OK Readers, some of you are aware that I posted a derogatory instalment concerning my opinion of Alaska. Suitably chastened, I have retracted it and am replacing it with this more moderate, less tired and emotional version. (Those of you who printed the original, hang on to it, I still reckon its solid gold.)
I think we got as far as Denali NP. Right, after that we headed down to Alaska's most populous city, Anchorage. Those of you who want a politically correct description of our visit, read Roger's blog. Here's the way I saw it. Anchorage may not be the asshole of the earth, but you can see it from there. For a start, most of Alaska is bloody expensive. You can still buy anything you want, this is still America after all, but everything except Eskimo souvenirs has to be hauled up here from somewhere else, and that costs. We were not prepared to fork over $250-300 a night, so we payed $90 a night to stay at Howard Johnson's place in the downtown area. This part of town is pretty sad. It turns out the motel was full of deadbeats because its where the government parks people on the public housing list for a few years, while it tries (yeah, right) to find accomodation for them. The staff could not give a rat's about anything. Nothing in the place worked properly, but we had a great view of the railyards and the container terminal. Hardly heard a peep during the daytime, but the trains blew their horns like buggery all night. I concluded that the only reason for this was to try and get the drug addicts to wake up and get off the tracks. Mind you, night time only lasted about 3 hours, the rest of the time the sun was up, apparently, behind the leaden skies which constantly drizzled rain.
OUR VIEW TO DIE FOR
Turns out Anchorage has expanded a fair bit, with the suburbs extending way out, and all the subdivisions and the fast food joints one normally sees in an American city located out where the people live. As a result, downtown is a bit of a desert. Parts of it were severely damaged in a major earthquake in the 60's and it must have spooked people. True, there is a bit to see, with some interesting museums, and a bit of history. For instance there is a statue of one Captain James Cook, who first sailed into the bay and charted its coastline in the HMS Resolution. The same guy who claimed in the name of the King some islands in the south Pacific, one quite large one, if I recall. A visit to the so called Earthquake Park resulted in a rapid tactical withdrawal when the mosquitoes ignored my insect repellent and flew straight up my sleeves and trouser legs, and started partying. I just about needed a transfusion before I got back to the bike. At one stage, I though they would lift me off the ground, there were so many of the little bastards.
Nevertheless, I used the time to rewire the GPS, and also fitted a new 12V plug, bypassing the electronics on the bike, so I'm back in business. We took a run down to Seward on the Kenai Peninsula, which took most of a day, and was pretty scenic. However, it was still quite cold, and it rained most of the way down, and all of the way back. Check some of the photos, how cold do you reckon this was? I was very tempted to give Roger a shove, just to find out.
Of course I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be happy? Its summertime.
Both of us had new rear tyres fitted, then we were away, heading for Glenallen on the Copper River, from where we hoped to do some day rides to Valdez and Kennicott. Naturally, we got severely rained on in the process. Next day, Roger and I headed down to Valdez. We lasted 30 miles before we gave up in disgust. It was just pouring with rain, and only getting blacker. So back to Glenallen to wring out our socks. It turns out that Brian and Val, who had come up to Haines AK on the ferry from Bellingham WA, had reached Tok, so we arranged to meet at Glenallen. It was terrific to catch up again. We had rendezvoused in North Carolina, Arizona, and now Alaska, and I reckon that's just great. Sadly Bjoern and Sigrid were not with them, since Bjoern's accident in California which resulted in a broken wrist. You can plan as much as you like, but fate will throw in a trump card when you least expect it. Here is Val's bike being investigated by a gay moose outside the Caribou Hotel in Glenallen.
And here's me, just down the road, in the Alaskan tourists summer costume (full wet weather gear) pretending its warm. Beam me up, Scotty.
Next day, we headed off in opposite directions, us down to Haines, B and V to Valdez. Don't know about them, but we got rained on again, this time a real doozie of a thunderstorm let rip just before we crossed the border back into Canada at Beaver Creek. It felt weird going back over some old ground, because it seemed weeks ago since we had been here, but we had actually ridden in a very large loop. It rained all night, and promised to be a day of sheer misery when we left next morning. The promise was fulfilled, why am I not surprised? The road back to Haines Junction was tough going in the wet. From here down to Haines, we started by going through some very sloppy roadworks. Note the appearance of my once pristine machine. Numberplate, what numberplate? Tail light?? It was there when I started.
On we went, up into the mountains. At this point we did actually see some wildlife. First a solitary black bear, and shortly afterwards, a bloody big mamma grizzly, with a single cub. I let Roger take the photos, I was well out of the way! By this stage, it was getting cold again, but at least it was dry. This stretch was long and lonely, quite desolate in fact, no people, no cars, no nothing. And I got frostbite taking these photos. Then it started raining again.
