Memorial Day 2017 - A Trip of 1947 Miles Part 3

Hitting the Road

After a great night of sleep, Jack fixes breakfast for Ann and I.  I am happy to find he is a appreciator of bacon.  We have arranged to meet Wade Cogan who is our third partner on the trip at 10:00 am.  After eating, I go to get my stuff packed and ready.  I look out the window and see the sun is shining and it looks like it will be a great day.  

Once outside, I am able to see north and there are dark and foreboding clouds.  Since north is generally our direction of travel, I am a little concerned but I choose my riding leathers and hope for the best.  Wade arrives right on time and we pose for a picture before we head out.  We will meet one more rider, Pastor Milt Michener in Palmer who will ride with us to Tok, Alaska and then return home the next day.  

All three bikes start on cue and we rev them with the nervousness of beginning something exciting.  Ann is standing in the driveway to see us off and with all thumbs up, Jack leads us out of their cul-de-sac and out to the Glenn Highway.  The sun makes the morning seem all the more glorious as we make our way to the Tesoro station in Palmer where we will meet up with Milt.  

Also right on time, Milt is there astride his brand-new HD Ultra Glide with the 103 engine.  I nod approvingly.  This is a nice upgrade for Milt from his Softail he had previously.  Milt is about my size and the Ultra fits him much better.  I am happy for him.

We once again take to the road and it isn't long before we begin to enter the mountains and gain elevation.  I am eyeing the "new snow" sticking to the mountain sides not far above us.  As we ascend the cloud descends and soon moisture begins collecting on our face shields.  We pause on the side of the road and unpack our rain gear and put it on.  It is going to get wet.

We power up and onward.  The snow is no longer above us, we are in it.  Fortunately the pavement must retain enough stored heat to melt the snow as it lands.  It is obvious that had we been any earlier we would have been in the middle of a fierce blizzard.  The south side of every vertical object, trees, telephone poles, road signs are caked with about two inches of snow as well as the ground on both sides of the road.  It is a mix of rain and snow that pelts us.  I am wondering if this will get better or worse as we continue on up the side of the mountain pass.  Jack is leading and I decide he can make the call to continue or turn around.  Other than snow obliterating the view out of our face shields from time to time, we feel no real danger.  We slow our progress appropriately and keep going.  At times the floppy flakes are coming so fast we have to use our gloved fingers across our face shields as windshield wipers to see where we are going.  This is by far the worst riding conditions I have ever encountered.  

At the top of the pass is a place called Sheep Mountain.  Not far beyond is a restaurant and gas station known as Eureka.  That is the place we can pull out of the weather for a bit and assess our situation.  Coming to Sheep Mountain we travel over the highest point in the pass and level out on our way to Eureka.  It occurs to me that I have never been in this area in nice weather, it always seems to rain.  Today, rain and snow.  

It is not long and we four riders pull up to Eureka Lodge.  We clamber inside and toss off our wet gear in a corner of the restaurant that is not very busy on this inclement day.  We are chilled to the bone and grateful for the warmth and dry the restaurant offers.  We four large men squeeze into a booth that would be more suitable for two lesser people and order coffee as soon as the waitress is near.  I use my coffee more for a hand warmer than beverage.  Our conversation is excited by the experience and there is no thought of turning back.  

Bacon cheeseburgers are ordered all around.  They arrive shortly with steaming piles of french fries as I justify the calories with the idea they will keep me warmer as we travel on.  We watch the weather lift a bit through the windows.  The snow and rain has stopped and the overcast lifts just a little.  Considering what we have just come through, this looks encouraging.  We reluctantly squeeze ourselves out of the booth and over to our gear and begin to put it back on, this time tucking things in with a little more care than the side of the road affords.  

I double check my Beverly Hillbilly adorned Harley and everything seems to be battened down just fine.  We line out and head onto the highway.  I pass what must be the original Eureka Lodge which is a very humble cabin, that looks not tall enough for me to stand up in and that has settled with time.  A very weathered sign on the front declares, "Eureka Lodge - 1936".  I am glad things have improved since.  

The rain resumes but no snow.  I am actually pretty comfortable, I solved the problem of the rain dripping in my boot and I am staying ahead of my finger tips telling me they are numb.  We head on to our next fuel stop, Glennallen.  The weather is usually pretty good in Glennallen, surely we will get out of this rain by then I think to myself.  

Not far out of Glennallen the rain intensifies and includes hail.  The pitter-patter of the rain turns to tic tic tic tic tic with icy pellets that now assault us.  It doesn't look good for the weather to improve.   We need to fuel in Glennallen and we pull into the Tesoro station which is clogged with motorhomes and large trucks.  We await our turn in the hail and look longingly at the shelter the canopy affords that cover the pumps.  Fueling a motorcycle takes no time at all as even when you are "empty" you only need a maximum of 5 gallons.  Five gallons will theoretically take me about 250 miles, although I have never proved that.  The longest distance between fueling points is as much as 145 miles so we are never in any danger of running out of gas.  3.8 gallons and I am done.  I move my bike to the lea side of the station as the hail continues to pelt.

