May 29th – Day 1 – Escape From Prudhoe Bay – 60 Miles – 1,000’ Elevation Gain
The day started like any of the other approximately 750 days I spent working on the North Slope of Alaska. I got up at about 5 AM and had breakfast. Unlike those other days though inside my chest and head buzzed a suppressed excitement and jubilation. The day had finally arrived, the day for me to exit Prudhoe Bay for good. 8 hectic hours of work and preparation later I stopped my bike at a familiar turnoff and looked out over a frozen Lake Colleen and then down the frozen gravel of the Dalton Highway. My head was a mess. That excitement and jubilation of leaving vied for my attention against my nervousness and trepidation at the journey to come. For a moment I stood, mind running overclocked trying to process it all and then I shut it down. I couldn’t make the trip with my mind going like that. Thoughts of leaving were sent to the back and I focused in on the unknown ahead and the known. 860 miles, 40,000’ elevation gain and a plan to do it in 8 days. I set off.
Snow, wind, and muddy gravel conspired to make this first day rather testing. I wore every article of clothing I had leaving Deadhorse, including the fleece gators and shoe covers I’d made from an old jacket the week before. The temperature for most of that first day stayed around 20 degrees or so yet due to the salt on the road and the 20mph wind blowing snow over it, biking conditions where difficult. At times I plodded my way through 3 inches of slush and at others the spray coming from my tires froze solid onto my drivetrain and frame. This forced me to stop often to chip away the ice so my tires could at least spin. Both my derailleurs froze up solid so shifting was out of the question.
Some ways out of Deadhorse I ran into a man, who goes by the name of Cargo, he was coming to the end of his hike from Ushuaia to Deadhorse. I’d suggest reading his story if you’re not familiar with it.
Difficult conditions aside I was at least fresh and so I persisted to the Last Chance Wayside, arriving at about 11:00 PM. When cycling across the desolate tundra of the north it doesn’t take much to create a positive place to camp. Having an outhouse and a bear proof trashcan to put my food in seemed luxurious. Being my first night on the road I worked my way through my system of setting up camp, and then made a small dinner in the outhouse to escape the wind. I felt pretty worked and tired from the day of pedaling despite only doing 60 miles. Worst of all I noticed some amount of tenderness in my knees. I stayed mostly positive as I laid down to sleep but I couldn’t help but allow some amount of fear at the days to come color my thoughts. How could I average 100 miles a day for the next 7 days if 60 miles already had me starting to feel so worked? Such where my thoughts as I fell asleep.
May 30th – Day 2 – Close Encounters and Growing Fears – 86 Miles – 4,500’ Elevation Gain
I woke slowly. My eyes remained tired, refusing to acknowledge the need to move. The skin on my face was tight and coarse. The muscles of my legs and the tendons and ligaments of my knees reminded me of the mileage covered the day before. In my head I knew that as long as I remained in my sleeping bag it would all seem worse than it was. But still the fear and worry of the night before was there. And it worried me more for the fact that it had lasted the night. Fortunately the way forward was simple. Get up, and pedal the bike. At this point the worries and the pains where small enough that I didn’t consider altering my self-imposed schedule. I had to make it to Toolik Field Station that day, and preferably by dinner time. So, somewhat groggily, I broke camp and clipped into the pedals for the day.
One of the things about pedaling on a road, even a rough gravel road, is that you can kind of do it half asleep. So it came as quite a surprise to me when about half an hour after leaving camp I startled a grizzly that I never even saw until I was about 15 feet away from it. I scared him, he scared me and we each went in opposite directions. I put my hand on my bear spray and kept my eyes on him. He ran with brief glances over his shoulder a short distance and then stopped. Still only 40 feet away from me he stood to his hind legs revealing a substantial height and an imposing character. I was impressed. Then he huffed and walked towards me and for a brief moment I thought I was about to enter a race; me with the advantages of wheels and gears and a can of bear spray, him with the advantage of being a grizzly bear. I didn’t fancy my odds. Fortunately he lost interest and turned around to run the other way, and my adrenaline fueled legs found my lowest gear and motivation to cover some ground.
