Haines and the Road Through the Yukon

Even though Haines doesn't offer too much in the way of hospitality (it does cater to the frequent cruise ships that dock briefly enough for hundreds of tourists to scavenge the area for souvenirs), I did find a true gem in town; the library.

The Haines library, clearly a very new structure, was beautifully built with all the amenities that make a public library worthy of its constituents; a children's area with frequent organized events for kids of all ages, computer stations with internet access, meeting rooms to house a variety of community events, and of course, lots and lots of books. For two days it became my second home, and I found it easy to stay there for hours on end. Everyone was very friendly and helpful, and I would occasionally bump into a woman whom I recognized from the ferry, allowing us to catch up on what we had been doing in town.

OK, so I found another gem in Haines; a Mexican restaurant that served the locally made beer on draft. Fish tacos and the Haines Brewing Company's Spruce Tip Ale. Now THAT, my friends, is a little slice of heaven...

My second night at the hostel, what would be my last as I was heading out early the next morning, was one of the most enjoyable hostel experiences I've ever had. The Israeli couple, unsuccessful in hitching a ride north, had returned for one more night before trying their luck again, and a family of Canadians from Vancouver, two grown brothers with their mother and aunt, as well as a young guy riding his mountain bike north from Wrangle, all converged in the hostels kitchen for a night of stories and laughter. It's always interesting to see how people from other countries view the United States, and we were in stitches all night as the Canadian brothers put their unique spin on American and Canadian politics and culture.

A couple rode in on touring bikes on the last night I stayed at the hostel. I didn't get to talk to them, but I was admiring their wicked sweet rides that next morning. On my next trip, I think I'm gonna do it this way...

When I set out the next morning, my first real day of riding in Alaska, I was perhaps as nervous as I had ever been on the trip to that point. The fear, of course, is always in the unknown, and nothing had more stories fraught with peril than the Alaskan Highway. For as nervous as I was, though, it felt good to be on the road again, and as I made my way out of town, I saw the Israeli couple from the hostel, as they had already walked to the edge of town leading north, hoping again to catch a ride at least to Haines Junction, a hundred miles north in the Yukon Territory. We waved and smiled as I passed by, giving each other the thumbs up to wish each other success.

On the road that follows the path of the Chilcat River north, a bald eagle took flight directly above me, and not a few miles down the road, a baby black bear darted across the road well in front of my bike, my first two impressive wildlife sightings since making land. A native woman who was directing construction traffic further along told me that her people believed that seeing an eagle fly above you was good luck, and considering my last encounter with wildlife on the motorcycle in British Columbia, I was more than ready to accept her word.

There is only one road out of Haines that will take you into the interior of Alaska, and you must cross through Canada in order to get there. The border guard, a friendly young woman with a sweet smile, wearing a full military uniform complete with flack jacket,  told me that I should prepare myself for some spectacular scenery in the Yukon, and she couldn't have been more right. That first stretch of road into Canada, part of Kluane National Park, was, without a doubt, the most thrilling riding I had ever done on my bike. The land took off in all directions, rising up on both sides of the road in muted greens that still somehow seemed more luminous than they should have considering the overcast weather, breaking into earth colored patches that created irregular patterns at the peaks of the mountains; something that looked more like the creation for a science fiction film than reality. With the weather pushing the clouds down low over those mountains, it also reminded me very much of Scotland, and i wondered if their shared latitude on a world map was just coincidence, or if that somehow made for the kind of conditions that made the two locations so similar in appearance.

The air was cold in the mountains, and there were varying levels of precipitation, so I had my heated jacket liner cranked up to high most of the way through the initial stretch of road, but I kept getting chills through my arms and back. I realized that it wasn't the temperature that was to blame; it was my response to what I was seeing around me. It was truly thrilling.

Sadly, this picture doesn't even begin to give you an idea of what it looks like in person.

Once in a while the sun would break through. Sort of.

As I made my way past the road marker indicating that I was now entering the Yukon, the views became all the more dramatic. If I had followed my inherent desire to stop at every view worthy of a picture, I would have been stopping every quarter mile; it was that impressive.

