Okay, here’s the scoop: We left Grande Prairie on a hot sunny day, headed south on Route 40.  It was a lovely road, if you enjoy long empty stretches of hot pavement, being passed by logging truck after logging truck, and slogging up five mile climb after five mile climb.  If that sort of thing isn’t your gig, I’d recommend avoiding Route 40.  We climbed a long hill into scenic Grand Cache, a lovely small town perched high among the mountains.  Then we waited out a rain storm in a gas station before descending down into a valley and losing all the elevation we’d worked hard to gain.  After three days we were done with Route 40 and ready to head west into Jasper National Park.  Our bad luck with wind continued and we fought a nasty headwind for the first 30 miles.  After a quick stop in town to buy food and eat some lunch we headed south.  The wind had shifted ninety degrees and was again in our face.  Great.  There is a lovely hostel system in the park, but we refused to pay $24 each and so we biked down the road a ways and found a campsite to crash in.  The next morning was rainy and cold and, after a miserable 6 miles, we huddled in an outhouse for an hour to wait out the storm.  To our credit, it was a lovely outhouse: good cement floor, nice cedar walls, no graffiti.  The rest of the day was quite pleasant and we cruised along the Icefields Parkway, crossing from Jasper into Banff National Park.  Another day of rolling through beautiful mountains found us leaving the park and rolling into Lake Louise just before dinner.  The day after that found us in the city of Banff and the city of Canmore and halfway to the city of Calgary.  It’s wonderful, after 6 weeks of getting excited about every small gas station we rode past, to be passing through multiple cities every day.

If you ever find yourself between Banff and Calgary with an afternoon to kill, take a ride on Route 40 (a different Route 40) which rolls south through Peter Lougheed Park.  It’s a lovely are and contains the highest paved pass in Canada.  We learned this fact after climbing for miles and miles.  Had we known beforehand we would have avoided the route and missed a gorgeous area.  We’ve been told that it is Lance Armstrong’s favorite ride in North America, but he doesn’t ride it with a loaded touring bike, so we feel a but superior.  One the other hand, neither of us have won the Tour de France, so he has that going for him.

After finishing the better Route 40, we rolled south, slept in the dugouts of a unmaintained baseball field, watched a parade, and headed for the border.  We climbed over Chief Mountain and crossed back into the United States.  It’s nice to be back home, even if we’re thousands of miles from home.  A few miles down the hill we ducked into the woods and camped for the night.  The next day we decided to take off, so we found a campground, set up tents, and sat in the hot tub for most of the afternoon.

Yesterday morning, we woke up early and climbed up to Logan Pass in Glacier National Park.  Due to inane traffic rules, bicycles are not allowed to descend west on the Going-to-the-Sun road between 11 and 4.  We met up with a great group of riders from Seattle and hiked down to Hidden Lake.  It was odd to be active in a non-cycling capacity.  Last night we camped with them and had a great time hanging around the campfire, our first fire of the trip.

Today we rode out of the park and headed to Whitefish to visit the bike shop and get some minor (and some major) work done to our cycles.  In the next few days we’ll work our way down to Bozeman and then rest for a bit before heading into Yellowstone and Wyoming.

And now we reach the promise.  As you’ve been reading this, I sure you’ve thought “I want to see pictures of Banff” or “Let’s see that Highwood Pass” or “What did that lake look like?”  Sure we could have put pictures in, but that would have required us remembering to bring the camera to the coffee shop.  We didn’t.  Sorry.  I promise, really, to post all sorts of pictures.  Soon.  Really.  The part you need to know is that we’re alive, the bears haven’t won (though there was a close night-time encounter), and, on top of that, we’re back in the United States.

(There will eventually be pictures with this post, but uploading them is taking too long.  Sorry.)

We’ve finished the Alaska Highway. It was a long and lonely piece of pavement (and sometimes mostly gravel), but we’re through with it. This last week was an interesting transition, as we passed through Fort Nelson and turned south to Dawson Creek. The area northeast of Ft. Nelson is experiencing a bit of a natural gas boom. From Delta Junction all the way to Ft. Nelson the traffic on the road is mostly RVs and guys on motorcycles. There’s a year-round population in Whitehorse, but aside from that, most of the lodges close up in the winter time (and some won’t be opening up again come next summer). The entire economy of the Alaska Highway is based on tourists driving. As the price of gas rises, this will be happening less and less. 50% of the places we passed were closed down and most of them have been closed for a while. We wish the owners the best, but it’s going to be a tough couple of years and then the tourism is going to end for the most part.