It was my first real day in the saddle and I was curious to see how it would go. I quickly realized that training miles on pavement do not directly relate to trip miles on gravel, but that miles on gravel do directly relate to pain in one’s body. And so it was that fresh experience crafted my new reality. The day passed marked by clouds of dust from the passing semis, and different body parts beginning to hurt. My motivation for a hot meal not of my own making proved to be powerful enough to draw me forward, to Toolik Field Station. I am fortunate in that I had some connections at the private field station and so I was able to arrange beforehand to stop in for some food and water. The push to Toolik provided me with a hot meal and fresh water but it also provided me with angry knees, angry wrists, an angry shoulder, and reaffirmed worries and fears. 14 miles after I left Toolik behind I pulled into a campsite and painfully went about setting camp up. Once I found myself safely ensconced in my sleeping bag I reached for my small med kit I was carrying and sorted through it to find some salvation; that is, ibuprofen. After one time through it without results my worries where multiplied. After the second time through it I was on the verge of panic. I dumped the contents out on the floor of the tent and picked through them one by one but to no avail. Somehow in my extensive packing lists I had neglected to make sure I had ibuprofen, and was now faced with multiple severely inflamed joints and nothing to help the swelling go down. During the last part of the day I had rationalized that with Ibuprofen, I would be able to keep my rapidly growing pains at bay, and allow the inflammation to go down enough to allow them to recover. I knew the only way to make my goal for the next day was to find some healing overnight. Instead I found myself attempting to go to sleep with nothing to provide relief. This night the fears that had been at the back of my brain the night before took center stage and rather than wondering what the next day would bring, I simply feared it.
May 31st – Day 3 – Breakdown of the Body – 67 Miles – 3,000’ Elevation Gain
To say that I awoke would be to imply that I slept; a marginally true statement at best. Each passing semi brought me to full consciousness and in the long lapses between vehicles my body refused to let me sleep soundly. Indeed the condition of my body seemed to deteriorate overnight. The six hours I spent falling in and out of wakefulness but never fully being asleep proved (not surprisingly) a non-effective way to recover and it took me an hour and half that morning to simply pack up camp. When I did eventually clamber on to my bike I couldn’t help but chuckle. Over 600 miles to go and me already feeling so worked over. I shook my head and slowly started to pedal. Part of me hoped that the movement would loosen things up eventually and make me feel a bit sounder of body.
But it did not. The first ten miles of the day took me close to two hours and my mind started running through various bailout options. Both of my knees had sharp internal pains that flared with each rotation, my shoulders would ache with an acute pain if I spent too long bent over the bars, and if I gripped the bars with a closed fist then my hands and wrists would start to cramp, and my palms where bruised from the rattling of the bike. I have known physical suffering before and it’s never debilitated me like that. Part of me looking back still thinks “it couldn’t have been that bad.” But then I watch the videos I took of myself and I fully remember, it was that bad. To add to my problems the road was a mix of incredibly loose gravel at times, and large rocks held in place with tacky clay at others. Difficult conditions for my bike.
However, pride is a powerful motivator and when I found myself some 25 miles later at the base of Atigun Pass I simply took a short break and then started the climb up. With a little bit of walking thrown in I eventually found myself at the top. Elation surged in my chest even as my deteriorating legs pushed my bike up to the pullout at the top of the pass. Atigun was the first significant obstacle of the trip I was thinking about and having it now behind me provided a huge mental boost. Knowing it was nearly entirely downhill and flat from there to Coldfoot provided another, and that was enough to keep me going. It was slow, but I kept going. There was no part of this day that I found pleasant but from the top of Atigun for about 25 miles forward, it was tolerable. I kept having to stop and clean my drivetrain of mud but the frequent breaks seemed to help out to some degree. Nevertheless the pains persisted and by about mile 55 I could no longer grip my handlebars and every hill over about a 2% gradient required me to walk my bike. I would try to take breaks but at this point I simply couldn’t find a posture that provided relief for my body and so I found it better to simply keep the bike rolling.
Still I resisted admitting defeat. In my head I knew that I couldn’t do another day like that though and so I began making plans to rest the next day. Unfortunately this meant I was giving up on my goal of reaching Anchorage in eight days but realistically I was just trying to figure out how I was going to complete the ride. My attitude of sticking to my goal was no longer tenable. With the aid of some miracle pavement at the end of the day I found myself at my consolation goa, a rest area with camping spots and an outhouse. Wearily and in great pain I went about setting up camp.
