Slip and proceed from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken sails away from Haines, south along Alaska’s Inner Passage.. Apologies now for the humour. It just never gets any better..
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Slip and proceed
October 5th, 2011Stowed away
October 5th, 2011Stowed away from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken and his trusty steed makes the ferry south from Haines. With a whole twenty minutes to spare..
Southbound from Haines
October 5th, 2011
Ferry made with at least twenty minutes to spare. I’d have arrived a bit earlier but had taken a short detour into downtown Haines to find a working ATM. Hadn’t encountered a single one during my travels in Canada. The few that did exist were either empty, offline or just refused my card. The only consolation being the wide acceptance of US dollars, but this had almost depleted my small stash.
I needed more cash otherwise I’d be surviving at sea on cold porridge. But the one ATM in Haines I could find had just be refilled and, the teller explained, wouldn’t be available for a while. Quickly explaining I’d a ferry to catch, could she dispense me funds from the till? She could, and she did, but with such a methodical slowness I could barely contain my frustrations. Glacial.
But now I was at last onboard. Trusty steed secured down on the car deck. Luggage stowed in the cabin. A sign in the shower asked passengers – and crew – to refrain from using the facilities in harbour. Just a small holding tank. Pondered this briefly, then decided the exertions of the previous couple of days justified an exception.
The ship would take me south along Alaska’s Inner Passage – or Inside, I could never quite remember – a relatively sheltered coastal route along fjords and amongst a multitude of islands. Strong tidal streams and treacherous waters. Forty hours or so and I’d be back into British Columbia, but now a thousand miles or so closer to Vancouver on Canada’s west coast. But it would still leave a further thousand to ride to reach the city, and the short hop over the border to Seattle.
A few stops en route. Juneau, Alaska’s capital. Petersburg, Wrangell and the charmingly named Ketchikan. Finally Prince Rupert in the early hours. Deep joy.
Roadhouse breakfast
October 5th, 2011
There are several reasons to stop at the Thirty Three Mile Roadhouse, a short distance along the Haines Road over the US border in Alaska. Their magnifient breakfasts are one. The other is Gabriela. Warm smile. Greeted me enthusiastically as I wandered into the small cafe.
An elderly chap sat in the corner. Baseball cap, tinted glasses. Couple of bikers, in their sixties, their heavy leathers showing little signs of wear. I took a window seat, contemplating the menu and sipping the hot coffee I’d been given. Which, I enquired, was the largest option? Explaining I’d not had an evening meal the previous day, and had already covered thirty or so miles by nine. I was hungry.
Order placed, I contemplated the road ahead. Thirty three miles to Haines. But then, I discovered from a road sign a little way back, a further five to the ferry port. Thirty eight. Average ten miles an hour if no headwind. Should be fairly flat. Call it four hours. Check in by two. Just after nine now. Needed to be back on the road before ten. Then focused riding.
Breakfast arrived. Hot cakes, bacon, mini-burgers, eggs, toast, hash browns. More coffee. And, yes, Gabriela explained, she could fill my flask for later. Did I want more to eat? I hesitated briefly. Extra toast would be good. Once underway they’d be no time for stopping if I was to make the sailing.
The day had at least started better than the previous had ended. Still a bit mystified as to who the men in the pick-ups were that had come close to stumbling on my camp. They’d not returned, or at least if they had, I’d not heard them. An innocent episode, or, so close to the border, a small fragment in a wider intelligence jigsaw? But I’d not been able to get the plates, even less a description of the individuals.
I’d risen at dawn, struck camp and headed for the border. Soon rising out of the thick mist. Discovering I’d spent the night a little short of a decent sized lake beneath the Three Guardsmen mastiff. A few brief climbs but mostly long, sweeping downhills. Soon back below the treeline.
Reassured by Canadian Customs that there was no requirement for an exit stamp in my passport, a further quarter of a mile to the US border post. Greeted by a friendly guard. Purpose of my visit he asked? Sat astride my trusty steed, I explained I was cycling around the world, North America my fourth continent. Cursory check of my documents and I was on my way. Time to find breakfast.
