And we're back

It's almost exactly one week after I hit that rock (To the hour, actually), and I'm finally making my way south. I'm leaving Whitehorse now, and will be heading down the Cassiar Highway, eventually to Jasper and Banff parks. I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again, but I will whenever I have internet.

Desabafo...

Se eu tenho uma única sorte na vida, é com os amigos que eu tenho, vcs continuam sendo os melhores do mundo e apesar da vida que levo, PRECISO agradecer ter vcs na minha vida e dizer que vcs são parte de mim, e cada um de vcs são o que me ajuda a me mover, a levantar, a tentar enfrentar a vida, a tentar seguir em frente... são todos vcs que me ajudam a caminhar um pé atrás do outro. Preciso acrescentar o Douglas à lista de agradecimento...

Acho que todo mundo tem sua trilha sonora pra chorar. E tem hora que chorar ajuda muito a desabafar, botar pra fora o que a gente tá sentindo. Gritar. E bem, minha trilha sonora é:

Olha... o vídeo tá ruim, mas o som, perfeito como Pearl Jam sabe ser e a tradução bem feita... aliás, é uma das letras que eu mais gosto...



Essa dispensa comentários.



A letra dessa é foda...



Bem, a letra não tem muito a ver não, mas eu adoro essa música.



A letra dessa é outra fudida. Se tem horas que só Depeche e Portshead explicam, posso incluir Wolfs. (postaria a letra de novo se já não tivesse postado...)



E obvio (letra que vale conferir tb):



Essa aqui é pra quem é fã da dupla Massive Attack e Ports...

I'm so tired of playing
Playing with this bow and arrow
Gonna give my heart away
Leave it to the other girls to play...



Como o Youtube ainda tá com putisse ainda, então aqui só só uma lista...

Portishead - Only You

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcsaUJTGcMk

Massive Attack - Angel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbe3CQamF8k

Respira fundo...

Er, not quite.

BLARG I spoke a little bit too soon. The gasket and crankcase parts are holding fine, no sign of any sort of oil leak, everything seems to be perfectly fine there.

But the starter fork is still acting up. On this bike, the starter gear is engaged to the flywheel by a spring-loaded solenoid that pulls a lever, moving the gear on a shaft. This appears to be sticking; when I try and start the bike, the solenoid doesn't appear to have the power to fully pull the lever. Before I took everything apart, it did slide smoothly, and now it takes a lot of effort, so something is going on.

Right now what I end up having to do is take off the drive gear cover (three allen bolts), and pry the drive lever collar outwards with a screwdriver, to un-stick it. Then I can hit the start button, and the starter engages the flywheel fine, and starts the bike without problems. Of course, it's quite annoying to have to pull out the tool bag every time I need to start the bike.

I've tried spraying some WD-40 on the whole mechanism, which hasn't done much. Right now, my most likely option is having to take the whole crankcase cover back off and muck around with the gears in there; an option I'd rather not do, not just for the PITA factor, but also because I'd have to drain out all of that $5/liter oil that I just put into the bike. Everything's expensive up here :\

IT'S ALIVE!

IT WORKS! I win at the universe! Or at least motorcycle repair.

I spent the majority of today working on the bike, putting on the new (to me) crankcase cover. The crankcase itself had some small cracks on it, which I cleaned and JB welded before swapping all the parts from the old cover to the new one. I had to re-do it a couple times due to me first forgetting to put part of the clutch mechanism in, and then having it adjusted the wrong way, but with a good amount of liquid gasket, everything seems to be holding.

The only problem I've run into is that the starter gear solenoid fork seems to be sticking a bit. The first few times I tried to start the bike, the starter gear wouldn't engage. I pulled off the spring cover and moved it back and forth a few times manually with a screwdriver, it seems to be working okay now. Worst case scenario if this happens in the middle of nowhere, it's an easy fix to limp to town (take off three bolts and poke it with a screwdriver).

So it's looking like I should get out of here sometime tomorrow. I'm going to spend one more night here, take the bike into town and ride around some just to make sure the repair has a good chance of holding.

I'll try to remember to do a larger update on the repair before I leave here, with pictures and things.

Puppies make everything happy

I'm still in Whitehorse, waiting for another part to get in.  Due to my crankcase cover getting held up in customs, it won't be in until tomorrow.  Such is life.

I'm currently staying at the Motel/RV park next to the Yamaha dealer.  While technically they don't have tent camping, the operator is letting me pitch my tent behind some of their buildings, as well as use their internet, bathrooms and showers.  And she's even let me use their staff room as a sort of day-room, complete with a microwave and fridge.  In exchange for me staying here for almost free, she has me helping out with chores around the place, yardwork and cleaning stuff, things like that.  Things that young guys are good for.

But of all the things this campground is equipped with, nothing is better then Dawson.  Their 6-week-old Black Lab/Newfoundland mix (so yeah, he's small now, but expected to get to 150lbs)


I don't think there exists a happier puppy in the whole world.  What more could a dog ask for?  He's got this whole RV park to run around in, as well as the forests that border it on almost all sides, and a seemingly never-ending stream of people who are delighted to play with him and give him petting and hugs!  He's just painfully adorable to watch; running around the place tripping on his over-sized paws and bumping into things, pouncing on whatever moves and catches his ADHD puppy-brain's interest, and taking naps in the shade of trees.

