Tag: vague direction

Categories
Adventure Bicycle Travel

271 – 287: Fort Nelson, BC to Edmonton, AB

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So the last post definitely acted as a bit of a release. Setting off from Fort St John after publishing it was like a new beginning. Weird how that works. A healthy (if a bit brash) reset. I didn’t think that posting a blog like that would have such an impact on overall mood but it definitely acted as a big exhale. Ahhh. Being basically a nomad at the moment means every now and then my overall perspective can get hazy, but hopefully that’s the hardest month over with (don’t mention the Canadian winter, ok?) and things are only up from here.

I booked the bike in to a Fort St John shop for repair. After however many miles it’s been, the drivetrain was a mess and needed swapping out – a new cassette, crank and chainrings. Picking the bike up post-repair, and taking it for a 30 second spin, it was immediately obvious that the trip was going to go a lot more smoothly than it had been doing. And that perhaps a lot of the stress in the last month has come from a bike that barely worked. There were no clunks, no skipping, all the gears worked. No tyres with holes in them and daily punctures. It was like a new bike, foreign since Arizona, and it was fast. Much faster than it had been for months. Suddenly, with a vent and a working bike, things were looking up.

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The forecast was in and it was looking good for the next 7 days. I decided to intentionally minimise being connected. 7 days straight of moving everyday, taking in the prairies and Alberta, and making a very conscious effort to get things back on a positive track, stopping to chat and film segments with the locals whenever possible and just getting back into it. It worked. It was exactly what had been missing over the last month or so. Consistency and inertia.

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The best part about the physical aspect of this trip is the tranquil state you get into when the cycling is consistent. You aren’t concerned about steep hills, mechanical issues, how many miles you’ve got to do or what time it is. It’s hardly about the cycling at all. It’s just simple. And in the prairies, which have just started, it’s amplified simplicity. It’s flat with the occassional rolling hill. Long stretches of fast and sustained movement. Plus going west to east means the wind is mainly pushing you along. Bonus. All that combined brought back a mindset that I’d been missing – less about the act of cycling and more about the state of mind it puts you in. You turn off. The human version of Sleep Mode. Suddenly you can make clear decisions, you’re more creative, more present, happier and less concerned. It’s a meditative state that I’d never personally experienced before this trip and I’d recommend it to anyone. There’s probably tons of other ways to experience a similar thing; running or swimming etc, but if you can find whatever it is that puts you in that place you’d be doing yourself a disservice to ignore it.

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In the last fortnight, the landscape has totally changed. From relatively mountainous to now vast green farmland and barley fields. Roads that stretch to the horizon and a stellar magic hour night upon night. It’s definitely getting a lot more populated now, which is very appreciated after 5 fairly remote weeks. Edmonton is the first city since Vancouver that seems really vibrant. It’s refreshing to be in a built up area for a few days before hitting the prairies again, and being a city there’s Warmshowers hospitality available which is awesome, so big thanks to Amie and Alberto for the floorspace.

It’s dark at night again, brisk in the mornings, and the land is new. The Prairies have begun and I think they’re going to provide a lot of stories.

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Adventure Bicycle Travel Philosophy

Reality and Covering It Up

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To post or not to post? I read my pal Andy’s blog post and could relate – it acted as a catalyst and a realisation that, for the last month or so, the content that has been published on this blog has been covering up the reality to avoid negativity. It’s easier to be positive if you just focus on what’s been happening in front of your eyes instead of behind them. And who wants to read a negative post, really? There’s enough negativity in the world without yet another blog joining the bandwagon. But covering up the truth in fake positivity is  disengaging and it’s see-through. And maybe writing this stuff down will be therapeutic.

There’s been emails from people saying things like “Savour every moment”, and “You’re living my dream!”. And I just think about how ghetto it is, or the hour every night spent finding a place to sleep. Waking up in lay-by’s and carparks day after day, week after week, is not something to savour.

It isn’t glamorous, and there are times when I sit on the grass in the morning, looking at the bike with resentment. Why did I sign up for this?

In retrospect I’ll look back on this as ‘living the dream’, for sure. There are times now that I look back on with such fondness. It’s been one of the best periods of my life. No doubt. A bike ride across a continent and a trip that has brought me together with people who I’ve looked up to and taken inspiration from for years. Pinch-me, how-on-earth-did-this-happen moments.