Later that evening I found myself in the same position as the night before. I simply couldn’t sleep with my body in that much pain. And if I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t recover. So I got up, intending to soak my knees and wrists in the waters of the river I was camped next to in hopes of getting the swelling to go down. But first I needed to go ask that pesky trucker in the pullout if he’d shut his generator off. Wait though, what if that trucker had some kind of anti-inflammatories with him? Would he give me some if I asked? Embarrassed at my predicament and situation, but hopeful for some relief I approached the cab of the truck as the clock ticked over past midnight and in to a new day.
June 1st – Day 4 – Relief – 90 Miles – 3,800’ Elevation Gain
As I reached my hand towards the proffered handful of pills I think I may have felt some small semblance of what the addict feels. As she poured the small red pills into my hands I was not accepting drugs, I was accepting relief from my reality. There was no way to express how much that handful of Ibuprofen from a stranger meant to me so I merely thanked her as sincerely as I could and walked away. She even shut off the generator without a word of complaint. Though I still didn’t know how effective it would be, this would prove to be a turning point in the trip. After soaking my knees in the icy Koyukuk river I returned to my tent, at first nervous of what I would discover, but then only relieved to find the blissful embrace of a deep sleep.
In the morning when I woke up I hesitated to move, worried at what my body might say. Slowly I drew my legs towards my chest, bending at the knees and the hips. There was tightness and there was pain, but at a tiny fraction of the amount that had been present a mere seven hours earlier when I had gone to sleep. Smiling to myself, I rolled over and drifted off into a lazy surreal morning of sunshine, extra food, and moving slow. I would listen to my body now, and go at the pace it dictated. Two hours later I rolled out of camp onto the incredibly nice pavement that comprises this section of the haul road, and lazily biked a short 30 miles through rain and sun into Coldfoot Camp.
There I gorged myself, both on food, and emotional support from a loved one via a calling card and a public phone. I was also able to purchase a butane canister so as to retire my inefficient Sterno stove that I had fashioned from scrap metal before leaving Deadhorse. Before leaving I gave my bike a thorough mechanical check. As I pedaled away having spent nearly two hours there I felt actually good for the first time that trip. My mind was moving slow, not frantic like the first few days. My body was sore, but we had established a dialogue now, I was listening. Things felt right. And I finally felt comfortable.
Six hours later as I pulled into my planned on campsite for the night I felt my body unwilling to stop moving. My pace was sustainable; I had found a groove and was loathe to stop. Weighing my options I decided to press on. I had no discomfort about the decision, it felt right. Though I biked late that night I knew I was moving at a sustainable pace and when I finally did pull into a camp site I actually enjoyed my dinner as I ate it, rather than feeling it was a chore I must do before I could sleep. I left my tent fly open that night, and watched rabbits nibble at the trees and grass nearby as I once again soundlessly embraced sleep.
June 2nd – Day 5 – Finding Hills – 105 Miles – 10,000’ Elevation Gain
I woke up suddenly, my eyes snapping open but my body staying still and tense. Next to my bike I heard my cookware being knocked over. Slowly and as quietly as possible I drew my hand out of my sleeping bag and reached for the bear spray next to my head. Spray in hand I rolled slowly to the side and peered out the still open rain fly to find a gigantic rabbit nibbling at the lid of my pot. A grin sprung to my face and I lay back on my mat, adrenaline still coursing through my body. I shook my head and laughed, who knew rabbits could so effectively emulate the sounds you’d expect a bear to make. Since it was still rather earlier I dozed for a few more moments.
Breakfast went down easy that morning and I found myself anxious and excited to get out of camp. Partially because I didn’t have enough water to properly hydrate but mostly because I was curious to see how much ground I would be able to cover that day. My right knee was hurting but it was pretty sustainable and I didn’t think I was biking hard enough to make it worse. So with the rabbits still watching on I rolled down the short gravel road from the campsite back to the highway and started back south.
Almost immediately after I started out the Dalton slapped me in the face with a hill I would have struggled to climb on my mountain bike. It was so steep I had to perform switchbacks across the whole width of the road to keep pedaling, and it just went on and on, ever up, never relenting. Once I finally made it to the top I stopped for a minute staring out over the new scenery while I had a snack. Gauging what I had just climbed versus what I was now looking at biking I decided it was worth it. The road spilled out away from me in to the distance at first down and down over several miles and then slowly climbing back up towards another high point many miles off in the distance. It looked like ideal cycling terrain. I zipped up my jacket and started into the downhill.