We've totally become BFFs.  I think I broke some little girls heart yesterday, though!  This family pulled up in a mini-van, and two girls, probably sisters got out, probably like 6-8 or something.  And they saw Dawson, who ran up and started playing with them . . . until Dawson saw me walking over to the main office, and instantly ran away from the girls to come pester me for attention.

THE LOOK ON THOSE POOR GIRLS FACES.  Oh god, I felt like such a bad person.

Mau humor.

Dias e mais dias sem o sol aparecer. Ok, nem sou fã dele, mas a falta tá aumentando o meu mau humor. E chuva é extremamente desagradável. Odeio andar com o pé molhado. Essa porra já não esquenta nem com meia de lã, molhado me sinto com os pés num pote de sorvete. Eseiláondefoipararmeuguardachuva. Assim como tá incomodando ir dormir com duas blusas e ainda aguentar a coluna reclamando de dor. Se catar! Aí chega essa semana do mês em que eu já deveria estar com as contas de telefone PRONTAS aqui no consultório e mal comecei: tenho que correr com isso. Aí junta que a dupla mau-humor e depre se unem pra fazer um verdadeiro show nas minhas idéias, resultado? Só pode ser merda! E já me disseram isso antes. Eu nunca acredito, fazer oq? O dia já já acaba, e eu sinceramente não vejo a hora de chegar o fds. Ultimamente tem sido tão corrido que não tem dado tempo pra pensar em mta coisa, e qnt menos eu pensar, melhor. As vezes pensar me faz mal. Não consegui pegar no livro hoje. Não consegui fazer as contas. Não consegui fazer nenhum dos telefonemas importantes que eu precisava. Não consegui nem comprar meus doces, pra devorar durante o dia (sim, e isso ajuda sim, a ficar ainda mais amarga). Aliás, jiló é pirulito perto de mim hoje. Não estudei. Enfim, fiz porra nenhuma. Mas amanhã é outro dia, espero que o sol resolva aparecer, quem sabe assim, meu [bom] humor, quem sabe, resolve dar o ar de graça, não é?

Crankcase Cover is FUBAR, crankcase is okay.

Okay, so today I had the service guys look at the crankcase cover, and everyone universally agreed that there was NO WAY it could be welded. While it's difficult to see in the pictures, the whole area around the bolt hole is deformed, and the metal has mostly shattered into about 6 parts.

The crankcase itself could be welded, but I'd have to somehow push or tow the bike to a welding shop, and there's not any within quite a ways of where I am. So I'll probably clamp and JB-Weld it, and just go very easy on that bolt when I put it all back together.

I managed to get in touch with someone on the Virago Owner's Club message boards that just happened to have a spare left crankcase cover sitting around his garage, so he's shipping that up to me as soon as he gets the chance. I've ordered a new set of gaskets and seals for it through the Yamaha place, and they should be here Wednesday. If all goes according to plan, I could be out of here by then, or maybe Thursday, depending on how long it takes to get the actual crankcase cover.

Until then, I'm at the Mountain View Motel and R/V park. It's right along the Alaska Highway about 5 miles south of Whitehorse, big green sign advertising showers year-round. If anyone is passing through, stop by and say hi! If you need someplace to stay, I can wholeheartedly recommend this place, although they don't really do tent camping, their rooms are nice and clean and homey, the manager is fantastic, and they have laundry and wi-fi and everything.

Cinema [em casa]

Bom, lembram que há dias atrás eu coloquei que precisava ir mais ao cinema, correto? Pois é, fui atrás de cumprir isso. Ontem, eu e o Do fomos assistir Public Enemies. A história real de um gângster e suas 'travessuras'. O filme, que conta com o Johnny Depp, na pele do gângster John Dillinger, tinha já tudo pra ser bom, mas ainda contava com Christian Bale, na pele do agente Purvis (*suspiros*)... O foda é vc pagar pra ir no cinema ouvir uma RONCAEFUÇA atrás de vc. O filme que era um noir virou comédia de uma hora pra outra. Nas cenas de tiro ela simplesmente dizia 'pipoco' e roncava feito um porco... gente, que porra era aquela? Tipo, minha grande vontade era de quando eu me levantasse pra ir embora, cumprimentar o namorado dela, pq, cara, ele é FODA! Aguentar aquela mina chata tem que ser mto foda! Pior eu e o Douglas que pensamos exatamente a mesma coisa: 'a guria perdeu a virgindade ontem e tá feliz da vida!' Olha, ver filme com gente que fala é mto chato, ver filme com uma guria que fala bagaray e ainda ri feito um porco roncando, é mto pior. Mesmo nas cenas de maior tensão ela conseguia dizer 'pipoco' e se matar de rir. Eu me recuso a ir novamente naquele cinema, TODAS as vezes que fomos tinha algum imbecil, mas essa última foi a gota d'água. Quer assistir os filmes fodaços do cinema? Ou vá numa segundona bem cedinho ou espere sair na locadora mais próxima da sua casa, pq cinema, meobein, não dá mais.

