BMW R80 G/S
Alaska is one of this planet’s great remaining wildernesses, and the Dalton Highway one of the Earth’s most dangerous roads. So Jill Oldham and Chris Mills do the right thing and tackle it on Harleys, with road tyres…
It’s July 2017 and me and partner Chris Mills are two months into our 18 month North/central/south America ride of a lifetime; it turns out to be longer but that’s another story. We are both in our 50s, I’m retired having spent over 27 years with the Royal Mail – I have a pinned and plated hip following a horse riding accident and they couldn’t find me an office job. Chris and I met through a mutual love of Harley-davidsons and riding them. Not obvious choices for the challenge ahead…
Having ridden the Trans Labrador Highway, Newfoundland, Canada in June 2017 we’re now up for our second mini challenge – The James Dalton Highway, Alaska – made infamous by TV shows Ice Road Truckers and The World’s Most Dangerous Roads. The Dalton is 414 miles long and was built in 1974 as a service road for the oil fields in Prudhoe Bay. And anyone who has enjoyed those TV shows will know how dangerous it is, even for the seasoned truckers who have been running the route for years.
The ‘highway’ (and we aren’t talking M1 here) follows the route of the Trans Alaska Pipeline which is approximately 8oo miles long and runs from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, Alaska and it’s remote, mainly gravel and is served by few petrol stations. And if you get into bother you can’t call the AA.
Oh and being Alaska the weather isn’t great. Adding to the fun my 2006 Harley-davidson 883XL Sportster (with extended tank) has a range of 210 miles including reserve, which is slightly less than Chris’s 2004 HarleyDavidson Heritage Softail.
Before launching onto the Dalton we stay in Fairbanks and book the bikes in for a service at Fairbanks HarleyDavidson – we both need tyres. During our spell in Fairbanks we meet Toni and Lis. They’ve just completed the Dalton on their BMW and ask about our plans, and what we are riding. Having listened they tell us we will be fine so long as it stays dry and that the last sixty miles are the worst because the road has been washed away – construction workers have been rebuilding and regrading it with gravel which, apparently, is deep. The team at H-D Fairbanks think we are crackers for wanting to take our bikes up there.
It’s a beautiful 1 July as we head out of Fairbanks onto Highway 2 and then the Dalton, or Highway 11 as it’s also signposted. We’ve filled up in Fairbanks and our intention on this first day is to ride to the Yukon River Camp where there’s fuel, food, camping and lodging – it’s 135-miles from Fairbanks, 56 miles of which is Dalton, so an easy day.
We soon discover the Dalton’s surface is hard packed dirt and gravel, but at mile marker 49 this gives way to a short stretch of paved road. It’s a great start to this mini challenge. We arrive at Yukon River Camp without incident and fill the bikes up – you have to ask in the cafe for the key to the fuel pump. We return to the café to give back the key, eat (brilliant salmon soup) and ask where we can pitch our tent? The lady café owner tells us we can camp for free near the river, just to the side of the cafe. It’s July so there are bears about – we retire for the night, bear spray at the ready. The problem is, round here at this time of year, sleep does not come easily because it’s daylight pretty much 24 hours a day.
3 July: having stayed a day extra in Yukon we pack up, eat breakfast and reengage with the Dalton; the daily plan is to camp at Coldfoot, which is approximately 118 miles away. Not far, but don’t forget we’re allowing for the road conditions and our bikes. It’s sunny and we stop to take pictures at the Arctic Circle sign, mile marker 118. As with the first leg this part of the Dalton starts all dirt and gravel then switches to tarmac. As we arrive in Coldfoot the weather turns to heavy rain; Coldfoot is essentially a busy truck stop with fuel, a post office and café with internet – $4 for half-an-hour, most of which is spent watching a spinning blue dot. There’s also accommodation here and the camping is free if you can find a decent spot. But it is still a truck stop, so mod cons are thin on the dirt and gravel.
Huge trucks
It’s still only 3pm and, despite the weather, we decide to crack on – we agree that if the road becomes too slippery we will find somewhere to camp. We slow our pace to allow for the weather and gravel. Thankfully our plight is short lived as the sun beats away the rain and the Dalton dries. In this moment we are completely in the zone and just ride and ride. Along the way we see reindeer, stunning scenery and mile upon mile of trees, mountains and trucks. Huge trucks which don’t half chuck up dust. We discover that the easiest thing to do when one approaches, and you can see them from a long way off, is to completely stop and keep in as far to the side as you can get. Having avoided a collision all you have to do then is wait for the huge clouds of dust to clear; take it from me a mouthful of Dalton is very unpleasant. The other thing that keeps popping in and out of our view is the pipeline, which is surreal against the landscape.