Once we hit Fort Nelson, the change was drastic. The guys working in the oil patch keep the businesses running year-round. They’re all driving new trucks and having a grand old time. The money is pouring out of the ground. It’s a very different feel than the tourists that generate all the revenue along the highway.

Anyway… we left Watson Lake a while back, our bags full of groceries and our hearts heavy with the realization that we were nowhere. We’d been biking for weeks and we were still in the middle of nowhere. And then we started making miles. 70 miles per day seems to be the number we’ve settled on.

In one campground we met Rick and Joy from Grand Prairie, Alberta. They told us about the monster hills that were waiting for us as we headed south and invited us to stop at their house if we were in the neighborhood. This  solidified a change in route Noah had proposed earlier that day.  We’ve been playing a fun game in which I try to get us to cross the Continental Divide more than necessary and Noah tries to reduce the number of crossings.  Our course now heads east across the plains.  We’ll then head south, never to return to British Columbia.  Ah well.

Joy and Rick were right and there are some decent climbs along the highway, but we’ve done them and we won’t have to do them again. (Other climbs await us further south, but for now we’ll ignore those.)

Outside of Watson Lake, we met up with another cyclist heading south, Steve Laskley from outside of Boston. He’s riding down to Florida and raising money for the Lance Armstrong Foundation; check out his site at effortinspireseffort.com. We rode along with him for a bit and ended up leap-frogging him a couple of times over the next few days. We stopped at a few memorable sites (Laird hotsprings, Muncho Lake Park) and fulfilled some of the major goals of this trip (sleeping in a gravel pit, sleeping at a derelict RV park).

We initially planned on taking a day off in Ft. Nelson and we arrived there a day earlier than anticipated due to a number of factors: a lack of water, an unwillingness to stop, a strong desire to see the new Mummy movie. And so we rolled into town around 7:00. For the first time in ten days we were rising with traffic and dealing with stoplights and sidewalks and it felt like a huge city. That’s the result of spending too much time with one other person on a lonely highway: 5000 people becomes a metropolis.

We were all set to camp at an RV park when a woman directed us to a hostel for people passing through town. When we arrived at the Fort Nelson Transient Shelter, it was all she had promised (a free bed, hot showers, laundry, coffee) and more (they gave us each a coupon for $13.25 for be used at the Subway in town). Canada is amazing. We ate to our hearts content and the government footed the bill. At the shelter we met up with two Japanese bikers who were taking two years to go from the northern tip of Alaska to the southern tip of Argentina. That night was spent doing laundry and catching up on the baseball news as the trade deadline approached.

The next day, as we were packing up, the guy running the shelter gave us another $13.25 for Subway. This country is great! Sometime between breakfast and heading to the grocery store, we decided that we’d be heading out of town that afternoon. We’d gotten everything taken care of, the movie theater wasn’t showing The Mummy, and spending a second night in the homeless shelter didn’t seem right. While we were shopping for food, we met a family of four who were also biking the entirety of the Pan-American highway. After three weeks of not passing any other cyclists, not having anyone else to compare ourselves with, we’d suddenly met up with seven other people doing what we’re doing. Our conclusions: we bike farther each day than most people and we carry slightly more on our bikes.

That afternoon, the afternoon we were supposed to be resting, we ended up biking 56 miles down the road to another derelict RV park. The next day was 73 miles that ended with another monster climb. That was followed by 78 miles that put us one day outside of Dawson Creek. The next day we rolled into Dawson Creek and celebrated with a couple of cold beers and some cheeseburgers. A job well done.

Grand Prairie, and the promise of a real day off, was a mere 82 miles to the east and everyone we talked with said the road was flat and the wind always came from the west. We wouldn’t have to peddle; just use a jacket as a sail and the wind will push you there. They lied. For the first day in three weeks there was an easterly breeze. We just can’t win. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we should have been thrilled, but by the end of the ride we were exhausted and happy to stop at Rick and Joy’s. They welcomed us in, fed us a bounty of food, and put us up in their camper. It was wonderful.

Today we explored Grand Prairie, successfully restocked our reading material, bought more food, did some laundry, and tuned up our bikes. The only shortcoming was our failure to find a cheap barbershop and our refusal to pay more than $8 for a haircut.

