OLYMPIA

Fully expecting to get drenched, I was let down yet again. The sun came out. For about 2 minutes, then it disappeared again. But I stayed dry. I decided to have a good look around the Park, seeing as I had a pass and all. So I headed on up to the enticingly named Hurricane Ridge, for a bit of a butcher's.

 

I half expected Julie Andrews to jump out from behind a bush and start singing "The hills are alive......"
But again I was disappointed.  I did get to ride on a couple of slightly scary unpaved roads with big drop offs though, in my search for the ultimate view. Obviously these are not the scariest bits, I wasn't going to stop at those.

Pushing further west, I  passed a large lake, Lake Crescent, which was astoundingly as clear as crystal, for as far out as I could see from the shore. Beautiful. Lets hope it stays that way.

Then I hit the coast at Rialto Beach, on the Quileute Indian Reservation. They're welcome to it. Giant heaps of logs washed up on the beach. I was evidently a few million years too early for any sand, the beach is made of rocks, but they are very smooth, and coming along nicely. Watch this space, but don't hold your breath.

I made the mistake of thinking I could ride through a big patch of baseball sized rocks in the parking area, but they proved to be bottomless, and I nearly dropped the bike as I went straight down to the axles. Woops! With as much dignity as I could muster, I paddled my way out, and departed, visor well down and hopefully anonymous. I continued on to the Hoh Rain Forest Ranger Station. That one is so obvious, I'm not even going to touch it. I saw some great temperate rain forest, reminiscent of Tasmania. Cold and wet, with slow growing trees covered in moss and other green stuff. But no Huon Pine here, rather the Sitka Spruce, and they are about a mile high. Well worth chopping down! Onwards, to Lake Quinault, where there are even more Sitka Spruce. While stopped to check directions, in fact I was about to turn around, a guy pulled up in a beaten up old car, and engaged me in conversation. The guy had dreadlocks down to his ankles, and only half as many teeth as me. I thought I was in for some aggro, but he only wanted to tell me there was a bunch of elk grazing next to the road a bit further along. You never can tell. And he was right. These guys are bigger than deer, about the size of a small cow, and pretty solid.

INTERMISSION.

Have I mentioned how pissed off I am at cheap motels that routinely advertise that they have free wi fi ? After a typical traveller has parted with the readies, then discovered to his disappointment that the room  hasn't got a fridge, but is nevertheless looking forward to settling down to check email, book the next day's accommodation, perhaps even to do a bit of blogging, when he finds out that:

• There is no wi fi at all, you lying, cheating, deceptive bastards. The Commodore 64 in the front office for guest use doesn't count, but might be just enough to stop a law suit.
• The wi fi doesn't work if you are too far away from the office.
• The system drops out at random, and you have to retype half your blog, even if you save it as you go. 
• The server once belonged to Noah, and is slower than a snail on valium, especially at loading photos.
• We are having a problem with the wi fi right now, but it should be fixed tomorrow  (just after you leave).

Did I mention that?  No ?  Didn't think so.
And another thing, when you buy Blue Diamond Smoked Almonds, make sure they are not the Jalapeno variety. Senor Jesus! OK then, back to work.


So I moved on to a forgettable little town called Aberdeen, which I subsequently found was the home of John Elway, a big time football hero (Denver Broncos quarterback, if memory serves). And Kurt Cobain, as it happens. Why is it that some people are more famous when they're dead than they were when they were alive??

Moving right along, I followed the coast further south, with threatening clouds following me the whole way, and a chill in the air. Lots of greenery, trees, and muddy river estuaries. We used to call these places swamps, and were quite proud of filling them in, in the interest of controlling disease and creating productive land. Until we found out how critical their role is in the ecosystem as a whole. Oops! Don't worry, there's still a heap of swamp up here though, sorry, I meant wetlands. Shortly thereafter, I crossed a humungous bridge over the Columbia River, and I was in Oregon. Next episode people. I've had enough of this useless connection for one night. Actually, those almonds do grow on you, after the initial shock.

BOING. I MEAN BOEING.