Shortly afterwards, we literally dropped into the border crossing back into the US, about 40 miles from Haines. The temperature skyrocketed from about 38 deg F on the plateau to 55 deg F down at the river flats within approx 3 miles. And speaking of skyrockets, it was July 4 when we reached Haines. We were that knackered, we both slept right through the fireworks, even though we had one of the best views in the town. Here it is, sans fireworks.
OK, were back in the US of A. Right about now, Rogers bike decides to make funny noises. Really expensive noises. We think the front sprocket shaft bearing has gone (because the chain was refitted too tightly when the tyre was changed). Best to get it on the ferry, and sort it out later, so that's what we did. We decided to have a stopover in Juneau, the capital of Alaska. Strange place for a capital. No road in, its only accessible by boat or by air. I decide to ask the Governor (well, ex Governor and former Presidential candidate, actually) what the hell that was all about. She wasn't talking. She just said "Shut up and fish."
Juneau is where you go in the afterlife if you have been naughty. There were three cruise ships in port, one of them was bigger than the Nimitz, I swear. These vessels disgorge thousands of people in white shoes and wrinkle cream who wander the main street bumping in to each other and buying overpriced stuff with the word "Alaska" on it so they can prove to their friends they have been to the last frontier, before they scurry back on board to lord it over the lowly paid staff who toady to their every whim. The Cruise Lines own the ships, the shops, the hotels and the buses that take people into the Klondike for musicals starring phoney Mounties. It is an industry, make no mistake. No expense is spared to make the punters feel like they are in the middle of the goldrush. One joint we wandered into actually had sawdust on the floor, probably to delude people into thinking its to soak up the blood. I worked at the Largs Pier Hotel back in the 70's, when Cold Chisel played there, and if they didn't need sawdust then, no one does. But the backstreets of Juneau were a different story altogether.
Roger and I stayed in a hotel called the Alaska Hotel and Bar, which I feel confident really was built in the gold rush. I reckon it was probably once a brothel, seriously, and it had quite a bit of character. One of the most interesting places I've ever stayed in. Right up there with the Fragrance Hotel Ruby in Singapore. Sadly, no photos of either. The staff were West Indian and Chinese. I have no idea what the hell is going on there, but at least I could talk about Cricket with the Rastas. The Chinese shiela on the desk had no idea about anything, especially anything to do with the hotel. One of the Wailers suggested we park our bikes way up on a plateau overlooking the back of the hotel, amongst the syringes, broken beer bottles and burning pallets (we all thought it was safer) and to our amazement they were still there the next morning. This allowed us to get back to the ferry terminal, so we could move the whole shebang down to Prince Rupert. And that is where we will pick up the story next time.
I think we got as far as Denali NP. Right, after that we headed down to Alaska's most populous city, Anchorage. Those of you who want a politically correct description of our visit, read Roger's blog. Here's the way I saw it. Anchorage may not be the asshole of the earth, but you can see it from there. For a start, most of Alaska is bloody expensive. You can still buy anything you want, this is still America after all, but everything except Eskimo souvenirs has to be hauled up here from somewhere else, and that costs. We were not prepared to fork over $250-300 a night, so we payed $90 a night to stay at Howard Johnson's place in the downtown area. This part of town is pretty sad. It turns out the motel was full of deadbeats because its where the government parks people on the public housing list for a few years, while it tries (yeah, right) to find accomodation for them. The staff could not give a rat's about anything. Nothing in the place worked properly, but we had a great view of the railyards and the container terminal. Hardly heard a peep during the daytime, but the trains blew their horns like buggery all night. I concluded that the only reason for this was to try and get the drug addicts to wake up and get off the tracks. Mind you, night time only lasted about 3 hours, the rest of the time the sun was up, apparently, behind the leaden skies which constantly drizzled rain.
OUR VIEW TO DIE FOR
Turns out Anchorage has expanded a fair bit, with the suburbs extending way out, and all the subdivisions and the fast food joints one normally sees in an American city located out where the people live. As a result, downtown is a bit of a desert. Parts of it were severely damaged in a major earthquake in the 60's and it must have spooked people. True, there is a bit to see, with some interesting museums, and a bit of history. For instance there is a statue of one Captain James Cook, who first sailed into the bay and charted its coastline in the HMS Resolution. The same guy who claimed in the name of the King some islands in the south Pacific, one quite large one, if I recall. A visit to the so called Earthquake Park resulted in a rapid tactical withdrawal when the mosquitoes ignored my insect repellent and flew straight up my sleeves and trouser legs, and started partying. I just about needed a transfusion before I got back to the bike. At one stage, I though they would lift me off the ground, there were so many of the little bastards.
Nevertheless, I used the time to rewire the GPS, and also fitted a new 12V plug, bypassing the electronics on the bike, so I'm back in business. We took a run down to Seward on the Kenai Peninsula, which took most of a day, and was pretty scenic. However, it was still quite cold, and it rained most of the way down, and all of the way back. Check some of the photos, how cold do you reckon this was? I was very tempted to give Roger a shove, just to find out.