Tomorrow we head south toward Grand Cache and then into Jasper National Park. Our time in the plains has come to an end, but that’s okay. We’ve had enough of the rolling hills and the head winds.

Noah returned after a festive weekend.  His plane didn’t get in until 1:30 Tuesday morning, so we got a later start out of Whitehorse than anticipated.  Actually, it wasn’t so much the late flight arrival that slowed us down as our decision to see the new Batman movie Tuesday night.  It was awesome!  And it was pretty unavoidable.  Tuesday afternoon was spent tuning up bikes, buying food, and re-packing everything.  We wouldn’t have been able to leave until 6:30 at the earliest, and starting that late is kind of silly, so going to the movies was the best move all all around.

Wednesday we headed south with Whitehorse at our backs.  The city was good to us, and we’d like to send out a special thanks to Liv for giving us a place to stay, Jaret for giving us a place to store our bikes, and Philippe for giving us access to his bike shop.

It took us a few dozen miles to get reacquainted with loaded bikes.  two weeks of ambling around without any weight was wonderful, but didn’t help the legs.  Our second afternoon out, we passed by Mukluk Annie’s, an RV park that offered the one-two punch of free camping and an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast.  It was too good to pass up.  It also gave us a chance to shift our schedule so we were leaving earlier in the morning and thus setting up camp earlier in the evening.  Our days of riding late into the night are behind us.  As we rolled across the bridge in Teslin, we were reminded of some pretty sound advice:

The weather has been rainy and cloudy for the past week or so.  We crossed the continental divide yesterday, moving out of the Yukon River watershed and into the Macenzie watershed.  It was less than impressive.  The Alcan crosses the divide at “one of the lowest points” with “only a hill of gravel and sand” separating the two rivers.  It was raining at the time, so we didn’t take any pictures.  To recreate the scene, however, wait for a miserable day and take your came to the local gravel pit; the resulting photos will be a good representation.

We waited out the drizzly weather while eating cinnamon buns and watching the news.  The sun eventually came out and we were on our way.  After bathing in a creek, eating a dinner of rice and beans at a government campground, and sharing some beers with a friendly couple from Grand Prairie, Alberta, we went to bed, ready to hit the road early the next day.

Today was spent rolling into Watson Lake and restocking our food supplies.  The visitor center is surrounded with signs from across the continent and offers a wonderful history of the Alcan highway system.  After one month and 1400+ miles on our bikes, we’re not much further south than when we started in Anchorage.  That’s all going to change soon, though.  We’ll start heading south and the temperatures will start rising.  Summer is out there somewhere; we just need to find it.

Noah flew to Iowa on Wednesday and left me to spend a few days in Whitehorse on my own. My legs were twitchy and so I hopped on my bike and headed south towards Skagway, AK. My plan was to bike to south to Skayway, take a ferry across the bay to Haines, AK, bike north to Haines Junction, YT, and then return to Whitehorse. Skagway and Haines are 25 miles apart by water and 360 miles apart by land. For some reason biking 360 miles seemed like the thing to do while Noah was out of town. I mean, who really wants to sit around at a coffee shop when you could be sitting on a bike seat?

Thursday: In which the adventure begins and Tim returns to States

Whitehorse to Skagway - 111 miles

I headed out of town into a pretty strong headwind. I was glad to be moving again and was glad to be carrying a reduced load on my bicycle (tent, sleeping bag, rain gear, limited repair kit, lots of power bars, no cooking stuff, no fuel, no real food). Twelve miles out of Whitehorse, I turned south on to the Klondike Highway. It rolled up and down for the first 30 miles or so, passing by amazingly green lakes and desert-like mountains.

Just north of Carcross, I came across this sign:

The Yukon is constantly able to surprise. I’d been riding through standard pine covered mountains and then there was this:

I continued into Carcross, ate a cheeseburger for lunch, and then started the 50 mile climb towards the BC-Alaska border. The spirit of this trip should be, and usually is, fun exploration. Every so often, however, our competitive side takes over. I was excited to pass into British Columbia and be able brag to Noah that I’d been somewhere he hadn’t.

Then I realized he flew through Vancouver, BC the night before. Blast, foiled again! There were moments that I forgot I was biking uphill into the wind and was enamored with the breathtaking views.

