Looking for the Elusive Artic Circle

They call it the 'Haul Road' because that's why it was built to get supplies from Fairbanks  to Prudhoe Bay. It's also referred to as the Dalton  Highway but either way it's a long way to haul anything to the northern end of the earth.

Given our tire adventures earlier in the trip and the reputation  of this stretch of non-payment we were not quite sure we would attempt this part of the journey. Still, when this was still a bike trip in my mind's  eye Prudhoe Bay had always been the goal so after some soul searching  and automotive angst we decided to give 'er a go.

We elected to do it on a Saturday when hopefully the truckers would be all down in Fairbanks enjoying the sites. We were told when busy the Haul Road would see more than 200 or more big rigs all vying to set the land speed record. The road was in remarkably good shape  compared to the gravel sections we experienced in Canada. Perhaps that makes sense - the sections in Canada were gravel because they were tearing the roads up while on the Dalton they apparently work hard to maintain their dirt road. I guess they do that in part so as not to slow those trucks down from making their appointed rounds. Also, with the price of oil being so low drilling and producing activity on the North Slope is somewhat depressed to the point that the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, which runs from Prudhoe Bay in the North to port of Valdez in the South, is running somewhere around half capacity.

The landscape starts in the great Northern Forestdale- mile after mile of unending  trees. As you make your way north at anywhere between 30-50 miles an hour the trees become noticeably shorter and farther north still sparse until you are crossing great sections of open tundra. After several hours you see a sign announcing you have reached the Artic Circle but as hard as we looked we never did find the actual circle. Instead what greets you is a forlorn sign by which everyone has their picture taken as proof that they were HERE.

One couple we met at the sign had driven all the way from Fairbanks  solely to take a picture holding their Trump For President sign. I blogged earlier about the Farthest North Packer Fans but these folks were intent on being recognized as the Farthest North Trump Supporters. They were going to dutifully send their picture into Trump headquarters. Not sure the Trump staff will quite know what to do with it as I'm not certain the Donald quite realizes Alaska is part of the U.S. ("isn't that where that crazy lady could see Russia from her front porch? What was her name?").

One cool thing happened while we were enjoying enjoying our bona-fide 24 hours of sunlight (that's what the Artic Circle represents). It had been a gorgeous day driving up but upon our arrival we were treated to a homegrown, True Blue, Artic Storm - the kind you always hear your local weather person  warning you about. If I could have I would have attached a postage stamp and sent it to all you southerners with hugs and kisses but with the rain, wind, and cold (the stuff Artic storms are known for) it was kind of hard to lick the stamp. So instead Sophie and I did a hilarious version of a Polar Rain Dance and soaked and frozen made it back to the car just in time for the rain faucet to be turned off.

At a BLM cabin 40 miles back at the crossing of the Yukon River (still flowing it's 1,900 miles to the sea) a very nice volunteer lady who winters in the Carolinas gives you an official certificate as proof you had been THERE and back. We didn't get to Prudhoe however which means, you guessed it, we've got to come back. Haven't got her fully convinced but maybe can get Sophie to do the Dalton on two wheels. If there's  anyone else out there who'd like to join us, summer 2017 is less than a year away.

On our way back, about halfway to Fairbanks and about as in the middle of nowhere as I thought I could find we come across a young guy walking the highway pulling a trailer in the back of which was riding Pablo the dog.

Greg was the name of the intrepid hiker, and though he didn't look old enough to shave he had flown to Fairbanks,  hitched a ride to Prudhoe, and was now doing the slow walk South. Ultimate destination? Austin. Texas. A long, long way away. Greg planned to be in Austin (Alaskans  like to point out that their State is 2 1/2 times the size of Texas) by November which means he'd better get a move on. Pablo the Dog was a little the worse for wear finding it tough to handle 30 miles walkies day after day after day. Thus his being tucked quite comfortably in the trailer snoozing away the miles. If you ask me, which you clearly did not, sounds like Pablo the Dog has Greg the Hiker whooped. Either way we loaded Greg up with water and fruit (not much fruit for sale along the Dalton) and gave Pablo one of our pups new dog bones and wished them bon voyage. My feet hurt just thinking about what Greg's attempting but by the time he hits Austin he'll have earned a shave.