(E o Douglas tá dizendo que aceita comprar e doações de livros e filmes noir, ficção científica e... o que mais mesmo? o.o)

Bom, editando só pra dizer, que agradeço a 'preocupação' do meu querido amigo Peu... eu to inconsolável! Quero ver Depeche no Brasil, buaaaaaa!! Esperava mto esse show, MUITO mesmo. É uma pena =/

Status Update

Okay, here's where I'm at with the bike.

I spent the better part of six hours (not joking) in the Yamaha dealer's parking lot taking apart my bike. I did feel kinda bad-ass; people were dropping off their bikes for servicing by the factory mechanics, for incredibly minor stuff like oil changes and stuff, and there I am in the parking lot performing the motorcycle equivalent of hip surgery with basic hand tools and a leatherman.

Anyway. I got the crank case cover off, and this is what I found. The crankcase cover itself:







Not great, but I think it could be worse. I don't know if that can be welded, as it's almost shattered, but I might be able to tap it back together and JB-weld it. It's worth a shot, at least, I'll have to wait until Monday to take it to a welding shop and see what they thing.

As for the crankcase itself





Some small cracks, but I don't think they matter. They don't go to the outside and the hole isn't so badly mishapen that it won't accept another bolt.

My situation:

I'm camped in an R/V park next to the Yamaha dealer. They have free wi-fi, which is how I'm writing this. Actually, the story behind how I arranged to stay in this place is kinda funny, but I'll save that for another time.

I'll be here until Wednesday at MINIMUM. If I can get this thing welded, it's still going to take a couple days to get a new gasket in. But on the upside, I'll have internet until then, so maybe I'll get around to uploading more pictures and catching up on the trip report.

AW SHIT

FUCK. I rode up a short trail to find a spot to camp last night, and I dinged the bottom of the bike pretty hard on a big rock I hadn't seen. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but the next morning, I found the bike had no oil in it: There was what looked like a dinged bolt on the bottom of the engine, and the oil had leaked out of it.

I walked a couple miles to the nearest gas station and bought a few liters, and managed to hitch a ride back to the bike with a guy on an ATV. I packed everything on the bike, and just before I rode out, I put the oil in.

AW SCHNIT. The leak was way worse then I thought. I hurridly put on all my gear and rode back into town, stopping at a Yamaha dealer that I'd seen on my way out of town. I had my eyes on the oil light the whole way, ready to kill the engine the minute it came on.

I rolled into the dealer's parking lot in a cloud of blue smoke, with oil almost pissing out of the engine. And now I'm here, standing in their lobby on a computer they have hooked up to the internet.

Damage report: Punched a hole in the crankcase cover, at least, that's what I can see so far. I might have fux0red the crankcase as well. I'd be looking at a 2-3 WEEK wait to get a new part, at $250 for the part, and then maybe three hours of labor to do it, IF that's all that is broken. I'll have to pull off the cover to see, and that involves removing the starter, clutch cover, crash bars, footrests, and some other stuff. There is a possibility that I could pull it off and have it welded (It's cast aluminum), and re-thread the bolt hole, but I won't know until I pull it off.

I just found out the damage a couple minutes ago, so I'm still not sure what I'm going to do. I don't know if there's any inmates in Whitehorse I can stay with, so I'm going to check the ADV rider listing. If not, I might find a campground. I wonder if I can rent a bicycle anywhere?

Looks like I cracked a small allen blot on the crankcase. Leak is slow enough that if I can get some oil, I can ride it back into town to a shop.

Shit. Going up a trail to camp last night I dinged the bike hard on a big rock. I broke something, because all the oil has leaked out. Just south of Whitehorse.

Goodby, Alaska

Well, I'm just about to leave Alaska, and cross onto the Top of the World highway to Dawson. The border is closed now, so I won't pass through until tomorrow, and this connection is still to slow for a picture update.

I'm in a "town" called Chicken right now, I've spent the last couple days here panning for gold. Found maybe $15 worth, not enough to do anything with, but enough to look pretty in a vial. Weather has been mostly good, save for the rain coming out of Anchorage, it's been pretty damn great all the way up here.

And, as for my . . . friend that I met in Anchorage . . . I don't kiss and tell. :)

(At least, not on a publicly accessible blawg)

Lembranças...

Nem é dia de postar.. mas depois que a Nana me passou o link que me fez achar meu finaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaado blog do blig, e de ter encontrado coisas que eu queria ter apagado do meu passado *like fotos trevosas que vcs resolveram divulgar internet a fora*, passei a tarde lendo:

Julilith.blig

Amado, idolatrado, salve e salve, QAP!


É, tem gente que eu conheço há mais tempo do que eu imaginava...

Autobahn, musica, tricô.

Oie pessoas!