These moments didn’t last long, however. Soon the sun was covered in clouds and the cold air swept down out of the mountains. And still I climbed. The BC-Alaska border is at a mountain pass, so you end up climbing up and up and up for the first 95 miles of the trip. Then, over then next 11 miles, you return to sea-level. Riding for 9 hours into the wind was brutal, but the 30 minute ride down into Skagway made up for it. I found my way to a small cafe and had a tasty hot meal before sneaking into an RV park, pitching my tent, and trying to get a few hours of sleep.

Friday: In which the journey continues and Tim returns to Canada

Skagway to Dezadeash Lake - 121 miles

Friday started with a cruise. I decided I’d had enough of the biking life, so I traded in my spandex for Bermuda shorts, my helmet for a sun hat, and booked a ticket on the Island Princess.

Well, actually, no. Instead, I took the ferry from Skagway to Haines. The ferry was huge and I’m sure it’s very impressive, but I fell asleep pretty quickly and missed most of the journey. Ah well. In Haines, I had a lovely breakfast while listening to all the news on CNN that I’d been missing. It’s been exceedingly nice not to read the paper or watch television. We read updates from the Tour de France and check the baseball standings every once in a while, but that’s about it. A warm breakfast is quickly ruined with tales of missing children and skyrocketing fuel prices. Ah well.

I hopped back on my bike and headed north towards Haines Junction. The first 30 miles of the ride were flat and along a glacial river. The wind was at my back and I was happy to get a chance to use the higher gears on the bike.

After a while I passed back into Canada. Going through customs when you’re not in a hurry is great. The agents are friendly and like to chat about anything and everything. We discussed the weather for fifteen minutes before concluding that it would be cloudy for a while. From the Customs Office it was back into the mountains. The wind was at my back, and I suppose that helped a bit, but it was still up.

As I was nearing the century mark, a truck pulled over and warned me of a grizzly bear in the road up ahead. I climbed the next mile cautiously and kept to the middle of the road. At the top of the hill, I pulled into a parking lot and fell to the ground next to an RV. The wonderful thing about RVers is their love to hear about crazy adventures. I was welcomed in by two couples from Michigan. They were touring around Alaska and Yukon for the summer and were excited to tell me stories of the bears and wolves they’d seen. These aren’t really what you want to hear when you’re on a bicycle, but they fed me chicken noodle soup and jello, so I wasn’t really listening.

After dinner, I hopped back on my bike and had 20 miles to go before reaching the campground. Halfway down the hill I looked to the side on the road and there was the grizzly. He was just sitting there, 18 feet away, and didn’t seem to interested in eating me. That was fine with me and I wasn’t about to stop to take a picture, so you’ll have to use your imagination.

I’m told I camped in a scenic campground next to a beautiful lake with snow capped peaks rising to the west. It was foggy and cloudy and wet, but you can use that imagination again to set the scene. I set up my tent, crawled into my sleeping bag, and dropped to sleep pretty quickly.

Saturday: In which Tim makes a terrible mistake and returns to Whitehorse

Dezadeash Lake to Whitehorse - 131 miles

So I rode a lot the first day. And it wasn’t so bad. And I rode more the second day. And that wasn’t so bad either. And then I woke up on Saturday. I was cold. It was raining and the tent was leaking. Everything was wet and cold. I spent most of the morning drying stuff out a covered eating area at the campground and thinking about mileage. I camped 30 miles south of Haines Junction and it’s another 100 past that to Whitehorse. 130 miles is a good bit, but on the other hand doing fewer than 100 seemed wimpy, but on the other hand biking 100 and then camping 30 miles from Whitehorse seemed stupid and since I knew I could do 120, and that would mean camping 10 miles out of town and that would be really stupid. These were my thoughts as I waited for things to dry and then biked north to Junction.

The first bit of riding was flat and down, so I made pretty good time. When I got to town, I rolled to a campground we’d stopped at our first time through. It was odd to revisit a town we’d been through before. I threw all my wet clothes into a dryer and then threw myself into a shower. Being warm and dry always puts you in a better mood, and so I left the laundromat determined to make it back to Whitehorse by nightfall. I made it to the other side of town before stopping for lunch.

After a tasty lunch, I headed out uncertain of my plans. And then…

That might not look like much my friends, but it’s my shadow (and my hand, but focus on the shadow). That’s right. The sun was back out. I was feeling good, the weather was nice, the wind was at my back. Surely the miles would just fly by. And they did. I didn’t take many pictures and just kept cycling along. Every so often I’d stop and eat a power bar or drink some water. Your body is a machine that just needs fuel. You can ask it to do almost anything and, so long as you keep the fuel coming, it will.

