real when shared.“

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THE BETA. There’s a lot of misinformation and fear-mongering online about Hiking The Stampede Trail. Here’s some things that I would add to the mix – as of July 2013. If you’re thinking about taking the trip, obviously do all your own research and be safe, the below are only opinions:

  • This piece calls crossing the Teklanika River in July “extremely dangerous”. The truth is it’s luck of the draw – it might be crazy high water, or it could be fine. On the way to the bus, it was waist height and whilst powerful it didn’t seem like an intimidating crossing. The best chance you have is to cross the river early in the morning – think 4 – 6 am – as it’s a glacier-fed river it doesn’t melt as much during lower temps.
  • If the main crossing looks too high, check upstream. There’s places to cross that are easier and the river isn’t as fast flowing.
  • It’s safer and more fun to do a trip like this with other people.
  • Keep it simple when crossing. Make sure you’re not tied into a rope and keep your rucksack unfastened.
  • Use a strong stick, and in high currents face upstream, with your legs wide, and the stick in front of you forming a tripod shape, making small steps diagonally backwards across the flow.
  • The mosquitos in July are hell. You’ll be swarmed. Take the strongest Deet you can get your hands on. Take some kind of mosquito net too, it’s horrible without one.
  • There’s plenty of water, so you don’t need to carry much at any one time. But make sure you take something to make the water safe to drink. Beaver fever sounds awful.
  • Take Bear Bells rather than shouting out every minute. They will save your sanity. 

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Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

230 – 237: Whittier to Fairbanks, AK.

Moose, big days and Independence Day. It’s been another wet week, most days providing torrential rain sessions. Not unbearable, but kind of frustrating as Denali is totally invisible in the heavy grey clouds. Quiet week in terms of meeting anyone and filming with them – that’s Alaska though I guess. Hoping to backtrack a little bit and head back into the National Park and to Healy in a day or so on a slightly different mission which could result in material. Rather than post about the rain too much, here’s a few highlights.

235: 20m N of Trapper Creek – Cantwell, AK (80 miles)

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Face to face with a moose. Holy smokes. Not many places in the world where you find yourself making eye contact with a moose. 11PM in Cantwell, working up and down Denali highway trying to find a place to setup camp. And there it was, maybe 50 metres away, stumbling across the road with the most unusual walk. It paused. I paused. It moved. I moved. It was awesome in the literal sense of the word.

A few people so far have talked about moose as their primary food source. They say a moose’s meat can last a family a year or more. It’s hard to picture from photographs, but seeing the scale of the animal – it instantly made sense. Still amazed, I couldn’t find a suitable place to camp, so might’ve slept on the floor in a post office. Not sure if that’s strictly allowed but it might have been / was warm, dry and mosquito-free.

236: Cantwell – Healy, AK (40 miles)

It was about 10.30am and I was sat at a table in the corner of a Cantwell gas station. Firing off some emails before setting out for the day. A brief look up every now and then to see whether the drizzle had ceased. Current mileage, zero.

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“That your bike outside?” asked Jeff, an Alaskan native cycling from Anchorage to Fairbanks. A super positive guy who was travelling light, on a racing bike and having a friend following him in a van providing support.

“How far have you gone today?”. Nowhere yet, Jeff! How far have you gone?

“I’ve done 77 miles this morning. Been pretty grim on the road though in this weather.”

77 miles and he was only just stopping for breakfast/lunch. As you do. I was inspired by Jeff’s pre-breakfast epic mission and positive mentality, and left eager to hit the road. And minutes later Jeff overtook me, with ease, on his carbon fibre bike with speed bars.

“Have a good ride!”, he shouted back. You too Lance. Sorry I mean Jeff.

237: Healy – Fairbanks, AK (113 miles)

The longest day so far, by a single mile. And certainly the most arduous for a long time. There are days that look ‘big’ on paper but aren’t. One that comes to mind is the stretch from Van Horn – El Paso, TX. It’s basically 106 miles of downhill with minimal pedalling, and it’s over really quickly. Then you get some 50 miles days that take forever because of the terrain. Today was more like the latter – a long and gruelling hilly day.

