Location: Denali, AK

Trip Mileage: 13,830

Car Mileage: 224,121

I was anxious about the trip to the Arctic Circle along the Dalton Highway last weekend. The highway was advertised as having unkept roads, racing semi-trucks, one gas station along the 500-mile stretch, and no cell phone service. At the top of the Dalton Highway lies Deadhorse, an entire city of oil rigs that block off public entrance to the Arctic Ocean. You can take a tour bus through the fields to the banks of the Arctic for $90, but you must book your reservation 24 hours in advance. After some debate, I decided to book the trip while I still had service in Fairbanks. Then I started the clock to cover 500 miles.

I had yet to check my spare tire, so I decided to make sure it was fully inflated and in good shape before setting out. It was not. For starters, I couldn’t even get the tire out of the car. The screw holding the tire in was cross threaded, so it took me over an hour to wrestle it off before accidentally breaking the screw and freeing the tire. I wish that had been the end, but the tire was almost completely flat, and the valve stem (I had to google “tire air hole” to learn my terminology) was leaking air anytime I inflated to its desired PSI. A man without an appointment might take a day to repair this before setting out. A boy would take his chances.

I set off North with a full tank of gas, a canister of five extra gallons, the knowledge that AAA would tow me 100 miles (if I could contact them), and what I determined was half a spare tire. The first 190 miles went smoothly despite the rugged roads, and I crossed the Arctic Circle without issue.

“Disaster” probably isn’t a fair characterization of what followed, but it was the closest thing to the word that has happened to me yet.

I couldn’t slam on my brakes fast enough to avoid the pothole that stretched all the way across the two-lane road, and the dragging sound immediately made me assume the worst. Luckily it wasn’t the WORST. It wasn’t a flat. But the entire wheel well covering got stripped and wedged under my car.

I couldn’t Google how serious this was or how YouTube people would fix it. While I was still assessing the damage, a Jeep on the return trip stopped and asked what was wrong. I explained and asked if it gets any worse, and he almost snorted and immediately said, “Oh yeah, I had to change a flat yesterday. Make sure you have a really good spare.” This was NOT what I wanted to hear. I made a comment, probably something very humorous, and he drove off.

The forces at play were that even with my spare can of gas I didn’t have enough fuel to make it 190 miles back to Fairbanks. The fuel stop in Coldfoot was just 60 miles ahead. If I’d had enough and not spent $90 on this tour to the Arctic, then I would have turned around. The road was so muddy that the bottom of my car was caked, and I didn’t want the wiry internals of my car to get assaulted by the dirt. I used what I had to make a replacement wheel well. If duck tape could fix a space shuttle if could fix my Civic, and I also had empty boxes of Pop Tarts and Triscuits.

Before you say, “That’s pretty white trash,” they were actually name brand Pop Tarts, not Great Value. It all seemed to patch up as well as I could expect though.

I debated on leaving behind the warped and mud-covered undercarriage as road scrap or to pick it up on the way home, but I had just watched Holes the night before and “I can fix that” ran through my brain. I bunjeed it to my roof and drove on. My pace post pothole was the same speed you drive when looking at Christmas lights.

Shortly after, I pulled my car over to make way for the oncoming semi-truck to lower the risk of getting a rock kicked up into my windshield. But this semi was coming to a stop right beside me, blocking the entire road (although that wouldn’t matter as no traffic came). The two minutes that followed were a fever dream. Over the sound of his truck engine, he yelled, “You ever heard a %^*%^?” I had no idea what the last word he’d said was, but I assumed it might have to do with the obscure piece of plastic on my roof. I played it safe and shook my head “no”.

He turned off his truck, and I expected him to get out and maybe help me repair my car. Instead, he pulled out a massive horn from a piece of cloth and started blowing it. I now know that he’d asked if I’d ever heard a shofar (which I hadn’t). He let me know he’d purchased it in Israel. He blew his shofar for around a minute, and I sat there with a smile of disbelief of what was going on. I asked if I could get a quick video (because the randomness was becoming parody), and he happily obliged to blow his horn for another awkward 30 seconds. He told me this would give me good energy. I thanked him, because I needed some good energy about now, and I drove away.

It took me over 8 hours and around 250 miles to reach the lone fuel station in Coldfoot, AK. I filled up for $7.50 a gallon and asked the attendant about road conditions. She said the last half is about the same as the first. At this point it was midnight, and my bus left at 3:30 pm later that day. My custom Pop Tart liner was holding up.

I wanted to get 100 miles closer before I slept, and four hours of crawling later, I did.  I couldn’t believe how sharp the roads were, and at this point Solar 4xS tires deserve a shoutout. The Northern Alaskan summer nights are stunning. The sun never sets anywhere here this time of year, but that far north it was five hours of constant pink and orange horizons. It made it easy to keep driving.

I did end up making it to my tour on time, exhausted from my short respite and tense that every rock would puncture my tires. I got on the bus with a swimsuit and towel, committed that if I went through all of this, then I was going to at least get in the Arctic Ocean. There was a little relief, but mostly disappointment when the bus pulled up to an entirely frozen Ocean. I wasn’t the only tourist that felt bamboozled by the tour site having pictures of people in an ocean that was, ya know, liquid.