As the Dalton continues we start to climb – we have reached the Atigun Pass, the highest maintained pass in Alaska at 4739 feet above sea level. Anyone familiar with the TV show Ice Road Truckers will know this pass well – it’s where the truck drivers’ blood pressures fountain at the challenge of the inclines. Where they put on snow chains and slide down one side and spin out up the next. It’s here at mile marker 244 that the Dalton crosses the Continental Divide and you drop down onto the Arctic Tundra.
Atigun Pass
Even in July, when there is no snow, riding this pass is a challenge. The hard-packed dirt and gravel is mushy and slippery. I’m struggling, the Sportster attempting to drift its way down, while Chris looks the expert on his Softail. But get down in one piece we do.
It’s evening now and we start looking for a camp. By the time we find somewhere it’s 9pm and still broad daylight, but we are tired and ready for tea. Chris manoeuvres the bikes off the road and out of sight. We pitch the tent, fill the bikes with our spare fuel and Chris cooks dinner ie pours hot water onto freeze-dried camping meals. Good job it’s quick though, the mosquitoes are huge – the locals refer to them as unofficial Alaskan birds. We are 96 miles short of Prudhoe Bay.
The next morning and that glorious sunshine is back. This is a good thing as we remember Toni telling us the last 60 miles are the worst due to the road being rebuilt. Turns out it’s no exaggeration: 30 miles into the day and we arrive at the
‘The café owner tells us we can camp near the river. It’s July so there are bears about – we retire, bear spray at the ready’
road works. Instead of traffic lights a lady operates a ‘stop/go’ sign. We chat: she tells us the river flooded some time ago and washed the oil fields’ service road away, hence the rebuild and only the base layer is down. As we wait some off-road riders coming back to Fairbanks wave as they pass us, but one pauses, he’s riding a BMW. Helpfully he warns us that the gravel is deep and cautions us to take care.
The ‘stop/go’ lady swings her sign to green and Chris sets off… confidently. I follow, trying to stay in his track. But no sooner have we got going than the gap in our riding levels becomes apparent. Chris is ahead and dealing with the gravel well, while I am lagging and not dealing. And then… I ride into a section of gravel and my back tyre sinks bringing me to a halt. I freeze. On the intercom I tell Chris I am stuck and he suggests I try to accelerate out. But the fear kicks in – I’m just not confident enough that I’ll keep control. Chris parks the Heritage and comes back to help. As he’s getting my bike out of the hole the ‘stop/go’ lady arrives in a pick-up truck – she’s been watching the drama unfold – and shouts for me to get in. She drives me out of the difficult bit while Chris rides the bike to a point where I can safely remount. Storm in a teacup, but annoying all the same. I wasn’t the only one to have had difficulties though, later we pass a young man on a KTM whose chain has come off in the gravel. He’s parked up making a temporary fix.
Shattered
Mini crisis conquered we continue, more slowly and carefully. It takes seven more hours, including having to find fuel in the oil field, to reach Prudhoe Bay. We are shattered but we’re there. An oil worker does a double-take and says, ‘Heck, we don’t get many cruisers up here’.
Places to stay in Prudhoe Bay are thin on the ground. We’ve got a room at the Prudhoe Bay Hotel ($260 per night, so it’s expensive), or there’s Deadhorse Camp. There’s free wifi at the hotel which is made up of those pre-fab office building units you often see on construction sites in the UK. At least the parking is free. The hotel is spotless inside, a warm place to stay for the oil workers. In fact the place is so clean we get told off for missing the sign at the door – one of the rules is that you have to take your work boots off or put covers (provided) over them. Of course we apologise and correct our mistake. Then a much needed shower.
Alaska is fantastic, as is the Dalton. And our Harleys prove they are up to the task. But if you have any ideas about riding it in the winter I’d suggest watching some of those TV shows, they’ll change your mind for sure.
‘As we wait some off-road riders wave as they pass us, but one pauses, he’s riding a BMW. Helpfully he warns us to take care…’