Thirty three mile roadhouse
October 5th, 2011Thirty three mile roadhouse from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken finally crosses back into Alaska from Canadian British Columbia. His first stop a monster breakfast at the Thirty three mile roadhouse…
Peggy
October 3rd, 2011Peggy was from Carcross. Said I’d seen it on my map. Further east, on the road down to the Alaskan port of Skagway. Explained I’d planned to pass through, but instead had chosen to take a more direct route south to the coast. It had a desert, actual sand dunes, she added. I nodded. Said I’d heard this. Apologising for not visiting.
Wrapped up against the constant, chilling wind, only her face was visible. I studied it intently. Warm, welcoming smile. Kind eyes. She was working as a flagger, helping control traffic through the lengthy road works along the Haines Road. Long days as they sought to finish before winter, hampered by recent heavy rains.
A long commute, I enquired? No, she explained, they’d a small encampment a few miles further on. A few bunkhouses, some with their own trailers. A reputable employer, one of the best she’d worked for, that looked after its people. Decent meals, good accommodation.
Obliged to ride in one of the pilot cars escorting vehicles through the works, I’d met Peggy as I’d been dropped off at the end of one section. She’d helped me re-attach all the panniers to the bike. That’d have been generous enough, but she’d also given me quite a few cartons of apple juice she’d spare. As if to emphasise how much I’d appreciated this, I downed a couple in moments, eager for the revitalising natural sugars.
Haines Road
October 3rd, 2011I’d planned to take the ferry south from Skagway. Why, Rick had asked whilst I’d being staying in his cabin near Haines Junction? Haines was closer, and the next port of call for the ship. And I was a bit pressed for time. So I’d decided to take the Haines Road due south and ride for Haines. About one hundred and fifty miles. Day and a half to get there.
A steady climb out of Haines Junction. Flatter sections around Kathleen Lake, past Klukshu First Nation village. And then lengthy uphills, insidious rather than steep, past Million Dollars Falls. Over the southern boundary of the Yukon into Canada’s British Columbia Province.
Next the Chilkat Pass, highest point on the road at over three and a half thousand feet, on beyond the Three Guardsmen mastiff, its tallest peak more than six thousand feet. Then the descent to the US border and a return to Alaska. Fifty or so miles into Haines, a further five to the ferry terminal.
The plan was simplicity itself. Push as far as I could on the first day, as close to the US border as possible. Wild camp before I lost the light. Rise early. Into Alaska, find the roadhouse I’d been told about and refuel with a decent breakfast. Then press on to the ferry.
On air in Canada
October 3rd, 2011
Courtesy of friends at my local community radio station in Somerset, England – www.10radio.org – you can catch up with my regular monthly on-air chats with good friend and neighbour Jon.
In the latest episode Ken talks about his arrival into North America, the search for wild bears and plans for the road ahead. Click on the link below to download the interview.
Officer 21113
September 29th, 2011US Customs and Border Protection Officers had names. Canadian ones had numbers. Mine was Officer 21113. Blonde. Mike and I had joined in the small line of cars waiting to be admitted into the country. I’d have said crossed into, but we’d already ridden twenty five miles through Canada to reach the Customs post at Beaver Creek.
I’d been a bit nervous leaving Alaska. No checkpoint on the outbound side of the US Customs post. Fearful I’d need show some sort of exit stamp to the Canadians, I’d pulled over to the inbound side to ask if I’d need something put into my passport. No, I was assured, this wasn’t necessary. Carry on to Canada.
Officer 21113 referred to it as an interview. I thought it more a chat, describing my intended route through the Yukon and British Columbia. Just one pertinent question. Why did I have a US visa? She seemed reassured when I explained it was simply because I needed more than the three months the normal waiver would allow me. Stamp in passport. Six months entry.
I’d half expected to be asked how I’d support myself, what ties I had to the UK, that sort of thing. But no. Rather, it was Mike who got asked the more searching questions. But then he did have a beard.
[Please note that the Canadian Customs and Border Protection Officer’s number has been ever so slightly changed to protect her identity.. And Mike’s beard does look terribly respectable. For UK nationals note that the six months I’ve been granted by the US and Canada runs from the day of entry, irrespective of the number of times I cross their mutual borders]
Into no man’s land
September 29th, 2011Into No Mans Land from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Mike and Ken make a brief, if damp, stop at the last Alaskan roadhouse before the Canadian border – and a whole twenty five miles of no mans land to cross to reach their Customs post.
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