OK, that's enough of the deep and meaningful stuff, I'm starting to sound like a chick. Back to the travelogue. I decided Seattle looked interesting enough to spend a weekend in, so I did. Starting with a trip on the bus. I reckon you get to the core of a place on its public transport, and you see how it works and what it really looks like. Mind you, I soon found out why everyone drives in this country. For a start, my motel was on a main road, normally a good thing for the bus. But this weekend, they had a big roadwork job happening further up the street, and there was a big detour, which created local chaos and long delays. Anyway, I eventually got into the downtown area, after sitting next to a guy in a clown outfit, who kept silently handing flowers to females that got on the bus. Well, I guess there's no law against it. And another thing. I soon picked up on the fact that medical cannabis is legal in this state. My observations lead me to conclude that a lot of people around here must have glaucoma.

I headed in to the Pike Place Market, a big weekend attraction. The first thing I saw was a guy on a corner, holding a  big cardboard cutout of a surfboard, on which was written "Need money for weed". The guy was already whacked out of his skull, and was having such fun, he was quite unaware his cash repository was totally empty. Never mind. The market was fun, and the buskers were really very good, nothing like the lame excuses for talent who expect people to give them money in Adelaide. There was an exhibition of Aboriginal art on display at one of the main Gallerys. Drawing a bit of a crowd too, but I was unlikely to pay the going rate to see where some pissed abbo dropped his/her toothbrush three thousand times. There was also an exhibition at another gallery featuring actual stuff from Tuthankamun's tomb. That was tempting, but I continued my explorations. I did take a snap of the Space Needle, but I was looking for a different angle. I decided to go with the illusion of making it look like it was sprouting from someone's chimney. On top of that piece of skullduggery, by sheer coincidence, I also managed to snap a small float plane full of explosives and flown by Islamic extremists, just before it hit the Needle. Its in all the papers. However, I decided to get the bus back to my digs. In the 65 minutes I waited at the bus stop, I was hassled by all manner of social refuse going about their business loudly and very publicly. Where's a taxi when you need one?

Next morning, Sunday, I had a tour booked at the Boeing plant at Everett, about 30 miles north of downtown Seattle. The fact that it was raining was not a good start, but I rode out there anyway. They are understandably very security conscious, and visitors are not allowed to take anything into the plant except the clothes on their back. So sadly, I have no photos, except the ones I took with my button camera, and they have already been sent to Airbus Industrie.  Anyway, I had to stash all my wet riding gear into a locker, which was messy. Notwithstanding, this tour was just fantastic. For a start, the assembly building is the biggest building by volume in the world. A lazy 13 million cubic metres. And I was more than a little preoccupied with using all my structural engineering expertise to work out how the hell the thing was even standing.  You could work in there for a lifetime and still not meet everyone else! The guide knew her stuff, and continually spouted a stream of impressive statistics. One does tire a little of the Yanks telling everyone else how they own the biggest and best of everything, but the fact is, they're often right. And we Aussies don't mind doing it either, when we have something to crow about. So I go with the flow a bit on this issue.

The tour covered the assembly lines for the 747 series 8, the 777 and the Dreamliner, or 787. The fact that  machines of such complexity can be mass produced on moving production lines is itself mind boggling. The fact that planes keep getting bigger, but also more efficient is testament to the engineering involved, and to the collective skill of the many people who work here. In the case of the 787, parts are actually made and partly assembled in several countries, then flown into Everett on four specially modified 747's which resemble distended whales, for final assembly. I noted that the base price of your average passenger jet is something like $300 million dollars. Then if you want engines, you pay more, about fifteen to twenty million more, per engine. Most purchasers apparently opt for the engines. This is known as leverage. And the final sting is that Boeing only give you a third of tank of fuel anyway. Then I put all my wet riding gear back on rode back to the motel, in the rain, naturally.

I left Seattle the next morning, musing that the business to be in around here is definitely the tattoo business, everyone's got em, and at the same time wondering how the hell it stopped raining long enough for anyone to build anything. I took the ferry from Edmonds, across Puget Sound to Kingston on the Olympic Peninsula, intending to check out the Olympic National Park. Here I got my first look at what passes for a beach in this part of the world. Check out this piece of misery. Grey skies, drizzling rain, slime covered rocks and lumps of wood on the shore. Just like Alaska.