By 10:30, I was back in Whitehorse. It was nice to return to a town that I knew. It’s a comfortable feeling that we probably won’t have again until the trip ends and we return to New England. I rolled into town, parked my bike outside a bar, and wandered in. A hot bowl of soup and a cold beer seemed the perfect way to end the day.

And now we get to the problem. In three days, I done 111, 121, and 131 miles respectively. The desire to bike 141 miles on Sunday was great, but it was overcome, thankfully, by a number of facts: 1) I didn’t have anywhere to go; 2) My legs were pretty tired; 3) I had to wait in town for Noah; 4) Biking 140 miles is a dumb idea; and 5) Did I mention my legs were tired? I ended up spending a good chunk of time in the hot tub at the Games Center and that seemed like an okay thing to do.

Noah gets back into town in a few hours. Tomorrow we’ll buy some food and then we head south. I know what the first twelve miles will be like (there’ll be a headwind), but after that we’ll be exploring new roads once again. The way it should be.

Numbers for those of you who want them/to satisfy my competitive edge:

Thursday: 111 miles, 9.5 hours riding, average speed 11.7, century time: 9h

Friday: 121 miles, 8.5 hours riding, average speed 14.2, century time: 7h 30m

Saturday: 131 miles, 8.4 hours riding, average speed 15.6, century time 6h 18m

Corrections: The wonderful couple who offered us coffee and toast in their RV were Richard and Louise, not Richard and Louisa.

Explanation 1:  There have been requests for more pictures of wildlife and I’m sorry I haven’t been able to comply.  It’s tough to take pictures while you’re rolling along.  Since we stay on the roads, we haven’t seen many critters aside from the bears and you’ll understand us not wanting to stop to photograph them.

Explanation 2:  There were a number of questions a while back about the term “standstill digger” that was used to describe a picture of mountains outside of Anchorage.  “Taking a digger” means falling over on a bicycle.  A “standstill digger” is a more embarrassing, though less painful, version of this.  The rider, in this case both Noah and I, fall over while standing still.  To our credit, it was early in the trip and we were just getting used to how heavy our bikes were.

Updates: So far we’ve raised $3756 and have another $150 in pledges. This puts us 19% of the way towards our goal. We’ve traveled 1090 miles, or 14% of our initial intended distance. We’ve seen three bears, which is three more than were desired.

We rolled into Whitehorse five days earlier than we thought we would and so we’ve spent the last few days getting to know this amazing city. The change from constant cycling to idly passing time has been pleasant. A typical day includes sleeping late, wandering into a coffee shop, swinging by the bike shop, and then heading up the hill to the gym.

Two years ago, the Canada Games were held here and the government financed a large athletic center that is open to the public at a nominal fee. There is everything from a weight room and a track to a pool with a water slide and sauna. We watched a hockey game and cooked dinner on the patio out front. Everyone here is wicked laid back. “Oh, you’re cooking in the parking lot? That’s fine.” “Oh, you’re camping out in the woods somewhere? That’s cool.” “Oh, you’re overhauling your bicycles in the middle of the sidewalk? No problem.”

We discovered Canadian Superstore, which seems to be the Wal-Mart of the food world.  Groceries were super cheap and we were amazed by overwhelming selection of Jello products.

Wednesday marked an end to the idleness, however, as Noah headed to Iowa for his brother’s wedding (congrats to Davis and Lauren) and Tim headed out on a three day tour of southeastern Alaska.  We’ll return to Whitehorse at the beginning of next week, pack up, say goodbye to a wonderful city, and continue our journey south.

We left Tok to several miles of flat riding, then into hills. A vicious headwind was blowing, forcing us to utilize a new riding style: slower and longer. We rode on into the night, finally camping by a river. Very nice. In the morning we were invited by a delightful couple, Richard and Lousia, into their mobile home for coffee and toast.

