Although we had returned to Fairbanks from our Arctic Ocean adventure quite early in comparison to what the schedule was, that is 2130 instead of 0100, we had still agreed upon a slightly later 1000 departure. Also, despite sleeping a great deal on the van rides, we were both exhausted and I still slept like a baby for 8 hours.

Our mo'tel was right next to Highway 2 that was going to take us out of Fairbanks and start our long journey home.














I am about 3000 kms to Edmonton, Bill a similar if not slightly greater distance to Penticton. We pull out of the mo'tel parking lot and are immediately presented with conflicting information; The sign says Highway 2 South turn right, but there is also a sign with an arrow pointing right to Anchorage. It is also the way we came. I stop to consult my map, but it is inconclusive. We forge on!

The sun is behind us, which is wrong, and I recognize various landmarks from when we arrived 3 days before, I pull over again to consult both the map and Bill. He concurs that 'it doesn't feel right'. Even though it is counter-intuitive to the information presented, we'll go with Occam's Razor; we can't go back the way we came, so we'll go the other way.

As it turns out Hwy 2 South first goes North and Hwy 2 North first goes South.

Got it?

No?

Us neither!

Much later we figure out because Fairbanks is basically land's end, both highways go south from Fairbanks, but in order to differentiate them, they call one North and one South, even though where we are those names have nothing to do with their actual direction. Personally, I would suggest using different numbers!

Once we are going the right way we make time quickly, within a few clicks of leaving the last traffic light we are up to a buck twenty (120 kph) and settled in for the ride. We had 2 days off of the bikes and I can honestly say The Rocket is way more comfortable than that DHE van!

About 20 minutes south of FB we see some fighter jets frolicking overhead. When I was here is '04 there was a squadron of A-10's stationed at the Air Base and as I was driving in, there were several Warthogs doing what looked like mock strafing runs at cars on the highway. These fighters were too far away to ID, but a little later a couple of them were flying low and parallel to the highway and I am pretty sure they were F-35 JSF's.

The trees cleared and you could see the flight operations area of Eielson Air Force base with a handful of jets taxi'ing about. Just as I was thinking it might be cool to pull over and film some jets taking off, there was a sign kiboshing my idea. It was literally: No Stopping No Parking & No Photography! OK, I get it, bad idea!

The ride was largely uneventful, a light rain was falling here and there, I elected not to put on my rainsuit, going with the Mind Over Nature technique that has been so (un)successful for me in the past. It works, mostly. We stop for gas in Delta Junction and when asked for a lunch recommendation the cashier tells us about a drive in across the way. Specifically, he suggests the Yak Burger. I might also add he looks like he may have enjoyed more than his fair share!

I was happy to stop as I had misprogrammed the playback on my iPod so I was listening to only 1 song over and over. Luckily it was a Sister's of Mercy (The Goth band, not the Country one) song called Reap what you Sow that was 12 minutes long.

We cross the highway, and after driving through a couple of parking lots we finally find it. It is a little hole in the wall, but very busy, always a good sign. Sadly the Yak burger was a seasonal special, so I settle for a Bison Burger, which is de-lish! We stay for about 45 minutes and then head out again driving towards Tok, AK (Pronounced Toak or Toke).



At Tok, we fuel up again, and then re drive a short 12 mile section that we drove on the way to Anchorage. From Tetlin Junction to Tok every single person that goes to Alaska West of TJ has to drive this 12 miles of highway. That should be a ton of traffic, but, curiously it is deserted, like everywhere else in The North!

Instead of going South at Tetlin Junction, back towards Haines, we turned left onto Highway #5, The Taylor Highway that heads North and West towards our eventual goal for the day of Dawson City. At some point along its course it is called the Top of the World Road. I had driven this route in the reverse direction in '04 on my Intruder 1400, but had apparently blocked out the memory of that particular experience. That day it was hot and dusty and I remember not liking it much, but today was cold & wet.

It was good, maybe even exciting until just before Chicken, AK, about 60 miles. The pavement had been steadily deteriorating with more and more patches of loose gravel. Eventually, the patches were so frequent they could have saved a ton of money by only announcing the infrequent sections of pavement!

Then there was a sign that said 'Pavement Ends!

Whadayya mean Pavement Ends? Turns into what? For how long? Who is in charge of deciding where the pavement ends and where is his suggestion box? I'll be honest, this is not the actual sign, but it still conveys the crushing emotional message!



We stop in Chicken, well, cus we know there are few stops along the way and it seems like the thing to do. Plus it's called Chicken!