The downside, however, was that the roads were getting worse, with long stretches of highway that were either under reconstruction or what looked like what had been ripped apart in order for reconstruction to begin, but with no sign that it would be getting done any time soon, leaving just packed down gravel. With just a slower pace and a bit more concentration on the road, I was able to do fine, but it was taking more of a toll on my body than I would have imagined.

Yes, it certainly is.

One of the first stretches of gravel road. And this was the really nice part!

This is the bike of an older fellow I met at a rest stop who was returning to South Dakota - the BMW R1200GS Adventure. After some of the awful road conditions I found myself on, I sort of wished that this was the bike I was riding.

As I was photographing at a rest stop with an amazing view of mountains and a lake, a car rolled up just behind me, and much to my surprise, out popped the Israeli couple. They had successfully hitched a ride with a German family who had rented a car and were making their way through the area. We laughed at their good fortune, and when I headed out, they eventually passed me in a hurry, the German father apparently confusing western Canada for the Autobahn. We waved to each other as they passed, wondering if this would be the last time that I would see them.

Just a piece of a much bigger scene. The video below gives you a much better idea of what I saw.

By the time I reached Haines Junction, I was in desperate need of fuel, and I rolled into town with the indicator light on my gas gauge lit bright yellow. After fueling up, I again saw the Israeli couple. They had gone as far as they could with the German family, and were once again sitting out by the road, waiting for another ride that would get them closer to the Alaskan border. We talked for a bit and then said our goodbyes, but as I made the turn at the junction of Route 1 and Route 3 and continued my northwesterly route, I had a sneaking suspicion that we would be going through this ritual several more times along the way.

The ride along Kluane Lake, still part of the National Park, was stunning, and I again had to force myself not to stop every few minutes. I wasn't as successful as I had hoped, and I probably added a considerable amount of time to my day with all the stops I made.

 

This was an absolutely beautiful spot that nearly took my breath away when I rounded the corner and saw it. The video below gives you the whole view.

The birds at one of the rest stops along the way apparently weren't shy about coming right up to people looking for food.

Ah, the open road...

And this is how we do it from Jersey - again!

 When I finally crossed back into Alaska and finally made it to Tok, the first town of any significance past the border, it was nine o'clock at night. I had pushed off at 7:30 that morning, making for thirteen and a half hours of riding, but logging in only 438 miles. Even though some of that was due to the photo stops, much of it was the slugging through rough roads. I was exhausted.

I staggered into Fast Eddy's restaurant for dinner (apparently the famous place to go in Tok), and then, after getting a quote for $125 to sleep in a 6'x10' "cabin" at a touristy campground across the road, I opted instead for a $10 a night campsite just down the road in the other direction. It began raining as I had settled into my tent for the night, the droplets of rain making rhythmic thunks on the top of the tent's rainfly. But I was far too tired to even care, and in moments I heard nothing at all...

The Ferry Trip And The First Night In Alaska

In deciding to take the Port Townsend ferry to Whidbey Island, it afforded me the opportunity to cover ground where I had never been before, but after touching down on the island and setting off, I realized that it might end up being the least scenic of all the areas I had covered in the Pacific Northwest up to that point; flat with little view of either water or mountains. The ride was pleasant enough, though, and I was getting excited at the prospect of seeing the ferry docked in port, ready to receive its passengers and begin the adventure northward. After an amazing crossing over the Deception Pass Bridge that joins Whidbey Island to the mainland, I chugged along Route 20 north, closing in on Bellingham.

The view from on top of the bridge.

When I reached Bellingham, I headed straight for the ferry terminal, knowing that they insisted that you sign in several hours in advance of the departure time. I stood in line, picked up my tickets, and hustled back to my bike. It was almost 2:30, and even thought the boat wouldn't sail until six, they would be preparing to board vehicles by three.

After a quick stop at the grocery store (as if I wasn't carrying enough already), I pulled into the port, and at 3:02, parked my bike next to a row of ten or so motorcycles, all with the same intention; making the trip to Alaska. I swapped stories with some of the riders, discovering that many of them had made the trek before, so I tried to glean as much information as I could from them; which roads to take, which roads to avoid, and anything else that would minimize problems. When the crew finally ushered us on, a wave of adrenalin rushed through my body as I pulled the bike up on to the ship ; the reality of what I was doing had set in.