But it can be so draining, demoralising and depressing, even when you’re in the most amazing areas. And there’s times when I think about those emails and think, it should be them doing this, not me. I’m a fraud and they’re not. They’d wake up stoked about pedaling all day, whereas I go through phases of waking up with dread. What’s the point in yet more days in the saddle? The tough parts are pedaling every day to get anywhere, and having to find a new place to sleep, dry out, wash and escape the rain, every single day. That quickly adds up.

I always looked at ‘adventurers’ with a hint of annoyance. They’d use terms like ‘quest’ and publish ‘memoirs’ about their time away. It would often hum of pretension and schmuck, and in more-than-a-few cases I got the feeling that their adventures were more about public speaking gigs than the actual experience. Even now, when somebody refers to themselves as an adventurer it makes me shudder. I’d read the blogs, and just didn’t buy it. Wasn’t this just hyperbole designed to appeal to a reality TV audience who didn’t know any better?

They’d talk about how mentally tough it had been, and I’d think, hang on a minute, you’re rowing across an ocean in a boat with a Sat Phone and pinpoint navigation, all you do is row, it can’t be that hard. Get-bloody-on-with-it or stop complaining and quit if you don’t want to be there.

The real adventurers were those who operated under the radar – they’d sail to uncharted lands at a time before GPS, flares and helicopter rescue, or escape from a prisoner of war camp and walk for a year through the jungle, battling anacondas and avoiding the arrows of tribesmen. The explorers who fought pirates with swords. They were heroes, rather than self-branded, media-savvy “adventurers”. And they got on with it rather than purposefully trying to grow an audience by telling everyone how epic it was. I thought that in a modern and connected world, adventure was nearly impossible to find.

And then I set off on this trip and my opinion didn’t change. If anything it was reinforced for the first few months. It wasn’t hard. It was sore but never unbearable. You’re connected almost everywhere. And then after a while, slowly my opinion did start to change.

It’s not the physical side that makes a hardcore adventure. You don’t have to walk through the jungle for 18 months or fight pirates. It’s 100% mental and unique to each person. It’s the toll of time, not the toll on your body. Overcoming the demons that grow in your head and scream at you to stop. It’s like athleticism in that respect. It’s arduous. The best athletes are the ones who do their time, push through it and put in the 10,000 hours. Results don’t come from a single race. But committing to that time is an intimidating thing, even after nine months.

My subconcious constantly asks “what’s the point of what you’re doing?” It’s ignoring that question, or trying to answer it, that’s challenging. It’s keeping going.

It’s this weird way of life where nothing is moderate. It’s great or it’s shit. Rarely it’s in between. Honestly, there’s no place I’d rather be most of the time. I feel a sick and twisted attraction to the mental game. But at the same time, sometimes it’s the polar opposite of enjoyable. That’s strange and full of hypocrisies, I know, but it seems to be the curse of movement, the road, and living a stripped down life that at the moment is literally strapped to a set of wheels. There are no sides – I love it and hate it at the same time.

This project has totally changed how I view adventure – it is real. And if it is mental, then this is most certainly a really wild adventure. But it’s still not a quest, ok?

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.

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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.

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Prize Giveaways

VIDEOS: Evernote Hello & Vague Direction (plus a competition to win stuff!)

COMPETITION NOW CLOSED – congratulations to the winners – enjoy your year-long Evernote Premium accounts!

[dropcap]Bit[/dropcap] of a different post today. There’s a high chance that you have a small selection of go-to apps on your phone, ones that you use day in day out and don’t really think about. It’s rare to find an app that becomes totally engrained in your everyday life – it’s always open because it’s useful, provides value and is effortless – Evernote is one of those. It’s a second brain where you can safely store your ideas, notes and thoughts. It’s the only tool I use to keep track of everything that happens on the road.

I’ve been working in partnership with the Silicon Valley folks for a while now, and some of that work has presented itself over on The Evernote Blog (read all about it here) and in this commercial about Evernote Hello – which has played a crucial role in this project so far, and is super intuitive & useful when it comes to remembering the people you meet.

And below you can see a video about how Evernote in general comes in handy on the Vague Direction project. It’d be easy to reel off all the ways that the app helps with efficiency in the video, but it’d be quite long, so other highlights that were left out are included below the video.

  • Web Clipper – for any articles or text from the internet, use clipper to copy the articles, then read them offline.
  • Image recognition is built into search. It can read text from photos / receipts / travel tix / posters etc (this blew my mind).
  • Skitch – for annotating photos and maps. Good for marking directions.

If you don’t use Evernote, and want to be more productive, check it out – odds are you’ll never look back.

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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