Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

Gosh, it's the end of July already... Although it seems like more than 2 weeks since I left home...

Jim was up very early this morning, around 5am, as he and Mac want to get off early ahead of the construction workers. The rest of us are not so early, and a departure between 8 and 8.30am seems eminently more sensible. So I turned over and went back to sleep. With no Internet access at Coldfoot, there is no incentive for me to get up and start tapping away writing this drivel, so I snoozed until around 6.30am and then went in search of breakfast. Unlike most other meals so far on the trip, breakfast is the one meal that I've steered away from the mountains of unhealthy foods and instead had cereal. This morning was no exception, so whilst I crunched my way through a bowl of weird, sugary American cereal, I watched the rest of the group eating fresh fruit or tucking in to eggs and sausages...

Someone has also given me their cold. I've had a cough ever since we arrived in Fairbanks, but I put that down to the smoky atmosphere caused by the huge forest fires burning close by, but this morning someone has injection 40 gallons of phlegm up my nose and inserted a jackhammer in my head. Not a particularly good way to feel before tackling the final quarter of the Dalton (which, according to Kevin, includes the section where Indian Dave crashed and broke his femur on the 2005 trip that was filmed as “The Ride” - although I think I recall him saying that before every section... perhaps he's a little confused...). To cap that, it was also very overcast in the distance and looked like rain. Which is just what we don't need, as rain turns the road into a mud-bath, making riding very difficult. But we've got to go on regardless, after all, it's adventure we came for...

Today's ride will also include a little detour, as I've volunteered to take Nick to the hospital in Fairbanks in order to get his wrist x-rayed. It seems to be getting better, but he wants to be on the safe side, and as I'm an expert on foreign hospitals (!) it seemed like a good idea. That way the van can follow the main group, ensuring they all get off the Dalton safely. So off we set, back onto the Dalton and the tarmac stretch that runs South of Coldfoot for a few miles before returning to dirt. No sooner had we set off than we had to stop to put on our rain jackets (starting to spit) and a bit later our rain trousers (getting heavy). There were bikes parked up all over the road with their riders and pillions doing the “getting in the waterproofs” dance, hopping around on one foot and trying not to fall into the ditch. Most made it, too.

Just before the dirt started, the rain stopped. And was replaced by an intense smoky smell and a light fog of smoke. And the temperature started rising, but we were still some way from the fires, so I think it was just because the cloud cover had dissipated, allowing the sun to get to work. Now sweating in full rain gear and with my warm top on, it was time to stop again and take all these extra layers off. I find riding when too hot (as a result of wearing too many clothes) worse than being too cold, so I stripped back to my riding jacket and tee-shirt (and riding trousers, boots, gloves, helmet of course) and we set off yet again. With me following Nick to ensure that if he had another fall I could help him, I was confined to riding in his dust. Without the rain, the road had become very dusty, and for mile after mile I rode just far enough back so I wasn't in his wake and could see the road. Every so often we'd come across a truck going in the opposite direction, forcing us more to the side of the road (where all the gravel gathers) and then enveloping us in a dense cloud of dust which took a minute or so to settle, despite us continuing our progress along the road. Once or twice we'd catch a slower moving truck going our way, and be forced to sit in its dust until a safe opportunity to overtake presented itself. And so it went on, for a good 3 hours until at last we emerged back on tarmac at the junction that marks the start of the Dalton, where Andy and Gerald were busy re-inflating their tyres. To say this was a relief would be an understatement, and there was much manly back-slapping and hand-shaking and congratulatory exchanges. Even Jim, the Quiet American, who arrived a couple of minutes later, joined in the small celebration. The mood was broken only by the sound of 5 compressors churning away, as we put the air back into our tyres (tires in Jim's case) now we're firmly back on sealed roads...





Now we were back on the excellent fast open sweeping road that leads down into Fairbanks, and Nick and I quickly dropped into the groove, riding at a constant 70, tilting into turns and going with the flow of the road. With the dirt now behind us for a while, we can once again marvel at just how “dual-sport” these bikes are – they can cope with being bounced around for hour after hour on dusty, pot-holed, muddy, gravelled roads, and then with a quick change of tyre pressure, hack along sweeping tarmac at a fair old pace... Have I mentioned yet how much I love my bike?

An hour or so later we arrived on the outskirts of Fairbanks and went in search of lunch (a burger in a “sports bar”) and fuel, then the hospital. Using my sat-nav we went straight there, and within minutes of arriving Nick was checked into the system and being seen by the triage nurse. When he disappeared, I sat in the huge Emergency department waiting area, which was more like the lobby to a large museum than a hospital (it didn't even smell of hospital). There was practically no-one else thee. No screaming kids, no drunks with bloodied bandages on their heads, no old men/women in wheelchairs after an unfortunate fall at home. It was the least A&E like Emergency department I've ever been in. If it wasn't for the cleaning lady constantly cleaning the floor (first with sweeping brush, then mop, then a large washing/polishing machine) and the passing person in scrubs I'd not have believed I was in hospital. After an hour or so, Nick appeared, wrist strapped to announce that it was a “severe strain” (as we suspected) and that he was now $790 poorer... He then went off to the pharmacy to get some strong painkillers they'd prescribed. Whether they were for the severe sprain or the shock, he didn't say...

With that attended to we rode the remaining 100 miles from Fairbanks to Delta Junction (“The Friendly Frontier”) along the side of the river, once again maintaining a steady pace. We overtook Jeff, who'd earlier popped into the hospital to check all was OK (and nearly fainted when told the price of the x-ray!), and then arrived at the motel shortly after 6pm. With the bikes unloaded we rode them to the local car wash and hosed them down, although I'd hardly call them clean, and then went for dinner in the nearby “Buffalo Grill”. At the end of such a long day, all we wanted was a cold beer, but this place was dry (and had posters on the wall proclaiming “Prayer: It may not be allowed in our schools, but it's welcome here”). So we settled for our second burger of the day and a quick trip to the liquor store (when Nick had finally managed to ask for directions, his initial attempts at “can you tell me where the nearest Offy is” being met with blank stares).

Then it was back to the motel to update the blog and check emails before finally calling it a night around 10pm.