Bom, meu aniversário foi assim... MARA! Vamos combinar que, fato, a discotecagem da noite não tava assim mil maravilhas, tocou Pet Shop demais e começou a ficar meio chato... aber, as companhias foram as melhores possíveis! Apesar de ter ficado com remorso de fazer as menines se deslocarem do reino de Tão Tão Longe para Nilópolis II, valeu cada segundinho! Déa, pontualíssima chegou a tarde em casa, Jijijoca chegou tão tarde e tão cansada que a pobrezinha tava quase parando no 'Point do Açaí II' pra pagodear com os manos. Fizemos ela resistir bravamente! Na hora da 'janta' o assunto foi o mais Fiona possível, como disse as menines, caminhoneiro sentiria vergonha na nossa presença! hahahah mas ri pacas, lavei a alma. Mana Keka e mano Léo (Vizinho/Rei do Autobahn/Dono do Harén) e o namor, Do, tb foram. E assim, de caravana, chegamos ao Autobahn, e depois de rir horrores em casa e no carro chegava a hora de dançar! Me lembro de ter saído correndo com a Déa, pra dançar Big Mouth, a voz ainda tá alterada, depois de exorcisar todos os demonios cantando Enjoy the Silence e Sending all my love (sim galëre, a música de 2 posts atrás rolou!), me lembro de ter pulado cantando Human League, me lembro de ter me contido com When in Rome, me lembro da cara do Leo sentado no sofá abraçado com a Ji e a Déa, me lembro que estrupamos a distância o Dave Gahan, me lembro de 'oi vc tem emessene?', me lembro de 'oipodemosconversar?' e do 'NÃO' que saiu em seguida, me lembro do bombeiro (HAHAHA), me lembro da Keka indignada pelo preço das bebidas, me lembro de lembrar da Foa qnd rolou Karma Chamaleon... Me lembro que tenho os melhores amigos do mundo, que colorem meus dias cinzas (ui!). Sem vcs eu não sei o que seria de mim, amo incondicionalmente!

Bom, mais uma das mil e uma coisas que tia Ju faz: tricô. Sim, além de tudo eu ainda sei tricotar, e na saudade das agulhas eu resolvi arriscar começar um cachecol com pontos simples...:

éééé, ainda não tá pronto, eu SEI! E nem tá lá mil maravilhas, mas pra alguém que não faz roupas de Barbie em tricô desde os 8 anos (sim, sei tricotear desde antes disso) até que não tá ruim não... o.o



Enfim, clichê da tia Ju, musiquinha com letra pra acompanhar. Sim, eu gosto de farofa, e isso inclui Aerosmith, e essa letra é mto boa...!









I'm down a one-way street

With a one-night stand, With a one track mind

Out in no-man's land

(The punishment sometimes don't seem to fit the crime)



Yeah there's a hole in my soul

But one thing I've learned

For every love letter written

There's another burned

(So you tell me how it's gonna be this time)



Is it over, Is it over

'Cause I'm blowin' out the flame



Take a walk outside your mind

Tell me how it feels to be

The one who turns the knife inside of me

Take a look and you will find there's nothing there girl

Yeah I swear, I'm telling you girl yeah 'cause

There's a hole in my soul that's been killing me forever

It's a place where a garden never grows

There's a hole in my soul, yeah I should have known better

'Cause your love's like a thorn without a rose



I'm as dry as a seven-year drought

I got dust for tears

And I'm all tapped out

(Sometimes I feel broken and can't get fixed)



I know there's been all kinds of shoes underneath your bed

Now I sleep with my boots on but you're still in my head

(And something tells me this time I'm down to my last licks)



'Cause if it's over, Then it's over

And it's driving me insane



Take a walk outside your mind

Tell me how it feels to be

The one who turns the knife inside of me

Take a look and you will find there's nothing there girl

Yeah I swear, I'm telling you girl yeah 'cause

There's a hole in my soul that's been killing me forever

It's a place where a garden never grows

There's a hole in my soul, Yeah, I should have known better

'Cause your love's like a thorn without a rose



If it's over, It is over

'Cause I'm blowin' out the flame



Take a walk outside your mind

Tell me how it feels to be

The one who turns the knife inside of me

Take a look and you will find

There's nothing there girl yeah I swear

I'm telling you girl, yeah 'cause

There's a hole in my soul that's been killing me forever

It's a place where a garden never grows

There's a hole in my soul, Yeah, I should have known better

'Cause your love's like a thorn without a rose

Finally made it out of Anchorage, I was delayed by . . Someone.. Didn't leave till 9:30pm, got rained on all night. In Tok now, heading to Dawson, Canada.

Blogger fdp + Wolfsheim + ânimo.

Eu tinha escrivinhado um post gigantesco antes mas essa poooooooooooooorcaria de blogger deu erro e não salvou nos rascunhos... e nem dá pra 'repostar', por que era tudo coisa de ontem...

Estou ansiosa pra sábado, porém, muitíssimo chateada tb... To com saudades do pessoar, e espero ver vcs por lá. Aliás, um telefonema ontem a tarde me alegrou, né Jijijoca? Quero dançar até o dia amanhecer, exorcisar tudo quanto é coisa ruim que tem acontecido, esquecer certas coisas e pessoas... Ano novo, vida nova, pelo AMOR de dels. E tô de saco cheio de me lamentar tb. Oras bolas.