Both of us had new rear tyres fitted, then we were away, heading for Glenallen on the Copper River, from where we hoped to do some day rides to Valdez and Kennicott. Naturally, we got severely rained on in the process. Next day, Roger and I headed down to Valdez. We lasted 30 miles before we gave up in disgust. It was just pouring with rain, and only getting blacker. So back to Glenallen to wring out our socks. It turns out that Brian and Val, who had come up to Haines AK on the ferry from Bellingham WA, had reached Tok, so we arranged to meet at Glenallen. It was terrific to catch up again. We had rendezvoused in North Carolina, Arizona, and now Alaska, and I reckon that's just great. Sadly Bjoern and Sigrid were not with them, since Bjoern's accident in California which resulted in a broken wrist. You can plan as much as you like, but fate will throw in a trump card when you least expect it. Here is Val's bike being investigated by a gay moose outside the Caribou Hotel in Glenallen.
Next day, we headed off in opposite directions, us down to Haines, B and V to Valdez. Don't know about them, but we got rained on again, this time a real doozie of a thunderstorm let rip just before we crossed the border back into Canada at Beaver Creek. It felt weird going back over some old ground, because it seemed weeks ago since we had been here, but we had actually ridden in a very large loop. It rained all night, and promised to be a day of sheer misery when we left next morning. The promise was fulfilled, why am I not surprised? The road back to Haines Junction was tough going in the wet. From here down to Haines, we started by going through some very sloppy roadworks. Note the appearance of my once pristine machine. Numberplate, what numberplate? Tail light?? It was there when I started.
On we went, up into the mountains. At this point we did actually see some wildlife. First a solitary black bear, and shortly afterwards, a bloody big mamma grizzly, with a single cub. I let Roger take the photos, I was well out of the way! By this stage, it was getting cold again, but at least it was dry. This stretch was long and lonely, quite desolate in fact, no people, no cars, no nothing. And I got frostbite taking these photos. Then it started raining again.
Shortly afterwards, we literally dropped into the border crossing back into the US, about 40 miles from Haines. The temperature skyrocketed from about 38 deg F on the plateau to 55 deg F down at the river flats within approx 3 miles. And speaking of skyrockets, it was July 4 when we reached Haines. We were that knackered, we both slept right through the fireworks, even though we had one of the best views in the town. Here it is, sans fireworks.
OK, were back in the US of A. Right about now, Rogers bike decides to make funny noises. Really expensive noises. We think the front sprocket shaft bearing has gone (because the chain was refitted too tightly when the tyre was changed). Best to get it on the ferry, and sort it out later, so that's what we did. We decided to have a stopover in Juneau, the capital of Alaska. Strange place for a capital. No road in, its only accessible by boat or by air. I decide to ask the Governor (well, ex Governor and former Presidential candidate, actually) what the hell that was all about. She wasn't talking. She just said "Shut up and fish."
Juneau is where you go in the afterlife if you have been naughty. There were three cruise ships in port, one of them was bigger than the Nimitz, I swear. These vessels disgorge thousands of people in white shoes and wrinkle cream who wander the main street bumping in to each other and buying overpriced stuff with the word "Alaska" on it so they can prove to their friends they have been to the last frontier, before they scurry back on board to lord it over the lowly paid staff who toady to their every whim. The Cruise Lines own the ships, the shops, the hotels and the buses that take people into the Klondike for musicals starring phoney Mounties. It is an industry, make no mistake. No expense is spared to make the punters feel like they are in the middle of the goldrush. One joint we wandered into actually had sawdust on the floor, probably to delude people into thinking its to soak up the blood. I worked at the Largs Pier Hotel back in the 70's, when Cold Chisel played there, and if they didn't need sawdust then, no one does. But the backstreets of Juneau were a different story altogether.
Roger and I stayed in a hotel called the Alaska Hotel and Bar, which I feel confident really was built in the gold rush. I reckon it was probably once a brothel, seriously, and it had quite a bit of character. One of the most interesting places I've ever stayed in. Right up there with the Fragrance Hotel Ruby in Singapore. Sadly, no photos of either. The staff were West Indian and Chinese. I have no idea what the hell is going on there, but at least I could talk about Cricket with the Rastas. The Chinese shiela on the desk had no idea about anything, especially anything to do with the hotel. One of the Wailers suggested we park our bikes way up on a plateau overlooking the back of the hotel, amongst the syringes, broken beer bottles and burning pallets (we all thought it was safer) and to our amazement they were still there the next morning. This allowed us to get back to the ferry terminal, so we could move the whole shebang down to Prince Rupert. And that is where we will pick up the story next time.
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