There is nothing to do in Chicken, and it is already late in the day so we depart and Highway #5 turns into the second worst road I have ever driven, after the James Dalton itself. Our top speed drops to 40 kph and it is frequently much, much less than that. The road is full of potholes, full of water.









There are lengthy sections of washboards. There are gravel sections, hard earth sections, and red clay sections. It is raining steadily now and turning this already challenging road into slippery quagmire.

I try to pick a smooth line through the potholes as I know Bill was usually following my tire marks in the mud. I was always cognitive of the fact that his wheels are about 40% smaller than mine, and at times there was no choice but to drive straight through some potholes. I could handle a hole up to 18" in diameter, but wasn't sure he could.

I looked in my mirrors very frequently to ensure he hadn't gone down. Once I checked the left mirror - nothing, right mirror - nothing. Double checked both again, then pulled over to do a shoulder check, had he fallen? Nope, but he was maybe 10' behind me, following my wheel rut, and ahead of my mirrors convergence zone.

The clay sections were the toughest, on even modest inclines my rear tire would frequently break traction and spin despite being in third gear, my 224 rear wheel ponies were not welcome today! My front tire would plow into the clay and twist the handlebars back and forth in my hands. It was very hard to turn corners on the clay, it would support zero degrees of lean. The clay had zero friction and wouldn't support any lean, braking or acceleration inputs.

I found the best way to turn was to 'Use The Force'. Literally, I would concentrate ******* turning, without doing anything to physically turn the bike in the normal fashion like leaning, or counter steering. My theory is that I was doing those things, but only in the most minute increments, just enough to impart a directional change without causing the instability direct action did.

That being said I did a lot of doglegging, front and back tires pointed in different directions, body twisted in a third direction, bike on a fourth vector, all usually with no bearing on the actual current direction of the road, just doing the best I could to keep it betwixt the ditches and lead Bill down the smoothest path.

Downhill was the absolute worst. Despite our low speed, I was keeping the bike in 2nd or 3rd gear to keep the torque under control, on some declines, I would be in full compression braking (throttle closed) but still be gaining speed. On one exceptionally long and steep downhill section covered in wet red clay, I was going way too fast for the conditions, around 60 kph with the throttle closed. I gently pressed the rear brake to see if there was any help there, as expected there was none. The rear tire locked instantly and the bike became a toboggan, I released the binders immediately. I knew the front brake would drop me immediately.

I was pretty sure I was going down. It took all my resolve to keep my feet on the floorboards. It is in our self-preservation nature to put your feet down when you are in trouble on a motorcycle, but doing that puts them in the danger zone if you do crash. I didn't want to be sitting at the side of the road with a broken leg, especially when the nearest hospital would be 4 hours of this road in either direction. I was gripping the bars so hard there was handlebar juice running down my sleeves. My entire body was locked rigid, my face hurt from furrowing my brow so hard! My lips hurt from pursing them so hard!

Somehow, and I am going to say luck because there was no skill involved, I was just a reluctant passenger on the bike, I made it to the bottom of that long steep hill without dumping. That was the worst incident, but there were at least 3 other times I was pretty sure I was going to crash. Ironically this extremely slippery road would be the place if I had to go down, that I would want to due to the very low co-efficient of friction with the road, and very slow travel speed. If I didn't stick an arm or a leg out, prolly come out unhurt.

We had come about 20 kms and were approaching the border when all of a sudden it went from absolute ***** to the most pristine smooth winding road ever. It was like that for about 5 miles and came right up to the border like that. Salvation!

When we stopped at the crossing station the 2 CBP cops were in the back of a camper owned by an elderly couple thoroughly searching it. Really, do you really think this elderly couple pose a threat? I often wonder when the TSA are shaking down a Grandma at the airport if they felt that action really protected the country?

Eryn and I recently flew to NFLD, as I write this it is mid-October, and upon our return we saw the airport security swabbing the hands of a girl who wasn't older than 2 years old, looking for drugs and/or GSR? Come on, for reals? Who decides who gets searched like that? Some kind of algorithm? Anyway, I digress!

As I went to remove my helmet and sunglasses and get my Passport ready I found that I had to literally pry my hands off the bars and go through my body joint by joint relaxing it. I was stiff as a board. Eventually, it was our turn and when the CBP came to me he noted that I was shivering violently. Bill noted it was 4 degrees Celcius! They cleared us to cross and also invited us into their office to warm up. Bill summed up my shivering in one eloquent all-encompassing statement: "He is too stubborn to put on his rain suit!"

