Day 4: Salcha to Northway Junction

206 miles

It was dark out and I could feel the chill air on my cheek. I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was uncomfortable, and I couldn’t figure out why. When I rolled over my watch revealed that it was just 30 minutes past midnight. I grumbled and left the warmth of my sleeping bag to go to the bathroom. As I stood in the small clearing where I was camping, I looked up to see the stars. I was very excited as I knew stargazing here in Alaska would be unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been. There are so few cities around and so little light pollution I figured surely the stars would be beautiful. It was the first night with clear skies. When I turned my face to the sky I let out a gasp. An audible “wow…” escape from my lips. Yes, the stars were beautiful, but more than that the aurora borealis shown bright overhead. I have never seen the northern lights before. I stood in the clearing and nothing but my underwear, toilet paper in one hand, eyes wide open. I nearly forgot that I was supposed to be cold in the 30° air. I stood and watched as the greens and purples and pinks of the Aurora played out across the sky. I scuttled back to my bivvy and shot a couple pictures before taking care of business and heading back off to bed. When I woke up properly for the morning, it was cold. It wasn’t the same type of cold that I had experience the day before on the Yukon River. This was a bitter, biting cold. However, there wasn’t much force behind it, and as soon as I got layered up, I was well protected. I started riding under clear skies, but quickly was enveloped in banks of fog. I could tell it was gonna be a beautiful day, despite the patches of thick fog. It started warming quickly, and before I knew it. I was de-layering. After about an hour and a half of riding I reached a flagger at a construction site. I had to wait for about 15 minutes before the pilot car came back in which time I talked with the worker. He commented on how late in the season I am starting. It’s true, I am starting much later than the typical cyclist. And I paid the price at times, particularly in the Brooks range when I was biking through 20° snow. However, I did not get much say in my departure day. Because I took classes at Dartmouth this summer—as is customary for all students after their second full year of school to take classes in the summer—I had school and finals up until the last week of August. August 28 is the earliest start date I could possibly have taken. However, I actually quite like that I made a late start. Other than brief moments of cold, it has been absolutely wonderful. I have quite enjoyed the beautiful fall colors of the tundra, and the bright yellows of the rapidly changing aspen. Additionally, I haven’t seen a single mosquito yet, a huge win for me. After riding for several more hours, through increasingly less dense fog banks, I began catching glimpses of Denali and the surrounding mountains. How incredible! I cannot put into words, nor can my iPhone 12 camera capture in images the magnificent beauty of these mountains or the immense scale of their rise.