My first look at the Columbia in dock.

By the looks of it, I had more stuff on my bike than pretty much everyone else combined... Be prepared, right?

The bikes, strapped down in the lower car deck of the ship.

Yup, that's me right in the middle. I paved the way for a bunch of other backpackers to get the courage to pitch their tents on the other side of the railing, as well. Always a trend setter...

The view from the aft deck before we set out.

I made my way to the aft decks as soon as I was parked and the bike was secured with tie down straps on the lower deck of the ship. The backpackers had already taken most of the prime spots, the upper deck levels now covered with tents of every shape, size and color. I finally threw caution to the wind and pitched mine in the foremost section of the lower aft deck, in front of most of the other tents but hopefully not so much in the way of foot traffic that the crew would ask me to move it. Until someone said otherwise, for the next two and a half days, it was going to be home.

Within the first hour of breaking free of the dock, I caught sight of both killers whales and seals, and it set the bar high for everyone's expectations as to how much wildlife we were going to see on our journey. The killer whales, according to the ship's captain, were more animated than usual, surfacing head-first out of the water as well as the trademark appearance of their dorsal fin. The sun eased into the horizon, and we were on our way.

The next two days moved at the same leisurely pace as the ship itself. Gliding through the waters of the Inside Passage, the views of the Tongass National Forest, although sometimes obstructed my cloud cover, were amazing.  The duration of the journey gave me a chance to experience every part of the ship, from the "movie lounge" (two flat panel TVs playing documentaries about Alaska and obscure, family-friendly movies from a VCR), to the port viewing decks, perfect places to read, write, stare at the scenery, or just take a nap. The ship even had shower and laundry facilities, which, for someone who was still getting reacquainted with the difficulties the road makes with keeping up on hygiene, was a welcome sight.

The setting of the sun the evening of the first day on the ship. This would be the last time we would see the sun for the rest of the trip.

Home sweet home. I've owned this tent for almost twenty years, and it's still a thrill to pitch it everywhere I go...

Even though it was rainy and cloudy for much of the trip, the landscape was still absolutely beautiful.

On the second day, we had to cross through an extremely narrow part of the Inside Passage, which can only be navigated by steering the ship between these concrete markers.

You can see from this picture just how close we were getting to the shore while in the most narrow section of the Inside Passage. Pretty tight for such a big ship.

Cool fishing boats.

The dock in Petersburg, Alaska.

Artsy pics while docked in Petersburg. Diagonals, photo students, it's all about the diagonals...

Sea lions chilling out on a buoy.

Drying out my tent on the morning before arriving in Haines.

I got some pretty good looks at some glaciers on the last morning of the trip.

The morning of our docking in Haines brought even more rain, but I was able to break down the tent and, with the help of the heated solarium on the upper deck, dry everything out before packing it away. The adrenalin rush was back, and when they finally announced that the car deck was open to passengers and I started to load the bags back on the bike, sweat began pouring down my forehead, and I felt a little light headed. I told myself that it was because the car deck was so hot and I was wearing all of my layers of gear, but something inside of me knew better; the adventure was beginning, and my body was just sending me a reminder. The drive off the ship felt surreal, as if I were part of a spacecraft's landing party, setting foot on some new planet for the first time. One small step for art teachers...

Yeah, THAT"S how we do it from Jersey!

With the aid of my Lonely Planet guidebook, I easily found the Haines hostel, a series of small cabins tucked off in the woods a mile or so outside of town. At first it looked like I was all alone for the night, the hostel owner heading back to his property in the woods across the road after collecting my money, and no other travelers having checked in at that point. I had an uneasy feeling inside as I walked around the grounds, alone in the woods in a part of the world I had never been before. I phoned a friend to hear a familiar voice, when a man in his late 70s appeared in the kitchen area I had been sitting.

The kitchen cabin at the Bear Creek Hostel. Rustic.

My dorm cabin was the second from the right. Unfortunately, it wasn't decorated with moose antlers like some of the others...