The next 55 miles passed quickly, bringing with it copious amounts of hills and a rapidly changing landscape. At the end of it I pulled into the Yukon River Camp just in time to watch a busload of tourists go in in front of me to order food. I decided I was ok with that as I could use the extended break. I stayed for only an hour and a half but it was long enough that the lady who had stopped the day before to ask if I needed anything only to realize she had nothing to offer happened in the door. She offered me some zip lock bags full of carrots. I accepted with a grin and a laugh, and when she left I was surely in love with her.
Shortly after I’d gotten over my heartbreak at her departure I left as well, to face a new heartbreak that felt slightly more substantial. More hills. After crossing the Yukon River the road seems to climb without relenting for mile after mile. Being fresh out of a long break I felt that the climb should be easy but it wasn’t, and neither was the next. The road at this point is basically a roller coaster. Never flat, only up and down. The downs are brief however, and though they are fast, they are an inefficient use of the elevation loss. I had read tales of bike tourers crying in frustration during this section and I won’t lie, memories of such tales fueled my legs up several of the harder climbs.
Despite the difficulty of the terrain I decided to push to a goal of 100 miles for the day; which got pretty painful towards the end. Perhaps I should have picked a less hilly day to do my first century. But it worked out. I didn’t camp till late that night, and I struggled to find a good spot to camp. I ended up choosing a large raised semi-flat spot a mere 20’ off the road. It was less than ideal but I was tired. I went to bed more nervous about bears than usual due to the bear baiting sign I’d sign a mere half a mile back up the road. As it turns out though, I was too tired to care as I fell asleep pretty rapidly.
June 3rd – Day 6 – One Last Push to Comfort – 89 Miles – 7,500’ Elevation Gain
Part of the reason I had pushed so hard the day before was so that I could put myself within striking distance of Fairbanks on this day. Of course though, pushing so hard tired me out substantially and so I didn’t want to get up early. But the call of the comforts of the city was enough to get me out of bed by 7:30 or so. I felt pretty rough that morning. My eyes where heavy and my lower lip felt sunburnt. My hair was starting to mat together and my skin was grimy. In addition my close proximity to the road with no barrier for noise had made for a fitful night of sleep. As I packed up camp under the eyes of passing drivers I realized how little thought I was sparing for them, and for how I must look to them. The thought made me chuckle.
Half an hour later I was once again, pedaling south. It wasn’t long before I pulled into the pullout in front of the “Welcome to the Dalton Highway” sign. The place was an animal house. There where at least three vans with all the passengers unloaded and a whole group of motorcyclists getting ready to head out as well. Fortunately the motorcyclists passed by me as I entered the pullout and many of the tourists where loading back into the vans. As I passed by the remaining tourists standing about they cast short looks in my direction, trying hard not to show their interest. However, my ears caught whispered words, my standout favorites among them being crazy, idiotic, and dumb. The lack of originality and banality of the insults combined with the way they avoided looking at me directly was highly entertaining. In that moment these people might as well have been a different species. A large smile spread across my face and I couldn’t shake it. I moved to the side and prepared to wait for the line of picture takers in front of the sign to leave.
One man approached me from the support vehicle for the motorcyclists and asked me some questions. Where did you come from, how long did it take, how the road was etc… Then he offered to take my picture in front of the sign. I gladly accepted the offer and he said ok but lets do it fast so I can catch up with my group of motorcyclists. I looked at the line of tourists still waiting to get in front of the sign and then as soon as the current people moved out and before the next group moved in I just walked in and leaned my bike up against the sign. I looked at the next group in line and give them a smile with an easy worded apology, and then posed on the other side of the sign. They looked unhappy and their unhappiness added to my happiness causing the smile on my face for the picture to feel even more than genuine. It was joy and amusement and relief all joined together. After the pictures I walked back over with my bike to collect my camera from the helpful man and he pulled out his cell phone to take a selfie with me. I am not sure if he was simply trying to make a joke or if he had overhead the conversations among the tourists questioning my sanity, but right before he took the picture he looked at them all very deliberately and said, “THIS is a real man.” Then he laughed and leaned in and took the picture. I laughed with him and thanked him before he jumped in his truck and headed up the Dalton to catch up with his tour group.