Fiquei dois dias inteirinhos sem comer Fruit-Tella, Mentos, Twix ou qualquer delícia parecida, mas hoje não me aguentei, além de 2 blisters de Fruit-tella, 2 Twix, 2 flans de caramelo, eu ainda to bebendo suco de morango a doidado. Preciso URGENTE cortar esses doces do cardápio, e nem é por causa do corpitcho redondinho, nem de celulite, é que tá me fazendo mal mesmo. Aliás, tudo o que eu tenho feito tem refletido: até passar a mão em cachorro de rua <Mas isso, meobein, é coisa que eu não vou parar de fazer!

Então, só pra não ficar sem atualização isso aquê, vou postar mais uma bandinha alemã do coer da tia Ju. Vcs devem se perguntar se toda banda que eu posto é a banda do meu coração, eu respondo: vcs estão certíssimos! Tirando Depche Mode, todas as outras estão no mesmo 'patamar'... Então, sendo assim, vou postar Wolfsheim... só que hj vou postar as letras em português, já que a música é em alemão e ninguém vai conseguir traduzir ela, nem os fluentes em Lacrimosa, rs...

Você se lembra ainda, de como era
a Infância... maravilha...
O mundo é colorido e lindo.
Até que você num momento se dá conta
De que nem toda despedida significa,
que haverá reencontro.

Sempre em frente, passo a passo...Não há caminho de
volta!
O que é agora, nunca deixará de ser.
O tempo corre por nossas mãos, o que está feito, está
feito.
O que acontecer agora nunca será do mesmo jeito.

Uma palavra dita com raiva,
Um passo largo demais.
E tudo se acaba.
O que quer que tenha sido feito agora,
O que quer que eu tenha dito, está dito.
E o que parecia ser eterno já é passado.

Se eu pudesse voltar no tempo apenas uma vez,
porque muito do que eu sei hoje, eu preferiria nunca
ter visto.

Sua vida gira em círculos,
Então você foge para o tempo que se foi,
E atrasa seus sonhos eternamente.
Você ainda quer viver algum dia,
Mas se não for agora, será quando então..?
Porque um sonho também pode estar num passado distante
demais...

The Pipeline Haul Road, part 2.

(if you read the first post before I edited in the extra content, you might want to go back and re-read the post below this one, otherwise this is going to be really out of order)

The next day, after falling asleep to it being warm and sunny, turned out to be cold and cloudy.  I really can't remember what time I woke up; time has little meaning in the circle where it's always daylight.  It really starts to screw with your body clock, but in a way is very freeing.  It's yet another restriction that you find yourself free from.

I kept going north, and it was getting cooler and more humid.  I was in a valley for most of the day, and the clouds would get stuck on the leeward side of the mountains.



As I got farther north, higher altitude and closer to the Atigun pass over the middle of the Brooks range, there was evidence of recent rains.  The road was still a lot of clay and there was enough gravel to provide decent traction for most of it, but the fifth-gear, 45mph+ times of the past few days were gone.  25mph was a good speed in these conditions, sometimes slower when it looked like it might get really sloppy.



It was getting quite cool, 50 degrees or so, and damp.  There's ice here that only melts just before the fall snows start, and as I got higher in the mountains, there was more and more of it around.  At this point, I was very much missing my winter gloves.



A few hours into the day, and I made it to the Atigun pass, where the road does an absurd amount of climbing in a very short period of time before it crests the Brooks Range and starts heading down to the North slope.  



Up and up I went, into the clouds, cresting the pass and heading down the other side of the mountains.



Down we went, out of the clouds.

Almost instantly as soon as you get over the pass, everything starts to change, the trees had mostly vanished a half hour south of the pass, but now things started looking even more desolate.  The only things growing were bushes and small trees on the sides of the road and creek bed where the permafrost was deep enough to allow some sort of root system.



The environment flattened out pretty slowly.  The south side was fairly flat until fairly deep into the range, where it did a lot of rapid climbing, but the north side of the range goes down much more slowly, gradually going from valleys to rolling hills.



This was just . . . this was the north slope.  This was what I was promised, this was what I came here for.  The temperatures started dropping, and as I got out of the hills, the wind started picking up.  The road conditions started getting worse and worse, as well. 



More softball-sized stones embedded in a hard packed clay.  Rough, miserable stuff to ride over. 



Well, that's optimistic.

Riding through this place makes it clear just how tenuous a hold life has here.  And this little ribbon of road stretching across this . . . this vast, harsh, barren environment.  And this continued for almost 150 miles, getting flatter, colder, and windier the farther north I went. 

The strange thing was the little outpost of human touches that you did see.  These little roadside pull-offs, hundreds of miles from anywhere, miles from even the nearest pipeline pump station, well-built with information placards about the area.  You'd see things like this at any national park in the lower 48, places with lots of tourists, but here?  Deep into the arctic tundra?  I stopped at every one of them, and learned more about permafrost then I knew existed. Also just how many freaking birds migrate up here during the short summers.  Honest to god, there's some that make the trip from Antarctica.



About fifty miles south of Deadhorse, I went by the last major elevation changes for a long while.  After these impressive bluffs, it's just endless  flat tundra for miles in every direction.