As I wait for the others to fuel their bikes I am really longing for another cup of coffee but know we will want to get on as soon as we can.  Also the need to "go" increases with the more you drink.  We tend to take a short break about every hour just to give our back sides a rest.  When you have to "go" that hour can be a long one.

Finally we form our group again and head out.  It is only minutes before we turn on to the Tok Cutoff Highway, which I think is an awful name, so un-Alaskan.  I think it would be better named something like The Wounded Bear Highway or something like that as it is the nastiest piece of road in the state.  Really.  The Tok Cutoff is only 125 miles long but it either gets pounded by the worst weather in the world (which is a distinct possibility) or it receives the least maintenance of any highway in the state (a distinct possibility) or both (a distinct possibility).  The surface of the road is a fairly aggressive chip seal.  You can just feel the tread of your tires being removed with each mile.  On top of that, every too often, there is a sign on the shoulder of the road warning you, "Road Damage" which means there is no pavement and they have covered the area with loose boulders they call "gravel".  For a motorcycle the worst thing you encounter pretty much is gravel.  The effect is like trying to steer on ball bearings.  Your front tire can wash out from under you and dump you in a moment.  So we always slow to about 35 mph and gingerly make our way through these boulder fields to come back up to cruising speed only to encounter another sign warning of "Road Damage".  I think for all the Road Damage signs they put out they could repair the road just as cheap.  I dislike the Tok Cutoff.

All along the way we pass the derelict buildings and abandoned lodges of failed businesses.  Weathered and peeling signs, "Welcome" and "Good Food", "Lodging", "Modern Facilities" and the like sag on leaning poles.  I ponder this.  When my family moved to Alaska in 1967, these places were in their heyday.  Weary travelers found shelter and rest in the little log cabins and dined on home style cooking back then.  It was a very acceptable option.  Tires were repaired by handy men and fuel was pumped into less fuel efficient cars.  Progress has unintended consequences.  With motorhomes a more preferred travel arrangement, those "cozy rooms" aren't needed any more.  More fuel efficient cars allowed travelers to bypass all of the in-between places and the lucky ones who set up businesses in the right places prospered as the others went out of business.  More reliable cars, tires and I suppose prepackaged food and snacks allow travelers less need to stop and patronize enterprising Alaskans just trying to make a living in the wilderness.  

Nostalgia is something I am prone to.  I in a way miss those little mom and pop lodging and dining places.  You meet interesting people in places like that.  More stops means you take more time to see the places in Alaska.  Now, like the door ajar leaning on one hinge all these places symbolize broken dreams.  I miss the days you didn't feel the pressure of trying to hurry through the distances.  However, I too keep passing these little places at speed like everyone else.  

Somewhere along the Tok Cutoff the rain stops.  The sky is still heavy with clouds but it is dry.  Our suits dry off.  The muck of the road dries on our bikes covering all the shiny chrome with a dull gray.  It is getting on to late afternoon.  We are nearing Tok.  I don't remember it ever raining in Tok when I have been there.  Sure enough the Forestry Service sign indicates that fire danger is "very high".  It is dry despite a high overcast.  I am OK with that for the moment.

We pull up to Tok Assembly of God.

Jason and Kelly Ingersoll are the pastors of this great church.  Kelly greets us and directs us to the places we can bunk for the night.  It is a luxury for all four of us to have our own space!  Further, she presents us with towels for the showers we are welcome to use.  She also informs us that the church has prepared to host us with a bbq and potluck in just a couple of hours!  We are overwhelmed with their generosity.  We stow our stuff and remove all of the rain and leather gear.  We are treated to hot coffee and a comfortable place to relax.  Soon people begin to show up and kids chatter excitedly.  The aroma of grilled burgers and hot dogs waft in from the back porch.  Beans and potato salad are set on the table next to the cheetos and chips.  I see one little guy dig into the cheetos up to his elbows scooping out heaps with both hands onto his plate.  I chuckle to myself as his mother arrests him mid scoop and deposits most of his mined treats back in the bag.  

We have a wonderful time visiting with everyone.  I admit I am a bit, OK, a lot fatigued from the day and I have to really concentrate on being a good guest and making interesting conversation.  Our hosts don't seem to notice and they are fun.  One asks if we lack anything for our trip.  A couple of us mention a sweatshirt might be a nice extra layer under our gear as we didn't think we would encounter this cold of weather.  The man, Tim, disappears.  About an hour later, he reappears with a van full of all kinds of clothing and gloves and whatnot.  What generous people.  Since our carrying capacity is limited the few selections we make look like a drop in the bucket to what is available.  

Before long, everyone bids us goodbye and we settle in for a night of slumber.  Except for some reason I don't.  Maybe that coffee I drank is keeping me awake, maybe it's the midnight sun illuminating the room, maybe it's just that I don't sleep well away from home, maybe it's because I chose my least favorite sleeping bag  to take with me.  For whatever reason I lay awake all night.  Somewhere in the middle of the night I get up and journal and fuss with my stuff.  Morning and a shower will come soon enough.