His name was Dallas, and he had driven from Montana, as curious as I was to see this part of the world. He was almost completely bald with a round, cartoonish face that crinkled often as he spoke, and a stuttery affect when he spoke that was as animated as his features. He spoke quickly and often, and it was a delight to sit down with him and hear his stories.

Dallas retired early, but more guests arrived, this time a young Israeli couple in their early 20s. We ended up talking for much of the night, laughing and sharing stories of our travels. They reminded me so much of myself at that age, eager to see as much as possible, ready to do whatever they had to to accomplish that, even if resources were limited. I laughed to myself that, after twenty years, I suppose I was still doing the same thing; and loving every minute of it.  I went to bed well fed and ready for sleep, excited to spend my first full day exploring Haines in the morning.

Olympic Peninsula, Part 4

The drive across the peninsula went quickly, but I did decide to stop in the Ho Rainforest for a quick photo/video shoot. The park was a bit more crowded than I remember, but the last time I was there, we were back-country camping in the deeper parts of the forest, far from the trails closer to the visitors center. My tight schedule didn't permit anything more than exploring those closer trails, but I was still struck by the lushness and beauty of the forest. After nineteen years, it was still magical.

I don't usually want people in my landscape pictures, but I took this one to show you just how enormous some of these trees are.

I crossed the peninsula and arrived in Suquamish late in the day, finding the location more by intuition than hard directions. Once I was close to the water it was easy to find; roads blocked off and plenty of people milling around. I parked the bike, eager to see what was happening.

Suddenly I found myself feeling like I rarely have in my life; a minority. As I walked around in the crowds, I was acutely aware of how much I didn't look like any of the faces around me; smooth dark skin, jet black hair, high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes; these, in my limited experiences,  were the faces I recognized from every television show, documentary and movie I had ever watched about Native Americans, and I quickly realized that my preconceived notions of what native life was going to be like, fueled by stereotypes and the media, didn't prepare me at all for what I was experiencing.

Instead of appearing in the midst of some sacred ceremony, like a scene from Dances With Wolves, it was if I had popped in on a day in the park. Children in t-shirts and jeans ran and screamed, parents yelled, families lay out on the grass enjoying food bought from the numerous vendors, mothers pushed strollers, and teenagers circled the grounds with the same pack-mentality that you can witness at any mall across the country; the boys shuffling about with baseball caps worn backwards, the girls tugging down on jean skirts that were way shorter than there parents should have allowed them to wear in public. In fact, it was this that struck me the most; that, except for those very distinct, proud faces, these were people living their lives exactly the same as all of the rest of us, and I felt embarrassed for allowing my ignorance to fool me into expecting anything more or less than that.

Some of the boats used to make the journey that is part of Canoe Journey 2011.

I stayed to witness the ceremony that accompanied the docking of the boats, a combination of songs and dances that were significant to both this particular event as well as to the history of native life in general. I was transfixed by the combination of costumes, voices and movements, and when the presentation came to an end and I made my way through the crowds back to my motorcycle, I felt fortunate to have made the trip.

What I found in Suquamish, although at first nothing like I originally expected, ended up being the most authentic experience I could ever hoped to have had. To have been there was to acknowledge that these are people who live in the present world, the twenty first century, with all the baggage and burdens that the modern world brings with it. Instead of a group of people who have remained anachronistically untouched by the outside world, I witnessed a people who have evolved in western culture just the same way that the rest of us have. The authenticity came from their desire to remember the past, not to try to live in it, which is perhaps the most any of us can strive for in the world we now live.

With the sun beginning to set, I found myself having yet another deja vu moment. I had very little time to make it back to the Port Townsend hostel before nightfall, but this time I had the advantage of my secret weapon; a heated jacket liner that plugs into my bike. The feeling of deja vu faded as I made the almost identical drive I had made to the hostel my first night on the peninsula, but this time both comfortable and warm.

I slept in the same bed in the same dorm room that night. Ritual, I had found, surfaced even on the road, and I took solace in the familiarity of my surroundings as I drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow, the 22nd of June, I would be on the deck of the Alaska Marine Highway ferry Columbia, watching the town of Bellingham dissolve into the horizon.