The clouds went away and the sun came out, but that picture is deceptively nice.  The temps had dropped to 40 degrees, and the wind was out of the east at almost 35mph.  I had my suit liner on, but beneath that was just a tee-shirt, and lacking my winter gloves, I only had my mesh ones on.  I was FREAKING COLD, and my fingers were loosing feeling and stiffening up, which isn't what you want on narley gravel roads that can require some fancy clutchwork.  I was soon stopping every fifteen minutes to warm my hands up on the engine's cylinders.  Fog rolled in just before I got to the town, and the wind died down a little, but I still rode on counting every mile until the end of the road.

I did finally made it to Deadhorse, the end of the road.  Deadhorse isn't really a . . . town, per say.  It's a work camp.  Most people are there on rotating 2x2 weekly schedules (two weeks working, two weeks off back in the real world), or 3x1 for less intense jobs.  The really crazy ones are there for up to 8 weeks at a time.



The place was exactly what you'd expect of a work camp in one of the most inhospitable parts of the world.  Everything is filthy, covered in the muck that passes for a road surface.  It's all prefabbed buildings, things that are obviously designed to break down into parts the size of shipping containers, and there's heavy equipment everywhere.  No one, and nothing is there without a purpose; little attention is given to appearances, no one seems to care about aesthetics.  Everything is purely functional, people and equipment are there to WORK.  There's no kids around (yay!), no one is simply living there because it's where they live.  It's a dirty, cold, harsh, bleak and awful place.



I loved it there.  I absolutely loved it.  The desolation, the cold, the barrenness . . . I love this setting.  This environment.

Right about now, I made up my mind to see about jobs up here.  I'm not joking.

However, my stomach had more pressing concerns.  I hadn't eaten since a cup of oatmeal 200 miles and 8 hours ago, 8 hours of fighting a bike through lousy road conditions, leaned over in merciless crosswinds, shivering for a good portion of it, and my body was screaming for calories.  I resolved that no matter how expensive things were here, I was paying for a meal.  Screw my budget, I'm not trying to cook in this weather.  

After finding the general store and buying some postcards, I stopped at the first hotel I passed.  Telling the hotels apart from the other buildings is actually near impossible; they all look the same.  The same prefabbed corrugated paneling bolted together in a two-story box, painted either a muted grey and covered in mud, or painted a bright red, and covered in mud.  Only after asking people where a hotel was did I find the place, which I'd ridden past three times.

I stopped in and inquired about their dinner buffet, which I was told was $22.  Honestly, that was about what I was expecting.  They didn't take plastic though, so I was getting dressed again to go find an ATM, when the hotel manager/front desk guy called out.

"Hey, sir?"

"Yes?"  I replied

"I'm sorry, but I just can't charge you for dinner here.  It's hamburger night, and I don't think you want to pay twenty-two bucks for a burger and fries, and I don't want to charge you that.  Head over to the Prudhoe Bay Hotel, over by the airport.  Their buffet is twenty bucks, and they're having sirloin steaks tonight."

I was minorly shocked that he was telling me this.  "Really?  Well . . . goddamn, thanks for letting me know that."

"Yeah, and they take credit cards there too.  I'm sorry man, but I just can't charge you twenty-two dollars for a burger after what it looks like you've been through" (I guess he'd taken a glance at my mud-covered riding suit).  "Go over there, get yourself a steak.  Their salad bar is a lot better then ours too."

I thanked the guy profusely, and followed his directions over to the Prudhoe Bay Hotel, which I probably never would have found if he hadn't told me exactly where it was.  All the roads look the same, all the buildings look the same, but I did find it.



Heading in, it appears the other hotel manager was right.  This place was a heck of a lot nicer feeling.



They even made a good attempt to make the dining room feel homey, with luscious fake plants and fake wood paneling.  After the miserableness outside, this was heavenly.  True to the other guys word, it was indeed steak night.  All you can eat, which again, I took as a challenge.



Really, $20 for a huge steak dinner with drinks and dessert isn't a bad deal by any standards.  A damn good steak, fried cod, baked potato, fresh steamed broccoli, a "salad", cake, and (not pictured) jello and custard.  Fuck.  Yeah.

I stayed there for a couple hours.  Oddly, I HAD A FREAKING CELL SIGNAL HERE.  How the hell?  I sent a couple text messages, and tried to make more phone calls, but my phone was acting up on me and kept shutting off.  Eventually I had enough, and headed out.

By this time it was almost midnight . . . which didn't really matter.  But I did hear scuttlebutt that the weather to the south had taken a lousy turn, and there was rain in the Brooks Range.   Greeeeeat.  But it wasn't like I had a choice.  I put on some extra layers of clothes under the suit, put on my slightly warmer work gloves and glove liners, and headed, going back south.  I was as far north as I could possibly go, so there was no place to go but down.



I had a long, long way to go.  The bike was on the reserve and the spare tanks were empty, so I found the only gas station in town to fill up.



The gas pumps are kept indoors, on the other side of those two windows, and the station isn't manned.  You go in that door, swipe your card in the machine, and punch in the pump and fuel type you need, then go outside to pump the gas.  A NO POINT in the whole process does it tell you how much you're paying for your fuel, because . . . well, what choice do you have?  You're in the middle of fucking nowhere.  Not just regular nowhere.  FUCKING nowhere.

After topping off the main tank, and the red spares, I headed out of town.  I had a long way to go before I was anywhere at all.