I pedaled away thinking about what a bizarre experience that was. A short time later I stopped to take a few more photos at the stickered version of the Dalton Highway sign and its official start and then I began pedaling the Elliot Highway. This stretch of the journey did not go quickly, at least not in the passing of time in my mind. But I had such a powerful compulsion in the promise of a shower and warm soft bed that I managed to cover the miles fairly fast. They did not pass without effort though. I went through a thunderstorm on the way and got to really test out how waterproof my gear was, but that was better than biking through the literal clouds of pollen. It’s like a dust storm, but worse. I made it into Fairbanks in fairly good time; I actually arrived at my brother and sister in laws place shortly before 9 in the evening. This was a sharp contrast to the past nights where I usually rode until 11:00 or later. Upon arrival I was told that I smelled bad. I agreed. Later that evening we went for a drive and I marveled at the speed with which we covered ground. Still later the comforts of the city led me to realize how bad of shape my body was in and I decided to rest the next day. With that relief I was able to binge on a constituent of our modern diet that I’d been denied these last five days, the internet till late in the night when I finally fell asleep.
June 4th – Day 7 – Rest
I awoke slowly again, wondering at my surroundings. The bed was warm and soft and it didn’t really seem realistic. I should have been in my sleeping bag in my tent listening to semis go by. But I didn’t have to do that today. I didn’t have to pedal. I was going to rest. And rest I did. I had some vague plans to try to visit some people but I ended up hanging out with my brother and doing nothing all day; thus only having the picture of the cat.
The preceding six days from Prudhoe Bay to Fairbanks where some of the most challenging physical and mental days I have ever had. When I made it to my brothers place the day before I cried from seeing familiar faces and because it meant that the hardest part of the ride was now behind me. I struggled with posting any of this really because as far as rides go, it’s nothing even very impressive. But it was hard for me. And it meant a lot to me, so in the end I decided I would go ahead and post the whole story. I hope I’ve been being honest with this. I hope my mind hasn’t mixed and jumbled all the details together and made this retelling an event of fiction. But I have words that I wrote on the trip and video journals as well to help remind me of what it was really like.
My main coping mechanism in life is humor, which can be incredibly helpful on a trip like this, especially running solo as I was. If things suck I just tend to laugh about how bad they suck, which generally leads to being able to keep a positive attitude. But I lost that on this trip. There where long stretches where I never smiled and just generally had a bad time, which is not ideal. I don’t usually lose control of my emotions and my body like that and I never expected this ride would be hard enough to force me into that, but it did. Going forward I decided training harder was a necessity.
As the day of rest and relaxation and of copious amounts of food drew to an end I thought forward to the miles left to cover between me and my home. 360 miles to go and I had no idea how long it was going to take me. I felt pretty decent though and figured since it was all pavement that I could do it pretty quickly. So late in the evening I finished packing all my stuff back up making sure not to leave anything behind. As I loaded bags back onto my bike I marveled at the simplicity of it, and at its immense ability and durability. To be able to cover such a distance in such a small time frame and to come out from it unscathed is pretty impressive. Especially for a decade old budget bike from REI that I got for a few hundred dollars on Craigslist. I think sometimes riders can get pretty frustrated with their bikes, but this steel frame has been kind to me, and I love it. When I finished loading my bags back on it I shut the light off in the garage and walked up to my borrowed room to go to sleep. I felt a little nervous as I lay back down. My body was still hurting, my knees and my shoulders mainly, but I felt like I was good enough to maybe hold to my original goal, three days from Fairbanks to Anchorage. So with mileage’s running through my head I went to sleep, mentally preparing for the miles to come.
June 5th – Day 8 – Just Keep Spinning the Pedals – 140 Miles – 7,000’ Elevation Gain
Mornings are much easier when you have a full kitchen and house to work in so I was able to get on the road by 8:00 in the morning. The first order of business was to pedal across Fairbanks and get to the start of the Parks Highway. Fairbanks is fairly biker friendly so this task was not too difficult. It was odd though to be biking through the city and having to pee but for the first time on the trip I wasn’t able to just pull over anywhere I wanted to relieve myself. The things we take for granted.