I got to Delta Junction at around 10. The entire town is framed by a backdrop of the most stunning mountains. Really incredible place. I stopped for a quick resupply before heading out on what is now officially the Alaska highway. The road became straight as an arrow for the next 40 miles with only slight rolling on undulations in the gradient. I had a headwind that continued to pick up speed throughout the day, but it never got over 10 mph. It was manageable and I kept my speed at a relatively respectable pace. A little bit after noon I got a rear flat. When I took my tire off, there was no sealant left in the tube, it was bone dry. I’m not sure how this happened. My best guess is that there is a leak somewhere in the rim tape that the sealant escaped from and it is now all inside the rim. I was able to put in a fresh tube and head on my way, but not having tubeless in the back is not ideal. The bike functions the exact same as before, however, I am now a little bit closer to what could be a catastrophic blow out of the tire. It’s just one more layer of armor, peeled back. I need to be more careful now, especially on gravel. The Alaska highway initially left behind Denali in the surrounding mountains, but by mid afternoon, the road once again found its way up against the foothills of yet another massive mountain range. Large mountains covered in tundra rose gently than steeply from the valley. Above lay a  world of snow and rock, and ice. Through the gap in the foothill mountains, I would catch glimpses of magnificent peaks, huge carracks, crevasse ridden glaciers, and massive snow fields punctuated by rocky spires. There were a few clouds building over the mountain range, which only added to its mystique. The road once again turn ed flat and straight, cutting its way through large swaths of forrest and open space. Then again in late afternoon, the road bent south, and re-entered the foothills of the large mountains. I absolutely love the mountains here. There’s something magical about them. They feel so, inviting yet, so rugged and so beautifully powerful. They almost beckon in a false sense of security. The great valleys of green trees and shining yellow aspens slowly rise into mellow grades up the sides of the mountain. The trees slowly give way to tundra brushes and scrubs of beautiful, orange, brown and red colors. The tundra eventually fades away in favor of barren rock, and the rock in turn gives way to snow. It almost looks like you could run up them in an afternoon. Of course you can’t. However, looking at them from a distance, they seem so welcoming, so magestic. I have only seen beauty to this extent in a few places in my life before. However, I am in a position to appreciate the beauty I am seeing right now more than ever in my life. Something about having work so hard to get to where I am, not just the past four days, but the past couple years of training and preparation makes these views so much more special. It’s like when you’re camping and the food taste way better than it should because you had to work to get there and you’re hungry for it. Without a doubt, these mountains do not rival the beauty of the Himalayas. The Himalayas have a certain power and almost spiritual feeling to them that I have never felt anywhere else. However, these mountains are most certainly the second most beautiful I’ve ever seen in my life. The foothills here make the White Mountains and Green Mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont—mountains that I love so dearly—seem piddly in comparison. The foothill mountains that are blocking the view of these great behemoth peaks. Foothill mountains you wish would move so you could get a better view of the big boys behind. These foothill mountains are greater than anything the East Coast can offer. As the road left behind the mountains, I was treated to one last beautiful view of a peak with just a dusting of snow on top. Poised above a pond with flaming, yellow aspens on all sides. It truly was a postcard picture. The overwhelming beauty brought tears to my eyes, enabled by my emotions which are always running high during this trip. The road once again flattened out and return to it straight nature. The sun is starting to get low in the sky and the headwind disappeared completely for the first time all day. On these consistently flat straight grades I was able to average about 20 miles an hour for the first time this trip. This is a fantastic sign for what is to come when the winds eventually do turn in my favor. I know that when that day does come whether it be tomorrow or in several weeks, I will be ready to throw down some huge days. I stopped in Tok at a reasonably sized grocery store. I supplied for the night and next morning and pushed off for the evening. The sun was casting golden light across the great valley. This time of day I love to call golden hour for obvious reasons. Because the sun never get high in the sky in Alaska, instead of the golden hour I experience at home, it’s more like the golden three hours here in Alaska. The fading light cast everything in an  amber glow, even the green spruce trees. The great clumps of yellow aspen were emboldened in their color to the point where the hillsides seem to be on fire, a molten golden, as if King Midas had a field day all through the woods. It was hilly, but I was buoyed by my delicious dinner. I had treated myself to a cold sub, and an apple with a pound of smoked Gouda cheese for dessert. I enjoyed my delicacies on the bike while heading out of town. I left Tok around 6:30 and managed to get another 45 miles before calling it, a night down the road. I found a pull over with ample space for me to set up my bivvy and I cashed out for the night. In the three minutes between laying down and falling asleep, I heard a pack of wolves howling off in the distance. Their chorus was so incredibly beautiful and ethereal. I was truly in a very remote area. The Alaska Highway feels way more remote than the Dalton Highway ever did. The road is quieter and there are no commercial vehicles. There’s only an occasional camper van or RV to disturb my peace. I went to bed very content with where I was. 206 miles on the day with a headwind is something to be proud of. The distant sound of the wolves did not scare me in the slightest, in fact, I would love for them to have been closer. I would love for them to walk into camp. I would love the opportunity to be able to see wolves up close in person. I have seen a solitary wolf in Yellowstone, but it was just a speck of black in the distance and I wouldn’t have known it was a wolf unless someone had told me so. Unlike grizzly bears, I do not fear wolves at all. Grizzlies do scare me a little bit here. I’ve been in grizzly country my entire ride from Prudhoe Bay on, but now that I am further south, and the temperatures at night are hovering just above freezing. It seems that the Bears are more likely to be active. I’ve only seen one grizzly so far on the first day, however, I know they’re here. I always carry my bear spray on my aero bars and religiously sleep with it right next to my right hand. However, if a bear really wanted to get to me in the middle of the night, there’s not much I can do. I’m all wrapped up like a warm soft taco in my sleeping bag and I’m a very deep sleeper. If a bear did happen upon me, I probably wouldn’t wake up until it’s too late. At which point I would attempt to fumble with my zippers, but I’d probably get caught up and wouldn’t really make it out of the bivvy with my bear spray in time. Of course, I am hanging my food every night and taking the necessary precautions to protect against this, however, I cannot completely eradicate the smell of food from my being, and I doubtless carry my own odor that is quite strong and unpleasant to a human, but might be attractive to a certain grizzly bear, looking to fatten up before the long winter ahead. regardless, I don’t really worry about this too much. After all, what am I gonna do about it? In addition, I really don’t think it’s very common for a bear to attack a camper. I’m not worried about it at all, but I am going to continue to take the necessary steps to prevent again such a thing from happening. It would be wild to be attacked by a bear, but it would be stupid to be attacked by a bear and not be prepared. Today was my last full day in Alaska before I head into the Yukon of Canada tomorrow. I’m excited to see what this next phase of my journey will bring. I know there will be many more great mountain ranges, and many more miles of new road for me to explore. I’m sure new challenges will arise and new learning experiences will be had. I can’t believe I’m already almost out of Alaska. Just two days ago when a friend asked me how much further ahead in Alaska I looked at how big the map was and just guessed “oh probably about five days” I said. I was so wrong. It only took me about four days to ride clear across the entire state. I think I often become desensitized to the distance I am really covering on the bike. When it becomes habitual to ride two hundred miles a day I often lose the perspective on how far that really is. Alaska is a huge place, it’s crazy that I have biked across it so quickly. This also goes to contextualize how far my ride really is. I always thought Alaska was a big chunk of my ride, but it’s only four out of 84 days. That’s incredible. It really hammers home how far the Pan-American actually is.