Life prevails anywhere it can.  Even in these obscene conditions, things grow, survive, and thrive.



Those same bluffs that were sun-drenched on the way in were now trapping the clouds.



This was my view for the next 50 miles heading south from Deadhorse.  I can't describe just how small this place makes you feel.



The sun was due north, which the more you think about it, is something you'll never see in any other part of the world.  I ran away from the fog for a while, and during a clear bit, I turned around to look at Sol.



Taken at almost 1:30am.

Now, this road . . . the road conditions varied all the way up.  But undoubtedly, the worse section is the last 50 miles south of Deadhorse.



I can't describe accurately just how bad this road is to ride on.  It might not look that bad in this picture, but that's more of those half-buried rocks that are rougher, much rougher, then riding on a cobblestone street.  But worse was that they'd fairly recently dumped a load of fresh gravel on it.  So you had the tire tracks left by the big trucks, which were rocky, rough, and washboarded to all hell, but then in between the tire tracks, you had a six-inch-deep mount of fresh, loose gravel. 

There was no good option here.  The gravel was so loose that the front wheel was little more then a rudder, but the wheel tracks felt like the bike was going to be shaken apart, even at 10mph.  Sometimes you'd see the washboarding coming, but often you wouldn't, and it feels like someone pounding on the bottom of the bike with a sledgehammer.  Even if you DID see it coming, there was often jack squat you could do about it besides hit the brakes and slow down as quickly as you dared without locking the wheels.  The gravel patches were way too loose and far too deep to make switching over to a hopefully smoother wheel track an option.  It took me almost four hours to make it 56 miles; I left Deadhorse at midnight, and didn't camp until I hit a small section of paved road at 3:55am.



There's a seemingly random 30-ish mile of good, smooth pavement in from 56-ish miles south of Deadhorse down to one of the pump stations.  I'm told that it's a test section, they paved it a year or so ago just to see how paving would actually hold up to these conditions over the years.  If it does hold up, or turn out to be roughly the same cost to fill the potholes as it does to have the graders keep going over the dirt and gravel, there's a chance they'll pave more.  Which I have mixed feelings about, to be honest.

The fog that I hoped I'd left in Deadhorse had caught up with me, making my rear-view mirrors useless, fogging up the vision, and then the glasses.  Even on this babies-ass smooth road, I was still puttering at 30mph, because that was the best I could do with the wind in my eyes.  I had to keep the visor up and push the glasses down so I could see anything at all.



At some parts, the good asphalt did give way to small gravel sections, which I couldn't see coming until I was almost on top of them.  The fog was that thick.




I did get out of the fog after too long, though.  As I started getting into the foothills of the mountains, I climbed up out of it, into the colder, but less humid air.



I could see the fog settling in the valleys around me



And the road continued on.



Stopping to take pictures gave me a chance to get the first really good look at my bike.  It was . . . it had a little dirt on it.



You'd never believe that there's chrome under there, huh.  I hadn't escaped the mud, either.



The visor was almost useless for all the schmutz on it. 

Right about now, the weariness really set in; I was so tired from fighting the washboarding for the last four hours that I had to camp, and soon.  I headed over to the river, down this . . . wasn't even a road.  More a trail of huge, incredibly loose stones.  



I hadn't found any rain so far, and while I really wanted to take advantage of the dry conditions for as long as I could, I was simply too tired.  I found a flat spot of gravel, put up the tent, and went to sleep at 4:30am.  In full sunlight.

I awoke the next morning at around 9 am to a rainstorm, wind, and general miserableness.  It was so cold, and raining so hard that just the idea of going outside for a morning pee made me shiver, so I sacrificed one of my many plastic grocery bags as a piddle pack.  I tied it off and tossed it out of the tent as far as I could, resolving to pour it out and pack the bag away when I did leave.  I have no interest in leaving trash all over the north slope.  With an empty bladder, a warm sleeping bag, and a rainstorm outside . . . I went back to sleep. 

That evening, hunger struck, and while making dinner, I recorded myself talking some more.  I should mention that when I say 8:30 in this video, it's PM.


The rain did let up, and looked like it would stay away for a while.  The skies were gray, but not too threatening, and the humidity dropped enough that the ground began to dry some.  Around 10pm, I got out of the tent for a wander.

The rain had left the ground saturated, so much so that the bike's kickstand had sunk down to a precarious level. 



I found a large flat rock to shove under it before heading out for a walk to the river.



This place was . . . so alone.  It was cool, maybe 50 degrees, breezy enough to keep the bugs (sort of) at bay, and just . . . quiet.  Very, very quiet.  Very rarely, a truck would pass by on the highways, but it was getting to be "night time", so the traffic was pretty minimal.  It was just . . . there were times where I was seriously the only person alive for miles in any direction.  Not only was I alone, but I was alone in one of the most remote places you can reasonably ride too.  This place where life has such a tenacious yet fragile grip, where winter is 9 months of the year and regularly hits -60f.  Except for the road, there was no trace that humanity even existed.  And I was alone in this place.  I can't describe what it was like.  It was perfect. 