I was feeling really fresh when I made it to the start of the Parks and my computer showed that I was keeping a pretty good pace. It was sunny out, my legs felt fresh, and most of my pains had receded beyond the point where they really mattered to me. I felt strong. There are some big hills outta Fairbanks and I cruised them, occasionally aided by the massive gusts of wind generated by passing tour buses. At the top of one of the hills and after a not insignificant amount of elevation gain on the day I stopped to see who had tried to call me while I was climbing. It was a call from my parents and so I went ahead and returned it. It was nothing terribly important, but as I was talking to my dad and feeling good about my strong climbing performance so far I described to him the hills I had just come up. When I finished describing the climbs he responded with something that has kind of become a bit of a mantra for me on cycling missions. “Well, it’s just biking. You just spin the pedals fast, or spin the pedals slowly and keep going forward.” I chuckled to myself when he said it because when you’re out there for hundreds of miles at a time, especially coming down the Dalton it sure doesn’t feel like “just spinning the pedals.” But the more I thought about it the more it hit home that I was indeed, just spinning pedals. The words stuck in my head all day and spin the pedals I did. I stopped in Nenana for a quick bite to eat from a gas station and then kept pedaling for a long ways. I had a fantastic tail wind during this segment and the road is mostly flat for a while after you get out of the hills between Fairbanks and Nenana. I found myself being able to sustain a pace of 20-25 mph across the flats and my good feelings continued. Early in the day (at least for my recent schedule) I passed the 100 mile mark and just kept pedaling. Some distant rain clouds put a slight damper on my spirit but it was hard to keep me down when the distance was disappearing so rapidly. The only thing I stopped for was to refill my water bottles. Late in the evening I made it to Healy and stopped for a burger at the 49th State Brewing Co. It was so nice to be able to stop and have someone else cook food for me rather than being solely responsible for my nutrition. After dinner I continued down the road planning to take the first good campsite. The thing is though, when you’re feeling good, spinning the pedals and watching the mileage go by is addicting. So it was that I found myself pedaling late in into the night, not stopping until nearly midnight to set up camp just on the powerline, a mere 50’ from the road. It was nice not having to make dinner; I merely set up my sleeping kit and passed out. Before I went to sleep though I tallied the mile posts past and the distance across Fairbanks and felt truly happy about my progress. I had a tail wind for part of the day and it was all on pavement but still, that 140 miles left me feeling pretty satisfied. My last thought before falling asleep was that I’d probably have to pay for that tailwind at some point…
June 6th – Day 9 -The Wind – 120 Miles – 2,500’ Elevation Gain
Rough, again. I woke up rough this morning. Had a hard time waking up my eyes, had a hard time warming up my body, and had a hard time getting on the bike to pedal. It was a dreary morning and I felt slow when I finally did start to cover some miles. In the picture I took of myself that morning I look as though I’ve aged a decade. But still, there’s nothing to be gained by sitting in camp, and everything to be gained by pushing on. A few hours later I pulled into the town of Cantwell still feeling incredibly rough and so I stopped for coffee and pies at JP’s Coffee House. I ended up staying for an hour and a half, it was downright pleasant. Again though, pushing and all that.
When I got back on the road and started pushing through the pass I was greeted by the same head wind I’d had all morning. It was an inexorable force that would prove to remain the same nearly the entire day. It made for slow and tough going. Consequently I also rarely stopped to take photos, as you’ll notice there are not very many from today. The highlight of the day was probably passing several other bike tourers that I stopped to talk to for a while.
When 6:00 PM rolled around and I had only covered 70 miles I found myself quite over it all. I was still biking into the same headwind, still going slowly, and to reach my goal for the day I had to do 50 more miles. Exasperated, I had no idea how I was going to do that. It was so tough to make forward progress this day. Every pedal stroke was a grind. This was in stark comparison to the day before where by this point in the day I had covered nearly 100 miles almost effortlessly. The scenery was bland, the mountains covered by clouds and nothing but the same forest of aspen and cottonwoods and pine trees lining the road. I was bored, tired, and didn’t want to keep pushing. So I decided I’d stop and make dinner early before continuing on. I needed a break for my body yes, but mostly it was a break for my mind. I found a nice rest area fortunately shortly thereafter and set about making dinner. While it cooked and as I ate it, I pulled out my kindle and read for a while. Despite dumping a full water bottle down the front of my shirt I emerged from that break feeling incredibly recharged, and to my immense joy I found when I returned to the road that the wind had mercifully died down. As I set to spinning the cranks once more, I felt energetic for the first time in the day, despite the late hour. This energy would serve to be enough to push me forward to a campsite on the Susitna River, just outside of the junction town on the Talkeetna Road cutoff. As soon as I pulled into camp the swarms of mosquitoes descended and I was glad that I was already wearing my rain pants. This would prove to be one of the most comfortable camp sites of the trip. My tent was set atop a bed of fallen leaves and sand which proved so comfortable I almost didn’t take the time to inflate my sleeping pad. Having cell service I was able to check the weather forecast and saw that it was good so I left the rainfly off. After the hard day I listened to some music as I drifted off to a deep sleep, thinking about the final push to start in a few hours.