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It’s the height of Alaskan summer, so there’s plenty of light. Really the days can be as long as you like. It was a typical groggy morning waking up on a patch of grass near Healy’s only gas station. I cycled up to the centre of town (it’s a tiny town so ‘centre’ is a loose term). It was only then that the celebrations made sense. 4th of July – the USA’s birthday. There was going to be a bunch of floats driving down the main street at 11am, celebrating the day. Not going to miss this. I wondered over to the street and waited, along with maybe 20 locals lining the side of the street. It wasn’t a big do, amusingly small even – a few horses, a fire engine, someone getting pulled along in a kayak by a bicycle, a gorilla mascot – and it was over in about 5 minutes. A late start but worth the wait to celebrate the 4th. Everyone was happy and got free candyfloss. No one was complaining. Sweets for breakfast? Go on then.

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It was a national day off so most people were staying home. Empty roads. The start of the ride was fast. A strong tailwind and mainly downhill for 30 miles. Even on the uphills, the wind would keep you going in top gear. Get in. Then the wind died down, the climbs became consistent, and it started to pour down. It can be alright riding in the rain for a bit. Then it starts to suck. There was maybe an hour or so of heavy rain riding, before cycling through Nenana and finding shelter at the gas station, where these folks all had the same idea.

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For a while there was an inpromptu bike party, everyone sitting out the torrential rain. It eased off after a while though, and it was great to ride with Julia and Hannes from Germany who were heading the same way (see their website). Seems like the majority of other cyclists on long trips aren’t from the US and have been drawn by a grass-is-always-greener thirst for a North American adventure. Thinking back, it’s probably a ratio close to 5:1 International / USA.

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At this point it had been a long day, but there was still 44 miles or so to go. On one hand knowing how much you have left is a good thing, the countdown keeps you pedalling. “1 mile down. 43 left.” etc. On the other, it just can seem never ending. There were so many times, getting to the top of a hill and seeing another hill coming up. It’s torture. But eventually the climbs turned to downhills, and there was a 3 mile full-speed-ahead blast into town. Nice way to end. I pulled into Fairbanks at 11.15pm, dizzy and drowsy, set up the tent near a community centre and that was that.

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Just throwing this out there – what kind of people sum up America & Canada in your mind? There are no pre-arranged Vague Direction People meetings for a while, so I’d love to hear any thoughts you have as to who might be interesting to feature and talk to about their lifestyle. (For example – a clown, ice hockey coach, gold prospector etc). Love to hear your suggestions if you have them in the comment section below.

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Huge thanks to Best Western Chena River Lodge for their amazing hospitality on a rest day in Fairbanks, what a place! Worth a look if you’re in the area.

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Here’s the last week, plus quick map.

230: Whittier – Anchorage (60 miles)
231: Anchorage – Palmer (42 miles)
232: Palmer – Willow (48 miles)
233: Willow – Trapper Creek (52 miles)
234: Trapper Creek – McKinley View Lodge (20 miles)
235: McKinley View Lodge – Cantwell (80 miles)
236: Cantwell – Healy, AK (40 miles)
237: Healy – Fairbanks, AK (113 miles) 

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Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

Alaskan Images and Bear Spray Tales

It’s been a ‘refreshing’ (aka soaking wet) morning doing puddle slalom near Willow in Alaska, on the way up through Denali State Park. Hopefully it’ll clear up because there’s not much visibility other than rain clouds. Not got chance to put up an in-depth blog post just yet, so here’s a selection of snaps from the last week or so. They sum up life on the road at the moment.

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Typical sightings on the Alaska Marine Highway.

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Whittier Ferry terminal. Proper Alaska, and noticeably colder.

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Downsized to a Marmot EOS 1P tent. Perfect solo touring tent. Just the right size, super simple & quick to set up, and crazy lightweight.

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Bear spray tales

A hilarious pair called Amanda and Chris were also travelling up the coast on the Alaska Marine Highway, and they had a couple of bear-related tales. Take heed.

Chris (pilot) “I’d just taken off and whilst looking down saw a figure fall to the floor and squirm. I thought they must be having a heart attack. So I banked the plane and landed as quickly as possible. I ran over and it was a guy who was still on the ground. He’d made a mistake and thought bear spray acted in the same way as insect spray. He’d sprayed himself in the face with his can of bear spray!”