I walked for almost three hours, wandering up and down the river, skipping stones and enjoying cold and damp.  The only noise was the river, and the unrelenting wind. Everything was grey, or a muted green and brown.  Eventually I got far enough away that I lost sight of my tent, and the road, and everything that might identify this place on a map.  I could have been anywhere on the north slope.  I could have died right then, right there, and my body would probably never have been found, consumed by the enviroment.  Far from my tent, my bike, and the thin asphalt link to the human world was . . . so perfect.  I could have spent a week camping up here and been perfectly happy alone the whole time.  I really wish I'd had more time up there to simply . . . be. 



I have a feeling this isn't going to be my only trip to the North Slope.

Even though I didn't quite want to, I low on food and clean clothes.   I packed the tent up around 1am and prepared to deal with whatever lay to the south.



The clouds got thick, seeming to be always on the verge of raining.  It started getting dark, even though the sun was still well above the horizon.



The asphalt soon ran out, giving way again to dirt and gravel.  The rain had taken it's toll, softening the road up to allow it to get fulled beaten to hell by trucks.  I spent the majority of the time in first and second gear, puttering between the potholes, loose gravel, and muck patches at 5 or 10mph.





This was some nasty, nasty stuff.  Most of the time I could pick a decent route through the mess, but sometimes there wasn't much option besides goosing the throttle to lighten the front end, and hoping the sludge wasn't too deep. 



The lights of the pump stations off in the distance.  They stand out so hard against the landscape.

The north side of Brooks Range climbs much more slowly then the south, but gradually I was getting closer and closer to the clouds.  Sometimes I felt like I could reach up and touch them.





I hit the reserve tank about 30 miles south of the mountains.   I stopped at a turn-off on top of a ridge where there was enough breeze to lessen the bug swarm and re-fueled behind some sleeping trucks.  The mud here covers EVERYTHING.



Refilling here was just . . . it was one of those moments I'll never forget.  Using my leatherman to untie the knots holding the tanks on because my fingers were too numb and stiff to work properly, swatting away the bugs and shivering at the same time, and trying to keep the bike from falling over on this amazingly slippery mud.  Feeding this machine that was my only possible link to the world, it's guts a cacouphony of precicsely mated metal parts moving with such incredible speed and cleanlieness, yet coated on the outside with an impenetrable layer of mud and filth.  I was as careful as I could to not get any dirt into the gas tank; ripping off the carbs and dropping the float bowls to clean out a clogged jet was not something I wanted to do here.  I was depending compleatly on this machine for everything in this enviroment.  My life was in it's hot, steel heart.

I love my bike.

 . . . okay, that's enough being emo for now.  I road on.



What was that off in the distance?  Rain.  It was unavoidable, I suppose.  It wasn't too bad, though, it served to help clear off the visor a bit, and was patchy and not too heavy.   By the time I got to the pass, it had stopped raining, but now I was back up into the clouds.



This road is a hell of a lot steeper then you'd think, at parts approching a 15% grade.  It's never dry up here, and trucks hauling heavy loads struggle for traction, turning the road into pure slush.



I can't describe how scary this part was, how slick this mud is.  Experience on the Liard and the MacKenzie highways in the Northwest Territories gave me some clue on how to deal with this, but there was hardly any part of the road that was rideable at all.  The ONLY section that seemed to give any real traction was this solid-ish bit on the extreme left side of the road.

Which left me with a hard choice.  I ride on the left, where I have more traction and control, but risk getting mushed by a truck barreling downhill out of the fog, which I'd never see coming.  Or ride in the mush on the right side.



I chose the right side.  Which turned out to be a good choice, as about thirty seconds after I took this photo, a 24-wheeler slid by out of the fog, the trailer wheel's ABS systems kicking on and off, shuddering the whole rigs in a search for precious traction.  The rig looked to be in control, but not by much.  There's evidence of a good number of wrecks here.





This road was simply a mess.  What the hell was I doing in this place, on this bike.



Just as I crested the pass . . . wait, what's that off in the distance there?



Is that clear, blue sky!?



IT WAS!

The change as soon as you get to the south side of the pass really is dramatic.  There were a couple more foggy bits to get through, but it quickly cleared and I dropped rapidly out of the clouds, loosing almost 3,000 feet of alititude in (what felt like) just a few miles.



The roads were smooth, the air was clean and dry, although cold, and I was hungry as hell.  I got to Coldfoot again at almost 9am.  It took me seven hours to go the first 130 miles that day. I was feeling every bit of it.



They could have charged $100 for watery oatmeal and cearal and I'd have wolfed it down at this point.  But $12 for a breakfast buffet was reasonable enough, and I attacked it with a vengance.  I had like six mugs of hot cocco while warming back up.



I filled out some more postcards here now that their "Post office" was open.  People should be getting them soon, I hope. 

The ride south from coldfoot was mostly uneventful.  It was what you'd expect;  Beautiful mountians, incredible scenery, and smooth asphalt broken only in small places by good gravel or construction.  I'll post those pictures later at some point, but I think this post has been long enough.  I have a backlog of things from the NWT and Yukon to get through, and I'm behind on my riding even.  I've been here in Anchorage for two more days then I thought I would be, and the urge to get back on the road is overpowering.

That was my ride into the Arctic Circle.  It won't be my last.