Richard regaled us with tales of his job as a former truck pusher, working to recover oil drilling equipment trucks after they fell through the ice on frozen lakes, into swamps, etc. He showed us some pictures of the most amazing wrecks we had ever seen, we petted thier dog Wilma, ate a ton of toast, then were on our way.
We rode on towards the border, still climbing through hills and skirting the lakes, finally making it out of the U.S. in the evening. The Canadian Customs house is twenty miles into Canada, and we decided to get it out of the way, despite an increasingly heavy rain. We rode the final fifteen miles on a road that amounted to a gravel pile in the middle of a swamp, getting to Customs at about 1 am, soaking wet and quite chilly. There we were welcomed into Canada generously, and invited to sleep on the floor at customs. We were wicked psyched. We spent half the night chatting with the customs woman about pepper spray and drug busts, then drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, after an awesome breakfast at Buckshot Betty’s cafe, we rode 500 feet to the laundromat, where we dried our clothes and promptly fell asleep again. Excellent. We started riding around 1:00.  This is an average time of departure for our team, we are, to some extent, kings of the late start. That didn’t seem to stop us from cranking through the day. The road was flat and the wind at our backs. We ended up biking 101 miles before pulling off to the side of the road and setting up camp. Our first century! It snuck up on us; we didn’t really plan to go that far, but by 8:30 we’d gone 85 miles and were feeling good.  In the early evening we passed our first bear,

stopped to eat a tremendous dinner of rice, beans, salmon, and sausage next to a beautiful pond,

and then rolled on into the night. At around 12:30 we passed a Brown Bear (grizzly) about 40 feet away on the road side.  We looked at each other, us at the bear, the bear at us, then went on our way.  We did not stop to take pictures.

The next morning we woke up a bit late and lazed about for a few hours. The plan was to ride 15 miles, have lunch, ride another 15, and set up camp.  This was to be our big day off.   Alas, it was not to be. Just as you cannot plan to ride 100 miles, sometimes planning 30 miles is just as difficult. We biked for two solid hours and covered the first 15 miles before calling it a day. We pulled into Destruction Bay Lodge, set up camp, and went about all the nice things that we’ve been missing: showers, laundry, cheeseburgers, etc.

Canada is great. Yukon is beautiful. It’s like Alaska’s kid brother; nobody comes here without intending to go on to Alaska, but that doesn’t bother the folks along the road. The woman at Customs was so excited to be doing her job and so excited to help us out. Buckshot Betty served us a great breakfast and laughed at us when she saw that we hadn’t made it passed the laundromat. Loren, the guy running Destruction Bay Lodge, gave us some beers and talked with us late into the night.
The pangs of regret we felt as we left Alaska have been replaced by the kindness shown to us by the people in Yukon.  It is totally beautiful, remote, wild, and empty here.  The riding has been great, life is good, and we are really starting to hit our stride. Go Yukon!

So I started to write a post a few days back, but for whatever reason I didn’t end up posting it.  All sorts of events have transpired since, so it’s probably better to start anew.  So this is what has happened over the last few days:

Healy to Fairbanks - We left Healy and cruised towards Fairbanks.  The road was flat and the wind was at our backs until we reached Nenana (rhymes with “banana”).  There’s a railroad that runs from Anchorage to Fairbanks.  This is nice because it means the road is pretty flat.  At Nenana, the railroad and the Parks Highway take two separate routes towards Fairbanks.  The railroad remains level, while the highway proceeds to go over every hill and ridge line it can find.  And so we climbed.  Up and up and up.  The sights were pleasant, but the knowledge of a level train track a few miles away was a bit infuriating.  Climbing up hills does afford some luxuries, the best of which is descending hills.  The final miles into Fairbanks zoomed by with our only concern being “What will happen if I wipe out at 35 mph with this 80 pound bike?”

In Fairbanks, we stayed with the Swensons.  They allowed us to stay in their RV.  It was like having a very comfortable clubhouse to hang out in.  A number of items (tires, jerseys, handlebar bags, etc.) did not arrive in Putney before we left.  No problem, we thought, we’ll have them shipped to Alaska and pick them up when we roll through Fairbanks.  We arrived in town with the intention of taking a day off, putting new tires on our bikes, resting up, and then setting off towards Whitehorse.  It was not to be.  We ended up waiting three days for them to come, during which the Swenson’s showed us unending kindness and warmth.  On Wednesday afternoon, the UPS truck arrived like a vehicle descending from the clouds and gave us our tires and handlebar bags.  We tore our bike apart, began to assemble things, and then…

Our Trio’s Down to Two - Sam decided to call it a day and head home.  As he put it, “I don’t really like biking and I don’t really like camping.”  It was unfortunate and Noah and I were sad to see him go.  We wish him the best.