Amanda (avid hiker) “We met some other hikers who had been really paranoid about running into bears. They had all the gear – spray and bangers and bells – and set off hiking to find somewhere to camp in the mountains near Anchorage. They were so paranoid about it that they used their bear spray to spray the entire outside of their tent. They didn’t realise that the spray had cayenne pepper in it and were shocked to be woken up by 4 grizzlies licking the outside of the tent for their pepper fix.”

The ferry bit is over, and the game is back on. Best dig out the raincoat.

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Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

Ferry Hopping, Killer Whales and Floatplanes

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The ferry hopping is in it’s final stages. One more 42 hour stint to go, dodging perfectly blue iceberg sculptures. There’ve been a couple of notable moments, both announced over the PA in between Petersburg and Juneau.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you look to the port side you’ll see a killer whale. I repeat, killer whale on the port side”.

Not an everyday phrase! There was a massive killer whale a few hundred metres off the boat. It was moving fast, and even from a distance it was clear to make out the spray. A jaw-on-the-ground moment to see something like that first-hand and not through the eyes of the BBC. It emphasised just how much big life is in the water up here. Definitely a “pinch me” moment for all viewers judging by the gasps and air of excitement. A downside to travelling light is only carrying a small selection of camera gear (no telephoto lenses), so here’s blurry pixels.

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There’s been a high pressure spell recently too, so it’s been hot. The perfect weather for hanging out on the sun deck on the boat and taking a nap. When you get woken up mid-nap with an announcement over the PA that says “Welcome to Cake!”, it’s really exciting. Cake? Where? Unfortunately it had nothing to do with cake at all – we were just pulling into a port in Kake to drop some passengers off.

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Floatplanes are cool. Ever since first seeing a floatplane land on water, it’s been something that I’ve longed to try. Seaplane docks seem to be a part of every small town in South East Alaska – they’re used to drop people off in remote places, to search for schools of fish so the locals know where to go for maximum success, or simply for commuting between islands. Whilst in Petersburg I bumped into Doug from Nordic Air, who was in between flying jobs. He didn’t have any time for a proper interview but there was time to make a 5 minute flight from water to land, catch a few brief words and capture some aerial footage. It was a ton of fun. Hope you enjoy it.

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Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

The beginnings of Alaska and thoughts on motivation

Just thinking out loud about motivation and scribbling it down whilst sat on the ferry, back in the USA’s 49th state. At the moment I’m making my way up to a port near Anchorage (just below Denali National Park), on the Alaska Marine Highway. A journey north into the heart of the land of the midnight sun.

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It’s a pretty indirect journey spread over two weeks of travel. I set off from Prince Rupert last week, the ferry then pulled into Wrangell, where I’ve spent the last four days battling the mosquitos. Now it’s a 3 hour journey to Petersburg, then Juneau, and finally Whittier in 10 days time, which marks the next section of the route – the longest one of all – from Alaska across Canada. It’s odd how such seemingly meaningless corners on an map can have such personal meanings.

Looking out from the railings is a thrilling sight. In between small towns, signs of human activity is non-existent, it’s just shimmering green water and dense forest as far as you can see. I’ve yet to see them, but there’s orcas in the drink and grizzlies amongst the trees. It’s an inspiring place to just look upon, reflect on the last several months, and look to the near-future knowing that this is the land that so many adventurous tales have been set in, and it’s clear to see why.

Motivation. When I was nearing the end of the East coast leg, and then again on the Southern states leg, on the hard days, knowing that I’d cycled the whole way meant it was easy to overcome any motivational struggles, because there was a rationale that went something like, ‘Well you’ve come this far, what’s another few days / miles / state lines?’. But on the West Coast leg, taking the bus ride from Northern California to Seattle was like an instant break, and I didn’t feel as attached to it.

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I’m still totally focused on making this a project about the people along the way, and stopping in certain places when it seems right. Otherwise there’s little difference between rocking the exercise bike whilst typing ‘road sign’ into Google. Alaska is one of the places I’ve been most excited about all along, so I’m definitely going to spend time to soak it in, and have a few plans that if they come off will make for interesting and unusual experiences.