June 7th – Day 10 – One Final Push – 115 Miles – 2,000’ Elevation Gain
The final day began as all the others had. A bleary eyed talk to the camera on my phone followed by breaking camp and a snack and then saddling up onto my bike. Except this day I started the pedaling with the thought that if nothing went wrong today, then I wouldn’t have to do it all again tomorrow. It was an odd thought, and one I didn’t have too much trouble not focusing on as I still had over 100 miles left to get home. I had breakfast that morning at the Talkeetna road junction. Between a gas station stop and a coffee stand stop I think I ate about 1500 calories of fuel in around about an hour or so. A double shot of espresso helped line me out as well and I got to pedaling in earnest.
To tell you the truth I don’t remember anything about the ride from there into the Big Lake area. I don’t think I really stopped at all because I have zero photos or videos from between when I woke up and when I got into Wasilla. But I do know that in Big Lake I stopped to visit a couple of friends of mine. I had to take a short approximately 2 mile detour to go see them but it was well worth the time and effort. It was a nice day out but very hot and having a break for a delicious lunch and a beer was amazing. After a short visit though I was thinking about the many miles I still had left to cross to get to Anchorage so I made my goodbyes and went back to my pedaling. Being in a populated area at this point with infrastructure I was faced with the dilemma of pedaling on the road or on bike paths and sidewalks. The road is nice because it is generally a smoother and less broken down surface, and also has fewer hills. Sidewalks and bike paths are nicer because you’re not quite as constantly worried about being run over. It was a tossup for the most part and I spent equal amount of time on both. That is, until I got to Wasilla proper, at which point I avoided the road as much as possible.
Unfortunately at some point you have to get on it so with much reluctance, near MatSu Regional Medical Center I left the quiet side roads and bike paths to embark on what I think was the most dangerous part of the ride. It’s only about 16 miles that you have to do on the Glenn Highway between Wasilla and Anchorage but it feels like a lot more. A dirty shoulder and several tight bridge crossings put you a lot closer to traffic than you’d like to be. Add in the rather brutal headwind I had through this area and all I could do was soldier on with my head down trying to get through it as fast as possible. Reaching Peters Creek I took the first exit I could that allowed me to get off the highway. From there it’s all side streets and bike paths back to home. It should have been easy but I’d been pushing hard and was starting to feel tired. This tiredness combined with the surrealism of arriving in Anchorage via bicycle having left from Prudhoe Bay put me in a weird head space. About halfway between Anchorage and Eagle River things started to get really weird. But as I pedaled up the final hill to my home in Anchorage, and then pedaled right up to my front door my mind really went blank. I took a short video but then I set my bike up against the wall of the garage and simply sat down against it for a while. I knew once I opened the front door the journey would be for real over. So I sat and savored the last few moments of it; the last few moments before I had to start unpacking and cleaning everything, before I had to start making new plans for future adventures and responsibilities. I wanted to savor the last few moments where all I had to do was try hard. Trying hard is hard. But it’s a beautiful thing to accomplish that which you weren’t sure you could do. I didn’t make my goal for this trip but I feel like I gave it my all, and pushed harder than I ever had before. Finishing it expanded my boundaries, not only in terms of pure cycling, but also in regards to how I understand myself, and my brain, and the way that whole mess of neurons and particles works. At the end of it, I felt I knew myself better, and though (because) I pushed it harder than it was comfortable with, I knew my body better as well. Having processed all of this while sitting next to my bike for about five minutes I finally stood up to open the door. As I keyed in the lock code and turned the handle I felt that final reward begin to seep through my body. Satisfaction.