It was on the shores of the Arctic that a couple asked me where I had come from. I’ll admit that I do get a modicum of joy when a rare human interaction brings up the question. Driving all the way from WV has been pretty universally impressive to people. Impressed as they were, they were more interested in what had happened to my car. I seemingly had the only sedan in the Arctic Circle, and I also had a huge piece of plastic strapped to my roof. We had passed each other back and forth on the way up, and I had stuck out a bit more than the rest of the traffic.

Looking over the vast whiteness of the ocean, my question for them, as two folk who had lived in Alaska the past many years, was whether we had any chance to see Polar Bears up here. Whadya know I happened to be asking this question to one of the four POLAR BEAR biologists in the country! With her binoculars in hand, she said it was a real possibility, but that with everything so frozen they would probably be further out on the edge of the ice. She had often seen and studied them a few miles down the bay. I felt special knowing that a Polar Bear COULD be smelling me at that moment. MY SCENT (and it was a couple day old scent at this point). Susannah and Brian did give me a good road map of how to spend my next couple of weeks.

I did not see a Polar Bear, but early on the road back I spotted another Grizzly. This time with close to no traffic I decided to park the car and taunt this wild beast. After five minutes of taking my verbal abuse the bear started walking to my car door. Now he was probably coming close to let me pet him, and if I hadn’t seen how bloodshot his eyes were, I may have indulged him. Instead of a viral video of a guy having a bear eat out of his hand, I have an okay video of a smart brave tall guy definitely not getting spooked and almost dropping his phone.  

I’ve lost count of how many National Parks I have been to at this point. While planning this trip up the Dalton Highway there was one that tempted me. The entrance to Gates of the Arctic National Park is just 5 miles away from the highway, and it looks even closer when you scroll on Google Maps. There are no trails (allegedly) or roads into the park. You have to take a puddle jumper to infiltrate it.

There was a National Park visitor center in Coldfoot where I purchased a GotA postcard and sticker, essentially forcing my hand to find a way in or be a fraud for having the sticker on my water bottle. A Reddit thread convinced me there was a passable back road that would lead me to a footpath that led one mile and into the park boundary. Surely you can understand what tantalized me.

After giving my mom a birthday call, I decided to give it a shot. With 3.3 miles left in the Reddit directions to the beginning of the trail, the road became absolutely impassable for any car outside of a monster truck. No hyperbole. I figured this was close enough to try and walk to the trail head.

The 3.3 miles was easy, just a water logged and muddy road. I walked the whole way playing music at max volume with my hand on my holstered bear spray. Moose tracks were abundant, and I wanted any potential bears to be warned of my presence. 2.5 miles in there was a loud crack behind me. I can’t remember if I peed a little, but it was just a strike of lightning. Oh shoot, just lightning. I looked ahead at the Toy Story baby blue sky and behind me towards threatening gray storm clouds. The road I had driven up, let alone walked to this point, was in such bad condition that I was concerned about getting my car out of this back road and back to cell phone service before my mom started to worry about my livelihood. I had a choice to make.

I started jogging, but not the direction my mom would have wanted. Afterall, I didn’t want to own a sticker to a park I hadn’t been to. I even told the cashier I didn’t need a receipt! I made it to where Google Maps had a trail head marked. I could SEE where the park boundary must be, less than a mile away. I could also see a wall of rain coming towards me. And I could see the river that was much bigger than the little blue line on the map. I walked down to the river, looking for the path. No trail, but there was a great imprint of a bear where you could see each little hole made by the claw. It’s what you can’t see that is frightening though. Aside from the river, everything was covered in three-foot-high bushes.

I had the safety off of my bear spray holding it out in front of me. I was full on scared, but I was still trying to validate my sticker. I tried pushing on along the stream for a quarter mile. The rain finally came. Thunder, lightning, and the possibility of infinite bears was too much. I had to have been within half a mile of the boundary, but I didn’t make it. I just kept telling myself YOU CANNOT DIE ON YOUR MOTHER’S BIRTHDAY. So I am a failure, and if you ever see me with my Gates of the Arctic sticker you can call me such.

I reached my car, drenched by the rain and sweat brought by constantly imagining my death at the paws of a bear. I took my time on the way back to Fairbanks, giving my car a break every 100 miles or so. I didn’t run into any more issues, and once I arrived in the city the piece on my car started to turn more heads. I was proud of myself for seemingly being able to repair it. The Pop Tart box and Duck Tape came through (I probably deserve a sponsorship).

The next two weeks I will be going to the three Alaskan National Parks that you can drive into and that have real vetted trails.

My day-to-day hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. Actually, it has literally been all sunshine which is kinda the problem. Some nights I put up my sunshades, and some nights I just unroll my beanie over my eyes. Every morning though I wake up boiling as the sun cooks me in my car. There aren’t many shady spots to park overnight. Also, I am getting tired of sitting upright. My two options at any given moment are sitting (not reclining) in my driver’s seat or laying down in the back. You just really take the middle positions, like feet on an ottoman, for granted. Think of me the next time you recline. Savor that moment for me.

The rainbows, aside from my shared stories, have been the chance to read more. I just finished the Chronicles of Narnia (on audiobook but I feel like it still counts), and I also finished a physical book, Greenlights, by Matthew McConaughey. One of his closing lines was pretty profound for a Texan movie star, so I’m gonna steal it.

 

“Can we live in a way where we look forward to looking back?”

Matthew McConaughey

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