But, I know that everything will seem disconnected if the final stretch isn’t done by human power. That may seem a bit ridiculous, and that it really shouldn’t matter, even a contradiction when there’s been writing about constant movement being tough, but there’s a snowball effect attached to de-motivation and it’s something I’m keen to avoid on the biggest stretch of all. Just showing up, getting on with it, and creating a flow does a lot for your psyche, but when that synthesis breaks your motivation can soon follow.

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People keep talking about the prairies in Canada, and how tough they are mentally, even when driving across them. There’s stories of people looking at a mountain in the distance and just driving for days without it getting any bigger. Driving, and being driven crazy by the endless and beautiful-at-first-but-soon-monotonous surroundings. Another cyclist I met in BC couldn’t hack it and jumped on a bus to ‘end the torture inside his head.’ Strong words that can drum up dread in anyone’s moments of insecurity or self-doubt.

There’ll surely be mind-games. You can take your ‘days in a car’ and convert it to ‘weeks on a bike’. But nothing with worth comes easily does it?

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Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

196 – 212: Prince George to New Hazelton, BC

Customs. There hasn’t been a trip-post for a while, as a lot more time than expected was spent in the city of Prince George chasing up a new set of wheels through customs. It was nice to settle for a while, and explore the city, but a few days would have been plenty. By the end of a two week(!) stint in PG, I was getting frustrated. Several days were spent taking shelter in this doorway, which was an unusual but functional base. And there were obvious upsides to an extended period of static time – mainly a solid amount of work was done, but by the end I was absolutely ready to move on.

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But maybe these are all just soured memories, as Prince George was the place that has caused the most physical pain so far. It wasn’t in some kind of epic crash, or brake failure, or in fact anything bike-related. As it turns out, walking face first into an air conditioner just really hurts and will leave a lump on your head for days.

It was the afternoon of day 206 when the wheels finally showed up. Being a fairly critical part of the project, I was over the moon to see they’d arrived, and ran to a bike shop to get them to swap over the cassette, making the bike a working item once again.

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Outside the bikeshop, I met local resident and all around top dude Erik (on the bike below), who in the last couple of years had racked up some serious cycling experience, taking 6 week trips in Yukon and Alaska. He’s got a big plan taking shape right now that involves taking an extended leave from his job as a prison guard, to cycle across Canada, West to East, meeting with long lost family in various cities along the way.

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Erik had some hilarious stories from his cycling in remote places, offered a place to crash in his basement (no more doorway!), and made it clear that he was the CEO of the BBQ, when he grilled up some stellar steaks. It was a great way to end a long spell in BC’s northern capital.

The morning of day 207. After the last couple of weeks, my motivation for cycling was at an all time high. It was a cracking day, the bike was working like a dream, and I was gunning for it. Standing up and pushing down on the climbs, face to the handlebars on the downhills. They don’t come much better than this.

CRUNCH. Are you serious?

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Crunch. 70km, and now I’d somehow managed to rip the rear derailleur out of the hanger, bending and de-threading the hanger in the process. If you’re thinking I might have been frustrated by this, then you’re totally right. Fuming. Luckily there was a spare hanger kicking about (they’re unique to each frame so it’s a good idea to carry a spare – often bike shops have to order them in), but on closer inspection of the derailleur it was knackered and completely out of shape. I ended up hitchhiking 30km west to a campsite in the town of Vanderhoof.

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The next day, the folks at Omineca saved the day. They had the right derailleur in stock, and were cool about letting me use their workshop and expertise to get the bike into a decent condition. The aim was: this has to stop happening. This service, right now, is going to fix the bike for the foreseeable. Luckily it has so far.

The day of the service, there wasn’t much progress made, but since then it’s been a great phase of being on the road. Motivation for progress is high, and I’m back in the swing of things. There’s been some horrendous headwinds, incredible downhills, uphill slogs, jaw-dropping landscapes of snowy mountain peaks, and loads of ‘Beware of Moose’ signs. I’ve been frantically looking around excitedly but am yet to see any. Hopefully in due course.

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– – –

The route for the last few days has been: Prince George – Vanderhoof – Fraser Lake – Burns Lake – Smithers – New Hazelton (where this is being written). From here it’s West to Prince Rupert (Canada likes the royal names huh?), and then it gets super exciting. All going well, the plan is to get a boat into the depths of Alaska and continue from there.

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