However, on the other side, I soon reached a nice little spot called Port Something Or Other which looked too good to be true, a bit like a movie set or a paint commercial. All picture postcard perfect.

Washington State is known as the Evergreen State, and its not hard to see why. The west side of the Peninsula gets an average rainfall of 140 inches per year. I need more rain like a hole in the head, but I am heading west anyway. Adios, amigos.

SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE

Hardly an original title, but here I am in Seattle. Not that I'm trying to sleep. Home of Bill Gates, Boeing, Nirvana, and umpteen million other entities. I crossed back into the US this morning after spending a couple of night's at Wes and Deb Jamison's place in Vancouver. The fairly long run down from Prince Rupert took me two and a half days. Fortunately the weather was beautiful, and had me thinking that this was about the time Roger and I should have started the trip to Alaska, not be wrapping it up. That's life- a series of random disasters compounded by bad planning. Anyway, Roger's bike died in Haines, but we carried the corpse down to Prince Rupert on the ferry. Roger was thinking he should have buried both himself and the bike at sea, but decided to take it back to Port Hardy on Victoria Island, where he would have more options for its disposal. However, a visit to the local tyre dealership of all places, and a couple of phone calls later, he sold it to a local for a lazy $1k. Problem Solvered. So he got on the ferry, and I rode down to Vancouver. Hope I get that lucky when I sell mine!

I decided to return to Vancouver via Whistler, and then down the coast and into town from the north/west. Nice scenic ride, but then I hit town at rush hour. Never mind, stay on the freeways and zoom, straight through to Wes's place on the east side of town, according to both the map and the GPS. I got a good look at the place, and was able to take in it's size. Its a big city for sure. What I didn't know was that there is a massive road upgrading project under way, and I got a real good look at that as I crawled through mile after mile of it in first and second gear, in bumper to bumper traffic. Bugger!

After a full day devoted to the mundane activities of laundry, bike cleaning and posting some excess luggage home, I got away early this morning. There are multiple border crossings in the Vancouver area, and fortunately there are a couple quite close to Wes's place. Within 10 minutes I arrived at one of them, and got straight through in no time flat. I'm getting pretty good at this now, but noticed the Immigration guy seemed perplexed to find an Aussie on a US registered bike entering the US from Canada. All too hard, and he just handed my passport back without another word. That US Visa really solves a lot of problems. It means I've jumped through all the right hoops to get it in the first place, and nobody else is going to bother about anything else too much. And having a vehicle makes no difference whatever. Nobody cares! On the way to the border post, I noticed a US Border Protection vehicle parked prominently in the open farmland along the border to arrest any cagey Mexicans who might try to sneak in the back door from Canada. Well, who else do they want to keep out?

Before I could face the I-5, I needed sustenance so I stopped for a quick bite and a coffee at a Maccas.  9 am and it was about half full. I really enjoyed my bacon and egg McMuffin and their version of latte. Its just so easy and its cheap. Danger signs here. I'm really getting worried now. I think I'm getting hooked, and I must be morphing into some sort of quasi Yank. Help!!

So, out onto the infamous I-5 for the high speed thrust and parry of commuting American style. So far, so good. About twenty miles later, I felt the first drops of rain. Dammit all, just after I cleaned the bloody bike in Wes's driveway, ......again!! I'm two for two on that one. A quick detour to put on the wet gear I had optimistically packed away at the bottom of the panniers after the recent bout of sunshine, and soon I was sitting in four lanes of traffic at 75-80 mph, surrounded by trucks, and it was belting down. This is not fun. Wet road, trucks kicking up a blinding spray, visibility down to about 60 yards, massive vehicles sitting right up my clacker at those speeds. Everytime I eased back a bit to allow a reasonable gap in front of me for my own self preservation, some macho tosser in an adjoining lane took this as a sign of weakness, and dropped into the hole, thus potentially shortening their journey time by a valuable microsecond. This is just insanity, so maybe I'm not really ready to become a Septic just yet, or perhaps this death-wish driving only happens in the tertiary stages of the metamorphosis. First they get you hooked on the food.