Am not!!

The CBP's invited into their guard shack and I put my rain suit top on in there. I asked how much further we could expect to enjoy the pristine pavement and the guy said, oh, about 100'. He wasn't kidding, it ended almost immediately after we set off again. Having done about 20 kms of Hell Road thus far, we had 106 more to go before we got to Dawson City, as we crossed the summit on the Top of The World Highway.

It was 1830 at the border and we ultimately arrived in DC at 2130. It was a challenging, character-building resolve testing ordeal that I hope to never repeat. Ironically as we were suffering on the road, the scenery around us was breathtakingly stunning. I started stopping us about every 20 kms to rest arms, legs, butts and minds. We shot some video documenting how covered in muck we were, our bikes were and just generally commiserated on how miserable we were!



I told Bill when this was over I will have earned myself a big Rib-Eye and a Rum & Coke the size of my head!

About 20 kms outside of DC the road abruptly changed back to Yukon pavement, which normally is ******, but in comparison to what we just came through was a gift from the motorcycle Gods. I tried not to get my hopes up, we had been teased by pavement before, but it did take us all the way to the banks of The Yukon River, where we would cross on a small car ferry. The river was extremely fast flowing, but the pilot of the 6 car ferry expertly navigated the river in about 4 minutes, and gently kissed the bank on the other side.



We fueled up and then spent some time driving around DC looking for some cabins I had stayed in my last time there, without success. All I remembered was the main house was white with blue trim and the cabins were brown . Not much to go on! Luckily DC is a very small town, purposefully trapped in the 1890's. We had no luck finding the cabins so we stopped in at the Bunkhouse Inn, but they only had twins with a shared bathroom. I asked about the cabins and the front desk clerk mentioned The Triple J Inn. That was it, I remembered now!

As it turned out my memory of JJJ was spot on, just needed the address!



We got directions and within minutes were checked into 2 JJJ cabins. A little pricey, but after our day, totally deserved. Also notably in Canadian funds, so not that bad after all. Have to recalibrate the brain to stop thinking +25% exchange. At the Diamond Gerties Casino I got a rib eye that was on the smallish side, and a R&C the size of my cheekbones, a close approximation to my goals. Bill made due with a few slices of grease wheel.

The Casino charged a cover, was raucous, allowed smoking, and had a loud Vaudeville show going on so after sating our nutritional and medicinal needs we went back to our cabins for bed. I tried to use the wifi but it was ******, and I was literally falling asleep on my feet so I took the night off blogging and went to bed. Bill and I had negotiated a 1000 departure time for tomorrow based on our trying ordeal today and the relatively short distance we have to ride tomorrow.

On that note I had hoped to get home on Friday of this week but due to the sparse dispersement of towns in Northern BC it is impossible. From Dawson City to Dawson Creek, where Bill and I are going to go our own ways, is about 2500 kms. Unfortunately there are only major towns where we are assured accommodations about every 500 kms, going further any given day risks coming to points on the map that end up being only a campground, or a boat launch, or worse. As such it is going to take until Saturday no matter what.

Here is Bill's version of the events:

This is a trip that should have taken 5 hours and ended up taking 10.

The road was fine right up to Tok but quickly changed to gravel with large pot holes.

I thought, at one time, that the road was less worse on the oncoming lane so went over to the far left side of the road. After a while I noticed Lou was first looking in his left then right rear view mirrors and figured that he probably thought I was in the ditch so I moved over behind him to allay his fears.

I thought the road couldn't get any worse but oh how tong I was as we then encountered wet red clay with an adhesion coefficient of zero.

Lou has told me that I often describe situations or events by quoting the lyrics of a song (usually Jimmy Buffett) and as I watched him go down a steep hill dog tracking towards the ditch I was reminded of a song by The Great Big Sea: It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

(Lou's note; "That would have been the end of MY world, and HE felt fine?")

The scenery at the top of the world was surreal. Oh, did I mention that it was raining the whole time?

When we finally reached the Canadian Border we were greeted by very understanding Border Guards. They realized that Lou was blue and shivering too and invited us to warm up inside their building.

About this time I noticed that my rear tire was slowly losing pressure but just attributed it to the awful road conditions.

We got in so late to our motel that I agreed to a 10:00am start tomorrow. I normally like to keep my scooter clean but finally gave up

Fairbanks to Dawson City
628 today, 7555 thus far
10.5 hours in the saddle