June 5th, 2007
Fairbanks, Alaska
GPS: 
Distance Traveled: 

Once again, of course, we are off to a really late start.  I got really mad at Justin this morning because he took so long to get ready.  In retaliation, he's been hanging back, going way below the speed limit, and forcing all of us to ride slow.  Especially me.  

Finally, just as furiously angry as I can remember being in a very long time, I pulled over and waved him down.  Of course, he pulls over several football fields behind me.  I stomped over, giving him pieces of my mind way before I got into earshot.  He just sat there, looking smug.  I yelled at him, at length, and he just sat there, looking straight ahead, not acknowledging my irritation.  Finally, in a desperate attempt to get his attention, I grabbed his keys and feigned throwing them into the ditch.  He just looked at me and said, “Better get looking.”

I fumed impotently for a few minutes more, then handed his keys over.  Immediately after getting back on the highway, I felt like the total ass I'd been, and apologized at the next gas stop.  It's been such a long and tiring journey, and I don't think many families could have come through such a trek as we have and remain on civil terms – at all.  Ever.  I'm blessed with a family such as mine.

We'd heard from several bikerse that it'd be a good idea to make reservations in Fairbanks, so Dad spent some time with a tourist travel guide and a pay phone, trying to get through to someone with rooms.  We had some luck with a placed called AAAA Bed &amp; Breakfast, and booked it.

I can't believe the conditions of the roads – we've been spoiled, so far, especially in Colombia – the road named 'The Alaska Highway' should be called something more accurately descriptive – more like 'The Frost Heave Highway'.  At times it seemed like we were riding over the Beanstalk Giant's washboard.

In addition to the endless frozen waves of frost heaves, construction was rampant in the Yukon.  Seems like it'll be good practice for the Dalton Highway.  I, for one, am becoming much more comfortable riding at speed on wet gravel.  

Amazingly, even though Dad had lost his passport shortly after passing into the USA, we had no problems with the border crossing... except if you count the fact that we immediately got stuck behind two back-to-back highway patrols.  Fifty-five miles an hour sure feels slow after all the expressway we've been riding across North America.

We hit a very deserted, flat, straight stretch of road shortly after entering Alaska.  Bored, and with nothing on the road as far as the eye could see, Justin decided it would be a good time to start practicing wheelies on his motorcycle.  Apparently quite proficient at these, he started looking for a more challenging trick – I learned what an 'IronMan' is.  

Justin would shift his feet up to his seat, and then after setting his throttle lock (he and Dad were the only ones to have these – by the time we'd finally been able to put our throttle locks on  - Mexico – I didn't need it anymore) he would grasp the mirrors in his hands and slowly straighten up.  Once erect, he would let go of his mirrors!! and extend his hands to make a cruciform shape with his body.  It was probably the most impressive stunt i'd ever seen in real life.  Of course, I failed to take a picture of it the first two times he attempted the trick, and after a shouted discussion down the highway, I readied my camera and managed to snap a pretty good shot of him performing his stunt.

I tried, but I couldn't even do one wheelie.

Turns out that even with the late start, plus a timezone change, we'd made some pretty good time, and rolled into Fairbanks at 9pm local.  Dad had actually come through, too, with the reservations and our B&amp;B was pretty snazzy – 18 bedrooms and a massive deck out the back that just begged for some feet-kicking-up and beers to while away the midnight sun.

We met a father &amp; son duo who had just come back from Deadhorse, at the end of the Dalton highway.  Rob and I chatted them up, talking about their trip.  Apparently they'd done it during some freezing rain, and their stories of slick mud and ice forming on their visors chilled my blood.  The anticipation of the Dalton Highway surely can't be as bad as the actualy experience, right?

After speaking at length about the distance they'd come on their bikes, Alex (the son) eventually got around to asking where we'd started our ride.  Rob says, simply, 'Argentina'.  Justin turns to dad (they were eavesdropping from the upper deck) and says, 'Trumped'.

We're almost at the end of our trip.  I'm anticipating the worst, and having trouble sleeping because of it – well, that, and the fact that it's still bright outside at one in the morning.

Ryan Noble,
Fairbanks, Alaska