Disaster Strikes - Sam was a stablizing force in our group.  He was the one to say “We need to stop” or “Let’s eat dinner” or “I think it’s a really bad idea to bike through the night with no clue as to how far you intend to go or when you plan on stopping to camp.”  WIthout Sam to keep Noah and me to a sane schedule, I’m a little afraid about what we’ll end up doing.

8:00 pm Departure - Never two to put off a bad idea, after dropping Sam at the airport, Noah and I decided to bike through the night with no clue as to how far we intended to go or when we planned to stop to camp.  We headed out of Fairbanks, through North Pole, past various military bases and east into the night.  The sun went down (so much as we could tell) around 11:30.  It was still light at 12:30 when we pulled off into a parking lot and ate a tasty dinner of uncooked baked beans and pop-tarts.  We spent the night next to a lovely, stagnant stream and surrounded by thousands of bugs.

The next day we discovered the bane of bicyclists.  More than rain or extreme temperatures or vicious dogs, biking into a headwind makes you want to pull over and cry.  You’re trying as hard as you can, but 10 or 12 mph is all you can manage.  It was a frustrating day.  We covered 45 miles and pulled over for a nap and dinner.  Biking at night (or “night”) is going to be our strategy for the next week or so.  It’s never really that dark, there are fewer cars, and the wind dies down a bit.

Denali and the entire Alaska Range came out to bid us fairwell as we left Fairbanks and they were out for the following days as well.  The mountains are huge and the surrounding lands are flatl, so you can see them for a while.

As we roll on, I’m not sure how this will all turn out.  Neither Noah nor I speak Spanish, so Central America just got a lot trickier.  On the other hand, though there have been no bear attacks on groups of three people, there have certainly been attacks on groups of two people.  Perhaps we won’t have to worry about Central America after all.

Here are some pictures from the past few days.  Enjoy.

We spent the last three days biking up from Wasilla to Denali State Park, across Broad Pass, and then down out of the park to Healy. We had fantastic weather, with the sun shining down. We had one thunderstorm, which after about half an hour gave way to another six hours of glorious light.
The road through Denali goes past several view points. First, the south view point.

Then, the north view point (we camped here.)

It continues to roll and climb, past stunning mountains…

then into Broad Pass, a 20 mile stretch of high mountain valley, surrounded by peaks, rivers, and scrub brush. This pass was easily one of the most beautiful places any of us had ever been to. (Other then Vermont, of course!)

We have a sweet video of it , but we can’t seem to upload it right now, so y’all will just have to wait. Here is a consolation photo of Noah and Sam lazing on the ground at one of our regular ten mile breaks. Enjoy!

We then descended through mountain valleys to the Denali Park center, then on into Healy. It was nice to end with a ride downhill!

We have had several minor breakdowns, a bunch of flats, some sore muscles, and a lot of extra fiber in our diets, but all in all it has been fantastic so far. Its funny to start something like this, saying, “we’ve ridden 5 days, 283 miles, but we haven’t even really started.” I wonder when it will feel like we have actually made a dent in the trip. So far we have felt relaxed, confident, and consistant. The last week was epic, who can say what the next week will bring?

Tim and Noah Visit Alaska’s Biggest Coal Mine on Their First Day Off Today, Tim and Noah (Sam opting of sleeping on the couch) toured the Usabelli Coal Mine, a large hillside mining operation (1.5 million tons per year) here in the town of Healy, Alaska. We biked in a stiff wind and drizzle to the gate, where we were met by Vince, a young 20 year old fourth-generation Healy miner. He was very friendly. In fact, everyone we met at the mine was very friendly. Vince showed us the Lab, where all the testing for content of the coal (sulfer, btu’s, other scientific stuff) takes place. Then we saw the shop, which was awesome. Here is Noah, with a large loader that someone rolled on its side, requiring the shipment of a new motor, straight shot on a truck, from Louisiana. Cost of repair, not counting labor, $450,000. Yee haw! (it also didnt sound like they fired the guy, Nico, this could be the place for you.) Here is the Drag Line, which is one of only 5 in the world. The boom is 320 ft long, and the bucket holds 42 cubic yards, or about 3 dump trucks. They replace the chains once a week. Here is a big dump truck. The Usabelli Coal Company ships lots of coal to Chile, and also provides all of the coal for interior Alaska. We don’t think that they get very many visitors. These are the nice people, Greta, Laurent, and Florian, with whom we are staying. Once again, we have been astounded with the incredible hospitality and generosity that has been shown us. We just can’t thank them enough.