By some miracle, I survived again, and soon arrived at Ride West BMW by mid morning, and delivered my again less than pristine bike into the hands of the people who breathe new life into tired machines. Nicely set up dealership, I thought, with the emphasis on adventure riding. There is plenty of scope for that kind of fun in Washington State, and it has to be much less traumatic than riding the freeways. So I got a full service, plus an annual inspection, plus a new front tyre, plus a new set of - and get this- rear brake pads. There was enough left on the front pads for me to keep them a bit longer, but that's an indication of how foul the road conditions have been on this trip. Lots and lots of "better not grab too much front brake" riding. And it shot a big hole in the Mastercard. And I'm giving all this to some lucky buyer! No one thought this would be a cheap exercise, especially me.

Anyway, while drinking lots of freebie coffee and reading a  few magazines in the well appointed customer relaxation area, mostly about adventure riding, I had a bit of a trip down memory lane. First thing I saw was an advert for Compass Expeditions, featuring a photo of the familiar Parachilna pub in northern South Oz. Compass are trying hard to get Septics to get on over to Oz for a taste of the outback. Is it dry enough yet?? Next I read an article about a Pommy husband and wife team who were riding through Iran. Not a bad article either, and it brought a lot of great memories flooding back. Particularly when they mentioned how hot it was (answer: unfkgblievbly), the drama of riding with armed escorts, and the ironic hassles of getting petrol, and the fact that they stayed at Akbar's guest house in Bam, just as Chris and I did in 08. My own experiences in Iran may be found further back in this very blog, if you can be bothered, and I wondered how Mr Akbar is getting along. A wonderful, warm and generous man, like many others we met in Iran. And like many I have met on this current trip.

So here I am in a slightly sleazy motel on a very busy road in the little known " Crash Repair Shop and Wrecking Yard" District of Seattle. You won't find that in any guide books, so don't bother looking, but I've been in worse places. Chugging on a coldie, and reminiscing about the people I've met, the places I've been and the experiences, good and bad, that I've had in the last few years, since I got into the adventure riding thing. You know what? The world looks pretty bloody good from the seat of a motorcycle, no doubt about that, even if things don't always go to plan. And I reckon that's the essential point about any adventure- fate always intervenes. I wouldn't swap those experiences for anything.

ODDS AND SODS

I've been doing a bit of housekeeping, and found some photos on the camera which I snapped when it seemed like the thing to do. Not sure what I was thinking, but here's some of them. Make of them what you will. I'll throw in my two cents worth as well.

So what's this - a supermarket just for fat people, or is it for fat wannabes?

Canadian and Chinese food. Interesting combination. Hmmm, let me think. Bacon and egg foo yong? Sweet and sour pancakes with black bean syrup? Peking beaver with hoisin sauce? Maybe they're onto something.

A leaking bridge deck somewhere. Its been leaking for so long that actual stalactites are forming from the carbonates leached out of the concrete or maybe from the CaCl anti-icing chemicals on the road.You don't want to rush these things.

And of course, at ground level, there are stalagmites, which are a lot slower and less dramatic.

I know I've used this one before, but I still can't figure it out.

Nice one, Howard.

So who hasn't seen a midget in dreadlocks sitting on a bike pedal and playing the drums in a street band?

Well I don't get to play in the snow all that often. We had the slopes to ourselves too. Everyone thought it was Summer.

Say no more! This one speaks for itself.

A Herbie-vorous car. Geddit?? Its Canadian whimsy, I think.

So many people want to shoot the roadsigns in Alaska, they put in facilities for them. Sarah Palin's idea, I believe. But be quick in there.

 One of these guys is pointing the wrong way. We do this a lot.

Asking a local where I can find a road sign to shoot.

Party time at Shady Pines. Someone left the pool gate open again. Roger hid all the towels.

ANCHORS AWEIGH

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.

FINALLY, ALASKA !!

From Whitehorse up to Haines Junction was fairly uneventful. We stopped a few times to admire the scenery,as per these photos. One tends to see a lot of snow peaked mountains up here, and they are teriffic, but I will try to restrain myself. The wildflowers are just starting to flower, which adds an interesting dimension to the roadside verge. I have already alluded to the infinite number of  trees up here, mainly spruce as we move further north, and I reiterate that, nice as they are, I am getting sick of looking at spruce trees but.

At Haines Junction I tried 2 ATMs and a bank to get some cash, and naturally enough when they consecutively failed to deliver any readies I got extremely annoyed. Meanwhile Roger followed some other guy, who he thought was me, out of town. The net result being that we each rode up to Beaver Creek independently. This was a long but quite spectacular stretch, skirting the very large Kluane Lake, a miniscule portion of which is reproduced below. There had been some severe washaways in this area, and there were some long sections of roadworks. I had a bit of a chat to some of the construction guys, and apparently the problem is when you get the sort of conditions they have had lately, namely rain on top of the snowmelt, it can produce flows of debris, ie mud, rocks and trees, with so much momentum it just bulldozes everything in its path, wrecking embankments and culverts. Again, I admire the persistence of these guys, who just put it back together. The other issue which we are just now beginning to notice, is frost heave. This is the freezing of water in the road base, with the subsequent expansion and lifting of the road surface, and when it finally melts, the road sinks again. To the road user, this is like riding on a roller coaster, but sometimes with long ruts in the direction of travel, that tend to grab the front wheel. In short, you have to watch it or you could go anywhere. A guy and his wife who we met that evening on a Goldwing with a trailer, said he very nearly flipped the lot. (Given the combined weight of his bike, his trailer and in particular his missus, such an outcome would contravene the laws of physics, but I took his point.)

So after a sleepless night spent in Beaver Creek swatting mozzies by the thousand, made all the more restless because it only got dark for about an hour- and if you can see'em, you just have to slap'em- we headed up to the border. This daylight thing is really weird. We are right on the summer solstice, ie the longest day. And they are really long. Bright daylight at 11.30 pm is hard to deal with. You shut the curtains, and it makes no bloody difference.

Anyway, after a few minor formalities at the border, we were back in the US of A as we crossed into Alaska. And all I can say is about bloody time too, it been a tough grind, either cold, wet and/or windy the whole way from Vancouver. And all plans of doing the Dalton Highway long abandoned, unfortunately. Here is where I would have put the triumphant photo of us entering Alaska, if I had taken one. There was a busload of geriatrics hogging the sign, and we didn't want to frighten them, so I'll take a rain check and get it on the way back. So just try to imagine me in front of a sign that says Welcome To Alaska. After continuing on to Fairbanks, which struck me as being a fairly rough sort of a joint, ironically the weather cleared up to the point where it was actually hot. And the mozzies really went berserk! So we decided to then head down to Denali NP, where we were lucky enough to spend a good day in the Park, albeit on a bus, and to get a reasonably good view of Mt McKinley, just before the weather crapped out yet again. Most people on the bus had cameras with lenses the size of bazookas, so the fact that the sparse wildlife was at least a mile away didn't really bother them. All I saw was a few dots on the horizon with my humble camera. We have seen almost virtually no animals since we reached Alaska, after seeing quite a lot in Canada, and we are puzzled by this. Have they all been shot, as I theorised when I saw the gun rack in the Bass Pro shop in Charlotte while buying my camping gear??

Today's ride down to Anchorage was very cold, about10 deg C, but with a severe wind chill. I was uncomfortable the whole day and to top it off, about 20 miles from Anchorage, it started to rain, and it hasn't stopped yet. Nor is it expected to for the next ten days, according to current predictions. Hope they're wrong. We will spend a few days here, and do some day rides in the area, then head  back up to Tok, and go back the way we came in, on the Alaska Highway as far as Haines Junction, then down to Haines to get a ferry to Prince Rupert. We plan a stopover in Juneau, the Capital of Alaska, which paradoxically can only be reached by sea or air. It is a strange place for sure.

I have just clocked up 10,000 miles, and still have a lot of riding ahead to get back to California from up here. My immediate priority is to get the GPS working again. It has an on-board power supply problem, initially I thought it had just blown the fuse, but now we concur there is a short in the fitting that plugs into the back of the unit. So I have ordered a new wiring harness which should be here in a day or two. Thank you Amazon and UPS. Up yours yet again, Garmin.

Here's a few photos taken in the spectacular, awesome Denali National Park. Enjoy!

OK gotta go, its getting dark outside. That means it must be about 3 am.